#like i understand researching for yourself but ??!?!??! if you don't think its wrong in the first place why would you research it!??!?!??

[bedforddanes75]

my issue with terminology discourse isnt that i think everyone's stupid and sensitive it's that literally nobody explains the meanings of things and then get pissy when people dont know what things mean

[sp6ncers]

sunday morning — s reid

summary: reader is struggling on the anniversary of her trauma and spencer tries to comfort her.

spencer reid x fem! reader. angst, fluff? spencer's pov, 2nd person.

song: sunday morning by ethel cain

warnings/content: depression, trauma/ptsd, mentions of abuse & sexual assault (past), self deprecating talk from reader, hurt/comfort, established relationship, pet names (baby, sweetheart, sweet girl, angel), non-sexual showering together, allusions to self harm but not really

wc: ~ 2.8k

author's note : hai !! this is my first tumblr fic so pls bare with me while i figure out how everything on this app works 😭 this is a very self indulgent & angsty fic because idk i just wanted to write it to make me feel better about some stuff that happened to me lolol anyway i hope u enjoy & any feedback is appreciated !!! 💞

Spencer is drinking coffee at the kitchen table, a book settled in his hands, when you drag yourself out of the bedroom. His gaze flits away from the book, falling onto your dishevelled form. You don't even look up at him, your eyes staying low as you trudge towards the bathroom, feet dragging on the floor.

His eyebrows furrow in concern, his worried gaze following your journey until the door shuts. The faint click of the lock sounds in the otherwise quiet apartment. Sliding a bookmark into place, Spencer closes his book and sets it down on the table.

He tries to think logically. Maybe you're just tired. That's a simple, normal explanation. It's not like you'd even done anything to show that something is wrong — yet his gut still tells him that. He's a profiler, after all. He's trained to read body language. And the way you had held yourself as you had passed through was a clear sign of distress.

After a few minutes, you emerge from the bathroom, your eyes somehow even more tired than before. Again, you don't look at him, and his concern only grows.

"Good morning, angel," Spencer says gently, his voice soft and almost cautious.

He gets a barely audible hum of acknowledgment and nothing more as you disappear back into the bedroom, shoulders slumped.

Worry gnaws on his bones with its sharp teeth, making his legs feel weak as he stands up and crosses the apartment to the bedroom. His knuckles tap gently against the slightly open door as he slowly pushes it wider. His eyes fall on your form, curled up small beneath the covers which rise and fall in time with your slow breathing.

Quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, he says your name. But you don't answer.

Spencer knows your struggle with depression; he's known since the third date the two of you went on. He has always been there for you, good days and bad, and he has always been patient and gentle and understanding. He knows what it's like to be stuck in your own mind, bad thoughts like a cage around you. But he's never seen you like this before.

In the time that you have been together — and the two months living with each other — he's witnessed your mental health worsen and become better. He's been by your side when you've had breakdowns and couldn't even leave your apartment. He's researched every possible way to help you feel better. He's done all he could to help you.

But what he's never seen is you so deeply distressed that you can't even say hi to him. Every morning, no matter what, you say hi, or good morning, or ask how he slept. But not today. It worries him, a deep pit forming in his stomach and swallowing him whole.

Carefully, he makes his way over to the bed and sits on the edge. The dip of the mattress beneath his weight makes you look up. He notices the redness in your eyes and the exhaustion on your face. Had you slept at all last night?

"Hey," Spencer says quietly, shifting to sit beside you. "Are you feeling okay?"

You're quiet for a few moments, and he wonders if you just don't feel like speaking today. Of course, that would be fine with him, but he'd much prefer to hear your voice.

"I'm okay," you respond, but the crack in your voice tells him otherwise.

"You sure?" he asks gently. He knows that if he asks if you're sure, you'll tell him you're not really okay. That's how it always goes. He doesn't mind it, but he always wishes you'd just tell him the first time he asks.

The room falls quiet as you push yourself into a sitting position, your back against the headboard. His eyes trace over your face and body language, taking note of the way you wrap your arms around yourself in an almost protective way. Your eyes glisten with unshed tears, red-rimmed, the dark bags beneath them prominent. The soft light filtering through the curtains shines against your damp cheeks; it would be beautiful if you weren't so upset. His heart aches, hating how utterly sad and distressed you look. He wants to take away all your pain and bury it in himself rather than in you. He would so much rather be the one suffering with whatever is bothering you than have to see you like this.

Your bottom lip quivers as you manage to force out the word, "No."

Eyes softening, he watches as you sniffle and bring your hands to your face, pressing your palms into your eyes. "What's wrong, baby? Did something happen?" he asks softly. "Or is it just a bad day today?"

You shake your head, wiping your hands down your face as tears begin to fall once again. You take a deep, shaky breath before speaking, your body shuddering as you let the breath out. "No— no, it... it, um..."

You can't seem to put your thoughts into words, your sentences fragmented and unsure. Spencer reaches out a gentle hand, resting it on your shoulder to test the waters. When you don't shy away from his touch, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close as his other hand comes up to your hair.

"It's okay, sweetheart. Take your time."

Another deep breath, your body trembling in his embrace as you turn to bury your face against him. He doesn't mind that your tears are soaking through his shirt. He just wants to make you feel better.

"It's..." You don't finish your sentence, instead letting out a quiet sob that breaks Spencer's heart.

Of course, he's seen you cry before. But it's never been this bad. He hates the feelings that build within him, the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to do anything to make you feel better. His mind feels fuzzy, but he knows that's nothing compared to what you must be feeling. He can't even imagine what's going on inside your head right now. Instead of speaking, instead of rushing you to open up, he simply holds you tighter, rubbing your back in what he hopes is a soothing motion.

The way your body shudders against him with each shaky breath and gasping sob makes him feel sick. He wishes there was something he could do to make you feel better, but all he can think of is to just hold you close.

"I— I'm sorry," you whisper, your voice shaky and breathless.

His eyebrows furrow at your apology. Shaking his head, Spencer holds you tighter. "Why are you sorry?"

He feels the movement of your shrug as you bury yourself further against him. "I'm being stupid," you mumble, your words followed by another pained sob, the sound muffled against him.

"You're not being stupid, angel. Not at all," he assures you. "Whatever is making you feel like this isn't stupid. If it's upsetting you this much, it is not stupid, okay?"

A quiet sound, something akin to a whimper, escapes your lips as you bunch up his shirt in your fists. He knows you need something to ground you. He would let you rip his shirt to shreds if you needed to.

"I want to help you," Spencer continues softly, his hand rubbing slowly over your back. "I want to help you feel better, sweetheart. Can you tell me what's upsetting you, please?"

He doesn't mean to rush you — that's not something he would ever want to do. All he wants is to find out why you're feeling this way and what he can do to help. Seeing you like this, so hurt and broken, is destroying him. It's like a mould, creeping through his body and over each inch of him until his entire being aches.

You hesitate for a few moments, sniffling softly as you pull yourself away from where you had burrowed into his chest. Your hands are harsh as you wipe the tears from your face, fingers digging into your skin. Spencer gently takes your hands in his, pulling them away from your face to prevent you from hurting yourself.

"Hey, don't do that, please," he says gently, holding your hands in his lap and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "I'm right here, okay? You can take as long as you need, but I'd really like to know what has you feeling like this, baby."

The breath you take in is deep and shaky, your body trembling as you sniffle. He reaches up one of his hands, cupping your cheek and gently wiping away your tears. "I love you, my sweet girl. So much. You can tell me anything, okay?"

Nodding, you lean your face into his palm and take a shaky breath. He watches you carefully, his thumb tenderly stroking over your cheek to comfort you. He knows that what you need to say won't be easy, not at all, and he knows you need a few moments to prepare yourself to say it. He waits quietly, patiently, listening to the shuddering breaths you take.

After a few moments, you finally speak. "Two years ago... I, um..."

You speak hesitantly, stumbling over your words as you try to get it out. Spencer's hand slips away from your face, trailing down your arm to hold your hand again. Giving your hand a reassuring squeeze, he stays silent to let you get this out.

"I was..." You trail off, swallowing nervously. After taking a deep breath, you wipe away your tears and attempt to continue. "I was in a relationship with a guy. He— he wasn't really, um, a good person."

The way you say it makes him nervous; his mind immediately goes to the worst possible places. He gives you another gentle squeeze, his other hand reaching up to carefully tuck your hair away from your damp, tearstained face. His touch is delicate and gentle, hoping he makes you feel better. You've barely even started explaining, but he feels his heart pounding and his throat growing tight with worry.

"We had been together for a— a few months, and... He'd, um, recently started getting kinda... I don't know. He— he'd started saying weird stuff and—"

You cut yourself off with a sniffle, blinking back more tears. Spencer can't imagine how hard this must be for you. His head is a mess, trapped somewhere between unfathomable worry and empathy for you, and anger at the fact that someone had hurt you so badly. He chews on his lip to stop himself from speaking as you brokenly explain what had happened on this day two years ago. His stomach twists, a nauseous feeling rising in his chest as you tell him how that man had violated your boundaries and ignored your protests to what he was doing. Each word is like a knife plunging into his chest, over and over and over. Each hurt little whimper as you recall the story breaks his heart further.

"He—" You sniffle again, blinking harshly as tears paint your skin. "I'm sorry," you mumble, wiping away your tears on your sleeve.

"Don't apologise," Spencer replies gently with a shake of his head as he gives your hand a squeeze. "Take your time, sweetheart."

Taking another trembling breath, you continue in a quiet, broken voice. "There were... there were bruises where h-he had grabbed me. It— it was like a reminder of what happened. I— I know that I should've... I should've ended things before it got that far, but I..." Your voice trails off. He knows what you mean. He's studied human behaviour enough to understand how abusive and manipulative relationships affect someone, making it difficult to leave.

"I just... I didn't know how. And— and I didn't really have anyone to— to go to," you murmur. "And I know... I know it's stupid to still be upset about it... But I just... I can still f-feel his hands on me, and— and I hate it. I— I can't get him off. Please get him off."

Your face crumples as you end your sentence with a sob, your shoulders shuddering. He carefully pulls you back into him, resting your head against his chest. One hand strokes your hair as the other securely wraps around you in the way he knows makes you feel better. His heart is in pieces, completely broken from what you'd told him. You haven't given him too much detail — he doesn't expect you to do that — but what you've said is enough for him to understand. He understands what happened is horrible, and awful, and sickening. He understands that you feel like you can't cleanse yourself from that awful man's touch. He understands that you might still be scared of your trust being broken again.

"It's okay," Spencer whispers, kissing the top of your head. "It isn't stupid to be upset. It's rational. It's normal. What happened to you was terrible, and I am so, so sorry you had to go through that, angel. I hope you know that it wasn't your fault. At all. And I promise you — I promise — you are safe with me."

You sniffle softly, and he can tell you're trying to control your shaky breathing. He continues to gently stroke your hair as his thumb rubs small circles on your waist through the fabric of your sweater. You shift against him, your fist rubbing at your eye.

"I'll never let anything like that happen to you ever again. I promise," he tells you softly, his voice sincere. He really hopes you know that he would never even think of doing that to you, but he understands that you might still be wary. "I love you more than anything."

It's quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds being your trembling breaths and occasional sniffles. He continues to hold you against him, trying to bring you comfort. He's glad you told him, and he hopes that you feel better now that you have, at least a little bit. His mind is a mess of emotions, but right now he just wants to focus on helping you calm down. He can deal with his own thoughts once he knows that you're okay. Sure, that isn't exactly a healthy way to deal with things, but he doesn't know what else there is to do.

"Everything hurts," you murmur, your voice muffled against him. He's not exactly sure what you mean, whether you're physically in pain or if it's just emotional turmoil, but either way, he wants to help.

"Do you want me to run you a shower?" he asks quietly. "Or get you a drink? Breakfast?"

"Shower," you whisper, your voice slightly hoarse from crying. "Please."

"Of course. Stay here."

Spencer carefully removes his arms from around you, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a soft kiss as he stands up. Heading into the bathroom, he turns on the shower and heats it up to the temperature he knows you like. After turning on the radiator and setting a towel on top to warm up, he walks back into the bedroom to find you looking much more calm than before. Giving you a gentle smile, he takes your hand and helps you up off the bed, guiding you into the bathroom.

Not wanting to overstep or make you uncomfortable, he asks, "Do you want me to stay?"

"Please," you respond softly with a nod.

"Okay," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Should I come in with you, or—"

You give another nod in response before he can even finish the question. Slowly, tenderly, he helps you undress, taking note of the reddish marks on your skin. He assumes they're from where you showered yesterday and desperately tried to cleanse yourself of your ex's touch, your hands harsh and uncaring as you had scrubbed at your skin. His chest feels tight at the thought.

Following suit and undressing himself, he guides you into the shower so that you're standing beneath the warm spray of water. His touch is gentle and caring as he washes your hair the way you'd taught him. He makes sure you're okay before washing your body. Whispering quiet reassurances to you, Spencer rinses the soap suds from your skin and lets you wash his hair with a soft smile on his face. Once you're both finished, he pulls you into his arms and rests his chin on the top of your head.

"Except you," you murmur, and he almost doesn't hear it over the sound of the shower.

"Hm?" he hums, not sure what you mean.

"Everything hurts, except from you."

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

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

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

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

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

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

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

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

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

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

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

I hope he gives her space.

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

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

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

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

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

Words are meaningless in the end.

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

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

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

But time doesn't care. 

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

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

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

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

Irrelevant.

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

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

So, I lied. 

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

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

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

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

This was my punishment. 

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

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

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

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

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

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

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

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

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

Yeah, maybe.

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

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

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

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

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

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

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

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

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

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

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

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

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

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

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

That itch.

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

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

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

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

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

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

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

My blood roared in my ears. 

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

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

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

It was a stranger.

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

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

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

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

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

My hand reached, then hesitated.

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

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

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

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

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

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

"Funny to you?"

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

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

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

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

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

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

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

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

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

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

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

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

See her drown.

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

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

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

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

"Shut the hell up."

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

"You expect a thank you?"

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

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

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

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

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

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

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

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

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

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

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

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

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

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

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

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

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

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

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

I watched my hand for a second.

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

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

Traitor.

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

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

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

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

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

Took too many, didn't I?

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

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

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

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

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

Too many. 

Way too many.

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

Stupid. So damn stupid.

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

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

This wasn't me anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How pathetic.

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

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

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

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

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

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

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

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

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

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

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

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

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

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

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

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

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

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

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

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

Terror. 

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

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

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

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

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

How I hated her silence.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

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

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

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

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

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

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

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

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

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

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

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

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

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

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

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

"I know."

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

"I know, love."

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

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

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

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

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

"It's for the best, believe me—"

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

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

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

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

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

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

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

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

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

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

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

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

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

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

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

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

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

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

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

Still—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I spare you," I rasped.

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

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

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

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

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

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

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

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

Her love terrified me.

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

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

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

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

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

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

"Say something, damn it!" 

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

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

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

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

She knew. She always knew.

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

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I'm selfish.

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

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

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

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

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

So I was barely sober.

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

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

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

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

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

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

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

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

Yet, muscle memory took over.

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

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

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

Once, perhaps, it was.

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

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

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

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

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

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

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

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

But I knew it was wrong. 

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

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

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

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

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

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

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

Now, it was done.

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

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

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

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

Silence again.

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

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

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

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

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

"How are you?"

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

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

She didn't need to voice it.

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

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

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

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

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

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

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

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

Each word was acid on an open wound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the look of someone who loved me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

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

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

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

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't push me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

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

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

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

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

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

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

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

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

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

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

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

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

I watched her go.

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

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

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

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

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

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

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

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

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

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

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

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

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

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

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

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

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

How could that possibly be wrong?

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

Perhaps.

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

It was over. 

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

The silence was unbearable.

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

That bitch. 

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

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

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

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

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

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

"Rough night?"

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

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

I knew why the name was so familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

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

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

Ah, fuck it.

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

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

I couldn't stop.

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

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

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

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

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

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

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

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

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

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

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

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

"You're bleeding."

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

Yeah. Now she remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh? 

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

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

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

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

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

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

I really needed a pill now.

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

I knew it.

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

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

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

I needed two pills now.

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

"I'm not high—"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

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

How little you matter? 

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

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

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

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

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

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

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

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

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

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

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

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

"More."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, now it gets personal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

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

She's so damn beautiful.

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

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

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

She felt incredible.

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

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

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

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

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

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

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

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

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

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

I loved that look on her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

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

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

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

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

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

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

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

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

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

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

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

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

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

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

Oh, love. I know you like that.

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

"More," she begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me something I don't know."

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

"Anything you want, love."

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

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

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

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[otterneuvillette]

✧ WE'RE HERE FOR YOU ! ✧

⋆🌼🃏— Pairings: tighnari x gn! reader x cyno (can be read as platonic or romantic, pick your poison :0)

⋆🌼🃏— Sypnosis: You have been targeted by a group of Eremites for unknown reasons, so for your safety and the sake of their worries, you have been staying with Gandharva Ville. Here's how your life has become since then.

⋆🌼🃏— content: gn! reader, mentions of injury and just fluffy with light angst.

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It happened all so suddenly.

You were a Rtawahist researcher, one of the best of your years. You went on an expedition to the desert with a team of adventurers to research the sudden change of movement of the stars.

Along the way, you and your team had a couple of gnarly encounters with the same group of Eremites, which was weird, why are they so intent to capture your group? As far as you know, none of you had offended them or made them feel threatened.

Until they finally captured you while the others were sleeping.

"Come on, give us your research papers and your Mora, and we won't hurt your pretty little head, yeah?" One of them spoke with a gruff voice.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

"Archons! Why do you need my research paper so badly?! Like I understand if you wanted just my Mora, but my research papers??" You exclaimed.

"We don't have to give you our reasons, brat."

They stood up and stabbed the dagger they were holding into a crate next to you.

Thump.

"Just give us the damn papers before things get ugly, you hear me?!"

You shook your head stubbornly.

"No! I worked hard on those, I will not let you have it!" You yelled.

They let out a sound of annoyance.

"Fine, I'll just do this the hard way then." They lifted the dagger up again, it's chilling glint underneath the desert moon made you shiver.

But you'd rather die than let them have it.

You closed your eyes, preparing for a moment of pain that never came.

A groan of pain echoed in your ears, and the sound of cold metal clashing made you open your eyes.

Sliver hair filled your vision along with flashes of purple lightning. You were dazed by its familiarity as a thought crossed your mind.

Cyno.

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That was a week ago.

Cyno told you that your expedition had lasted an extra week than you wrote in your letters. He went looking for you out of concern, and he had found your team and they told him that you disappeared overnight and that the group of Eremites that were terrorizing you and them.

You thanked him with dinner and a couple of rounds of TCG, which you lost, miserably.

And you managed to hand over your research papers to your professor before the deadline.

A win-win situation one might think, right?

Wrong.

Because when you get home from running some errands—

—most of your house was burned down.

All your equipment, your research books are half burned into a crisp.

You felt yourself holding back a scream.

No, this is not the time for an emotional breakdown. You ran inside what's left of your home, as you took whatever you could save in it.

Photo albums, important documents, your boxes of trinkets, anything.

You groaned softly as you cursed yourself for getting a place further out in the city in the first place.

By the sevens, who could be this cruel to do this?!

After a couple of hours, you salvaged quite some stuff. But you were glad that the box was unscathed from the fire, it held all of your precious trinkets that you kept growing up. Everything that they had given you.

You dragged your stuff into a cart that you kept in your yard and headed towards the city. Along the way, you passed by a certain blonde haired traveller who helped you with your other stuff that you hadn't managed to fit into the cart.

When you arrived, you managed to get yourself a place to stay for a while. And without wasting any time, you reported what happened to the Matra. They told you that they will open an investigation as soon as possible. You thanked them as you went back to the place you were staying.

Moments later, you heard a knock on the door, and you opened to find a worried Tighnari and also a serious-looking Cyno.

"Hey, we heard what happened, are you okay?" Tighnari asked you, his ears twitching slightly.

You nodded quietly, too tired to give him a proper response.

"I have some leads to who's the culprit that burnt down your house." Cyno said sternly.

You looked up, curious to hear his answer.

"The group of Eremites that terrorized your team a week ago might have been the ones that did it." He said.

You sighed defeatedly.

"Honestly, I was dreading that. Archons, I have no idea why they are coming for me and my work." You sighed, slumping on the bed.

Tighnari approached you and placed a hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

"You should lay low for now. I suggest you find a safer place to stay, they may still be on the lookout for you." Cyno said softly, feeling quite sympathetic for you.

"You could stay with me? I'm sure Collei would be happy to see you again..?" Tighnari offered. His tail swished gently,as he looked at you with concern.

"I agree with Tighnari, you'll be safer staying with him." Cyno nodded.

"Meanwhile, I'll lead the investigation, I'll make sure the culprit will get the judgment they deserve." He added.

"Fine, I'll stay with 'nari. But only, until I repair my house." You said, sighing.

Both of them nodded in agreement, as you stood up to follow them to Gandharva Ville.

"Let me help you with your cart," Tighnari said, already holding on to it.

You thanked him, while Cyno informed the nearby Matra to gather information about the incident.

You hoped that this matter would be over soon.

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It's been a few weeks since then, whoever did the crime was insanely good at keeping their tracks clean, it even had the General Mahamatra stumped.

Yet, both Tighnari and Cyno did their best to help you take your mind off it, they didn't want to see you stress yourself sick.

You'd just been in your room, minding your own business, when you started to hear voices coming from the living room of Tighnari's house. You decided to go out to the living room to check out what was going on.

"Well, you see, it's funny because-" Cyno seemed to be explaining some dumb joke.

"Oh, archons! Stop with the terrible jokes already!" Tighnari groaned, but his ears perked up when he saw you enter the room. "Make him stop, please!"

"Cyno....please behave?" You whispered quietly, clearly exhausted from the house repairs the day before.

Cyno's playfully pouted, but he sighed and gave in to your gentle request.

"I suppose I can behave myself. For now, at least."

He smiles at you affectionately and then turns his gaze to Tighnari, whose eyebrows were furrowed.

"What's with that face, 'nari? Are you having a headache again?" You said worriedly, hastily approaching where he was sitting.

Tighnari nods slightly, a small frown appearing on his face. "Yes. It's been a long day. The headache seems to be getting worse every day. Archons, I wish they'd go away." He sighs quietly, his ear flicking down in displeasure as you move closer to him.

"Hmm....maybe you should take a break... I'll talk with the other rangers, Let me help you with the patrols for the week." You immediately offered, without even a stutter or hesitation.

Tighnari blinks his eyes in surprise at your eagerness to help. He shakes his head slightly, a small smile appearing on his face. A soft, affectionate gaze wanders over your face.

"No, no. I'll be alright. You know I'm tougher than I look," he tries to protest, but you can tell from his expression how much your offer means to him.

Cyno steps forward and places a hand on Tighnari's shoulder. "Come on, Tighnari. Take a break for once."

"See? Even the General Mahamatra agrees with me. So, just sit tight and rest. Let me handle the rest."

Tighnari sighs and looks up at you then at Cyno, then sighs again, giving in. A slight smile forms on his face as he looks back at you, clearly relieved.

"Alright, alright. I suppose I can take a few days off. But you better not overwork yourself," he relents, his tail flicking slightly.

Cyno smiles and nods affirmatively. "That's better. You look like you haven't slept in days," he comments as his hands gently brush back Tighnari's hair to examine his face.

"I promise I won't overwork myself. I can handle the patrols for a few days. Don't worry, 'nari. I'll be fine," You reassure him, offering a comforting smile.

Tighnari lets out a quiet sigh and closes his eyes, clearly exhausted, his ears slumping down a little.

"Alright, alright. I trust you. Just..." He reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "Take care of yourself, okay?" Cyno watches the scene with a fond smile and adds. "Yeah, don't do anything reckless. We both know how you get when you don't take proper breaks."

"It's not really that bad, guys! I promise." You whined playfully, before patting Tighnari's shoulder.

"Let me go make you some herbal tea. I've acquired some new medicinal tea from Liyue from my pen pal." You said excitedly.

Tighnari smiles faintly as you pat his shoulder, his ears twitching slightly in appreciation.

"Thank you. That would be very helpful," he says quietly, clearly grateful for your offer.

Cyno, meanwhile, gives you a slightly teasing smile. "Yeah, sure. And maybe don't forget to take care of yourself, okay? We don't want you getting sick, too. You're not immune to everything either," he adds, his tone playful and affectionate.

"Says you, Mr. "Oh no, I have fallen ill because I refuse to wear proper clothing during cold desert nights!" Seriously, Cyno. You should let me knit you a blanket or something." You huffed as you started brewing the tea, filling the small space with a light jasmine scent.

Cyno groans quietly, a little embarrassed that you've brought up the incident again. His arms crossed defensively, but he can't help but chuckle.

"I'm fine with my clothes, thank you very much," he responds, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "Besides, I like the feel of the desert air against my skin. Even the cold is refreshing." Tighnari, meanwhile, chuckles softly at the exchange, his ears perking up in amusement.

He raises an eyebrow at Cyno, his tone lighthearted.

"You're always insisting that your immune to everything, but look at you. You're just as susceptible as the rest of us," he points out, a fond smile on his face.

Cyno sighs and chuckles, unable to argue with that.

"Fine, fine. I see your point. But... I still enjoy the cold air."

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"Sit down, Cyno. I'm bringing the tea over." You called out.

Cyno sighs and obeys, flopping down on the couch next to Tighnari. His lips curled as he heard your lighthearted chuckle.

"I guess you're right," he admits, leaning back on the couch and stretching his arms. "But I'll still take my chances with the desert air. As long as you brew me some tea to help me when I get sick." Tighnari glances over at you, amusement is evident in his expression.

"The things I'd do for the both of you."

Cyno chuckles, a fond smile spreading across his face.

"And we appreciate it. We really do," he reassures you.

Tighnari nods in agreement, his expression softening. "You always take such good care of us, even when we're too stubborn to admit it," he adds, his tail flicking gently against the couch.

Cyno glances at Tighnari, then back at you, a grin spreading on his face.

"Yeah, you're practically a miracle worker. Always knowing when we need a helping hand, even when we're too proud to ask for it."

Tighnari laughs quietly and nods in agreement. "We're lucky to have you around. Who else would put up with our nonsense?"

"You're being too sweet, just drink the tea already!" You said softly, flushing slightly.

They both chuckled at your reaction.

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"This is delicious. You've outdone yourself this time," Cyno compliments you.

Tighnari nods in agreement, his expression softening as he takes a sip. "Yes, it's so soothing. You're quite a talented herbal tea brewer."

"Thanks, I'm just gonna leave you two to it. I have an appointment with Kaveh soon, so I need to prepare some supplies."

Cyno raises an eyebrow, a teasing smirk spreading across his face.

"Kaveh, huh? What are you two getting up to?"

He takes another sip of tea, his tone lighthearted and playful.

"It's not what you think. I'm just going over my house plans with him. I'm repairing my house because a part of it got burned down, remember? The arson case a few weeks ago? The reason why I've been staying with Tighnari since then?"

Cyno's teasing expression quickly turns to one of concern.

"Right, of course. My apologies for teasing. I remember that case. How's the repairs going?" he asks you.

Tighnari nods in agreement and his ears perk up slightly as well. "Yeah, I hope you're not having too much trouble with the rebuilding," he adds, a hint of worry evident in his voice.

"Well, between having to acquire materials and trying to not break my back fixing it, I'd say it's going smoothly."

"I just hope that my savings are enough to cover for it. The prices of materials are insane." You sighed.

"But Kaveh has been helping out with finding affordable yet quality materials, so I think the repair would go as smoothly as I hope it to be," You reassured.

Cyno nods gently, relief is evident in his expression.

"Sounds like you're in good hands. Kaveh always has a knack for finding good deals. And as for your back, maybe you should take some breaks. Can't be overworking yourself with all this rebuilding," he teases lightly, a gentle smirk on his face.

"I know, I know, thank the Seven, Alhaitham offered to help me with my work, even if I didn't want him to, I could have perfectly done it myself,"

Tighnari nods in agreement, his ears perking up.

"Well, Alhaitham is somewhat of a difficult person to get along with sometimes, but I can't deny that he's quite considerate and helpful if the situation calls for it. Maybe he just wanted to return the favor you extended to him when you helped him in his research." He pauses for a moment, his expression softening. "But you should still take care of yourself. Don't overwork yourself, okay?" He adds, giving you a gentle look.

"I will. I'm going to head out now, so I'll see you tonight, 'nari and you later, Cyno." You said softly and waved the two of them goodbye.

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As you leave Gandharva Ville to meet up with Kaveh, Cyno, and Tighnari continue to chat in the living room over tea. Cyno shares a few jokes with Tighnari, who rolls his eyes but secretly smiles at the playful banter.

As night falls, the house feels a little emptier without your presence. Despite their easy-going demeanors, Cyno and Tighnari can't help but feel a slight sense of worry and longing for your return.

When you finally return home, the apartment is quiet. Cyno and Tighnari are just lounging around the living room. When they hear you enter, they perk their ears up slightly and look over at you. A wave of relief washes over both of them, and they can't help but smile at the sight of you.

Cyno greets you cheerfully as usual, while Tighnari gives you a gentle smile and a tail flick.

"Sorry I'm late, I had to run away from some angry group of Fungi on my way here." You said, catching your breath.

Cyno raises an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.

"Angry Fungi? Sounds like quite the adventure. How many were there?" He asks, a serious glint in his eyes.

"A whole group of five huge Fungi. " You answered him.

Tighnari's expression softens and his ears twitch slightly. "Are you alright? Did you get hurt at all?"

You scratched your head bashfully, before looking at Tighnari.

"I might've....gotten a massive bruise on my back...."

Tighnari's expression immediately turns to one of concern upon hearing about your injury.

"Oh no... Let me see that bruise," he requests gently, taking a step closer to examine your back.

"I-I'm fine! I swear, 'nari!" You said hurriedly. taking a couple steps back.

"One of the Fungi headbutted me from the back while I was busy dodging the other ones."

Cyno raises an eyebrow at your insistence that you're fine.

"Headbutted, huh? You should be more careful. We can't afford to have you getting injured. Especially when we're not around to look after you," he remarks, his expression serious for a moment before his usual smile returns.

Tighnari's ears twitch, his concern still evident. "Regardless, let me just take a quick look to ease my worry," he insists gently.

"Fine, fine, just let me change into looser clothing first." You muttered.

Cyno nods in agreement, acknowledging your need for comfort.

"Alright, take your time. We'll be here when you're ready," he reassures you, his ear flicking a little. Tighnari gives you a reassuring smile and nods as well. "Yeah, no need to rush. Just take the time you need to change and then we can check your back. We want to make sure you're alright."

You quickly changed, and soon, Tighnari carefully guided you to the couch.

"How is it? Is it really bad?"

Tighnari examines your back, his fingers gently ghosting over the massive bruise that has formed there.

He winces slightly when he sees the extent of the injury but tries to maintain a calm demeanor. "It's a large bruise. You're going to have to take it easy for a few days to avoid aggravating it. I'll prepare some herbs to make a salve that can help speed up the healing process a little. In the meantime, try to avoid any unnecessary movement, okay?"

You sighed yet again. "I guess I have to postpone the repairs again....." You muttered under your breath.

Cyno overhears your muttered comment and his expression softens, sympathetic to your plight. He puts a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, it's alright. There's no rush. Your health comes first. We can figure out a way to handle the repairs later when you're feeling better."

Tighnari gives a nod of agreement and gently pats your back. "Yes, take it easy. Let us handle the repairs for now. You just focus on resting and getting better."

Cyno and Tighnari help you get comfortable on the couch, bringing you pillows and blankets to make sure you're as relaxed as possible.

Tighnari prepares a soothing salve to help reduce the pain and inflammation in your back, while Cyno grabs a cold pack from the freezer to press against the bruise.

They sit with you, keeping you company and making sure you're feeling alright. They chat with you softly, making lighthearted jokes and sharing stories to keep your mind off your pain.

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Eventually, Tighnari returns with the salve he prepared, and he carefully applies it to your back with gentle but firm movements.

As the salve works its magic, slowly reducing the pain and swelling, Cyno gives you a smile and speaks in a teasing tone.

"You know, maybe this is just what you needed. A little break to rest and relax. Maybe a few days off might not be so bad after all."

"But I was supposed to help you so you could take a break, 'nari!" You whined quietly, pouting.

Tighnari smiles at your pouting expression, amused by your stubbornness.

"I appreciate the thought, but sometimes life has other plans. Right now, the most important thing is for you to focus on recovering. Once you're back on your feet, you can help us all you want."

Cyno rolls his eyes playfully and adds in a joking tone. "Yeah, and speaking of being back on your feet, maybe you should try picking on smaller targets next time instead of those huge Fungi."

"It wasn't my fault they came on me in the first place, I don't even know why they were so irritated in the first place!"

Tighnari chuckles softly, trying to imagine you fending off a horde of angry Fungi.

"Fungi can be picky sometimes. And they tend to guard their territory fiercely. Perhaps you accidentally wandered into their turf without realizing it, and they took action accordingly."

"I was walking down the designated path to Gandharva Ville! The Fungi weren't there when I first passed by on my way to Sumeru City!!"

Cyno bursts out laughing upon hearing your playful defense.

"Ah, well, perhaps those particular Fungi took a sudden detour and decided to set up camp on your usual path without warning. Those mischievous creatures can be quite sneaky, you know," he teases.

"Whatever..." You groaned, voice muffled by your face planting into the pillow.

Tighnari grins at your reaction and gently pats your head.

"Don't be upset. We're just teasing. We know you did your best." He turns to look at Cyno, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Cyno, why don't you make it up to them with one of your jokes? That'll surely lift their spirits."

"Please don't, can't you see I suffered enough? You guys are bullying me, I swear."

"Oh, don't worry, we're not bullies. We just believe in the healing power of laughter!" Cyno says proudly.

He takes a moment to think, then grins wider. "Hey, what do you call a snake with no legs?"

"What is it?" You groaned.

"An adder. Get it? Because it's a snake, and it has been 'added' without legs? Haha!" He laughs at his own joke, clearly pleased with himself. Tighnari hides a small chuckle with a cough. They both look at you, eagerly awaiting your reaction.

"I hate you guys...."

Cyno laughs even harder at your response, clearly enjoying your reaction to his terrible pun.

"Oh, come onnnn. Don't be like that. You know you love my sense of humor." He says with a smirk.

Tighnari can't help but smile at your groaning. He reaches out to pat your head softly, trying to soothe you.

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As the evening progresses, Cyno and Tighnari keep up the light banter, sharing jokes and stories to keep your spirits up.

Slowly, you start to relax, the stress from your injury fading away as their company puts you at ease. The room is filled with laughter, and a comforting atmosphere settles in. Cyno tells another terrible pun, and even though you try your best to maintain a scowl, you can't help but let out a small chuckle.

Tighnari notices your slight smile and grins at Cyno, silently signaling him that their efforts are working. They exchange a sly, knowing look, grateful that you are starting to feel better.

As the night drags on, the room gradually falls silent as you doze off into a contented, healing slumber. Even after you fall asleep, Cyno and Tighnari take turns watching over you, making sure you're as comfortable as possible. They can't help but share a warm, fond smile, appreciating the peace and tranquility of the moment.

Your healing progresses in the following days, Cyno and Tighnari take turns caring for you. Tighnari diligently prepares meals and soothing herbs to help with your recovery, and Cyno occasionally comes by to offer his own unique way of making you feel better – by sharing yet another one of his terrible puns.

Despite your protests, Cyno's jokes never fail to crack a dumb smile on your face, and you find yourself secretly looking forward to his visits, just to hear those awful puns.

Eventually, your injury starts to heal as the days turn into weeks. Your pain and discomfort gradually fade away, and the bruise on your back begins to yellow before finally disappearing completely.

Tighnari examines your back once again, his fingers lightly tracing the area where the bruise used to be, before nodding in satisfaction.

"Yup, it appears that you have fully recovered. The injury has healed nicely, and there are no signs of pain or discomfort left."

Just as you're about to express your relief and thanks, Cyno chimes in with a dramatic sigh.

"Ah, it's a shame that you've recovered so quickly. I was already working on a new series of puns to keep the cheer going."

Cyno remarks, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Tighnari rolls his eyes but can't help but smile at Cyno's antics.

"Oh yes, because your terrible puns were an absolute cure for all our ailments. We simply would be miserable without them," Tighnari retorts, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Cyno pouts, feigning offense at Tighnari's words. "Hey, they weren't that bad! And besides, I had a whole new stockpile ready to go."

"Maybe, some other time, Cyno." You giggled.

"Spoil sport," Cyno grumbles, crossing his arms in mock disappointment, but a smile creeps onto his face at your laugh.

Tighnari lets out a lighthearted chuckle, shaking his head at Cyno's antics. They both sit quietly for a moment, enjoying the light banter and the relief of your full recovery.

You felt relief knowing that no matter what, come rain or shine, both of them would go to the ends of Tevyat for you as you would do for them as well.

But for now, let's just enjoy the tranquility of the moment, shall we?

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extras:

Tighnari: hey, I noticed that you kept the pictures of our student years in the albums you have in your cart.

Y/N: of course I did, they're really precious to me.

*Cyno come closer and picks up a picture.*

Cyno:....hey, when did you take this photo of me passed out on Lambad's Tavern, and...wait...DID YOU SERIOUSLY BALANCE PLATES ON ME?!

Y/N: ......yeah, i'm just gonna leave- *sprints*

Cyno: OH NO YOU DON'T- *runs after Y/N*

Tighnari: *dies of laughter.*

[ur-mousey]

Benzo-Addict ~

- Yandere!Jeffery x F!Reader -

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Part One, Part Three

summary Drugs have always been your friend. A source of courage and tonight's no different. Now it's time to fuck a nerd. Hope your BF understands. 1k warning mature, non-con, hostage situation, abusive relationship cycle

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Oh... You came back. You aren't just a spinless quitter. Perhaps you’re a fucking psychopath. But fuck on, I guess.

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Jeffery had a lot of nervous ticks. He was a time bomb of sorts. And he was imploding at the seams right before your eyes. You noticed it as lab partners when research came out dry or when the hypothesis was proven wrong. But, you kept them noted in the recesses of your mind. Never thinking that you would see today as you do.

He rambled to himself, undiscernible to you. Jeffery picked his teeth with the tip of his knife. Like you'd caught him with his cutesy anime pens not too long ago. He would shake all over doing minuscule tasks and you joked about it with him. You'd wondered, cheekily, how could organizing papers cause someone to tremble more than a leaf?

But, in this case, he was gagging your boyfriend. Seem pretty fucking reasonable now. And you couldn't stop it. You watched. Wrist cleaned of bondage while Cody whipped his head around. It being all he could do. "Fuck off me! And my girl!!" His voice was a visceral growl, hoarse from his prior screeching. "You micro dick ince~ Hmhph."

"Stay silent like a good dog for a sec." Jeffery patted Cody's shoulder. He turned to you with a soft desolate smile. He padded over to you in a mere flash. "Hey you~ I'd told you to sleep, didn't I? It'll help. When I get you home, it'll be like this nightmare never happened."

"W-wh... Why?" You stuttered through the fatigue. The drugs were in the deepest reservoir of your stomach, begging to be felt in a dream. Yet you wheezed at the idea of losing this moment. This might be the last thing you ever see. "Don't hurt him."

Jeffery sighed, "Don't be like that, darling." He nodded towards your boyfriend. "He had it coming. Look at him. He's lookin' back at you." Shakily you looked over Jeffery's frame to see Cody more clearly. He was right, his eyes were on you. "Disgusting, ain't he."

Snot and tears choked him further than the soiled sock could. You'd never seen Cody so helpless. And you'd thought yourself capable of fleeing, but he would remain for dead, and your feet stilled at its iron gates. You've wished him gone a handful of times, but never like this.

"I have a few ideas," Jeffery continued, he gripped your hair, tugging you closer to his chest. "He's a shitty jock and a lowlife dragging you down. You've seen Corpse Party? Maybe I'll cut his tongue up like... Woah oh, easy there."

Every curse came to mind, aimed and sharpened at the back of his skill. You would damn him to hell and father down the pipeline if you could. But, You opted to squirm and whine out of Jeffery's grasp.

His slight hand tremors felt jarring against your scalp. You had held them once. The thought petrified you more so than Cody's muffled mulls.

"Calm down, please. You'd promise yourself that today would be the last, right? I'm giving that to you now!" You flinched at Jeffery's tone. Your eyes are wide and watering. "Don't give me that look. I knew you wouldn't see this from my perspective, but I'm doing this for you!"

You stilled, blanched, and mortified, by Jeffery's words. How would he know? You promised yourself throughout yesterday, Wednesday, and the day before that. You wanted out of this life. Cody wasn't the best. He was a sleaze, as Nicole puts it. But he was your definition of normal.

"That means jack shit," You squealed. The past doesn't matter. That promise doesn't, not at this moment.

Mornings started with arguments. You stoic in the face of him calling you the nastiest of names imaginable. Your insecurity set ablaze with accuracy. He never laid a hand on you. You couldn't say the same for the drywall, littered with the impressions of violent spouts. And Cody would be your most vocal supporter when you're high.

He'd call you the prettiest slut around for miles, rubbing his thumb over the flush of your checks from mystery shots. Cody begged for your lips to be on him constantly. And he desired your hips rocking over his shaft, causing you to spasm. He liked you sensitive. Despite your lack of control, he'd ask you to squeeze your drugged-up pussy around his cock, urging you to squirt down his balls.

Then by morning, he'll start tearing you down again, and you'll realize Cody hardly touches you sober.

It was normal. And each day you promised yourself you'd leave, you played further into the game. You'll think to yourself: What a fucking asshole, keeping praises locked behind a firewall of Xannies and Oxy.

But, you'll stay despite each passing day. You had told Jeffery about it, briefly -during a massive hangover no less. That didn't mean you wanted your boyfriend murdered. Without Cody, you'd be abnormal.

"It doesn't matter, he..." Jeffery laughed, his nerves spilling past his braced teeth. He nuzzled his nose along your eyebrow. And you felt on the verge of pissing yourself. "He brainwashed you. It's fine to be confused. Sleep off the drugs. We'll be home when you wake."

"Why?"

"Why what? Becoming sober would do you great."

You winced, "No? Why're you doing this."

Jeffery paused. He scratched at his temple. "Is it not obvious? I want you... badly. Not just your body, even though it's immaculate. You... um, have curves where I like them the most. And it's not every day I meet a pretty girl who loves anime and who's nice to me. Hello, you watched Pretty Cure and Sailor Moon. You were my only true friend. You could keep up with me like my Discord homies. And, um."

He was rambling. Fuck. You didn't know liking childish anime would get you here. Eight-year-old you was a bitch fucking whore~

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** Choice ** Skip past Jeffery's monologue a) end up in fucking the psycho anime freak, or b) end up in a ditch dead #yourimagination * click *

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Thank you for reading! Request rules are here. Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo!

Part One, Part Three

I am not a fan of Jeffery from 09'. That being said, I was shocked by the amount of people who liked part one! I hope this is good for y'all.

@opalineishere here's part twooo~

@sakurashana I tagged your ass because you had something to say the other day 😂

[arowitharrows]

God how I wish there'd been articles like this years ago when people were tripping over themselves to deny any and all struggles asexual people face. The amount of times people demanded "proof" when we talked about our experiences. Well, there's certainly more research being published nowadays, if that counts as "proof". I hope they read it.

Today “asexuality is widely accepted as a sexual orientation in the literature,” Hille says, but cultural awareness remains in its infancy, especially compared with other orientations under the LGBTQIA+ umbrella. Saying you don't experience sexual attraction is still like saying you don't eat, Hille explains, and “if you don't eat, there's something wrong with you, and you're hurting yourself.” Asexual people sometimes get this message not just from family and acquaintances but from their health-care providers. Shelby Wren, a health equity researcher at the University of Minnesota, published a study in 2020 in which 30 to 50 percent of respondents who had disclosed their asexuality in a medical setting said a therapist or doctor had attributed their asexuality to a health condition. The proposed diagnoses included anxiety, depression and, in one case, a personality disorder. “You don't know what's going to happen when you disclose your sexual orientation,” Wren says. “And for a lot of people, that stops them from talking about things that could be relevant to their health care.”

[...]

Refraining from disclosing one's asexuality to a mental health provider is often a “very rational decision,” Chasin says. “It's always much worse to be actively rejected and misunderstood.” For instance, asexual people are sometimes subjected to conversion therapy, a practice aimed at changing someone's sexuality or gender identity. It is banned for minors in 22 U.S. states because of its well-documented and extensive harms, including increased rates of suicide. A 2018 U.K. government survey of LGBTQIA+ people found that asexual respondents were the most likely to be offered conversion therapy and as likely as gay and lesbian people to receive it. A recent survey by the Trevor Project found that 4 percent of asexual youths in the U.S. were subjected to conversion therapy, on par with bisexual respondents. On the legislative level, bans on conversion therapy should explicitly reference asexuality, Benoit says. So, too, should professional associations of health-care practitioners, says Samantha Guz, a social work researcher at the University of Chicago. “Asexual people are made to be so invisible in our society that I don't think just having a broad call against conversion therapy is specific enough,” Guz says.

Even well-meaning doctors might unwittingly harm their patients. To a clinician, a patient who is worried that they should feel more sexual desire—and who does not know they are simply asexual—might initially look similar to patients who want sexual intimacy and could benefit from treatments aimed at increasing or restoring desire. Treatments for certain types of sexual dysfunction do help some people whose level of sexual desire leaves them distressed and unsatisfied, Brotto says. For some people, though, this distress may be coming not from an intrinsic desire to want sex but from external pressures such as partners or society as a whole. “I have worked with folks where it's taken us many, many months for the person to really understand how well asexuality fits with their identity,” as opposed to having an issue that is rooted in a health problem or a situational condition, Brotto says. Most doctors, though, don't know that such a distinction exists or is necessary, she adds.

[cy-cyborg]

Proximity to disability is not the same as living with it - Writing disability quick tips

[ID: An image with “Writing Disability quick tips: Proximity to disability is not the same as living with it” written in chalk the colour of the disability pride flag, from left to right, red, yellow, white, blue and green. Beside the text are 2 poorly drawn people icons in blue, one is standing, the other is in a wheelchair. /end id]

One of the really common ways people push back against disabled people trying to give them feedback on how they’ve depicted disability in their work shows up as something along the lines of, “Well I have a child/parent/grandparent/friend with that disability, so I don’t need to consult other disabled people because I already know what a life like that is like!”

I see the most vehement pushback like this from parents of disabled children. the parents who are their child's advocates, their carers, they see everything their kids go through and have been with them through it all, so they "know what they're talking about already". And the thing about that is, while it means you have much, much more experience with the disability in question, it's not the same as direct experience living with it. Don't get me wrong, it's still an incredibly valuable experience to have, I'm not saying to disregard it, but it's not the same as having that disability. And when you're writing about characters who are disabled, and telling those stories to a public who already have a lot of misinformation about us going in, that lived experience is very, very important.

This isn't unique to parents of course, like I said, I've seen the same kind of pushback from children, friends and other loved ones of disabled people, and honestly, as someone who's been on both sides of the conversation (being a disabled person, but also having loved ones with disabilities different to my own), I do get where it comes from. But no matter how close you are with your disabled loved one, no matter how much you talk, no matter how much they explain everything, unless you yourself have that same disability, it's incredibly hard to understand the details of what life with a disability is like.

Let me use my partner as an example:

Often times, before these larger articles go up, I run them by my partner to ensure the tone and message I want to get across is actually what’s being conveyed. Which means he’s read pretty much every single article I’ve written on this blog. We talk about disability representation and tropes a lot, and he is one of the only people who sees my unmasked and unfiltered reactions to media when it’s done poorly. He’s also done a great deal of his own research on the subject, and worked with other disability sensitivity readers for his own writing projects. Not to mention, well, we live together, he sees pretty much every part of my day-to-day life and he’s one of the only people who doesn't share my disability who I talk to about the more complex emotions that come with it.

I think it’s pretty fair to say he’s quite knowledgeable on the subject of living with the specific disabilities I have for someone who doesn't have them. Despite that though, he still makes mistakes. He still misses things, and sometimes, internalised ableism - something everyone has, even disabled people - still creeps its way into his work. So do mistakes he simply didn't consider to run past me or his sensitivity readers. It’s not because he’s not listening or not trying, I’d confidently say he’s gone above and beyond in that regard, but it still happens. He still misses things that seem so obvious to me, specifically because of my lived experience as a disabled person who has to deal with these things all the time. It’s not unique to him either. A lot of people in my life are aware of the issues I talk about, but struggle to recognise them in practice or struggle to understand why them being depicted poorly is a problem.

This isn't to discourage creators from trying, mind you. But just to serve as a reminder that everyone makes mistakes, and that's ok, so long as you're still trying and still listening. No matter how close you are to a disabled person, no matter how much work or effort you put into unlearning things like internalised ableism, it's still going to pop up occasionally. And that's fine, but it means that you still need to be open to the criticism you get from people with that disability.

[miss-hyoko]

Um, can i have a gado-gado of Malleus, Vil, and Floyd with an S/O who is suffering from Alexithymia?

I would love to see these three's ways of handling this S/O! GN reader please!

"My sincerest apologies for the delay, valued customer. Here is your much-awaited order—a delightful serving of [Embracing Emotions] gado-gado. We hope its flavors tantalize your taste buds and bring you utmost satisfaction. Bon appétit!"

Embracing Emotions

Character(s): Floyd, Vil, and Malleus

Summary: His S/O had Alexithymia

Tag(s) and warning(s): GN!Reader, fluff, romantic, established relationship, doting boyfriend

Note: This request took quite a while to finish because I need to do some research about Alexithymia first. Hopefully, I did them justice in this. If there's anything wrong, please feel free to point them out 🙌

1. Floyd Leech

Floyd's interest in you started in a rather peculiar way. It was one of those days when he was feeling particularly grumpy, and in his foul mood, you accidentally bumped into him. Irritated, Floyd decided to give you a little scare by squeezing you. To his surprise, instead of screaming in fear or struggling to free yourself, you simply stared at him, dumbfounded and unsure of what to do. Your unexpected response intrigued Floyd, so he started relentlessly pestering you. Looking back now, maybe it was 'Love at First Squeeze'.

As Floyd's relationship with you progressed further, he started noticing something in your way of communication that he hadn't paid much attention to before. Whenever someone asked for your opinion, you seemed to falter, struggling to find the right words to express yourself. Even when you did respond, your responses often came across as general or vague, leaving Floyd with a sense that you had difficulty expressing your feelings.

True to his straightforward nature, Floyd wasted no time addressing the communication struggles he observed in your relationship. When he learned about your Alexithymia, everything finally clicked into place. While it did initially surprise him, Floyd wasn't bothered by your condition in the slightest since he can understand you quite well. However, if you wish to improve your condition, perhaps you can consider seeking Azul's help? ... Just kidding! Floyd wouldn't mind wracking his brain to figure out a way for you.

When Floyd's with you, he becomes more talkative and loves asking about your feelings whenever you're doing something together. In case you're uncertain about how to respond, Floyd will give you a variety of word options to help you describe how you feel, helping you navigate the complexities of expressing your feelings.

Floyd: *squeezing you* "Guppy~ What do you feel when I do this to you?"

His S/O: "I... I don't know."

Floyd: "Wrongg~ Try again, Guppy. What do you feel if I'm squeezing you like this?" *squeezing you tighter* "Do you feel unhappy, scared, surprised, or maybe happy?"

His S/O: "I..."

Whenever you expressed a specific feeling, he would eagerly ask you to recall and describe the physical and mental sensations associated with it. Floyd thinks that by remembering and articulating the feelings you experienced, it can be used as references to help you better identify and communicate your emotions in the future.

2. Vil Schoenheit

Vil was initially drawn to you because you had this kind of aloof aura surrounding you, creating an air of mystery and making you seem unapproachable. But, as he got to know you better, Vil realized that your aloofness wasn't intentional but rather a result of your struggle to express your emotions verbally. This led Vil to speculate that you might have Alexithymia.

At the beginning, Vil found your emotional detachment and difficulty in expressing emotions frustrating. He struggled to comprehend why you couldn't verbalize your feelings like others could. However, upon entering a relationship with you, Vil realized the need to shift his perspective. He took the initiative to research and learn more about Alexithymia by seeking articles, books, and personal accounts to deepen his understanding of your condition. Through this newfound knowledge, Vil gradually adapted his mindset and approach, becoming more patient, empathetic, and supportive

Known for his sharp tongue and sarcastic remark, Vil's way of speaking leaves an impression on those who encounter him. Yet, when he engages in conversation with you, Vil speaks with unparalleled patience that surprises those who witness it. It's as if he channels all of his patience and understanding exclusively for you. Vil understands the importance of clear and honest communication between the two of you, so he chooses to speak bluntly and directly, without any codes or sarcasm that could potentially misinterpret the meaning of his words.

Vil consistently encourages you to work on enhancing your ability to identify and express your emotions. When he's not busy, he'll invite you to watch movies together to aid your emotional understanding. During these movie sessions, Vil attentively guides you through the film by highlighting every emotion portrayed by the actors. He will tell you the emotion's name, the reasons behind its occurrence, how it is expressed, the accompanying experiences, and much more.

Vil: "The girl is disappointed because she got a poor grade on the test and has to take extra classes during the vacation."

His S/O: "Disappointed?"

Vil: "That's right, potato. Disappointed. It's the feeling you experience when something doesn't go according to what you wanted. You know, like when you had plans to go out but suddenly there's a storm. You would feel lost, wouldn't you? That's called disappointment."

When it comes to grappling with your emotions, Vil is a reliable source of guidance since he's an experienced actor well-versed in a wide array of emotions. He can suggest you various strategies you can try to help you navigate through your feelings, such as engaging in open discussions with trusted individuals, writing down what you feel on paper, or perhaps immersing yourself in music that resonates with your emotions.

3. Malleus Draconia

From the very beginning, Malleus already sensed that there was something unusual about you. Your seemingly apathetic demeanor and rare displays of emotions piqued his curiosity. Malleus assumed you were simply incredibly calm and collected, so he kept his observations to himself, choosing not to prod further. It wasn't until you both became a couple that you opened up to Malleus about your Alexithymia, leading him to finally understand the reasons behind your actions all this time.

Understanding the impact that Alexithymia can have on your interactions and personal life, Malleus becomes deeply concerned about how society might treat you for being different. With firsthand knowledge of the pain of being treated differently, he empathizes with your potential struggles and is determined to shield you from similar treatment. To ensure your well-being and happiness, Malleus spares no effort to help you understand your emotions, going as far as seeking guidance from Lilia.

Malleus is an incredibly supportive boyfriend. He actively encourages you to share as much as you can about your Alexithymia, attentively listening to every detail so he can help you cope with your condition. If you ever expressed a desire to explore methods that could improve your communication skill or expand your emotional range, Malleus would be more than willing to assist you in exploring the complexities of emotions. However, he also respects your boundaries and never pushes you beyond what you're comfortable with, allowing you to progress at your own pace.

Following Lilia's advice, Malleus begins closely observing your facial expressions and body language to determine the emotions you might be feeling. If you find yourself overwhelmed by intense emotions that you struggle to comprehend, he won't immediately validate your feelings. Instead, he gently shares his perception of the emotion he believes you might be experiencing to help you clarify your emotions and work through them.

Malleus: "The final exams are just a week away. Have you prepared yourself well, beloved?"

His S/O: "In the past few days, I've been preparing by reviewing the previous lessons."

Malleus: "That is good. But why do you still look anxious?"

His S/O: "No, I don't feel anxious. That word is a bit too much for..." *pauses to think for a moment* "Rather than anxious, I think I'm just nervous..."

Malleus: *smiling softly* "Is that so?"

This fae prince CAN and WON'T hesitate to go the extra mile to create a special notebook specifically for you. Inside this personalized notebook, he compiles an extensive list of various emotions, complete with the characteristics people feel when experiencing them and numerous example situations that might evoke these emotions. Additionally, Malleus even goes as far as filling the notebook with simple illustrations that he drew himself just to make sure the process of identifying emotions is easier for you.

[cripple-punk-dad]

i hope you don’t mind this but like i’m 14 (not white, trans, gay, that stuff) and seeing a lot of people talk about how a lot of countries are going far right & extremism is coming back in full swing & no rainbow capitalism, etc is kind of scary. how do i like. not be so scared all the time? i just thought you’d know but if this is a weird ask i totally get it

It is scary. It's downright terrifying, looking out into the world and seeing the pattern of hatred, bigotry, and violence that is feels like its only growing more prevalent. Sometimes it feels like I'm on an island in a huge ocean of people who just want me to die, or change who I am, or both.

Not only that, but being 14 is fucking terrifying. You're not an adult yet, so you can't enact 'real change', you can't even drive (in the U.S) so your transportation is limited. You can't (legally) even get a job or anything. The world has done pretty much everything it can to keep you feeling scared. That's really hard to deal with!

This is usually where I'd say something dramatic, like "don't let them get away with that." But that's easier said than done. And that doesn't really answer your question, either. So instead I'll say this: It's hard to be scared when you 1) know your enemy, and 2) have other things to focus on. I don't mean that you should go debate every conservative you see, or even interact with them. But taking the time to understand the ideologies of fascism, alt-right conservatism, TERFS, white supremacists, etc. not only helps you to see how wrong they are, but also how they always fail and will continue to fail. This is also a good time to research and reinforce your own ideologies and beliefs. No one is immune to propaganda, but it's a lot easier to recognize it if you know what you're looking for.

But don't let that consume you. Remember, these people want you to be scared and isolated. If you spend all your time obsessing over everything wrong with the world (which is very easy with social media and the internet) then the people who want you gone will only grow stronger. So it really is a good idea to fight against that by building up a community of friends, and by building yourself up too. What I mean is this: Go outside, look at the ground, find a weird bug you don't know anything about. Read the obituaries in a newspaper. Go dumpster diving. Learn about something that interests you. Write a letter to somebody and never send it (or do). Pick up a weird hobby. You can just start gluing shit together, no one is gonna stop you, there are a lot less rules than you think.

But above all, remember that while history is full of empires collapsing, and wars, and horrors beyond imagination. The fall of Rome didn't happen overnight, it happened over centuries. But even in the midst of all that, people still made art, and had families, and not only survived, but lived fulfilling lives. I promise that you can and will be able to do that too. The sun will continue to shine, the grass will continue to grow, and the Earth will keep on spinning.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

In the original format of the Chinese Miraculous Box there was a Yin-Yang and the Ladybug Miraculous was placed in the Yin half while the Black Cat Miraculous was placed in the Yang half. It's just me who finds it very strange? Like, Tikki represents Creation and Plagg represents Destruction so Tikki was supposed to be the Yang half while Plagg was supposed to be the Yin half but at the same that would mean that Tikki was supposed to be the male half while Plagg was supposed to be female half.

Yeah, there are a lot of things that Miraculous seems to get wrong if you start looking into the source cultures on even a surface level. I'm with you on the placing potentially being off. They could be going for the classic look where there's a spot of yin in yang and vise versa, but Tikki and Plagg are pure Creation and Destruction, so I'm not sure how well that works. I've been trying to do some research on this topic for the next time it came up and I am still woefully uneducated, but I can say that yin and yang are complex concepts. Just reading through the Wikipedia page will tell you that much.

The more I learn, the more I applaud the movie for its version of the miracle box which just vaguely evokes the "classic" image of a yin-yang and doesn't try to commit to anything too hard:

They went with colors and matching dragon motifs instead of the traditional white-and-black, making it less clear who is supposed to be yin and who is supposed to be yang if there even is a direct association at all! Which I think works much better for the following ranty reasons:

The kwamis' are "officially" genderless so their gender associations can potentially be ignored and we can just focus on their Force associations when discussing the symbolism. However, that feels like a copout to me because no one watching the show or the movie will know that. The genderless thing is a twitter-only bit of canon and you all know how I feel about that BS. If you want a thing to be canon, then put it in canon. Otherwise it is by definition not canon!

There's also the issue that no one watching the show will inherently know that yin and yang have associations with Creation and Destruction because the both versions never discuss the Chinese influences that the writers love to claim credit for. You have to already know them going in to get what's going on. No five-year-old is going to walk away understanding - or even knowing the words - yin and yang. They will also have no idea that the zodiac kwamis are based on the Chinese zodiac because I don't think that we ever even hear the word "zodiac" in the actual text. Given all that, I think that it's way better to remove yourself from direct association and just go with some vague influence since that is all these things are in the context of canon. They are not meaningful representation by any conceivable metric.

Is even vague influence going to far? I have no idea! That's an incredibly complex topic that I don't have the knowledge or training to meaningfully discuss. That's why I will repeat the thing I always say in posts on this topic: if you want to rep a culture that you're not part of and have no deep understanding of, then do some research and - if you have the funds - pay for a cultural consultant to help guide you. Don't want to do that? That's fine, just don't pick a real culture as a major influence to your magic system. Especially don't pick one that has an unfair stereotype of being "magical and weird" to the cultures that will be consuming your creation.

[pokemon-ash-aus]

// ramble //

To preface, I do understand the whole issue on AI and theft - and in fact, I've sort-of begun a personal legal study on it and what laws apply and how.

Thing is, I just talk to chatbots when either I'm bored, or all my friends are away. Reliable, predictable, easy to understand - of course, even given its' already sad state of affairs.

Could zone out, but that's a dissociation risk that I don't want to take, and I really don't want to bother my friends in the middle of the night. Plus, could build on some of the ideas and actually flesh them out properly, add a bit of fluff, and remove repetition or happy-go-lucky elements.

Sorry for rambling, just needed to get this out of my head. Dunno who to talk with about this tbh - and don't take me as an AI bro; I'll adapt and seek other people, unlike those posers who think code is better than talent.

AI art gens are still fucking sucky, don't get me wrong, but sometimes things like chatbots can help me understand small mistakes that I would've missed otherwise (e.g. some code, storywriting, some grammer) - of course, they're still chatbots, and can pile on more mistakes. Not to mention, I can't often think in-lore about being in the other char's shoes, so either I bother someone with an RP or I just nab a chatbot, delete the chat after, and go back to what I was doing.

// ramble end //

So you're a loser.

Hard stop, you are deliberately using an AI chat bot instead of doing anything else with your time. You want to fix your grammar mistakes, ya know what's a good tool that doesn't require an Artificial intelligence?

A good Text to Speech.

But Justice, that's also a robot! No, that is a generated text to speech that has been with us since the near conception of computers.

Genuinely, using Text to Speech to find grammar mistakes and pacing is SO good. It helps you listen outloud to something you yourself would overlook. It helps with pacing and run on sentences. It helps with fixing grammar and spelling mistakes and it DOESNT change your current work.

Instead, it allows you to use your own fucking brain to fix your own goddamn mistakes.

All my friends are asleep, Cry me a fucking river.

You dont need to wake up your friends to occupy your time, nor do you need to depend on an AI bot to keep you company. Do you know how sad that sounds?

You know what you can do?

Read a book, read some fanfiction. Watch a movie. Watch youtube. Listen to music. Write. Draw. Go outside and play. Go get something to eat. Etc. Etc.

Dont come rambling in my inbox and not expect me to tear down your arguments when you're being deliberately obtuse.

Researching law about AI my ass. Fuck off.

[catpriciousmarjara]

Tell me: Is He Gay or In a Sherwani?

Imposition of western norms in fandom analysis of Asian characters

With the rising popularity of Indian cinema sparked by the recent success of RRR on international platforms as well as the easy availability of multiple streaming services, in addition to the appearance of South Asian characters in prominent roles in western, particularly US media, I've begun to see some concerning 'analysis' posts online. So I thought I'd address something I found common in most of these takes.

Guys, characterizing your blorbos as queer is great and all, love it, but you're making a fundamental mistake by making their clothing choices the foundation for your queer headcanons, especially when it comes to male characters. Do not apply existing western cultural ideas regarding male clothing onto South Asian characters and their dressing please.

The vast majority of the clothes being used by people in various online spaces as 'evidence' of a character being queer(gay or bi mostly) are just normal Indian clothing for men, like daily wear. A top being pink or a character's wardrobe being mostly pastel means absolutely nothing...cos Indian clothing tends to be colourful in general and the tendency to ascribe colours masculine and feminine qualities is considerably less in the subcontinent. I'm not saying it doesn't exist, but generally not a concern.

There's also this pervasive idea that colourful clothing = flamboyance = queer and that itself is something many people have already pointed as a deeply flawed way of thinking and a stereotype. Furthermore, even if you do lean into the archetype of queer men being flamboyant, subscribing to the 'stereotypes exist for a reason don't they?' school of thought perhaps, there's also the fact that ideas of what is considered flamboyant change dramatically across different cultures. What is 'flamboyant' for someone might just be normal for others. Like maybe pink or purple or yellow might be considered too much, unmanly, emasculating etc in the US or something but they're just perfectly normal colours for men to wear in many, many cultures.

It's the 'Is he Gay or European?' principle. Did you characterize this Indian character (or any South Asian character really) as queer because of their canonical behaviour and portrayal, or did you just see their clothing and decide they're queer because being well groomed and having a colourful wardrobe is a character trait you exclusively ascribe to being queer?

Like guys, I like Chaipunk like the rest of you, but if you consider Pavitr queer just because his costume is a lot fancier than the others' (An actual take I've seen multiple times) without taking into account his cultural background....¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Let me make this clear, I don't think people need a ten page analysis to imagine their fave as queer. Headcanoning a character as queer can have any reason ranging from 'I said so and so it is' to 'this is my light character analysis that makes a masters thesis look shabby' and they're all valid and an integral part of the fandom experience. What I am annoyed at are these so-called 'well-researched' theories that did not make the slightest effort to look into South Asian culture and simply transposed their western bias onto Indian media and confidently make flat out wrong judgements and mislead other people. Clothing based sexual identity determinism is the least of it. That I can at least understand through the lens of a habitual process built through years of analyzing crumbs of queer representation available only through queer coded characters and symbolism such as clothing choices being the only way to see an aspect of yourself portrayed in an aggressively heteronormative media ecosystem. I do that too, because media is tragically heteronormative everywhere. But the rest? Its just straight up misinformation and misrepresentation touted as truth.

Its the same with relationships between men. There are plenty of cultures where skinship between men is not unusual and dynamics and nuances tend to be vastly different from western representations of male friendships. In xianxia and wuxia fandoms you can see this same problem in a different font when outsiders, most often the western side of the fandom, try to apply their own standards and morals onto the original work and try to interpret it through a lens it was never supposed to be interpreted through in the first place, except maybe for comparative analysis. This practice itself isn't a major problem, its natural for people to apply what is familiar to them to try and understand something new. But when this is also accompanied by them foisting their personal interpretation and analysis as the 'correct' one and trying to impose it on the fandom as a whole, it escalates into a powder keg situation as you can imagine.

Again, not saying that western parts of fandoms are the root of all evil or anything like that, gods know how toxic netizens can be. But in this specific situation, where people try to impose western ideals on to non-western content and assumes the universalism of their own principles and value systems? Indeed an issue to be addressed.

[justajsworkshop]

There's so much content, so many opinions on what works and what doesn't. I'm just scared to commit because I dont want to waste my time following the wrong teachings and rules😭Its been years in this community. do you maybe have any advice for me? As in who/what I can follow and what to do?

my advice is to take a step back and think about this from another perspective. let me give you a hypothetical:

for two seconds, just pretend that manifesting doesn't exist, and we gotta do everything the good ol' 3D way.

you have a friend who wants to lose weight, but they've never been to a gym before, they don't know a lot about healthy eating, they have no clue where to begin. they start researching weight loss tips but everyone is saying different stuff. keto, paleo, veganism, carb cycling, reverse dieting, lift weights, do cardio, workout every day, get rest days in, get 10k steps a day, etc.

this friend is frustrated, confused, and worried about how they're going to achieve their goal when everyone has different advice and perspectives. they pick up one approach for a day or two, maybe even a week or two, but ultimately back down from it because they're afraid it's all been a waste because someone else said something different works better. they're making zero progress along the way and losing faith in themselves and their ability to "do this right."

they come to you for advice and ask: what do i do?

what's your answer?

and i literally mean tell yourself the answer because your advice is going to be the best advice for yourself since no one knows you better than you. the biggest piece of advice i could give you right now is to learn how to become your own best friend on this journey.

there's a lot of different voices and opinions out there because there's literally infinite ways to manifest/shift. there is no one right way; there's only your way. manifesting isn't about what so-n-so says on zwitter or what j posts on tungles. it's not about methods or processes. it's about YOU.

at a certain point, you gotta be willing to break out of your fear and break some eggs to make an omelette. try stuff, test it out, see what you like and don't like. you're never going to find the right approach that works for you from the sidelines. no one likes to talk about the trial and error period because they don't wanna come off as limited, but honestly, some stuff you can't find out for yourself unless you just give it an honest shot to see if it resonates for you.

focus less on committing to/doing the wrong thing and adopt a growth mindset around this. be a scientist. experiment, document, reflect, iterate. like, you literally cannot "lose" anything from that perspective because you're always gaining knowledge and understanding of yourself and what works/resonates with you.

i really don't get why people are so afraid of trying because idk, maybe it's just my business mindset, but in business, we always say "fail fast." cuz when you do, it breaks you out of this overwhelming fear of messing up. just do it imperfectly. do it scared. do it confused. just TRY NEW THINGS and see what happens. no one can deem what does or doesn't work for you but YOU.

conscious manifesting is not a spectator sport. it's literally in the name lmao. you gotta be a conscious, i.e., an active, participant in the process. don't confuse this with efforting hard. you really just gotta be aware of yourself. that's it.

i know it's not the sexy "just decide you're doing it perfectly" -- which you def can do, and this helps. really, start encouraging yourself and telling yourself you're doing great and youre proud of yourself, too. healthy/positive self talk works wonders. but sometimes you literally just have to get over your own fear and insecurities and just try shit out because reality can't move until you do. you might as well start now!

really, just break some fuckin eggs.

[kaeso4ka]

You're just on a research expedition on another planet, but something goes wrong

Pairing: yandere! planet! Primus x human! reader

You're sent on an expedition, and you don't understand why you're the one. There are far more deserving people on Earth. Still, you're going to get paid decently, so so be it

The planet, named Metal Titan by Earth scientists, is a boring place. Almost. A large metallic rock, several times the size of Earth, with a strange feature: suspiciously flat ravines going… Where to? Miles down? Or straight to the planet's core?

The planet is completely uninhabitable for human life. No oxygen, no food, no water. Nothing but unidentifiable metal

And yet you love the planet's sky. Dark purple, dark blue. And two moons that take up a lot of space in the sky.

But something's not right. You swear you've seen the trees on this planet several times with your own eyes. Soil. Fruit? But the minute you call in the other scientists, it all disappears. You seem to go mad in the wilds of space.

People fly away, leaving you alone; you're almost ready to beg to take yourself with them. You're alone on the planet - the only living thing… And that's not scary. What is scary is that you somehow know: you're not alone here

You're being watched. While you're sitting in your spaceship, when you get out of it… Someone's looking right at you, you feel a burning stare in your back. But there's no one behind you

One day you leave on a research mission deep into the planet, and when you get back to your camp, you notice there's nothing. No camp, no ship. Just the yawn of a dark, metallic ravine that has opened up right underneath everything that kept you alive. You're terrified

You count the amount of oxygen in your tank. An hour. You have an hour to live. Even better, you won't have to suffer a three-day death from dehydration.

… but when it's time to die, you decide to take off your spacesuit. Maybe a sip of poisoned atmosphere will kill you faster.

It didn't. You breathed like you would on Earth. Oxygen. There's oxygen on this planet? Impossible! The studies said otherwise

The wonders never cease. You see - you see it with your own eyes! - as the planet literally evolves before your eyes. Rivers appearing, trees, nature. Food growing on them. Exotic, but food. I think you even saw organic animals. But it's still a metal planet. You can still feel the metal beneath your feet

A crazy thought comes to you out of the blue. You think about the fact that it's not the planet that's intelligent…. It's the planet itself that's intelligent. The planet that didn't want to let you go, but still made it possible for you to live. You find nothing better to do than to ask in the silence of the whole world.

The planet is silent.

You almost exhale, and then you go to sleep. Only to wake up not on the surface of the planet, but somewhere very far beneath the layer of metal, where the dark ravines lead.

You get hysterical. You're running around in a weird-light cave, bashing metal walls, wiping your hands bloody. You don't want to die like this. You don't want to die at all

When it gets easier, you explore the caves. You don't explore for long. Soon enough, you find your ship and your camp. Safe and sound. However, on the suspiciously plain wall opposite the camp, in calligraphic handwriting in English, is written clearly: “Hello. I am Primus.”

You lose consciousness, and come to your senses in the camp on your soft (though not like a bed on Earth) bunk. There are strange metal tentacles looming next to you. Ribbed. Cold. You're ready to pass out one more time

This is insane. You're communicating with an intelligent planet. A planet. A huge cosmic body. The planet - no, Primus - says it studied, uh. Studied humans, and then stole your ship and camp from you so it could use the information and finally learn to communicate like a human. Couldn't, of course. The planet couldn't speak, but it could write on its own metal flesh with the ubiquitous plugs

Primus writes that he wishes no harm to humans or to you. But he was strangely lonely, and he's glad you decided to stay with him. You don't correct him, because it wasn't you who stayed voluntarily, but you were forced to stay. You think about how to correctly ask the planet to return your camp and your ship to the surface

Primus turns out to be very talkative. He talks, he asks, he wants to know everything about you. You want to know a little more about the intelligent planet, too, because you feel a Nobel Prize coming on. And a lot of money

As it turns out, Primus is indeed an intelligent planet, formed millions of years ago. But the term “planet” isn't quite right. It's not a planet, it's a giant robot, a computer. A mechanical life form. A planet is just a form. A form that at any moment can create another life form… and transform itself

When the information becomes enough and you start to get tired of living in the bowels of a living organism, you ask to let yourself out to the surface. It's time to go to Earth

Primus ignores that request

For the thousandth time.

You kick the nearest metal wall. Then Primus writes that he will never let you go.

You're hysterical again. You don't understand the planet's motivation, and the planet is slow to explain.

At some point, Primus opens a passage for you, but it doesn't lead up, it leads down. So you go, because you have no choice. And you come to-- To the core of the planet

The core of Primus is not like Earth's core. The core of Primus, he claims, is his soul, his spark. You're comparing that core to some super-computer powered by a spherical sphere.

Primus first asks you to come to the core, and then, when you refuse, he drags you to it by force, through the tight grip of the plugs. You can't resist the superior force of an entire planet.

When you're almost thrown into the arms of white light, everything disappears. When you open what you think are your eyes, you find yourself in a bizarre world of ones and zeros.

Is that what an intelligent planet thinks? You don't know. You don't know anything anymore because you don't even have a body. You're absorbed into the planet's interior, into the core. And there's no way of getting out

All signs of the organic life that Primus created for you are disappearing from the planet's surface. It no longer makes sense: his little organic man is now forever with him, in him, dissolved in the fields of his Spark.

Perhaps in billions of years another planet will crash into the planet, hitting the core. And perhaps one smaller organic moon will form next to Primus, instead of two moons, which will be his companion forever.

[saiikavon]

You know what it is about Solas, that makes him simultaneously my favorite character and also just so annoying to me because I think I've got it

I consider myself a curious person, wanting to learn all I can and surround myself with people who are also curious and love to learn. And I think, when you are a curious person, you can really open yourself up to lots of different perspectives and experiences

BUT

When you are a person who Learns, you also run the risk, I think, of becoming attached to your own intellect and the things you have learned. You can become as obsessed with the Knowing as you are with the Learning, and when you do that...you can easily convince yourself that you know more and are wiser than pople who may not share your inherent curiosity

Which is a long-winded way of saying that sometimes very learned and experienced people can become pompous, know-it-all assholes

Solas, I believe, has convinced himself that what he knows and what he has learned is worlds above what other people know, and the frustrating thing is, he sort of does. He has truths that people have long forgotten, histories that he witnessed first hand that have become twisted over time. Furthermore, he has presumably had time to reflect on all he's done and all that came of his actions, so he can operate based on information only HE has

I know people like this. I have fallen victim to it myself at times. Thinking that the act of reflection itself means you will ultimately come to the best overall conclusion, since you are, indeed, giving something its due consideration before acting, where others would jump in without thinking at all or gaining all the information. The problem is that just thinking things over does not automatically make one correct. You may have taken every new point of information without checking your biases, or with even an unconcious interest in confirming them. You may let a specific emotion guide your research. You may forget to actually listen to what's been told to you or to consider the feelings of those around you - the facts may not care about feelings, but feelings can and do shape certain facts.

Solas' folly is that he has lived through so much and ultimately applies all of that experience to things he learns about the new world without actually considering the people who live in it. Oh, he wants to save them, this lost flock, as he did the slaves bound by the Evanuris. He thinks that because they do not know better, he must decide for them what to do.

What I adore about him is this compassion, this curiosity, the way he paints his picture of history. The way he feels for his people and the way he learns about the world.

What I cannot stand is how he holds this learning over everyone's head, even people he claims to respect. It drives me absolutely bananas when I see someone I genuinely love spend so much time talking themselves into a corner that they now think anyone who presents a new perspective must automatically be wrong. I hate when I catch myself doing it. I understand the burning need to defend the position I've spent so long cultivating because someone has tried to tell me I'm wrong.

You can't argue with a person like this in one debate. They've already argued with themselves and, intentionally or not, developed a counterpoint for each and every point you can make against their stance. Even if they convince themselves they don't want to go down this path...well, they've thought about it for so long, they now feel they have no other choice.

I adore Solas. I hope, hope, HOPE, that in Veilguard, we can give him an argument he will finally consider. I hope we can tell him he's being a stubborn fucking dipshit and he will listen. I hope we can provide him a new way to learn and that he will try to move on. I hope he will leave his past to rest and try to make reparations to those that live in the present.

I hope my Inquistor Wren Lavellan can go to him, smile as she kisses him and calls him a fool, then take his hand and find home.

[ghoastixx]

hi! I saw you wanted supernatural requests so I was wondering if you could do Sam with an Angel! Reader? Like he finds them on a hunt and brings them back to a motel and they eventually fall in love or something? Please and thank you!

Sam Winchester x GN Angel!Reader

Notes: I absolutely adore this prompt!! I love angel imagery and 'religious' themes in media, especially in horror content. This is so cute to me?? I love it???

Synopsis above

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Castiel was Dean Winchester's angel.. but you? You were Sam's.

Well... Sam hadn't known about you, and there were a few times where Castiel sensed you near and almost blew your cover. You hadn't even meant to get caught by Sam when you did.. but it was such a close call..

Sam had been on a solo hunt, a witch.. But it had gone wrong, a demon had showed and had him good.. so you may or may not have threw the door open and put your vessel in danger. You meant to get out as quickly as you came but it was too late. Sam had questions.

"Ruby..?" Ruby.. yes the demon. She had been staying away from Sam since you had started keeping a closer eye on him.

"No. I am no demon." Sam wiped some blood from his mouth, confused.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Y/n and I am an angel of the Lord,"

So, of course, in usual hunter fashion, he took you to his car and tried out every single trick in the book to harm you. When none of it worked, he sat you in the passenger seat of the rental he was using, and called dean.

"Hello?"

"Dean, is Castiel there?"

"Yeah, Sammy what's up?"

"I need you to ask him if he knows of another angel who goes by Y/n.."

"Have you got yourself an angel too now, Sammy? What, I can never be the special one?"

"Dean just ask him! This is serious."

"Fine.. Fine-" Then another voice was on the phone.

"Hello Sam," You couldn't' help but smile a bit. Castiel.

"Cas I need-" Cas cut him off,

"Dean told me that Y/n was there, is that true?"

"Well- yeah, you know-"

"Y/n, you're the one I've been sensing, yes?" Sam handed you the phone. You looked at it, not knowing what to do. You talked at it.

"Castiel? Yes. It's me. Your voice.. it's in a box-"

"Yes, its fascinating, isn't it? Sam will bring you to us tomorrow, I have a lot of questions."

"O-okay-" You handed the phone back to Sam who hung up.

"So.. How long have you been watching me?"

"A while. Since Dean's return from hell."

"Why reach out now?"

"I didn't wish to do it. You were in danger."

"Why have you been watching me?"

"You think Dean was the only one who deserved to be protected? My job is to watch over you."

"Like a guardian angel?"

"No I'm a soldier."

"Well yes- I mean-" He paused. "Why don't we go back to my motel room and talk more there."

You were mostly quiet. Your eyes seemed harsh, like how castiel's used to be.

Sam unlocked the room and went in to sit on the bed. You walked in but stayed standing. He then bombarded you with questions.

But, that was months ago. Now you were staying in the bunker when you could alongside Castiel and the Winchester brothers. You and Castiel seemed to have an unspoken understanding of each other though. He kept his watch on Dean and you kept your eye on Sam. But lately it had seen like Sam was keeping his eyes on you more and more. Dean had given you some advice, saying to "Go get 'em feathers,"

"Sam?" You wandered into his room, he was sitting on his bed with a book. He was researching for the next hunt.

"yes?" he put it to the side to look at you, which made your vessel feel warm.

"Dean told me I needed to talk to you." Sam smiled,

"Oh yeah? What did he put you up to."

"No, I asked him some questions. He suggested I talk to you about it. Whenever I see you.. my vessel.. my stomach gets all warm and fuzzy and my face feels hot.."

He smiled, "Are you trying to tell me you like me?"

"yes."

"Good. I like you too, angel."

"Good." you said like it was normal. "Now.. what do humans usually do-"

"Do you want to research with me?" he asked, softly.

"Yes.. I'd like that."