#looking at you all unhealthy romance authors

[honeybadger-the-pop-witch]

Completely random but can we please get more romance / erotica books where it’s a healthy relationship between the main characters and what attracts them to each other is more than just their looks? Like I want a story where the main characters find common interests, talk as often as they can, show emotional support to one another, and (in the specific case of heterosexual couples in romance books) is attractive in a different way than “rich, brooding, abusive, muscly man”. Just a thought.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 12.9k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

The minute you, Koji, and Satoru step out of the mall, a small group of five reporters are hounding you guys. It comes as a surprise—a very unpleasant and unexpected surprise. You’ve never been involved in things like this, you’re still not used to it. You never will be. Your steps falter, leaning back and placing a protective hand on Koji’s back to steer him further into your body. 

“Mr. Gojo! Is this your family?”

“Mr. Gojo, what do you have to say about the people who suspect you of keeping it all a secret?”

“Mr. Gojo, were you ashamed or embarrassed?”

“Y/N L/N, how does it feel to have Satoru Gojo as the father to your son?”

The questions are relentless, each one sharper than the last, and the flashing cameras blind you for a moment. Your heart races as you tighten your grip on Koji’s shoulder, your protective instincts flaring. Koji looks up at you with wide, frightened eyes, his small hands clutching at your coat. Satoru steps forward instinctively, his towering frame blocking you and Koji from the onslaught. His usual easygoing demeanor is replaced with a rare seriousness, his jaw clenched and his voice low. “Back off,” he warns, holding up a hand to shield his face. “You’re scaring my son.” 

The reporters barely falter, emboldened by Satoru’s reaction. “Is that confirmation then? He is your son?” one of them presses, leaning closer with their camera.  

Satoru exhales sharply through his nose, his tone now icy. “I said, back off.” He moves with precision, steering you and Koji toward the parking lot. 

Koji clings to your side, his face buried in your coat as he mutters, “Mama, I don’t like this.” 

“I know, sweetheart,” you murmur soothingly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “Just keep walking, okay?” 

“Y/N,” Satoru says firmly, his hand brushing your elbow before grabbing onto it with a firm gentleness. “Stay close to me.” 

You quickly pick your son up, holding him tightly to your chest and keeping his small face hidden in your neck. The crowd doesn’t let up, following you to the edge of the parking lot. They’re throwing more questions your way now, their voices rising as if to compete with each other. 

“Y/N, do you think Satoru will take responsibility as a father?”  

“Will there be a public statement?”  

“Koji, do you know your dad is famous?” It’s one thing to ask his son a question, but it’s entirely another thing when that same reporter hounds just a bit too close to you, causing your footsteps to stumble a bit backward in order to not get hit by the obvious camera. 

At that, Satoru stops dead in his tracks, eyes and face flitting with anger, but they don’t even express half of it. He spins on his heel, his height and presence instantly silencing the crowd. His gaze is sharp and unyielding. “You’re done,” he snaps, shoving the camera back, the reporter tripping over his own two feet and falling on his ass. “No more questions. No more photos. If I see any of you near my family again, you’ll be hearing from my lawyers.” 

The authority in his voice makes even the most persistent reporters step back, the one who just fell cradling his camera that now has a broken lens. He waits for a beat to ensure they’ve gotten the message before turning back to you and Koji. 

“Let’s go,” he says, his voice softer now as he reaches for you two. You don’t resist when he takes your hand, holding on firmly as if grounding you. His other is on the small of your back. The three of you walk in silence to the car, leaving the paparazzi behind. He guides you into the passenger seat before strapping Koji in his car seat in the back. Walking around the car to get into the driver’s side, closing the door with an exasperated huff. After a few still seconds, you finally exhale, slumping back in your seat. Satoru glances at you from the corner of his eye, then at the rearview mirror to make sure Koji is okay. Luckily his car’s windows are almost completely blacked out. His expression is unreadable. “You okay?” 

You nod slowly, fingers dancing along your thighs. “I’m fine. Just… not used to this.” 

Satoru’s lips press into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to be. I’ll handle it.”  

This outing was supposed to be a simple one—a wholesome one. Satoru insisted on taking Koji out, but Koji insisted you come with them. After debating, you decided what’s the worst that could happen? This, apparently. Satoru reaches behind him to place a couple of things he bought for Koji behind his seat. You told him that since it was so close to Christmas, you didn’t see the need to buy things for Koji. His response: “So? I want to spoil him every chance I get.” You understand, in a sense. But you still need to have a proper talk with Satoru about keeping his money and riches to a minimum when it comes to Koji. The last thing you want is for your son to get used to something that you wouldn’t be able to maintain yourself. 

“You okay, Koji?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. He receives a feeble nod from his son, patting his little foot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t expect this to happen.” Satoru’s tone is laced with guilt as he turns to face forward again. Koji’s wide eyes dart between you and Satoru. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I promise.”

Koji looks up at him hesitantly before mumbling, “I don’t like the flashing lights, Papa. They’re scary.”

Your heart clenches at his words, peering back and holding out your hand. He takes it and you rub his little knuckles with your thumb. “I know, sweetie. It’s over now. You’re safe with us.”

Satoru exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll do better,” he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. “Next time, we’ll go somewhere quieter. Somewhere they can’t find us.” You glance at him, catching the rare vulnerability in his expression. Despite your frustrations with the situation—and with him—you can tell he means it. His guilt is genuine, and that softens your own edges just a little. He looks like he wants to say something more, but he stops himself, his jaw tightening. He shifts in his seat, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel. “We’ll figure it out,” he says quietly. He turns the key and starts the engine, beginning to drive off.

The rest of the car ride is subdued, the weight of the earlier encounter and the unspoken tension settling over the three of you. Koji eventually drifts off, his small frame relaxing against you, and you lean your head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. You know you have a lot of conversations to do with Satoru that aren’t over—some haven’t even started. There’s so much left unsaid, so much you need to sort out—for Koji’s sake and for your own. But for now, you focus on the steady rhythm of Koji’s humming to the song playing and the faint hum of the car engine, holding onto the fragile sense of calm that has settled, however temporary it may be.

This is the first time Gojo’s getting a good look at your interior decorations. Koji’s watching TV and you’re watching Satoru trying his best not to judge. Outwardly, at least. The decorations you’ve put up are a little uncoordinated, he can tell some are quite old. There are a few things with stains from presumably the previous year, like your tablecloth. The only item he thinks is new is the pinecone-y candle lit in the middle of the kitchen counter. At least something in here is pretty, he looks at you. Never mind, you’re already here. 

“Well…” Satoru starts, and you cut him off as soon as he does.

“I know, you don’t have to say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Yes, you were.”

“Then what was I going to say?”

“You were going to judge and put in your unwanted two cents.”

He scoffs with rolled eyes and a frown, arms crossing as he watches you go over to the sink to wash what was left in there from this morning. “Unwanted?” Satoru repeats, his tone is dramatic as he leans against the counter. “I think my two cents are worth at least a dollar, thank you very much.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, arching a brow. “Then keep your dollar to yourself. We’re not taking handouts.”

His lips quirk into a thinner line, and he straightens up, walking over to stand beside you. “Handouts? Who said anything about that? I was just going to say…” He pauses, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “This place has character.”

You let out a dry laugh, shaking your head as you rinse a plate. “Is that your polite way of saying it’s outdated?”

“No,” he shrugs, though he gives himself away with a sigh. “Okay, maybe a little. But it’s not terrible. I kind of like it. It feels... real.”

You glance at him again, this time surprised by the sincerity in his voice. His eyes are scanning the room, and for once, they’re not filled with the usual analytical glint. Instead, there’s something softer, something almost nostalgic. “It’s not much,” you admit, drying your hands on a towel. “But it’s home. It’s all I can manage right now.”

Satoru turns to you, his expression shifting as he studies your face. “You’re doing a good job,” he says quietly. “Better than good, actually. Koji’s happy. That’s what matters.”

His words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. You’re so used to his playful jabs and over-the-top confidence that this genuine side of him feels… different. Why is he being so nice today? Does he feel bad about what happened earlier and he’s trying to kiss your ass? Yeah, must be that.  “Thanks,” you mutter quietly, meeting his gaze.

He casually lifts his shoulders up and down, the corners of his lips lifting into a small smile. “Don’t mention it.”

The moment lingers, the two of you standing in the small kitchen with the faint sound of cartoons playing in the background. It’s the closest you’ve felt to being on the same page in a long time. And though you don’t say it out loud, you’re grateful for it. That feeling only lasts a second before you remember just how different things are. Clearing your throat, you peek over to make sure Koji is engrossed in his show before speaking to Satoru. “Look, we have to talk.”

He nods, silently gesturing for you to continue. 

“I understand you want to give Koji everything you can because you have that luxury, but I don’t want him to grow up like that, okay? He can have gifts, but you’ve been buying him at least ten new things every time you see him, Satoru. He’s starting to ask me now for toys and books and I don’t have that money right now to spend leisurely. So please, just…keep the gift-giving to a minimum. Christmas is already coming up.”

Satoru listens, his arms crossed and head tilted slightly, a contemplative look replacing his usual playful expression. When you finish, he exhales softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I get it,” he says after a moment. “I do. I don’t mean to overdo it; I just...I don’t know, I feel like I missed out on so much already. Giving him things feels like a way to make up for that.”

You soften at his admission, but you hold firm. “I understand that, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t give him anything. It’s just… he needs to learn that he can’t always have everything he wants. He has to understand boundaries, Satoru. Life isn’t always going to hand him the world on a silver platter.”

Satoru ponders for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “But I also want you to understand that he’s a kid, my kid. If I want to buy him things, I’m going to do that. I don’t need to run that by you and ask for your permission, Y/N. You’ve already made enough decisions for me.”

The little remark doesn’t go unnoticed by you. How could it? He’s right, you know that. But does he really need to bring that up right now when you’re trying to handle things like a mature adult and parent? You’re trying to make things better right now, not take his snide comments to face. Your jaw tightens, but you take a calming breath, trying to keep your composure. “I’m not trying to control what you do for him, Satoru. I’m just asking you to think about how it impacts him—and me. I’m the one who has to deal with the fallout when he doesn’t understand why I can’t give him the same things you can.”

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the tension between you two growing heavier. “And whose fault is that?” he asks, his voice lower now. “You’re the one who kept him from me. I would’ve been there, Y/N. I could’ve helped you.”

There it is—the resentment bubbling to the surface again.

You set the dish towel down a little too firmly on the counter, turning fully to face him. “I know, okay? I know I screwed up by keeping him from you, but I can’t go back and change that. I’m doing the best I can now, and I need you to meet me halfway here, Satoru.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then, he sighs and looks away, his shoulders sagging slightly. “I’ll try,” he mutters, though his tone is tinged with bitter reluctance. “I’ll try to dial it back. But I’m not making any promises.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the best you’ll get from him right now. “That’s all I’m asking.”

The two of you stand in silence for a moment, the tension still thick but beginning to ease. The faint sound of Koji giggling at the TV filters into the kitchen, a reminder of what really matters. “I just want what’s best for him,” you say quietly, your voice softer now.

Satoru looks at you again, his expression hard to read. “So do I,” he replies, his tone matching yours.

And for a brief moment, it feels like you’re on the same side again. It reminds you that the only thing you two have in common is your son’s happiness and well-being and that Koji is the only reason you have this strained and awkward connection. Co-parenting. You don’t know how some couples did or are currently doing it. Even little conversations like ‘How’s your day?’ feel so forced with him, but you know it’s what comes with the job. What comes with hiding your kid and being tossed into the realm of co-parenting. You don’t have to like him, he doesn’t have to like you. You two are only in this for Koji—and that’s it.

So, why do you feel a small stab to your stomach when an annoyingly familiar name pops up on his screen with an incoming phone call? The picture of them kissing feels like it’s laughing right in your face, fingers curling into your palms as you coerce yourself to look away and pretend you’re busy with something else. Satoru keeps his voice hushed, like he’s trying to ensure you or Koji don’t listen. Only for a moment, you think: he’s acting like he has something to hide. And he shouldn’t. You two haven’t been together in years. But the fact that it seems like he’s trying to lessen whatever blow his relationship has on you, like he thinks—knows you’re not that happy with it, that makes you annoyed. Does he assume he still has the same effect on you? Does he think you still hold some secret feelings towards him?

Is he still as arrogant and conceited as he was before?

Maybe he believes that you’re still hung up on him. Yeah, must be. Because why else would he be apologizing to you after he hung up the phone with her, giving you that sympathetic gleam in his eyes that you recognize all too well. The same look he would give you after he knew he did something you didn’t like or didn’t approve of, and you would reprimand him for it. “I’m sorry, but I have to go soon.”

You nod, biting your tongue to hold back a snarky remark like why are you apologizing? I don’t care. “Just say bye to Koji.”

He nods, putting his phone in his pocket. Lips lying like he’s debating how to bring something up. “Before I go, I was thinking something. Since Christmas is coming up, I…I want to spend it with him, with you guys. If it’s okay, I’d like to come over then. We can cook and open presents together, I’ll bring what I bought for Koji that day.” His tone is cautious, almost like he’s unsure if the idea is good himself, but he pushed through somehow. 

You blink at him, caught off guard by the sudden suggestion. Spend Christmas together? Like some picture-perfect family? It almost feels laughable, considering the complicated mess the two of you have found yourselves in. But when you glance at Koji in the other room, blissfully unaware of the tangled web of adult emotions, your resolve softens. “Christmas?” you repeat, just to confirm you heard him right.

Satoru shifts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I mean, I know things aren’t exactly…simple between us. But I thought it’d be nice for Koji. You know, give him something to look forward to. A memory he can hold on to.”

There it is again—that maddening mix of arrogance and sincerity that only Satoru Gojo can pull off. You hate that he’s making sense. You hate even more that a part of you wants to say yes. Not for his sake, of course, but for Koji’s. “I don’t know,” you start warily, crossing your arms. “I don’t want him to get confused, Satoru. He’s young, but he’s not stupid. If we start doing things like this, he might think…” You trail off, not wanting to put it into words.

Satoru’s expression softens, and for a moment, you see the man you once loved—the one who could convince you of anything with just a look. “He won’t think anything, Y/N. He’ll just be happy. That’s all I want for him.” He hesitates before adding, “That’s all I want for us.”

You swallow hard, caught between the weight of the past and the fragile threads of the present. “I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice quieter now.

His lips twitch into a small smile, relieved. “That’s all I ask.” He doesn’t press further, doesn’t push his luck. Instead, he steps into the living room, kneeling to Koji’s level to say his goodbyes. You watch from the kitchen, arms still crossed, heart still conflicted. The sound of Koji’s chuckles and his own goodbye fills the space as Satoru ruffles his hair, promising to come back soon. When he straightens up and heads for the door, he glances back at you one last time, his gaze lingering in a way that makes your chest tighten.

“Think about it,” he repeats softly before stepping out into the cold. 

And just like that, the house feels a little emptier, a little quieter. You sigh, leaning against the counter as Koji returns to his cartoons, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

Christmas. Together. You’re not sure if it’s a recipe for disaster or something else entirely. But, it’s for Koji. It would be his first Christmas with his father whom he looks up to like he’s some kind of superhero. A super rich superhero. It would be wrong of you to deny him of that—them both of that. And like Satoru said, you’ve already made enough decisions for him. 

With a deep breath, you walk on over and sit next to your son on the floor, arm around his shoulders. “Koji?”

“Yes, Mama?” Koji hums back, eyes still fixated on the bright screen.

“I have a question for you.”

At this, he turns his head and looks at you, tilting it in a childish curiosity. “What?” 

You bring him closer to your side. “Christmas is coming up, are you excited?” He nods enthusiastically. You smile and continue. “So, would you like Papa to come over on Christmas? He’ll play games with you and—”

“Yes!” he shouts, scooting closer to your face as he expresses his excitement with vigor. “I want Papa to come! I want Papa to come!”

You laugh softly, though the knot in your chest tightens. Koji’s innocent enthusiasm is infectious, and his wide grin makes it hard to feel anything but love for your son. “Okay, okay,” you say, ruffling his hair gently. “I’ll let Papa know you want him here.”

Koji bounces up and down, clapping his hands together. “Yay! Can we make cookies? And put out milk for Santa? And open presents together?”

“Of course,” you assure him, pulling him into a warm hug, and kissing the top of his white nest of hair. “We’ll do all of that.” As you hold him, your heart aches a little. Koji doesn’t understand the complexities of the situation, nor should he. To him, Christmas is just about family and joy and all the things that make the world seem big and bright. But to you, it’s a delicate balancing act—a chance to give Koji the kind of Christmas he deserves while keeping your own emotions in check. The last thing you want to do is start an argument on that special day and ruin it for your son. Just pretend, that’s all. For Koji. For Koji.

Later that evening, after Koji is fast asleep and tucked in bed, you pick up your phone and hesitate for a moment before sending Satoru a quick message:

Y/N:

He wants you here. Don’t make me regret this.

You put the phone down and stare at the ceiling for a while, wondering what the holidays will bring. For Koji’s sake, you hope it’s nothing but joy. For your own sake, you’re not so sure. A few more days. The buildup, anxiety, anticipation, it’s all killing you slowly. On one hand, you don’t want to see Satoru and pretend you’re all a happy family. But on the other, you know Koji wants him and the same goes for Satoru. You’ve taken away enough opportunities. You’ve wedged a big enough gap between this already small family and if you make it larger, you fear you’ll screw things up for good. It’s the holiday season, it’s not time to sit around and mope about your shitty life. It’s not the time to compare yourself to others and it’s most certainly not the time to brew in jealousy about the fact that Satoru was spending his past Christmases with another woman.  

Shut that off, immediately. 

What it is time for is to be happy you’ve lived to see another year, and happy your son has had a great year. And finally, it’s time to start thinking more about other people’s feelings. Including Satoru’s. 

But, you’ve been doing that this entire time. Haven’t you?

Koji’s last day of school was Friday, now starting his break. “Thank you, Sana. I know the longer hours are a little annoying, but I’ll raise the pay by a dollar.”

“No need, Ms. Y/N,” the younger woman waves you off with a smile, in the middle of coloring with Koji. Her blue-dyed hair pulled up into a lazy bun. “I love Koji, I’ll watch him anytime you need me.”

Your smile turns sympathetic, letting out a small sigh and rubbing her shoulder. “You’re so sweet, thank you so much. You’re a big help around here.”

“It’s my pleasure.” She hugs you back and locks the door after you leave. The morning air feels nice to breathe in, not as cold as it was yesterday. You remind yourself to get a little gift for her. Maybe a gift basket? Or a gift card? Or more money, she’s a college student. 

Walking to work that morning is the same as always. Waiting for the same crosswalk to turn green, passing by the usual bakery and donut shop, seeing that same old man doing his own morning walk. It all feels mundane—normal. Something that feels very much needed, more often than it would have last month. You’re still not entirely used to how much things have been integrated into your life, for the better or worse. Either way, it’s your life now. Time to embrace that in some way. 

Walking into the cafe, you see a few of your co-workers readying and tidying up the place. Giving them a brief ‘good morning’ and nod, you head to the back to place your purse and coat down. It’s a quiet morning today, which is a little odd because usually, you would hear Hana’s fingers typing away on the keyboard to the computer. Or she would greet you hello. Turning your head, you see her; sitting at one of the chairs and completely engrossed in whoever she’s texting on her phone. She has a small, giddy smile on her face, letting out a quiet huff of laughter at what the other person said. “Hey?”

She snaps her head up, locking her phone and standing up. “Oh, hey. Sorry, didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” You raise a brow and chuckle, walking over and nodding your head in the direction of the phone in her hand. “Who’s that?”

“Oh…” her cheeks grow slightly pink, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear in a shy manner. “Um…no one. Just a guy.”

“A cute guy?” You wiggle your eyebrows, and she responds by elbowing you. 

“Not like that, Y/N. I barely know him.”

“For now.”

“He’s just a regular.” Hana plays it off, but the growing smile on her face juxtaposes her feigned nonchalance. 

You grin, leaning against the counter as you cross your arms. “A regular,” you repeat, emphasizing the words with air quotes. “But give it a week, and I bet I’ll be hearing wedding bells.”  

Hana rolls her eyes but can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto her face. “It’s nothing like that. We’ve only been talking for a few days.”  

“And yet here you are, all smiley and distracted at work,” you point out with a playful laugh. “Come on, spill. What’s his name? What does he do?”  

Hana hesitates for a moment before sighing, as though resigning herself to your curiosity. “His name is Naoya. Naoya Zenin,” she admits, the blush on her cheeks deepening. “I think he has something to do with business? Or real estate? He hasn’t said much about his job yet.”  

“Naoya Zenin,” you repeat, testing the name on your tongue. “Have I ever seen him?”

She shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. He’s only just recently started coming in because of something like ‘he saw a pretty girl at the cashier and couldn’t resist’.”

You huff. “Sounds like a smoother talker already.”

“Y/N!” Hana protests, swatting at your arm. “He’s not like that! He’s… actually really nice. Sweet, even.”  

You laugh, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it. But don’t think you’re off the hook. I’m going to need updates. Daily updates. I live vicariously through you when it comes to your love life, you know that.”  

She groans, but there’s a sparkle of excitement in her eyes. “Fine. But only if you promise to keep it between us.”  

“Scout’s honor,” you say with a smile, though you’re already mentally filing this away to tease her about later. “This top secret of yours about your little boy toy will stay between you and I only, no outsiders.”  

Hana nods, but the little smile on her face remains as she pockets her phone and joins you at the counter. Something tells you this Naoya guy might be worth hearing about after all. You think for a moment that it’s a little strange you haven’t ever seen or served him, but he obviously must’ve been in after you leave; sometime in the afternoon. 

You’re curious, rightfully so. Hana hasn’t talked about a guy since the last man, which was about a year ago. You’re glad to see her out on the market again, opening herself up. She and this Naoya guy have only been talking for a few days, but she obviously has taken a quick interest in him. You could only hope he’s feeling the same, and not messing with her feelings. It’s the protective friend in you speaking. 

Time flies before you know it, ringing up customers and making their beloved—but occasionally off coffee drinks. The small tune of the music playing on the speakers quells your mind, giving you something to hum to every now and then. The steady hum of the espresso machine, the clinking of mugs, and the soft murmur of conversations blend into the background, creating a comforting cadence. Customer after customer comes through, each order oddly more specific than the last. The overly tedious ones make you concerned sometimes. There are a few ordinary ones, of course. 

“An oat milk latte, but can you add three pumps of hazelnut, and one pump of caramel, and make it extra hot? Oh, and no foam, please.”  

You resist the urge to sigh, offering a polite smile instead. “Of course, coming right up.”  

Hana, stationed beside you, exchanges an amused glance. “How do they come up with these combinations?” she whispers as she froths milk for a cappuccino.  

“Beats me,” you reply, carefully measuring out the hazelnut syrup. “But hey, keeps us employed, right?”  

The lively beat playing over the speakers catches your attention, and you continue to hum along absentmindedly as you finish up the drink. Moments like these make the chaos of the morning rush feel a little more manageable—a small comfort amidst the constant motion.  

By the time noon rolls around, the rush has died down, leaving the café bathed in a peaceful lull. The scent of freshly brewed coffee still lingers in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of pastries from the display case. You glance at Hana, who’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone during the quiet moment.  

“You doing okay over there?” you ask, wiping down the counter.  

She looks up, a sheepish grin on her face. “Yeah, just checking my messages.”  

“From Naoya?” you tease, and her blush tells you all you need to know.  

As she laughs and shakes her head, the door chime rings, signaling a new customer. You straighten up, slipping back into your friendly barista persona as you greet the newcomer.  

“Welcome! What can I get started for you today?”

It’s a woman, nicely dressed and a bit older. There are some graying hairs at the front, but she holds her aged wrinkles well. Smiling at you with red-stained lips, lifting her sunglasses up to rest them on her head. “Hello, how are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

“Good,” she hums, eyes wandering up to the menu. “This is my first time here, may I ask what you recommend?”

You nod. “Our cookie butter latte is highly recommended, along with our raspberry matcha and horchata latte.”

The woman’s red lips curl into a thoughtful smile as she considers your suggestions. “Cookie butter latte? That does sound intriguing,” she says, tapping a manicured finger against her chin. “Is it too sweet?”

“It’s a bit on the sweeter side, but we can adjust it if you prefer something less sugary,” you offer.

“Hmm… I think I’ll try it as is,” she decides, returning her gaze to you. “A small one, please. Oh, and can you make it extra hot?”

“Of course.” You punch in her order and give her the total.

As she hands over a crisp bill, she glances around the café, taking in the cozy décor and warm atmosphere. “This place is lovely,” she remarks. “Do you enjoy working here?”

You smile, sliding her change across the counter. “I do. It’s a nice little escape from everything else. And the regulars make it fun.”

“I can imagine,” she says, her voice carrying a certain kindness. “It seems like the perfect place for a little pick-me-up.”

You chuckle softly, grabbing a cup to start up her order. “Of course.”

She watches you make her drink, which is normal for you since many other customers do that too. Either to ensure you’re doing everything right, or that you’re not messing up their order. Or simply they just want to know how to make that drink at home. This woman continues the conversation with you, however. “I love your necklace, it’s very beautiful.”

You glance down at the gold moon, peering back up at her with a thankful nod. “Oh, thank you. I got it as a gift from a co-worker last year.”

“It’s lovely.” She responds, keeping her holy smile on her face. You return the favor before finishing up her drink. Securing the lid on top and sliding a cover on the middle before turning back to her, and handing the drink over. 

“Here you go, Miss. Have a good day.”

The woman takes the cup, but instead of leaving, she lingers, her eyes scanning the café again before settling on you. “You’re very efficient,” she says, her tone thoughtful. “And polite. Not everyone has that kind of composure while juggling multiple tasks.”  

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, slightly caught off guard. Compliments like that aren’t exactly rare, but there’s something in her tone that feels... deliberate. 

She sets the cup down on the counter, her red lips curving into a subtle smile. “Forgive me if this seems forward, but are you happy working here?”  

The question startles you, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. It feels a little invading, but you’re not the type to be outwardly rude to a customer. Unless provoked; but even then, you hold your composure well. “I... I like it. The people are nice, and it’s steady work.”  

“I see,” she says, nodding slowly. “You seem like someone who could do more, though. Someone with potential.”  

You blink, not sure whether to take her words as a compliment or a critique. “Well, I try my best,” you say, keeping your tone neutral., lips pursing awkwardly. 

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a sleek black business card, sliding it across the counter toward you. “If you’re ever looking for a change, my company is always in need of someone capable. We’re hiring for a personal secretary position right now.”  

Your eyes flicker down to the card, where her name and title are printed in elegant gold lettering. Beneath that, the name of a foreign, but well-known corporation—one you’d only ever dreamt of working for.  

Evelyn Carlisle. 

Founder & CEO of:

Carlisle & Harlow. 

Carlisle & Harlow is a luxury lifestyle and real estate industry that specializes in high-end properties, exclusive concierge services, and premium lifestyle management for elite clientele. It has a reputation for catering to the wealthy, ensuring that every detail of its clients’ lives is managed to perfection.

You hesitate, staring at the card. Eyes wide, lips parting and closing in surprise and confusion. It feels like a golden ticket has just been thrust in your face. And for what reason? You have absolutely no idea. “I—I don’t know…”  

“It’s just a thought,” she says smoothly, picking up her latte again. “You’re under no obligation, but I think you’d do wonderfully. If you’re interested, give me a call.”  

Before you can respond, she offers you another one of those warm, knowing smiles and turns toward the door. The second her back is to you, she’s on her phone, texting something. “Have a good day, dear.”  

You stand there for a moment, holding the card in your hand, unsure of what to think. The logo on the card gleams in the café’s warm light, and your mind races with possibilities—and doubts. Could this really be an opportunity, or is it too good to be true? How did this just happen so…suddenly? If her business wasn’t so well known, you would’ve assumed you were being scammed and thrown the card away as soon as she left. But, it feels like an opportunity, nonetheless. 

A bright opportunity that screams money. 

A part of you is still very much hesitant about what just happened, but the desperate part of you is telling your brain to make that phone call as soon as you have the chance. Just think about it, if all of this is authentic, you would have a good-paying job. No more rushing back and forth between two, no more sleep deprivation (hopefully), and you would be a bit more stable. Maybe if you save up enough, you could buy a new place. 

Okay, thinking too far ahead. 

You pocket the card, smiling to yourself. For once, it feels like a small beam of light is being cast your way. Like you’re being chosen. It turns your stomach in delight and excitement. 

But, you can’t stop the lingering, pressing question. 

Why did that feel a little…organized?

“And this here, we have our newest version of RavenX.” 

Yamato nods in astonishment, watching the mechanical crow tilt its head, the red circle in its eye prominent as the crow blinks. Its purple wings demonstrate a high altitude while the screen in front of him and his son shows the view of what the crow is seeing. Satoru stands cross-armed next to his father, silently praising the meticulously engineered drone. 

Mei Mei steps forward, her tone confident and composed as she gestures toward the screen showcasing the RavenX drone's perspective. “The RavenX is designed for both surveillance and tactical operations. Enhanced AI ensures decision-making capabilities in real-time, and the thermal imaging allows it to identify targets even in low-visibility conditions.”  

She turns to Yamato with a faint smirk. “It can operate autonomously for up to 48 hours without recharge and has a flight speed that outpaces any similar product on the market. Its compact size makes it nearly undetectable by radar.”  

Yamato’s lips curl into a subtle smile as he leans closer to examine the live feed on the screen. “Impressive,” he murmurs, nodding slowly. “And you’ve managed to keep the design sleek. Functionality without sacrificing form.”  

Satoru tilts his head slightly, his usual business-y tone replaced with one of genuine curiosity. “What about security? How resistant is it to hacking or signal jamming?”  

Mei Mei casts him a sidelong glance, clearly prepared for the question. “The RavenX operates on an encrypted frequency that’s nearly impossible to intercept. Even if someone managed to breach it, the drone has an auto-lockout protocol. It will wipe its data and return to base immediately.”  

Yamato raises a brow, clearly impressed. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mei Mei.”

Mei Mei keeps her poised smile, her confidence unmistakable. “Why thank you, Mr. Gojo. The RavenX isn’t just a surveillance drone—but it’s a masterpiece of precision engineering. With a flight range of over 500 miles and an adaptive AI capable of learning terrain in real-time, it ensures maximum efficiency in hostile or unpredictable environments.”  

Yamato leans forward slightly, adjusting his glasses, his expression one of genuine intrigue. “Interesting. And the resolution on this feed?”  

“4K with thermal imaging,” Mei Mei replies, tapping the screen to zoom in on a distant object. The clarity is undeniable. “It’s designed to thrive in low-visibility conditions. Perfect for search and rescue, military applications, or even high-security industrial work. The AI is coded for rapid response to potential threats—watch this.”  

She waves to one of her team members, who approaches the drone with a metal rod. As soon as the drone’s sensors pick up the movement, it lets out a synthetic caw and gracefully maneuvers upward, evading the perceived threat.  

Satoru raises his brows, shifting his weight. “Not bad,” he murmurs, clearly impressed but keeping his tone casual.  

Mei Mei tilts her head, catching his eye. “Not bad? That’s high praise coming from the Satoru Gojo. I’ll take it.” Mei Mei clears her throat, tucking some hair behind her ear. “We’ve also designed it to respond to its owner’s call. Like this.” She whistles and quickly, the crow swoops down, landing on her outstretched arm as if it were an actual animal. Mei Mei’s grin deepens as the RavenX perches gracefully on her arm, its wings retracting with a faint mechanical hum. She lightly taps the drone’s head, and its eyes blink, the red circle fading into a neutral glow. "Fully programmable for voice commands," she explains, "and adaptable to any user profile. It recognizes not just my call but also pre-set vocal patterns. This makes it irreplaceable for high-security operations or personal defense."

Yamato watches the display with a mixture of intrigue and admiration. “Quite remarkable of you and your team,” he states, walking forward to eye the drone better. “How does it differentiate between allies and potential threats? Is the AI pre-programmed, or does it learn through interaction?”  

Mei Mei nods, her expression one of quiet pride. “The AI starts with a baseline program, but it continuously evolves through machine learning. It identifies allies by biometrics, such as voice and facial recognition. And in cases where immediate action is required, it calculates probabilities based on behavior patterns. For instance—"  

She steps closer to Satoru, her smile taking on a sly edge. “Care to test it, Mr. Gojo?”  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. “You want me to scare your fancy bird?”  

Mei Mei chuckles. “If you think you can.”  

Satoru steps forward, his presence commanding as always, and makes a sudden, exaggerated swipe toward the drone. In an instant, the RavenX lets out a sharp synthetic caw and takes flight, circling above them with its crimson eye scanning. Mei Mei whistles again, and the drone lands back on her arm, unbothered and perfectly still.  

“Responsive and calm under pressure,” she states, stroking the metallic head. “Exactly what you’d want in the field. Or at home, for that matter.”  

Yamato smiles faintly, exchanging a glance with Satoru. “What do you think, Satoru?”  

Satoru tilts his head, his head tilting in thought. “I think it has personality. Not bad, Mei Mei. Not bad at all.”  

“High praise,” Mei Mei quips, lowering the drone to its docking station. “But don’t just take my word for it. Schedule the live demonstration, and I’ll prove that the RavenX is not just another toy—it’s the future.”  

“Seems like it’ll bring in great revenue for Corvid Dynamics,” Satoru hums, the faintest flicker of amusement in his tone. He’s testing her, poking at the edges of her confidence.  

Mei Mei’s lips curve into a slow, calculating smile, her gaze sharp enough to slice through steel. “Oh, Mr. Gojo,” she drawls, her voice smooth but laced with something darker. “If there’s one thing you should’ve learned by now, it’s that I always get my payday. No matter the cost.”  

Her words hang heavy in the air, a subtle challenge, as if daring him to uncover just how far she’d go.

Satoru’s brows knit slightly, facing her cockiness with his own growing peculiarity and slight indignation. Yamato’s eyes gleam with interest, and he nods. “We’ll be in touch.”  

As Mei Mei leaves the room, Yamato leans back, hands in his pockets, his gaze lingering on the drone. “I like her,” he says with a casual chuckle. “But I like the bird more.” 

“You do realize she’s been attempting to sell us the same product for years now, right?” Satoru replies, giving his father a look. “Not much has changed except for her persistence and lack of connections with other investors. She’s desperate.” 

Yamato's eyes remain fixed on the docking station where the multiple of the RavenX rest, their red eyes dimmed. He hums thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin. “Desperation doesn’t always mean a bad deal, Satoru. Sometimes it means someone is willing to give more than they take.”  

Satoru scoffs lightly, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Or it means we’re being pitched a polished-up version of the same old tech because she can’t get anyone else to bite.” His tone is sharp, but there’s a glint of curiosity in his gaze as he glances back at the drone.  

“You underestimate her,” Yamato replies evenly, turning to face his son. “Mei Mei might not have the connections now, but her ingenuity is undeniable. Persistence like hers doesn’t come without talent.”  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his frown faint. “So what’s the play? You want to throw her a bone? Out of pity?”  

Yamato chuckles, shaking his head. “No. I want to see how far she’s willing to go to prove herself. Desperation has a way of bringing out either brilliance or recklessness. Either one can be valuable… if handled correctly.”  

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, his posture relaxing but his mind clearly working. “You think she’s banking everything on this deal?”  

“Possibly,” Yamato replies. “And if that’s the case, it’s an opportunity for us to gain leverage. Let her prove the RavenX’s worth. If she succeeds, we gain a strong partner. If she doesn’t, we gain insight into her limitations.”  

Satoru scoffs. “So we’re dangling the carrot. Making her sweat a little?”  

Yamato’s expression hardens slightly, his tone measured. “We don’t play games, Satoru. We make calculated investments. Mei Mei is smart, but she needs to prove she can be consistent. We don’t just invest in technology—we invest in people.”  

“She’s a money-hungry woman who has proven to throw her own family under the bus.” Satoru huffs, face scrunching in disgust. “Why would we want to do business with that?”

Yamato gives his son a long, measured look, his expression sharpening slightly. “And what makes you think she’s any different from any other businessperson out there? Everyone has a past, Satoru. You can’t throw someone out because of a few bad decisions or some family drama. You need to look at the bigger picture. Her motivations, her drive. If she’s willing to risk it all for this, we need to understand why—and if it’s worth it for us.”

Satoru’s eyes flash with irritation, but he keeps his tone steady. “And what if it’s not? What if she’s just too volatile? We don’t need someone who’s going to blow up in our faces when things get rough. Besides, we need to be careful of who we trust and partner with. Anyone of these people could be the leaker. What if she’s the reason my family has been put in danger?”

“It’s not your family if you’re not married.” Yamato simply utters, turning to walk out the building. 

Satoru tenses his jaw, following his father out into the cold December air; each wearing long black coats. “Don’t. We’re talking about my son and his mother, it doesn’t matter if we’re not married. They’re still valuable to me.”

Yamato stops in his tracks, his breath visible in the frigid air, and his gaze lingers on Satoru, weighing his words carefully. “I know they’re valuable to you. But you have to separate your emotions from business, Satoru. This isn’t about family drama. This is about leverage, trust, and the bigger game. You can’t afford to let personal stakes cloud your judgment when there’s so much on the line.

Satoru’s hands ball into fists, his frustration evident. “And what about loyalty? What about looking out for the people who matter to us? You can’t pretend it’s all just numbers and strategy when lives are at risk.”

Yamato turns his body fully, looking at his son with an intensity that’s both fatherly and businesslike. “You’ve got to protect what’s yours, yes. But you have to know when to fight and when to step back. Mei Mei is a risk, but so is anyone else. We make calculated moves, not emotional ones.”

Satoru exhales sharply, his breath mixing with the cold air. “Calculated moves...You keep saying that like it makes everything easier. But what if she’s too dangerous? What if this deal blows up in our faces?”

He sighs. “Listen, okay? You’re right,” Yamato says, his voice quiet but firm. “Koji and that woman are valuable. But there’s a difference between protecting them and letting fear cloud your judgment. If we start making decisions based on fear of the unknown, we risk losing everything.” His gaze hardens slightly, the unspoken weight of responsibility hanging in the air. “We need to think strategically. If Mei Mei’s involved in this leak, we’ll find out. But we can’t let that stop us from moving forward.”

Satoru clenches his fists, frustration building as the cold air bites at his skin. “Her name is Y/N. And I don’t want to be blindsided, Dad. I don’t want to end up paying for a mistake I didn’t see coming.”

“I know,” Yamato replies. “And that’s why we don’t rush into anything. We take the time to assess, to understand what’s really at stake here. If she’s the leaker, then we’ll handle it. If she’s not… then we make sure she’s a valuable asset to this company, and we don’t let her get too comfortable. At the end of the day, our real issue is with the mastermind behind all this, who wanted it out for us—you—in the first place.” Yamato’s face hardens, his voice low but firm. “And this is a chance you take in this world. It’s not all clean and easy, Satoru. But in the end, it’s about understanding the person you’re dealing with. You don’t just protect your assets—you protect the people who can help you build something greater.”

Satoru doesn’t respond right away, his jaw tight as he processes his father’s words. The snow starts to fall lightly around them, a silent reminder of the cold world they’re navigating. 

“I’m not letting anyone—especially someone like Mei Mei—jeopardize Koji,” Satoru finally says, his voice more resolute now, though there’s a layer of uncertainty still lingering. “I can play the game, but I’m not playing with fire just because someone’s trying to get their foot in the door.”

Yamato watches him for a moment, his eyes unreadable, before nodding slowly. “I know. But sometimes, Satoru, you’ve got to light the fire to control it. You don’t have to trust Mei Mei right away—but you’ll need to see her for who she truly is before you make your final move.”

The two of them continue walking in silence, the sound of their footsteps crunching in the snow a steady rhythm. In the distance, the city skyline looms, full of promises, dangers, and opportunities that will inevitably pull them further into the storm. The black Escalade waiting for them in the distance. “I’m going to keep my eye on her. I won’t sacrifice my own for the sake of business. Unlike you.”

Satoru speaks with finality, walking ahead of his father and getting into the backseat as the driver opens the door for them. Yamato, watching his son’s back, feels a twinge of guilt at the truth behind his son’s honesty. But he hides that behind his usual serious expression, shaking away his guiltiness with frustration. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

The two men don’t even make it three steps back into the first floor of the office before Himari is bounding up to her boyfriend. Arms instantly wrapping around his neck and she shamelessly latches her lips onto his. Yamato, along with a few other working employees look away, his father not bothering to hide his displeased sound. Satoru, caught off guard, pulls away, hands to her shoulders. “Himari, what are you doing?”

“Oh, what? Now you don’t want me to kiss you in front of people?” The bitterness in her voice doesn’t go undetected, sparing Yamato a glance before batting her lashes up at Satoru. “I was waiting for you, I didn’t know you went out.”

“Because I didn’t tell you.”

“And because you’re still keeping secrets from me.”

He really doesn’t want to argue with her right now, especially here. Instead, he sighs, grabbing hold of her hand and leading her to the elevator. “Please don’t make a scene, okay? I’m working.”

Himari’s expression hardens as the elevator doors close, turning to Satoru. “Oh, ‘a scene’? Is that what you think it is? You’re my boyfriend—mine. If I want to kiss you, I’ll do that.”

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, exhaling in frustration as the elevator ascends. The tension between them is palpable, and he knows that Himari’s possessiveness is starting to bleed into every aspect of their relationship. He’s never been one for confrontation with her, but he can feel the cracks starting to form, the weight of the secrets, and the pressure of expectations pulling at him. “Look, Himari,” he starts, his voice low but firm. “You’re right, you’re my girlfriend, and I don’t mind being affectionate with you. But not like that—especially not in front of my team and father. I don’t need the office to think we’re some kind of soap opera.”

Himari crosses her arms over her chest, her lips pressed together in a tight line. “I’m not the one making this difficult, Satoru. You’re the one hiding things from me, playing these little games. I’m here, aren’t I? I’m by your side, but you’re always pushing me away. And for what, her?” She dramatically scoffs at the idea of you. 

Satoru focuses on the rising numbers of the floors, willing himself to handle this calmly. “We’re not talking about her right now, Himari.”

“But you’re thinking of her.”

They get to the right floor and Satoru quickly steps out, making his way to his office. Himari is right on his tail, clinging to his arm. 

Satoru pulls the door open to his office, his movements stiff as he enters, trying to shake off the tension from the elevator. Himari follows closely behind, the weight of her presence already grating on his nerves. The office is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside the large windows. 

He sets his briefcase down on the desk, his mind still swirling with the earlier conversation with his father. Mei Mei’s drones, the possible business partnership—everything feels like it’s spinning out of his control. But with Himari here, focusing on her, is the last thing he wants to do. She steps in front of him, hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. “You’re avoiding me now?” Her voice is sharp, tinged with a mix of frustration and hurt.

Satoru exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not avoiding you, Himari. I’m just trying to focus on work.” His words are clipped, and tired. 

Her gaze softens, but there's still a touch of bitterness lingering. "Work, huh?" she repeats. "Or is it her? Are you really telling me there's nothing going on with you two? She was at your house the other day, acting as if she lived there." 

Satoru closes his eyes briefly, willing himself to stay calm. “She doesn’t live there, Himari. And I don’t have time for this right now. I’m dealing with a lot. I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart.” His tone is low, strained. 

Himari’s expression falters for a second, the usual arrogance in her stance dimming just slightly. “I just want to know where I stand with you. I want you to be open with me. I want to trust you.” Her voice softens. 

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not hiding anything, Himari. But there are things I need to handle before I can talk about us. I need you to trust me on that.”

She looks at him for a long beat, her lips pursed in thought. Finally, she steps closer, her fingers brushing against his chest. “I want to trust you, Satoru. But you’re making it hard.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, the sharp edge replaced with a quiet vulnerability. 

He’s silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. The weight of her words presses down on him, but he knows that there’s too much at stake right now. With everything that’s going on—this new possible business deal, the leaks, the company’s future, his son, and you—he can’t afford to focus on this relationship as much as he might want to. 

“I’m doing the best I can,” he says quietly, voice almost too soft for her to hear. “But you need to understand, Himari… it’s not just about us. There are bigger things happening right now.”

She stares at him, eyes searching his face, as if trying to decode every emotion there. “Promise me something, then. Just give me that little bit of reassurance.” Her hands find home on his cheeks, tilting his face down toward hers. “Nothing is going on between you and her. You’re still mine, right?”

Satoru hesitates, feeling the heat of her hands on his cheeks, the pressure of her gaze locking him in place. Her words hang in the air, a demand wrapped in uncertainty, and for a moment, he’s unsure of how to respond. He wants to reassure her, wants to calm the storm brewing in her eyes, but the truth is far more complicated than a simple promise. There’s only one answer he must give her. He swallows, his thoughts swirling. “Himari, you know I’m not good with promises,” he murmurs, his voice low and tinged with frustration. “But I can tell you this: there’s nothing between me and her.” He forces his gaze to meet hers, trying to convey the sincerity in his words, even though the uncertainty weighs on him. “I’m still here. And I’m still yours.”

Her eyes soften, but the tension doesn’t fully lift. She searches his face for any sign of hesitation, any clue that might betray him. For a long moment, they stand there, her hands still cradling his face, as if willing him to prove himself. As if the longer they stay like this, his words might actually feel more like the truth than a bandaid. Finally, she nods, though there’s a flicker of doubt in her gaze. “I want to believe you, Satoru. I really do.”

“You really didn’t have to buy us presents.” You mutter, opening the door to your visitor. Still making sure to keep your volume to a low since Koji is sleeping in his room. 

Suguru smiles warmly, stepping in and shaking off the snow before placing two presents under the tree. One for your son, and one for you. “It’s okay, Y/N. I wanted to.”

It’s pretty late at night, but Suguru had told you he had a pretty busy week up ahead and this was really the only time he could drop off his presents for you and Koji. You showered and ate a quick dinner before he came. Muscles sore and feet tired from standing all day, but you still find it in you to show your gratitude. “I appreciate it, really.” Closing and locking the door behind you, you sigh. “I feel bad, I haven’t gotten anyone a gift besides Koji. I’ll buy you something with my next paycheck.”

Suguru chuckles softly, his eyes warm with understanding. "You don’t have to worry about that, Y/N. I don’t expect anything in return." He gestures to the presents under the tree. "This is just a small token of appreciation, nothing more. It’s Christmas, everyone deserves a gift."

You feel a faint blush creeping up your neck at his words. The sincerity in his tone makes you feel both grateful and a little guilty. It’s hard to accept his kindness sometimes, especially when you feel like you’re not able to give back as much. “Well, thank you again,” you say quietly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “You didn’t have to go through all the trouble.”

Suguru gives you a reassuring smile. "It’s no trouble at all. I’m just happy to see you and Koji doing well." He glances toward the hallway where Koji’s room is. "How’s he been? Sleeping well?"

You nod, walking over to the couch and sitting down with a sigh. "Yeah, he’s been good. He hasn’t been napping during the day lately, so I guess he’s just getting more tired at night. Which is good, I suppose. More time to rest for me too." You run a hand through your hair, glancing at the tree in the corner. "I just wish I had more time to relax… but you know how it is."

Suguru sits down beside you, his posture relaxed. "I know exactly how it is," he says with a knowing look. "But you’re doing the best you can. That’s all anyone can ask for." He pauses, then adds softly, "And I’ll always be here to help when you need it."

You give him a small, thankful smile, the weight of the day finally beginning to lift a little. "Thanks, Suguru. I really mean it."

He nods, his smile warm but gentle. "Of course. You’re not alone in this."

As you sit there, the quiet comfort of his presence fills the room. You know that no matter how much you try to do on your own, Suguru will always be there, offering support when you need it most. He’s always been like that. You remember times when you and Satoru would fight and Suguru would help comfort you. It’s something you had come to rely on, and while it’s not always easy to accept help, you’re starting to understand that sometimes, it’s okay to lean on the people who care about you. That relationship between you two still feels strained, though—weird. 

“So…” you start, wanting to fill the empty silence with something. “How was your day today?”

Suguru tilts his head slightly, his expression thoughtful for a moment before he answers. “Busy, as usual. Lots of meetings, a bit of paperwork, and some follow-ups. Nothing out of the ordinary. But it’s nice to finally have a bit of a breather now.” He chuckles softly. “I’ve been looking forward to this more than I probably should’ve. Being able to just sit down and talk without worrying about the next thing on my to-do list.”

You smile a little, appreciating his honesty. “Sounds like you’ve earned the break, then.” You stretch slightly, feeling the strain in your muscles from standing all day. “I get that feeling too sometimes, when everything feels like it’s moving too fast and I can’t catch my breath.”

Suguru nods in understanding, his gaze gentle. “I know exactly what you mean. It’s hard to slow down when there’s so much going on. But you do a good job of juggling everything. I admire that about you.” His voice is low, and there’s a sincerity in it that makes your chest tighten a little, a smile hiding on your lips. 

You glance down at your hands, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “I try my best… but it’s not always easy. Some days, I feel like I’m failing at everything.”

Suguru reaches over, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You’re not failing, Y/N. Trust me. You’re doing everything you can, and that’s more than enough. I see how hard you work, how much you care for Koji. You’re doing a great job, even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

His words settle over you like a warm blanket, easing the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. You take a deep breath, trying to push away the doubts that have been lingering in your mind. “I appreciate it, Suguru. I really needed to hear that.”

He gives you a soft smile, the kind that says everything without needing words. “Anytime.”

You make eye contact with him, feeling a blizzard of strange emotions pile down onto you. The smile he adorns causes your own to come out of hiding, and before you know it, he’s softly chuckling. Looking back down at his feet. The sound of his laugh causes your heart to beat just a little faster. Clearing your throat. “You can take your coat off. I have some leftover wine.” In your head, you’re confused as to why you suddenly made that suggestion; mentally face-palming. “Unless you drove here, then never mind.”

“I won’t get drunk off some wine,” he shakes his head, standing and stripping himself of his coat to reveal a cotton white shirt. “Lead the way.”

With a small, but amused huff, you get up from the couch and walk over to the kitchen. Reaching up to open the cabinet you don’t request very often. The hem of your shirt rises slightly, revealing a teasing hint of your lower stomach. Suguru forces his eyes to stay on your hands, biting the inside of his cheek. 

You pull out the bottle of wine, twisting the cap off and setting it down next to two glasses on the counter. As you pour, you feel the weight of Suguru’s gaze on you, though you don’t look at him directly. The air in the kitchen feels different now, charged in a way that makes the space seem smaller, and more intimate. “You didn’t have to bring me a gift, but I’m glad you did,” you say, trying to break the tension with casual words. You pour the wine, handing him a glass first. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

Suguru takes the glass with a smile, the faintest trace of something unreadable in his eyes. “I told you I didn’t bring it to get anything in return. It’s just a little something to show I care.”

His tone is steady, but there’s a subtle undercurrent that makes your heart race. You try to mask your unease with a small grin as you take a sip of the wine, letting its warmth settle into you. “I appreciate that. I really do.” 

You move to lean against the counter, feeling suddenly self-conscious in the silence that hangs between you two. Suguru stands a bit closer than you’re used to, the space between you two too small now. His eyes flicker to your lips for a second before he quickly looks away, but the faint moment lingers in the air, thick with unspoken words. You let the wine sit on your tongue a bit longer, trying to steady your thoughts. Something has shifted—maybe it’s the closeness, or maybe it’s just the quiet understanding between the two of you. But you’re keenly aware of how his presence fills the room, how his proximity makes everything feel heightened.

“How have things been with you and Satoru?”

Holding back a grimace, you take another sip. “I mean, as good as it can be, you know?”

Suguru nods, his expression softening as he leans against the counter, his arms crossed. “I get it. Relationships are complicated, especially when you’re balancing so much already.”

You exhale a quiet sigh, setting the glass down a little too firmly. “Yeah. There’s always something, isn’t there? Between work, Koji, and everything…it’s hard. Stressful and overwhelming.”

Suguru watches you take your sip, frowning slightly in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s a lot, but I can’t imagine being in your position. But it’s one day at a time, you’ll get through this. It’s easier said than done, but you could do it. You have help now. Satoru, Shoko, me.”

When you look at him, you feel yourself once again slipping into a tranquil state. Mirroring his kind facial expressions with one of your own. His words feel like a soothing balm, it feels like you’re being heard—being listened to in who knows how long? There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind that warns you of the invisible line. Playfully, you nudge his arm. “Okay, preacher.”

He scoffs softly, nudging you back. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You push him again, he follows suit. It’s a small, spirited moment that makes you feel light. That soon comes to an end when your glass, half-full of red wine, spills not only onto the counter but onto his shirt—leaving the pristine canvas with a circle splotch of deep maroon. You gasp. “Shit! I–I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head as he looks down at the stain on his shirt. “It’s fine, Y/N. Really. It’s just a shirt.” He steps back a little, his hands raised in mock surrender as he waves off your apology, setting down his glass. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve had worse.”

You feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment, quickly grabbing a dish towel to dab at the stain, though you know it won’t help much at this point. "I’m so clumsy. I didn’t mean to—"

“Hey, hey.” Suguru cuts you off with a laugh, gently placing a hand on your wrist to stop you from dabbing at the stain. “It’s alright. Really. Just... relax.” He pauses for a moment before adding with a joking grin, “Though I might need a new shirt, I’ll survive.”

Your eyes meet his, and for a second, you see that familiar warmth in his gaze, the kind that always made you feel safe. The kind that, in another life, might’ve made you believe in something more between the two of you. But just as quickly, you pull yourself back, reminding yourself of the boundaries you’ve set. The ones that have to stay intact. “I’ll grab a new shirt for you,” you murmur, still embarrassed but trying to laugh it off. You turn toward your bedroom, your heart racing a little faster than before.

Suguru doesn’t stop you, though you hear him muttering something about "next time, at least aim for the carpet," as you walk away. The air between you both feels thick with something unspoken. You open your drawer for a fresh shirt, sifting out the biggest one you know you have. A simple black short sleeve you could only hope will suffice. Walking back out to the kitchen, you frown. “That was an accident, Suguru. Really.” 

“I know,” he nods, meeting your frantic worries with his own set of serenity. “Thank you for the shirt.” 

His hands move quicker than you had expected, your pupils blowing wide and holding back a startled noise. You gulp hard, forcing your eyes to focus on a random spot on your kitchen wall. However, you can’t help them wandering every so often as he unbuttons the now red-stained shirt. Your throat almost dries at the peek of his collarbone. Again, looking away. Don’t, that’s not right. 

But if it’s not right, why does it feel like the opposite? Why is it suddenly making you nervous—flustered? You even jolt a bit at his calming voice interjecting the silence. “It’s alright, you didn’t mean it.”

You can only offer a weak nod, not trusting your voice to give away your inner turmoil and confusion. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck, your heart thudding too loudly in your chest as Suguru drops his shirt onto the counter. His movements are unhurried, and calm, as if he doesn’t notice the storm brewing inside you.

Or maybe he does.

Holding your hands together awkwardly, peeking back over to see if he’s done. You almost wish you hadn’t. His perfect chest greets you hello. Abs practically beckoning to be felt up on and his tan nipples make you shake away an intrusive thought. 

What are you thinking? This is Suguru for crying out loud!

Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve been particularly…achy lately. You haven’t gotten some in quite a long time and this is literally the first time you’re seeing a man’s naked chest in front of you since Satoru. Since his best friend. God, you’re so weak. 

You hold out the clean shirt for him. “Thanks,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing against yours as he slips the black tee on. You wish he hadn’t. It was the largest thing you had in your place, but still too small for Suguru. So it fits more tight, more cropped, cutting off just after his belly button—just before his v-line. 

You look down, pretending to busy yourself with wiping the already spotless countertop. Anything to avoid the way your pulse quickens under his steady gaze. “I’m sorry.”

“You already apologized,” he smoothly waves you off with a comforting smile, walking over to the hamper you pointed out and dropping the dirty shirt in. Walking back over to the kitchen, he notices the fact that you seem to be looking anywhere but him. 

And when he sees the pretty blush that you hide on your cheeks, his insides stir like a washing machine. Clearing his throat apologetically, hands rubbing in a fidgety manner. He turns his head to the side. “Sorry.”

“No,” you protest, a little too quickly. “…it’s okay, I…I didn’t mind.”

The silence that follows feels so loud. You both don’t know what to say, if there is anything to say in the first place. You’ve just seen him half-naked. Thinking about that, actually processing it, it makes you feel hot. It should be nothing, yet you’re acting like a hormonal teenager.

But, he looked so…good.

You peek over at him from the corner of your eye, distinguishing him doing the exact same thing you are. You two look away at the same time, staring at the sink in front of you guys. Maybe the silence is better than speaking. It stretches out, heavy and palpable. It’s not awkward, but it’s loaded with something that neither of you can name. You catch yourself sneaking a glance at Suguru again, only to find that he’s doing it too—his gaze drifting away when it meets yours. You swallow hard, trying to regain some semblance of normalcy. “You, uh... you’re comfortable, right?” you manage, focusing on something, anything other than the tension you feel growing between you two.

Suguru doesn’t respond immediately, and when he does, it’s with a small smile that seems more like a reassurance to himself than anything else. “Yeah, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.”

You nod, still not looking directly at him. The words feel like they hang in the air a bit longer than they should. This is just a friend helping you out, you remind yourself. This is just Suguru. But the more you try to convince yourself, the less you’re sure you believe it. The heat in your neck refuses to fade, and you feel restless, a sense of yearning you can’t quite place crawling up your spine.

Suguru clears his throat again, a bit sheepishly this time. “Hey, uh… would it be alright if I stayed a little longer? I promise I won’t make it weird. I know we’re both probably feeling… well, something right now, but I don’t want to just leave like this.”

Your heart skips a beat, not sure if it’s the wine or just him standing so close to you that’s making your head spin. You don’t know how to respond. You want to say something to ease the growing discomfort between you, but it’s like every word feels loaded now, heavy with implications. The space between you feels too small, even though you know it shouldn’t. You glance up at him, meeting his eyes. The vulnerability in his gaze is unmistakable. Suguru is there—as much as you are—and whatever this thing is, it’s lingering in the air between you, waiting to either break or blossom.

“I—” You stop yourself, trying to catch your breath. “I don’t mind. If you want to stay, I… I’d like the company.” The words come out quieter than you intended, but they’re honest. Suguru’s face softens, a little surprised but clearly relieved. He takes a step closer, just a tiny one, but it’s enough to make your chest tighten.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You sure?”

You nod, your breath shallow as your eyes lock. For a moment, time slows. Everything around you seems to fade away except the two of you, the tension, the way your bodies are just a little too close, the way you can feel the weight of everything unspoken between you. His hand brushes yours again, his fingers lingering just for a second longer than necessary before it pulls away. However, it's enough to send a spark of electricity through you, making your heart race all over again.

“Yeah,” you say again, softer this time. “I’m sure.”

And just like that, the moment extends out, waiting for something—anything—to break the stillness. You both know it, you both feel it, but neither of you is sure how to move forward. 

It’s nothing, you both think. Just friends.

a/n: happy early new yearrr!! should i do a new year drabble too? hmmm....

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[mononijikayu]

l’amour de ma vie — geto suguru.

"Suguru." you said softly, not meeting his eyes. "We’re not the same people we were ten years ago. You know that." He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And yet, I still find myself here. With you."

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: Not Safe For Work (NSFW), R-18, Angst, Toxic Love, Romance, Break-Up, Situationship, Toxic Friends with Benefit, Falling In Love, Falling Out of Love, Lack of Communication, Dysfunctional Relationship, Hurt/No Comfort, Depression, Emotional Distress, Emotional Manipulation, Disassociation, Anticipatory Grief, Smut, P to V Sex, Bathtub Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Smoking, Depiction of Dysfunctional Relationship, Depiction of Unhealthy Behaviours, Depiction of Sexual Intercourse, Depiction of Depression, Depiction of Cigarettes and Smoking, Depiction of Disassociation, Mention of Physical and Or Bodily Harm, Mention of Murder, Mention of Blood, Mention of Character Death, Mention of Future Events;

WORDS: 9.8k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: if i should be honest, i think this little thing surpasses pretending as always and the other woman in terms of the sad meter. i really enjoyed writing this because it was just raw and emotionally revealing. if anything, this is my current favorite. i hope you enjoy it as much as i did and still do!!! i love you all <3

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EVER SINCE YOU MET HIM, HE FELT LIKE HOME. You and Geto Suguru had always been inseparable, two halves of the same whole from the very first day at Jujutsu High.

While the world often paired him with Gojo Satoru — the two of them known for their strength and partnership — there was something between you and Suguru that ran deeper, something unspoken but undeniable. You were his mirror in ways Satoru could never be. You understood him not just through the bond of shared power but in the quiet moments, in the spaces between battle and duty.

Where Satoru reveled in his god-like strength, you and Suguru shared the burden of understanding the world’s cruelty, the cost of being sorcerers. There was an unspoken connection between you two, built on a mutual respect for the world’s darker truths and the weight that came with protecting it. You saw him, truly saw him, in ways no one else could — not even Satoru.

It happened slowly, you're falling in love. It wasn’t some grand, sweeping romance but rather a quiet thing that grew over time, unnoticed at first. The little moments where you stayed back after training, talking under the stars, your conversations deep and philosophical, both of you sharing dreams, fears, and the weight of what it meant to bear the responsibility of a jujutsu sorcerer.

It was in the way he’d find you after a tough mission, silently standing by your side until you were ready to speak. The way his eyes softened just for you, in a way they never did for anyone else.

There was no sudden realization, no epiphany — just the slow warmth of knowing that his presence had become as necessary to you as breathing. You would exchange a glance across the room, and in that look, you would know what the other was thinking. It was as if your souls were entwined, slowly knitting together over time.

Suguru had always been cautious, thoughtful, but with you, his walls seemed to fall away bit by bit. He didn’t have to hide the weight of his worries, the questions that plagued him late into the night. And in return, you shared your own vulnerability, your own doubts, the moments of quiet despair that came with your duties.

Your hands would brush against each other during missions, the brief touch sending sparks through your veins, but neither of you spoke of it at first. It was too fragile, too precious to put into words. But those touches lingered, the brief glances became longer, and soon, the silences between you were filled with the unspoken understanding of what you both felt.

You fell in love in those small, stolen moments — not all at once, but in the way his gaze lingered a little longer on you during training, the way he would seek you out even when there was no reason to. You noticed how his voice softened when he spoke your name, how his laughter felt more genuine when it was with you.

It was gradual, this love. It wasn’t fireworks or grand confessions. It was a quiet, persistent thing, growing slowly but steadily, as natural as the rising sun. And before either of you truly realized it, you had become his other half — not just in battle, but in everything.

And Suguru, who had always carried the weight of the world so heavily on his shoulders, found solace in you, found love in a way that didn’t need words or declarations. You were his mirror, his equal, the one who truly understood the depths of who he was. 

And he, in turn, became yours.

The change was subtle, barely noticeable at first. It was in the way Suguru’s shoulders relaxed when you were around, the way his eyes would light up just a little more when you spoke. Your friendship, already so deep, had slipped effortlessly into something more intimate without either of you acknowledging it out loud. It was as if neither of you wanted to disturb the delicate balance, afraid to name the thing that had grown between you for fear it might shatter.

You began to spend more time together outside of missions and training. You’d sit side by side in the library, poring over old texts or discussing jujutsu theory long into the night. On rare afternoons off, you’d find a quiet corner of the campus to sit and talk about everything and nothing — your pasts, your dreams for the future, your shared frustrations with the world you were tasked with protecting. In those moments, the world seemed smaller, more manageable, as if it was just the two of you in it.

There were no grand gestures between you and Suguru, but the small things added up — the way he would bring you tea without asking, knowing exactly how you liked it; the way you’d patch up his wounds after a particularly difficult mission, your fingers lingering on his skin a little longer than necessary. He’d watch you as you worked, his gaze soft, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were real. 

And you? You found yourself looking forward to the moments when it was just the two of you, when the weight of your roles as jujutsu sorcerers could fall away and you could just be. You knew you were falling for him, slowly but irrevocably, but you didn’t push it. You didn’t need to. What you shared with Suguru was natural, inevitable, like the slow blooming of a flower. 

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after a particularly grueling mission, that something shifted. You had been injured — not seriously, but enough to warrant Suguru’s concern. He had stayed by your side, helping you back to your room after Gojo had left to handle the debriefing. You could see the tension in his face, the way his jaw was clenched, his usual calm exterior cracking just slightly.

“Suguru, I’m fine. Really.” you said softly, trying to reassure him as you sat on the edge of your bed. “It’s just a scratch.”

But he wasn’t listening, his eyes dark with worry as he knelt in front of you, his hands hovering over the bandage on your arm. “You shouldn’t have taken that hit!” he muttered, his voice low, almost angry. “I should have—”

You reached out, gently cupping his face in your hand, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “Hey.” you said softly, your voice drawing his gaze up to meet yours. “It’s not your fault. We’re a team, remember? We look out for each other.”

He stared at you for a moment, his eyes searching yours, and something shifted between you. The air grew heavier, charged with an emotion neither of you had spoken aloud but both of you had felt for a long time. Suguru’s hand moved to cover yours where it rested on his cheek, his touch warm and firm, grounding.

“I don’t want to lose you, you know that....” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “I can’t—” He stopped, his breath hitching slightly as he closed his eyes for a brief moment, gathering his thoughts. When he opened them again, the intensity in his gaze made your heart skip a beat. “You mean too much to me.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked at him, your own feelings rising to the surface, too powerful to ignore any longer. “Suguru…” you began, your voice soft, but he didn’t let you finish.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his breath warm against your lips. “I’ve been falling for you, doll.” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the confession was something too fragile to say aloud. “Slowly, but completely.”

You felt your heart swell at his words, the truth of your own feelings spilling over. “Me too.” you whispered back, your hand still cradling his face, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I’ve been falling for you too.”

There was a brief moment where the world seemed to pause, where everything else fell away — the missions, the responsibilities, the looming sense of duty that always seemed to hang over you. In that moment, it was just you and Suguru, the quiet intimacy of your confessions binding you together in a way that was both new and familiar.

Then, as if some unseen barrier between you had finally crumbled, Suguru closed the small distance between you and kissed you, softly at first, his lips tentative, as if testing the waters. But the moment your lips met his, a flood of emotion rushed through you, and you kissed him back, your hand tightening slightly on his cheek as your other hand found its way to his shoulder, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepened, slow and sweet, neither of you in a rush, savoring the moment as the truth of your feelings settled between you. When you finally pulled away, breathless and slightly dazed, Suguru rested his forehead against yours once more, his lips curving into a small, almost shy smile.

“Maybe we were always meant to find each other like this,” he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t known he was capable of.

You smiled, your heart full as you whispered, “Maybe we were.”

From that moment on, things between you and Suguru were different — but in the best possible way. The love that had been quietly growing between you had finally been given a voice, and while nothing about your relationship was rushed or flashy, it was solid, rooted in years of friendship and understanding.

You were two peas in a pod, and now, you were more than that. You were his mirror, his equal, his partner in every sense of the word. And together, you faced the world — not just as sorcerers, but as something more.

THINGS QUICKLY CHANGED. With all the highs came the lows, and you could trace the exact moment you began to lose Suguru. It was the day Riko Amanai died. Everything shifted after that. Geto Suguru had always carried a weight on his shoulders — the responsibility of being a jujutsu sorcerer, the burden of protecting the weak from curses that never seemed to end. 

But after Riko’s death, that weight seemed to grow unbearable. You saw it in the way his eyes grew darker, the way his silences stretched longer, how the light that had once shone in him began to dim. 

Where once his passion burned brightly, there was now only a smoldering ember, flickering weakly in the face of despair. The laughter you used to share felt distant, a memory that seemed almost foreign in contrast to the ever-present heaviness that hung over him.

He had always been quiet, thoughtful in his approach to life, but now that stillness took on a different shade — it wasn’t contemplation or a moment of rest, it was something far more unsettling. It was the beginning of withdrawal, of detachment from the very things that used to anchor him.

He no longer met your gaze in the same way; when he looked at you, it felt like he was seeing through you, as if he was trying to find something beyond the present — something that would ease the ache in his soul.

Conversations that had once flowed freely between you both became strained, stilted, weighed down by unspoken pain. He started questioning everything. Not openly at first, but in quiet, haunting ways — in the pauses between words, in the way he’d linger before answering, as though the truth was too bitter to speak out loud.

You knew Suguru was strong, resilient, but Riko’s death had shaken him in a way that left him fractured. It wasn’t just about losing someone; it was about what she represented — the possibility of something better, something worth fighting for. When that was ripped away, so too was Suguru’s belief in the world he had dedicated his life to. 

And as that belief crumbled, you could see him beginning to unravel, piece by piece, day by day. His sense of purpose, once steadfast and clear, became clouded by doubts and questions, and you feared that he might never find his way back.

There were moments when you caught glimpses of the Suguru you used to know — fleeting sparks of the person who still believed, still fought. But they were just that: moments. Each one shorter than the last, like the dying flickers of a candle on the verge of being snuffed out.

It was in those moments that you knew you were losing him, and no matter how tightly you tried to hold on, he was slipping through your fingers. And you were helpless to stop it.

At first, you tried to reach him. You stayed by his side, offering your hand, your presence, anything you could to help him through the storm of grief and guilt. But Suguru had already begun to slip away, and no matter how much you tried, you couldn’t pull him back.

The moments of warmth between you grew fewer and far between. Where there had once been easy conversation and soft smiles, now there was a distance — a hollow space between you that seemed impossible to bridge. Suguru, once so attentive, now drifted away even when you were right next to him. You’d talk, but he’d be somewhere else, his thoughts consumed by something darker, something you couldn’t touch.

It drained you, the slow unraveling of your relationship. The pain of watching the person you loved most in the world grow cold, distant, slipping through your fingers no matter how tightly you tried to hold on. But you stayed. You stayed because you meant it when you told him he was the love of your life. You stayed because you couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him in his darkest hour, even if he no longer wanted you there.

And he didn’t. You could see it in the way his gaze no longer softened when it landed on you, in the way he brushed off your concern with short, clipped words. He no longer sought your comfort. When he was hurting, he turned inward, shutting you out completely. And yet, you stayed, clinging to the hope that somewhere deep down, the Suguru you had fallen in love with was still there, buried beneath the grief and the anger.

But it wasn’t just grief. You could feel the bitterness growing in him, a festering resentment toward the world that had demanded so much from him, toward the system that had failed Riko, that had failed all of you. He stopped talking about your future together, stopped talking about anything that wasn’t steeped in cynicism and frustration. He was changing, and you could feel it, a slow and terrible shift that left you standing on the outside, helpless to stop it.

The breaking point came in quiet moments, little by little, until you couldn’t deny it anymore. You weren’t the love of his life. You weren’t his anchor, his equal, his partner. Not anymore. Suguru’s love had been replaced with something else — an obsession, a mission that consumed him, left no room for you or the bond you had shared. He became fixated on a world where the weak didn’t have to suffer, where sorcerers like him weren’t forced to bear the weight of protecting humanity. His ideals twisted, hardened into something cold and unrecognizable.

And you watched, heartbroken, as the man you loved disappeared into that darkness.

Even when he pushed you away, you stayed. You stayed because you loved him. You stayed because you believed, deep down, that there was still some part of him that loved you too. But with every passing day, it became harder to hold onto that belief. The way he looked at you had changed. There was no warmth, no affection, only a distant coldness that chilled you to your core. 

You would lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling while Suguru sat in silence, lost in his own thoughts, the space between you stretching wider and wider until it felt like you were in different worlds entirely. You could feel the end coming, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave.

Because he was the love of your life.

But you could no longer say the same for him. 

Somehow, the only way you could still feel his presence was in those moments of intimacy. When everything else seemed fractured, when his eyes were distant and his heart seemed closed off, it was in those fleeting, intense connections that you could still sense a glimmer of the man you had once known.

The nights were the hardest. You would lay beside him, and though the silence between you was heavy, it was in the quiet moments leading up to those encounters that you found a semblance of the closeness you had lost. When Suguru touched you, it was almost like a desperate attempt to reclaim a part of himself that was missing — a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.

When he made love to you, it was a paradox. It was as if he was trying to find solace in you, to fill the void within himself, even if the effort often left you both raw and aching. His movements were urgent, almost frantic, as if he was trying to escape from the pain that had consumed him. His touch, though sometimes rough, was filled with a fervor that betrayed the depth of his emotions, a desperate reach for something he had lost.

You would lay beneath him, feeling every inch of him as he moved, every thrust a mix of pleasure and pain. Even as tears streamed down your face, even as your body shook with a mix of conflicting emotions, there was a strange sense of connection. It was in these moments of vulnerability and rawness that you felt his pleasure, his need, and somehow, you still felt loved — even if it was through the prism of his own desperation.

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with yours, and the room was filled with the sound of your shared intensity. It was as if the pleasure was a balm for both of you, a way to soothe the fractures that had formed in your relationship. His hands gripped you tightly, his body moving with a fervor that spoke of a deep-seated longing to feel something, anything, that resembled the love you had once shared.

In those moments, when the world outside ceased to exist and all that mattered was the connection between your bodies, you felt a bittersweet semblance of closeness. Even as his pleasure mingled with your own tears, there was an undeniable intensity to it, a shared experience that temporarily bridged the emotional chasm between you.

But even as you felt him inside you, lost in the throes of passion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was also a form of self-medication for him — a way to numb the pain, to forget the pieces of himself that were missing. It was as if he was trying to patch up the voids within him, using you as a vessel for his own fleeting moments of relief.

And so you continued, both of you lost in it, in a dance of pleasure and sorrow that seemed to provide a temporary escape from the reality of what had become of your relationship. The intimacy, though deeply painful at times, was also a reminder of what once was, of the bond you had shared — a bond that was still there, hidden beneath layers of grief and change.

As he finally reached the peak of his pleasure, his body tensing above you, you could feel the release echo through both of you. And though the moment was fleeting, it was a reminder of the connection that still lingered, however strained and fractured it had become. You lay there, both of you panting and spent, the silence of the room wrapping around you once more, the echoes of your shared experience lingering in the stillness.

In those moments, you clung to the hope that despite the overwhelming changes, there was still a part of Suguru that needed you, that loved you in the only way he knew how to express now. It was a painful paradox, but it was all you had left — the bittersweet solace of feeling loved through the remnants of a passion that once defined your relationship.

Suguru’s pace never faltered, his body pressed relentlessly against yours, each thrust deeper than the last. His eyes were half-lidded with a raw, burning need, his hands never loosening their grip on your trembling body.

Even as your voice broke into breathless cries, your hands clutched desperately at him, grounding yourself in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through you. He was utterly lost in you, consumed by the devotion he had promised — his worship of you unending, fervent, and wild.

Your body ached with the pleasure of it, shaking beneath him as he continued even after you had come. He was relentless, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine, each movement feeding the fire that burned between you. You felt overwhelmed, consumed, your body unable to keep up with the intensity of his desire, but you didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.

“Suguru….” you whimpered again, your voice cracking, barely able to speak as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. “Please…”

But whether you were begging for more or for a moment’s reprieve, even you didn’t know. He responded with a low, guttural moan, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. 

His eyes, dark and wild, locked onto yours as he murmured in a voice thick with lust, “I need you… I need you more than anything. You’re everything.”

Your heart pounded, his words igniting something deep within you as your body gave in completely, surrendering to him as if you were both caught in the grip of something sacred and sinful all at once. He pushed deeper, each thrust taking you to the edge of what your body could handle, the pleasure blending with a delicious ache that left you trembling against him.

The thunder outside roared, masking your moans as his worship grew more fervent, his devotion unrelenting. Your body shook beneath him, every nerve alight as he claimed you over and over. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin, marking him as yours as he took you higher, his pace unbroken, his rhythm fierce and untamed.

Lightning flashed again, casting the room in harsh light, illuminating the way his muscles strained as he drove into you, his face twisted in both agony and ecstasy. His voice, hoarse and filled with desperate reverence, reached you between the booming thunder. “You’re mine… only mine.”

The words broke something in you, your body shaking as the pleasure surged through you once again, your cries swallowed by the storm. You clung to him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body collapsing into his as the intensity of it all took you to the brink of delirium.

Suguru wasn’t far behind. His movements grew frantic, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as long as he could. But in the end, he couldn’t resist any longer. With a low, primal groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his release washing over him as he collapsed into you, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in a haze of exhaustion and bliss, the sound of the storm outside slowly fading into the background. His breath was heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he whispered, “Take it. Like the good girl you are. Take it.”

YOU WEREN’T GOOD AT BEING ALONE. Not even after ten years had passed. Somehow, the only way you could still feel his presence was in those moments of intimacy. When everything else seemed fractured, when his eyes were distant and his heart seemed closed off, it was in those fleeting, intense connections that you could still sense a glimmer of the man you had once known.

The nights were the hardest. You would lay beside him, and though the silence between you was heavy, it was in the quiet moments leading up to those encounters that you found a semblance of the closeness you had lost. When Suguru touched you, it was almost like a desperate attempt to reclaim a part of himself that was missing — a way to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.

Even after he left and defected, becoming Jujutsu society’s enemy — and in a way, your own enemy — Suguru still sought you out. It didn't matter that years had passed, or that he had crossed lines no one could return from. Ten years later, you still let him in. You still let him ruin you.

You told yourself you wanted to care. To be angry, to be disgusted, to shut the door on him the moment you saw his familiar silhouette lurking in the shadows. But the truth was, it was hard to care.

Even with the blood on his hands — the blood of innocent people, of those you once fought beside — you let him ruin you. Because you loved him. You always had, and some part of you suspected you always would, even if he didn’t love you anymore. 

And maybe that was the most painful part — knowing that his love had withered into something twisted, something tainted by his bitterness toward the world. But you? You held on to what once was, clutching it desperately, as if it could somehow bring back the man he used to be. The Suguru who laughed with you, who shared quiet nights under the stars, who believed in protecting the world no matter the cost. 

Now, all you could do was lie back in the tub, bright bubbly water enveloping your body, offering a moment of warmth in a life that felt increasingly cold. You have been there for a long while now. But you didn’t have the energy to leave. You’ve been on a mission for a whole three days, and you had nothing left in you. Nothing but bitterness and perhaps, the energy for a smoke. 

All that was left in you was the will to smoke the cigarette between your fingers. You watched it burn lazily in your grasp, a thin stream of smoke curling up. It was addicting, to watch it dancing above the tip like fleeting memories. Fleeting, unattainable memories that you couldn’t quite grasp with everything in you anymore. 

Your vinyl played those rough melodies, the loud boom of it filling the cramped, claustrophobic bathroom with anything but peace. Somehow the chaos was all that kept the thoughts in your head out. It was all that let you breathe. It was almost peaceful — almost enough to pretend things were normal. Chaos, you think, was the only thing that made your life have harmony. Even if it kills you softly.

You can only ever look up at him, leaning against the doorframe. Your deep, dead eyes looked at him as though there was still light in them. As though there wasn’t any resentment, any grief. As though there was nothing but emptiness. Perhaps all that will ever be left behind in them were those tired tenderness. 

That brutal acceptance of what he was, what you had become to each other. You took a deep hit of the cigarette, taking in the smoke as though it was the oxygen you needed. His gaze never left yours as the smoke snarled through your face. 

Suguru could only ever return the gesture, though you could see the deep set of  fatigue etched in the lines of his face. His once-bright purple eyes, the ones that used to light up with hope and purpose, now seemed dull, as though the weight of his choices had drained the life from them. He, just as much as you, had become soulless. Lifeless. Walking corpses. Nothing more, nothing less.

His purple haze lazily traveled over your body, taking in the curves, the skin glistening under the dim light. But there was no lust, no hunger. At least, not that you know of. These days, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. But you suppose, his eyes tell more than his mind does. As empty as they were.

All you can see in him was acceptance, even if it was just a flash of a moment. That same old tired familiarity. He had seen you like this countless times before — vulnerable, exposed, both physically and emotionally. And yet, somehow, this moment felt different. More final, more resigned. More exhausted. More empty. Each and every time, you think it gets worse. But you suppose that’s just what it is.

He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. What was there left to say? You had given him your love, your body, your trust, and in return, he had broken you. Over and over again. But still, you let him. Because no matter how far he had fallen, no matter how many lives he had taken, you couldn’t bring yourself to turn him away.

You watched him as he stood there, wondering if he ever thought about what you could have been — if, in another life, things might have turned out differently. But you didn’t ask, and he didn’t offer. You don’t wanna think about it anymore. Instead, you took another  heavy drag from your cigarette, the smoke filling your lungs as the silence between you stretched on. Only the loud chaos of the vinyl remained, and maybe, the tap water’s flow on the sink.

You wondered if he was going to stay the night, maybe he wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. Either way, you would still love him, even as he ruined you again. Because that’s what you did. That’s what you always did. And some part of you suspected that deep down, you didn’t really want it to stop.

You exhaled a slow stream of smoke, watching as it twisted into the air before dissolving into the dimness of the room. His eyes lingered on the ash filled with water before returning to your face. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but the silence between you stretched on, thick and heavy.

"Suguru." you finally broke the stillness, your voice quiet but steady. He blinked, as if hearing his name after so long startled him. "What are you looking for? After all this time, why come back?"

His gaze faltered. You could see it in his eyes — the hesitation, the wariness. He didn’t want to answer, not fully, not truthfully. "I don’t know, if I’m being honest." he murmured after a pause, his voice hoarse. "Maybe I’m just… tired."

You offered a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. "We’re both tired, Suguru. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here. Why do you always come back."

He pushed himself off the doorframe, moving closer to you, the soft sound of his footsteps barely audible over the horrendous music. His large fingers brushed the edge of the tub, his eyes tracing the ashy bubbles floating on the surface.

 "Do you ever think about what we could’ve been?" he asked, his voice low, almost a whisper.

You took another drag from the cigarette, the embers glowing brighter in the dim light. "I used to." you admitted, staring down at the water. "But thinking about it didn’t change anything. What we are now… it’s not what we could’ve been."

His expression tightened, a shadow of regret crossing his features, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he knelt beside the tub, his fingers trailing through the warm water. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt intimate — too intimate for what you had become.

"Suguru." you said softly, not meeting his eyes. "We’re not the same people we were ten years ago. You know that."

He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "And yet, I still find myself here. With you."

You looked at him then, really looked at him. The lines of exhaustion, the hollowness in his once-bright eyes, the weariness that clung to him like a second skin. He was a stranger now, and yet… he was still Suguru. The man you had loved, the man you still loved. Even after everything. And you hated it. You hated everything about it. You hated him. And yet….and yet, you loved him all the same.

"I don’t know how to stop coming back to you." he admitted, his voice raw. "I don’t even know if I want to."

You sighed, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "Maybe you’re not supposed to," you said softly, flicking the ash from your cigarette into the water. "But that doesn’t mean this is healthy. For either of us."

He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was soft, familiar, and you closed your eyes against the warmth of his palm, against the flood of memories his touch brought with it. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that things were different, that you hadn’t ended up here, in this cycle of love and destruction.

But when you opened your eyes, reality came crashing back.

"Suguru," you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of unspoken words. "You ruin me. Every time. And I let you."

He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. "I know," he said, his voice breaking. "I know. And I’m sorry."

You laughed softly, bitterly, shaking your head. "Sorry doesn’t fix anything. It never has."

He lowered his head, the exhaustion in his posture more evident than ever. "I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t think I can."

You took a final drag from your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs before exhaling it slowly. "Then maybe," you said quietly, "you should stop trying."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a sadness that ran deeper than words. "And if I don’t know how to let go?"

You reached out, your fingers brushing his, before pulling away. "Then we’ll keep doing this. Over and over again. Until there’s nothing left of either of us."

Suguru stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you could feel the weight of his guilt, his regret, in the silence that followed. You wanted to believe he would leave this time — that he’d walk away and never come back. But you both knew the truth.

He wouldn’t.

And neither would you.

The splashes of the bathwater almost seemed to compete with the wet, rhythmic sounds of your bodies colliding, creating a symphony of intimate noise that filled the cramped space. The small bathroom was alive with the sensory chaos of your passion. The ashy, bitter, bubbly water in the tub surged over the edges with each of your movements, cascading down the sides and creating a pool of frothy suds around the base.

Geto Suguru, relaxed and reclining against the porcelain tub, looked every bit the picture of serene indulgence. His chest rose and fell heavily with each breath, a reflection of the deep, contented sighs escaping his lips. His usual composed demeanor was softened by the way he surrendered to the moment, his purple eyes half-lidded as he took in the sensation of your body pressed intimately against his.

The rhythm of your bodies moving together created a steady cadence, like the ticking of a clock in a silent room. The sound of the water mixing with the echoes of your shared breaths and whispered moans painted a vivid picture of the intense connection between you. Each splash and ripple seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, adding a physical dimension to the emotions that were already swirling around the small space. 

In this confined setting, every movement was magnified, every touch felt more pronounced, making the experience all the more enveloping and consuming. The heat of the water and the warmth of Suguru's body combined to create an almost intoxicating environment, where the world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the sensory overload of the moment you were sharing.

Your fingers clutched the rim of the tub for support, knuckles turning white as his hands gripped your waist, guiding your hips with a slow, deliberate pace. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with lust and something darker — something that lingered between desire and destruction.

Geto Suguru’s gaze was heavy-lidded with passion, with pleasure. His tired eyes never leave your face with every moment. His lips parted slightly, releasing a low groan as your movements quickened, water splashing violently around you. It was intense, almost punishing, the way you moved together — like you were trying to drown out everything else, the pain, the guilt, the past. In these moments, nothing else existed.

He let out a sharp breath, his grip tightening as he thrust deeper into you, sending another wave of water crashing against the sides of the tub. The wet sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, mingling with the music still softly playing in the background. It was a strange contrast — the gentle melody against the raw, primal intimacy unfolding between you.

"Fuck…" Suguru muttered, his voice rough, barely audible above the splashing water. His hand slid up your back, pulling you closer, his lips brushing against your neck, hot breath ghosting over your skin. "I can’t… stop."

You gasped in response, your body arching against him as he pressed deeper, harder, his movements becoming more desperate. There was no tenderness, no softness — just need. Need for you, for the release, for the fleeting escape from the weight of everything that had come between you.

But even in the heat of the moment, you felt the familiar ache creeping back in, the realization that this wouldn’t change anything. You were caught in the same cycle, both of you — tangled in a web of love, regret, and ruin. And even as you lost yourself in him, in the way he filled you completely, you knew that this would never be enough to heal the wounds you both carried.

Your breath hitched as he buried himself deeper, your thighs trembling with the intensity of it all. His name left your lips in a soft, broken whisper, and for a moment, it felt like you were both on the edge of something — not just release, but something far more terrifying. The edge of losing yourselves to each other completely.

But as your climax built, the water splashing and your moans blending with the music, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not at that moment. You leaned down, your lips brushing his as your body shuddered around him, and in that fleeting second, it was just the two of you — all the pain, the guilt, the love, suspended in the air between the breaths you shared.

Then, with a final, desperate thrust, everything shattered.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure finally subsided, the water still sloshing gently around you both. The heat of the moment lingered in the air, but as the fog of lust cleared, reality settled back in — heavy and suffocating. You stayed there for a moment, leaning against Suguru’s chest, your breath still ragged, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on you.

But as his hand slid up your back, a soft caress, something inside you broke. This couldn’t continue. Not anymore.

You slowly lifted yourself off of him, your body protesting the movement as the water rippled in your wake. You stood up, the warm water dripping off your skin, but you felt cold inside. Turning your back to him, you grabbed the towel from the rack, wrapping it around your body, trying to create some distance — any distance — between you and what had just happened.

"Suguru." you said, your voice quiet but firm. You still hadn’t turned to face him. "This can’t happen again."

He didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching, waiting. You could almost hear his thoughts, the confusion, the quiet disbelief. He probably thought you didn’t mean it. That you were just saying it because the guilt always hit harder after intimacy.

You turned to face him then, your eyes meeting his. His expression was calm, though there was a flicker of something — maybe sadness, maybe frustration — in his eyes. "You have to stop coming here," you continued, your voice shaking slightly. "This is… it’s destroying both of us. And I can’t do this anymore. I won’t."

He shifted in the tub, his elbows resting on the sides as he sat up, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to understand where this was coming from. "You don’t mean that," he murmured, his voice low and even. "You always say you’re done, but you never are."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head. "I know. I’ve said it before. But I mean it this time, Suguru." You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "This… whatever we’ve become, it’s not love anymore. It’s pain. And I can’t keep letting you back into my life just so we can tear each other apart."

He ran a hand through his wet hair, his jaw clenched as he listened, his gaze never leaving yours. "You still love me," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That’s the problem," you replied, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "I do still love you. I think I always will. But that’s not enough anymore."

You stepped closer to him, kneeling by the edge of the tub, your hands gripping the porcelain, your face inches from his. "Every time you come back, I let you in because I hope… I hope something will change. Maybe, this time, you’ll stay. Or that you’ll choose me over whatever it is you’re chasing. But you never do. And I can’t keep living with that."

Suguru’s expression faltered for the briefest moment, the weight of your words sinking in. But then, just as quickly, his usual calm mask slipped back into place. "You think I don’t want to stay?" he asked, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place — regret, maybe, or guilt. "You think I don’t miss what we had?"

"Then why don’t you?" you shot back, the frustration and heartache boiling to the surface. "Why do you always leave, Suguru? Why do you keep coming back, only to walk away again?"

He didn’t have an answer, and in that silence, the truth was louder than anything he could have said.

"I can’t keep doing this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I need you to go. And this time, I need you to never come back."

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw the same brokenness in him that you felt in yourself. But instead of pleading or apologizing, he stood up, the water dripping off him as he stepped out of the tub. He grabbed his clothes, moving quietly, his expression unreadable.

"Suguru," you called after him, your voice wavering. "Please. Don’t make this harder."

He paused at the door, his back to you, his head tilted slightly as if considering your words. Then, without turning around, he muttered softly, "You always knew this would end like this."

And with that, he was gone, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed through the quiet room.

You stood there for a long time, the sound of the bathwater still rippling behind you, the music still playing softly. But the space felt emptier now, colder. You sank to the floor, pulling the towel tighter around yourself, feeling the weight of his absence settle in your chest.

This time, you told yourself, it was really over. But as you sat there in the silence, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had truly meant it. Or if some part of you was still waiting for him to come back.

YET WORDS ARE EASIER THAN ACTION. And you know, you were born to be a liar. Both of you were. And in the quiet aftermath of Geto Suguru's departure, you knew deep down that the promises made were nothing more than echoes of empty words. The truth was, you weren’t ready to let go, and neither was he. The cycle, though painful, was one you both knew too well — and you were trapped in it, unable to break free.

As the door closed behind him, you sat alone in the bath, the water now cold and stagnant, reflecting the dim light of the room. You stared at your own reflection, the tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes mingling with the water’s surface. The silence felt heavy, oppressive, a reminder of the lies you had told each other and yourself.

Hours later, long after the bubbles had dissipated and the water had turned colder than ever before, you heard the familiar sound of the door creaking open. He was back — just like always. The moment you heard it, a part of you felt a twisted sort of relief mixed with the sting of knowing you’d once again fall into the same pattern.

Suguru walked in, his face a mask of the same weariness you’d seen before. He didn’t say a word, but the silence between you was charged with the understanding of what was to come. It was a dance you both knew well, and despite the hurt, there was a certain comfort in the familiarity of it.

You stood up from the tub, wrapping yourself in a towel, and looked at him, your expression a mix of resignation and reluctant desire. "You came back." you said, the words sounding hollow even to your own ears.

Suguru nodded, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "You knew I would."

You swallowed hard, fighting back the surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you. "I did. I guess I always do."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours for something — maybe forgiveness, or understanding, or just the old connection that seemed to bind you both together, no matter how hard you tried to sever it. "I’m sorry," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "For everything."

You shook your head, a bitter smile playing on your lips. "Sorry doesn’t change anything. It never has."

He reached out, his fingers brushing your cheek, his touch as familiar as it was painful. "Then why do we keep doing this?"

You didn’t have an answer. Instead, you reached out and touched his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble under your fingertips. "Because we’re both liars," you said quietly, your voice breaking. "And we both know it. We lie to ourselves and each other about what this is, about what we want. And then we repeat it. Over and over."

He nodded, a resigned look in his eyes. "Maybe we’re just afraid of being alone. Or afraid of facing what we’ve become."

You turned away from him, walking slowly back to the edge of the tub. The cold, wet surface felt distant now, a reminder of how you’d tried to distance yourself from this pain, only to find yourself pulled back in.

Suguru followed, his presence heavy and unsettling. "What do we do now?" he asked, his voice filled with uncertainty.

You sighed, looking at him over your shoulder. "We do what we always do. We pretend. We tell ourselves that this time will be different. Maybe, somehow, it will all work out."

He came up behind you, his arms wrapping around you in a familiar embrace, his warmth mingling with the coolness of the room. "And then what?"

You leaned into him, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence despite the turmoil it brought. "And then we repeat. We rinse and repeat. Until we can’t anymore."

The space between you was filled with the heavy weight of your shared history, the cycles of love and pain that had come to define your relationship. As his lips brushed against your neck, the old familiar spark of desire reignited, even though you knew it was just another fleeting escape from the reality that awaited you both.

For now, you let him hold you, let the old patterns resume. You knew you’d fall back into the same routine — the lies, the hurt, the fleeting moments of connection. And as he began to kiss you softly, you resigned yourself to the truth you both avoided: that the cycle was far from over, and you were both too entangled to break free.

And so, you parroted the same lies, whispered the same promises, and let yourself be swept up once more in the inevitable repetition.

THAT DECEMBER RAIN WAS A PARADOX TO THINK ABOUT. You began to think that maybe, just as much, the rain was just like your love for Geto Suguru. And maybe, that’s the only way to describe everything about these past twelve years of being a prisoner to love. An inescapable, rough paradox.

When Suguru made love to you, it was a rough paradox. His touch was both urgent and tender, driven by a desperate need to escape the pain that had consumed him, yet somehow still managing to convey a deep-seated longing for connection. His movements were frantic, as if he was trying to fill a void within himself that could never truly be filled. It was as though every thrust, every caress was a plea for solace, for something that would make him whole again.

As he pressed into you, you could feel the raw intensity of his emotions, a tumultuous mix of pleasure and anguish. His touch was sometimes rough, but there was a fervor behind it that betrayed the depth of his feelings. It was a paradoxical experience — he sought to find relief in you, yet his desperation often left you both feeling more exposed, more raw than ever before.

You lay beneath him, feeling every inch of him as he moved, every thrust an amalgamation of pleasure and pain. The contrast between the physical sensations and the emotional turbulence was almost overwhelming. As his body pressed against yours, you could feel the heat of his desire, his need to escape from the emotional abyss he had fallen into. Each movement was a reminder of the complexity of your relationship — the way it was interwoven with both intense pleasure and deep-seated hurt.

Tears streamed down your face, not just from the physical sensations, but from the emotional weight that seemed to press down on you both. Your body shook with the conflicting emotions that came with these moments of vulnerability. The pleasure was undeniable, but it was mingled with an aching sadness, a realization of the cyclical nature of your interactions.

Yet, despite the tears and the pain, there was a strange, bittersweet sense of connection. In these moments, you felt his pleasure, his need, and somehow, you still felt loved. It was a love expressed through the prism of his own desperation — a love that was as flawed and tangled as the relationship itself.

His breaths were ragged, his movements increasingly frantic, as if he was trying to drown out the pain that clung to him, that clung to both of you. His hands gripped your hips with a fierce urgency, his gaze locked onto yours as if trying to find something in your eyes that could make everything right again.

Despite the intensity and the pain, there was an intimacy in these moments that was deeply profound. You could feel the depth of his need, the rawness of his emotions, and the connection that persisted even through the chaos. It was an unspoken understanding, a shared experience that bound you together in a way that was both beautiful and heartbreaking.

As he reached his climax, his body trembling above yours, the release was a mixture of relief and sorrow. You could sense the fleeting solace he found in these moments, the temporary escape from the anguish that had become a part of him. And as he collapsed against you, both of you panting and spent, the room fell into a heavy silence.

In the aftermath, you both lay there, the air between you thick with unspoken words and the weight of the cycle you were trapped in. The connection was palpable, but so was the realization that, despite everything, you were both still searching for something — something that might never be found. And as you lay there together, the intimacy of the moment was tinged with a poignant sense of resignation, the awareness that, even in your deepest connection, you were both still haunted by the same demons.

In these moments, you were reminded of the paradox of your relationship — the way it was both a source of comfort and a reflection of the pain you both carried. And as you lay there, holding each other, you knew that despite the rawness and the tears, you would continue to navigate this cycle, searching for solace in each other, even as you remained trapped in the same, unending pattern.

But even as you felt him inside you, lost in the throes of passion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was also a form of self-medication for him — a way to numb the pain, to forget the pieces of himself that were missing. It was as if he was trying to patch up the voids within him, using you as a vessel for his own fleeting moments of relief.

And so you continued, both of you lost in it, in a dance of pleasure and sorrow that seemed to provide a temporary escape from the reality of what had become of your relationship. The intimacy, though deeply painful at times, was also a reminder of what once was, of the bond you had shared — a bond that was still there, hidden beneath layers of grief and change.

As he finally reached the peak of his pleasure, his body tensing above you, you could feel the release echo through both of you. And though the moment was fleeting, it was a reminder of the connection that still lingered, however strained and fractured it had become. You lay there, both of you panting and spent, the silence of the room wrapping around you once more, the echoes of your shared experience lingering in the stillness.

You both lay naked together, the warmth of your bed now replaced by the chill of the room. The silence was heavy, filled with the echoes of your shared vulnerability and the weight of what was to come. Suguru’s body was pressed close to yours, his breath warm against your skin, but the intimacy of the moment was overshadowed by the gravity of his next words.

“Satoru and the Jujutsu society…..” Suguru said quietly, his voice carrying a determined edge. “I’m declaring war on them tomorrow.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, and your heart raced. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with a mix of fear and resolve. “You know I can’t let that happen,” you said, your voice trembling. “I’d have to kill you before I let you get to Satoru. You know that.”

Suguru’s lips curved into a sad, knowing smile. “Maybe it’s better that way, don’t you think?” he said softly, his eyes reflecting a mix of resignation and acceptance. “Maybe it’s better that you and I can’t be on the same side in this.”

The finality of his words was crushing, and tears began to stream down your face. You felt an unbearable ache in your chest, the raw pain of knowing that the love you had shared was leading to this inevitable end. 

“Why did you have to make a home in my heart like this?” you asked through your sobs, your voice cracking with the depth of your sorrow. “Why did you have to become such a part of me?”

Suguru laughed bitterly, a sound that cut through the room like a knife. “I should ask you the same thing, hm?” he said, his voice heavy with regret. “Why did you let me in? Why did you give me a place in your heart when you knew how this would end?”

The room fell into a profound silence, the only sound the soft, stifled cries that escaped you both. The weight of your shared pain and the knowledge of the impending separation hung heavily in the air. The love that had once brought you together was now the source of your deepest anguish.

Suguru’s voice broke the silence, soft and filled with a tenderness that seemed out of place in the current turmoil. “I love you, with everything in me.” he said, his voice breaking. “I love you the most in the world. And if there is a next life, I hope….our rebirthed souls would be happy together.”

You looked at him, your heart shattering at his words. The intensity of his love was clear, even in the midst of the devastation he was about to bring. You wanted to reach out, to hold him, to find some last shred of comfort before the end, but the reality of his decision was unchangeable.

Suguru rose from the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He dressed quietly, his back turned to you as he prepared to leave. The finality of his actions was palpable, and you could feel the end drawing near, a dark and inevitable conclusion to everything you had shared.

As he opened the door to leave, you felt an overwhelming sense of finality. This was it. This was the end. There was no going back, no more second chances. The love you had for each other had brought you to this point, and now it was tearing you apart.

Suguru looked back at you one last time, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and resolve. Then, he stepped out, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

You sat there, alone in the silence, the tears flowing freely now. The emptiness of the room felt like a reflection of the void left in your heart. The weight of his departure, the knowledge of the impending conflict, and the finality of his words all combined to leave you in a state of profound sorrow.

As you wept, you felt the crushing realization that this was truly the end of everything you had known. The love, the pain, the shared moments — all of it was over. And as you cried out the last remnants of your heartache, you knew that you would carry the weight of this loss with you forever.

[vivalabunbun]

Midnight Piano Interlude in D Minor, Op. 1

Summary: Growing pains don’t go away the moment you reach adulthood, instead it goes by a different name: Regret. 

Word Count: 17.9k ( I have a problem, no I cannot fix it)

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Pianist!Reader, Aspiring musician!Reader, Slow burn, Slow fic (look at the word count), Heavy Angst, Smut(r18+), NSFW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Childhood friends to lovers, friends with benefits to lovers, a lot of memories from the past, Fluff, Second chance romance, TW: Character death (Alhaitham’s grandma), TW: Themes about regret and low self-confidence, Heavy adult themes, gifted kid burn-out, toxic family, unhappy childhood, unhealthy relationship dynamics, unhealthy coping mechanisms, Service top! Alhaitham, mutual pining? kinda, unrequited love? sorta, slightly obsessive!Alhaitham, Soft!Alhaitham, Alhaitham is not faultless his current views have been formed through trial and painful error. 

Authors Note: This is very experimental. I almost didn’t want to post it, but I just believe even the most stoic person isn’t without their past mistakes and regrets. Alhaitham doesn’t understand most forms of art... but he does value music. Enjoy. 

There was something off about this stanza, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it. A cup of now room-temperature coffee was on your dining table, next to the sheets of music you were currently editing. Tapping the end of the pencil on your lip as you shut your eyelids. You played the notes on the paper in your head. 

It was an early Saturday afternoon, so you still had plenty of time before you had to go to your gig. It was a ritual on Saturdays that you would edit and write your compositions. A peaceful way to transition out of your lowly officer worker identity, and into the pianist you were. The thought of spreadsheets would be slowly replaced by lines of musical notes. 

At this moment there were no emails to be answered. No shallow dry small talk from nosy cubical neighbors. No long meetings in uncomfortable chairs about irrelevant projects.

Just the low hum of your refrigerator accompanying your experimental melodies. It was your time to embrace your aspirations that were contained to only two days every week, but it was worth all forty-eight hours.  

The fingers on your free hand tapped against the chipped lacquer table, envisioning the keys of your keyboard currently stationed in the crowded living room. Your fingers stilled as your eyes fluttered open. You found the error, crossing out the D major scale and changing it to D minor instead. Yes, D minor fits the somber tone of this piece much better. 

Excitement bubbled up inside you, that small tweak had finally solved that bothersome feeling that had been vexing you the whole week. Oh, you felt it, you were in the zone now, inspiration and motivation were just flowing undisrupted through you. Quickly gathering up the sheet music, you sauntered to your keyboard, sitting down on the cheap pull-out bench. 

There was no reason to worry about a noise complaint when it was in the middle of the day, but to follow social etiquette you made sure to lower the volume on the keyboard to just barely above mute. It was time to put everything together, you put your hands into position eager to press down on the smooth keys to finally hear the composition you had worked so hard on-

“Be careful with that! My unfinished models are in that box! Don’t just slam it down!” A voice boomed from the hall outside your door. 

The sudden disturbance cut off the flow within you, fingers hovering over the keys. Of course, asking for peace and quiet in this dust heap apartment complex was a luxury the residents couldn’t afford. You inhaled deeply as you straighten your back.

It’s fine, it sounds as if a new neighbor is just moving in. You were used to this, just continue forward. 

“Oi! Could you not just dump everything into the entranceway? How am I supposed to get through?!” You could hear the shuffling of boxes. 

“Most people would be grateful for the help. Especially, when the help-seeker is someone who has yet to pay five months' worth of rent.” A box was dropped onto the floor.

“I just told you to be careful! It’s fragile! And I was busy saving up to move, I’m sure me moving out is well worth the rent money.” 

“Brilliant rebuttal. Is this the same explanation you give the bank when they call inquiring about your debt, Kaveh?” 

“And this is why I cannot stand people like you!-”

Your fingers were pressing down with force on the keys, yet you couldn’t hear any melody over the theatrical bickering taking place in the hall. The inside of your cheek is currently being abused by the grating of your teeth. It appears that social etiquette is dead, killed by narrow-minded individual interests. 

The two voices continued to bounce off the wall, more accurately it was mostly one thunderous voice followed by a deep tone dripping with sarcasm. Your ears weren’t even processing the words being thrown around, their focus all on the impending tinnitus developing. 

You needed to bring a stop to this now, lest it develops into a regular performance. Your thighs pushed back the flimsy seat, lips deep in a frown. The flow was ruined. 

Unlocking the deadbolt that detained the door, you looked straight ahead as the rusting hinges sang their chaos, ready to bring a stop to this public disturbance. 

“Can you please keep your voices d-” Your sentence died at the tip of your tongue.

The sight in front of you stopped you dead between your doorway. The blond-haired man’s head snapped towards you, eyes slightly apologetic. However, his face wasn’t what you had set your sights on, no, it was the familiar face of the ashen-haired man. A face you haven’t seen for seven years, Alhaitham.

Those same disinterested teal eyes shifted their focus onto you, and it paralyzed every muscle.

The silence was deafening now, not a single inch was budged by anyone. Like a frozen snapshot in time. His gaze was heavy, it was suffocating so your eyes switched over to meet with rudy irises instead.

The blond man’s attention flickered back and forth between the two of you, taking note of how his companion’s eyes never left your frame. His lips pressed into an awkward line as his head slowly turned towards the boxes behind him, finally reading the room. 

“I’m going to start tidying up.” The blond didn’t perceive the desperation sent his way by you as his figure disappeared behind a closed door.    

Now it was just you and Alhaitham. Finally reunited after seven long years apart in a decrepit hallway. The gurgling of the aging pipes and shuffling of feet from floors above  accompanied the scene. Your body was still frozen in the midst of emerging from your apartment, and his tall figure was still stationed right across the narrow hall. 

What were the last words you said to him that day many years ago again?

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

A hand hidden behind your back clenched into a fist as you recalled that embarrassing memory. Sharp words directed toward a younger version of the man in front of you. Words birthed from irrationality and wounded pride.

Now your brain had once again latched on to this core memory, you were certainly going to be kicking your blankets tonight. What a mortifying souvenir of the past. 

The past anger and frustrations were all but lingering smoke in your hair, your heart couldn’t recall the heat of how they burned the bridge down. They say time heals, and it's true.

The years apart had gradually soothed over the tender wounds on your ego. With the pain subsided your brain was clear enough to review the moments that lead to that outburst, and it made you die internally. 

Should you just apologize right now? To alleviate the creeping guilt traveling up your shoulder, and so your poor blanket won’t be kicked as hard tonight. Can a small apology really travel across the full length of the seven-year-wide rift that had formed? Your lips stayed firmly shut, there was your answer. 

Alhaitham took a step towards you, instinctively your body shuffled three more steps away, widening the berth between your bodies. His movement paused, teal eyes peering down at you as you looked at the space behind his head. No words were said. 

This awkward scene was very reminiscent of your introduction to the ashen-haired man many years ago. 

–

Your parents, esteemed researchers working for a renowned corporation, had moved into a new neighborhood. The house was much larger than your old home, large enough to house a grand piano in the living room. 

“It’s about time you start learning the piano.” Were the orders your parents had given you, sitting your six-year-old self at the intimidating instrument. 

On the same day you were introduced to your new duty, you were also introduced to the neighbor’s kid. The only other kid on the block filled with prominent academic figures from the nation’s top university. A grey-haired boy was standing by the side of the older lady, while you clung to your father’s slacks. The boy’s bored teal-eyed stare made you advert your eyes to your pretty shoes. 

“This is Alhaitham, he is the same age as you. Say hello.” The stern hands of your father broke your grasp on his slacks and pushed you towards the boy named ‘Alhaitham’. 

“Alhaitham, won’t you greet our new neighbor?” The older woman’s wrinkled but kind eyes motioned to your nervous frame. 

“Hello.” Greeted a flat voice. 

Your tiny hand found its way back to your father’s slacks, grip wrinkling it even more. You were physically unable to utter a single noise. After what felt like an eternity of staring at your shiny sneakers, your father’s hand tug you away. The adults were now having a small conversation, mostly your parents apologizing for your shyness and the older professor laughing the matter off. 

“There is no need to apologize, children are fickle sometimes. But I hope that she and Alhaitham will get along. You are always welcome to visit, little one.” Her eyes peered at your restless form. You liked her eyes, they were warm.

That night you sat through a long lecture from your parents about your rudeness toward the grandma. All you could do was bow your head, back perfectly straight on the plush new sofa. You were sent to bed with no dinner that night, told to think about how your actions would reflect upon your parents. 

–

The invasive memory triggered by this sudden reunion left a bitter taste on your tongue. The taste that you’ve purposefully been fleeing from all these years. Now with his presence so burdensome, it was dragging your thoughts down deeper. You needed to put a stop to this before your head disappears under the water. 

So just like all those years ago, you disappeared from teal eyes. Not uttering a single greeting as the resounding click of your door was heard. 

Exiting the automated glass doors, you could finally relax your shoulders. The sun was hanging in the sky this Wednesday evening, you were grateful that you were actually able to clock off work on time.

Your eyes scanned the unfamiliar buildings that decorated the landscape, all large and reaching towards the sky, light bouncing off polished windows. You were free to explore. 

Your job required you to attend a meeting about some closing of a deal between the two companies. Thus, the reason why you were currently in the midst of the upscale business district of Sumeru City. Opposing the rundown sector you called home, the sidewalks here were leveled and free of fissures. Many of the trendy shops that lined the streets beckoned you closer to their displays. 

With one glance over the price tags attached to the chic items your body instantly turned away. Of course, the prices in the yuppie part of the city would be out of your budget. 

Walking further down the road, you let yourself enjoy the warm breeze of Sumeru against your stuffy blouse and pencil skirt. Your skin has finally thawed out after being in that overly air-conditioned conference room. Turning onto a quieter side street you walked past the tantalizing smells wafting from the small cafes. 

The gig from last Saturday compensated you quite handsomely. Perhaps you could splurge a little, a reward for yourself securing a returning performance later this month. 

One particular cafe caught your interest, it was a combination of a bookstore and a coffee shop. The blackboard sign placed outside listed the daily specialties, and for once the prices of the drinks weren’t outrageous.

A small bell chimed above your head, welcoming you inside. After placing your order, you decided to peruse through the selection of novels the shop had on display. 

Most of the titles were of the new best sellers or latest academic papers. Your fingers brushed across the smooth covers, observing the different arts and fonts. It seems that you’ve wonder quite a bit down the rows, somehow ending up in a section filled with the simple cover illustrations of children’s books. You were far too old to enjoy such books now. 

Just as you turned on your heel to head back up the aisle, a brilliant verdant cover catches your eye. ‘Oh, so it’s still in print’, you thought. The Giving Tree, the title of the first book you ever learned to read. 

–

“Alhaitham is the same age as you, yet he’s reading scientific journals. You should learn from him.” Your mother’s eyes examined your round eyes looking back up at hers. 

Your small frame deflated even smaller, the bright aura that had been radiating off of you dissipated like morning dew under the harsh sun.

Just earlier you had your first piano lesson, the piano teacher was so excited to tell your parents how much potential you had, and how filled with talent you were. Their words made you perk up on the bench, the instrument no longer felt as frightening. 

The praise had left you in a good mood, so much so that you agreed to accompany your mother to the neighbor’s house. A book clutched in the hand that wasn’t held in your mother’s clammy grasp. You weren’t sure if you were in a good mood anymore.

The kind grandma led you to a small library where her grandson was, Alhaitham was curled up on the rug with a thick journal in his small hands. The thin children’s book in your hand paled in comparison. 

“Now, now. Alhaitham is just very passionate about reading. Your daughter is at the normal age where children begin reading, perhaps she’ll also gain a fondness if they read together. I think they’ll have fun together.” The kind woman gestured for you into the room. 

Your mother releases your hand, a cold look ushered you toward the empty spot next to the boy. Settling down on the other side of the rug, you glanced up quickly. She seemed satisfied. 

The grandma soon led your mother to another part of the house, continuing their conversation. You turned toward the boy next to you, he was too focused on the text in front of him to bother greeting you. 

Spirits a bit dejected, you opened the cover to your own thin book. It was your father that placed the book in your hands, telling you to start reading. As your eyes glossed over the figures that took up only a fraction of the page, you came across the obvious hurdle.

You don’t know how to read. No one had ever sat you on their lap and gone through this book with you, or any book really. 

The illustrations and script on the page taunted you, calling you to decypher their meanings and symbols. The pages were quickly flipped through until you hit the back cover, then flipped through once more until you were back to the front.

A foolish attempt for a miracle, that if you flipped through the book fast enough, somehow those scribbles on the pages will make sense. 

“Are you even reading?” Spoke a slightly irritated voice.

Oh, your loud turning must have distracted the boy from his reading. The flipping stopped, as you glanced at him seeing the disinterested eyes staring back, you looked away. The embarrassment this time compelled your mouth to speak. 

“N-no… I don’t know how…” Cheeks burned from shame, you could already feel that familiar sting in your eyes. Oh no, if you cried then mom might frown again. 

A sigh resounded beside you, Alhaitham shifted his body out of his comfortable position against his pillow. Oh no, is he getting up to tell mom about the dark secret you just spilled to him? You didn’t get him to promise he won’t tell, will he get you in trouble? 

“Give it here.” An expecting hand reached out, palms open. 

You blinked at the hand slowly, did he want the book in exchange for not telling? Obediently, you placed the small book into his hold. His teal eyes glance over the title quickly, before he lays the book open in the space between your two bodies. Your head tilted in confusion at his actions. But as soon as his tranquil voice read the word out loud, that confusion stopped. 

“Mmm… I don’t like the boy.” You crossed your arms in front of your small body, round cheeks pushed out in a pout.

Alhaitham just finished reading the story to you, he ran his small finger along with each word he spoke so you could follow along as well. His eyes connected with yours inquisitively, waiting for you to continue. 

“The nice tree gave him so much, and he never said ‘thank you’. And he left the tree alone for so long, the tree must have been so sad. He’s mean, a big meanie and… and…”

“Ungrateful.” Alhaitham finished your sentence. 

“Un-un..grateful?” You titled your head again, the unfamiliar word felt weird on your tongue. 

“Ungrateful. U-n-g-r-a-t-e-f-u-l. It means having no feelings of thanks, you can also say he’s selfish.” The boy answered your question before you could even ask it. 

You pressed a finger against your lips, turning the newly learned vocabulary in your head. Yeah, those words fit the boy in the story very well. Ungrateful and selfish. You looked back at the boy sitting next to you, a smile stretched your chubby cheeks. The grandma was right, reading with him was fun. 

“You’re really smart.” You beamed at him. 

“That means nothing to me.” He huffed, turning his face away. 

You could spy with your little eyes the red tint on the tips of his ears that peeked out from his ash-colored hair. 

“Hehe, and you’re funny too.” For the first time in a while, you giggled.

–

What a bittersweet memory, like the fragrance of the different brews traveling throughout the small shop. Yet, the nostalgia brought a small curl to your lips. You turned away from the book, only to flinch at what your eyes saw next. 

The boy from your memories is now a man standing adjacently. You must’ve been too lost in thought to notice his towering stature. 

After that tense reunion in the hallway, thankfully Alhaitham didn’t decide to knock on your door. Not that you would’ve answered anyways. He probably had already predicted your actions, and thus saved himself the time. 

He was dressed in a suit and but the tie was loose around his neck, he must’ve just gotten off of work. The path back to the coffee bar was just slightly blocked by his wide frame, you had to get past him. 

Teal-orange eyes converged with your stare, ah it’s too late to try and sneak past now. Alhaitham acknowledges your presence with a slight nod of his head, expression blank and unreadable. Once again you didn’t say a single greeting.

As if a merciful archon had been watching this pathetic interaction, an opportunity for escape was granted in the form of the barista calling out your name. 

“Excuse me.” Was all you could muster, hastily striding past him, body pressed against the selves so as to not brush against him. 

Before you the bell at the front chimed again to signal your departure, you made sure to leave some extra mora, more than the necessary amount. Done in silent gratitude towards the unsung hero of a barista. 

It was now the last Saturday of the month, meaning it was time for your return performance. In your bathroom mirror, you smoothed out any stray hairs, straightening out your black performance garb.

A sacred ritual to slow the beating of your jumping heart. It’s a bit silly to admit, but no matter how many times you’ve performed, your nerves always went haywire. A terrible habit that made its way to adulthood. 

The tavern you were performing at was quite a popular joint among the locals of Sumeru City. The nice wooden and homey interior gave many city dwellers their taste of nature in a progressing world. A grand piano was tucked away in a clear corner of the establishment, a ring of tables enclosed the area into a stage of sorts. 

Pushing through the intricately carved doors, you entered Lambad’s Tavern eyes surveying the audience for this Saturday night. There were some tables still empty, awaiting the future stream of guests. Chatter quietly reverberated through the serene scene for now.

The atmosphere can get a bit rowdy as more and more alcohol ran through the systems of patrons. In a way, it was perfect for you, a perfect stepping stone in your slow climb. 

Checking in with the manager at the front, you got the thumbs up to start setting up for your show. An agreement had been reached earlier this month that you would be playing the piano for three hours, three hours of having the privilege to play on a grand piano again. Not on the electronic imitation of your keyboard. Eager hands glided their soft touch along the smooth keys. 

Yes, nothing can truly capture the beauty of the grand piano’s voice, not even the CDs you set up on a table nearby. Recordings with a mixed tracklist of classical pieces and original compositions, just like your setlist for tonight. 

Lifting up the fallboard, you set the sheets against the music stand. Not that you needed them. Every note, every rest, and every change in tempo memorized in your fingers. Taking a deep breath, your eyes did one final scan around the room. Most tables were too emersed in their own conversations to take note of you. 

Rubbing your fingers together to grind out the tremble of your nerves before you shut your eyes. In the darkness quiet darkness of your mind, your fingers moved into their positions over the keys. Erik Satie’s Je te veux resonated with the muddled conversations of the audience, adding to the serene air. 

You’ve always closed your eyes when performing, a trait that has embedded itself from the start of your music career. The darkness of your mind offered a reprieve from the critical eyes of judges and parents during recitals and competitions.

You first stepped into this safe haven around the time of your first recital at the age of eight. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first began your piano lessons, and your teacher was eager to announce your first recital. They had a sparkle in their eyes, keen to show off their most talented disciple. 

They had discovered an unpolished diamond among the mediocre ruff, a young naturally blessed child. Your lips were kept sealed about the long hours your parents forced you to sit in front of the piano after each weekly lesson. 

Before you only ever played under the watchful gaze of either your parents or teacher, not an audience of strangers. To say you were nervous would be an understatement, you were terrified. 

“I can’t do it.” You retracted your hands from the piano once again, as if the keys were scorching you. 

“You said you wanted to play the piano for me.” The young boy beside you huffed out, annoyed at your actions. You had repeated these steps five times now. 

“I know! But I’m… scared…” Your posture deflated. 

“If you can’t play in front of one person, how can you play for a crowd?” Alhaitham’s disinterested eyes crept back to the book he had placed beside him, you had dragged him away from his reading for this. 

“I don’t know…” A frown pulled at your face, eyes feeling the incoming burn. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. 

There was a tense moment of nothingness between the two of you. The boy quietly observed the paper propped up against the music stand. 

“Do you know how to play this piece?” His flat voice broke the suspense. 

“Yes I do! I’ve been practicing this every day, I can even do it with my eyes closed.” You huffed in disbelief at his accusation. 

“Then do that. Just play with your eyes closed.” He retorted as if it was the most obvious statement in the world. 

Which in truth, it was the most obvious statement in the world. You’ve been practicing Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen since the beginning of the month every day for six hours a day. The rhythm and keys were ingrained into your fingers by the second week. 

The solution was so plain and simple, why didn’t you think of it? Your parents were right, you are always a few steps behind the brilliant boy. 

An embarrassed flush covered your round cheeks. Suddenly his stare was heavy, heavier than the ones from your parents and teacher. The muscles in your finger felt tense. Your young mind could tell that if this continued then the tune embedded in your hands wouldn’t come out at all. 

“Can you not look?” A quiet plead. 

“I thought you wanted me to watch.” A grey brow was raised. 

“I know… But…” Around him, you couldn’t seem to finish your sentences. 

“Fine.” Deciding that prying further would be a wasted effort, Alhaitham turned his short body around on the bench so that his back faced the piano instead. Cracking open his thick book back to the page he had left off on. 

“I don’t need to look at you to hear you play anyways.” The young boy’s eyes returned back to their place among the text. 

Sitting back up straight again, shoulder back and hands into position. You took a deep breath and entered the darkness behind your eyelids. This time your fingers guided you through the moment, and the piano sang out its melodies. 

–

Coincidentally, Vom fremden Ländern und Menschen from Kinderszenen just so happened to be ending right now as the memory finished its course. You had transitioned into the piece some time ago, finishing five out of the many on your three-hour setlist. It was right about time for a small break. 

As your eyelids lifted a few soft claps reached your ears, from the growing chatter it seems that more customers had funneled into the tavern. 

The manager of the tavern was a very generous man, so much so that he offers you a complimentary drink you could claim during each of your breaks. You would be a fool to turn down such an offer, but you reminded yourself that you need to maintain a certain level of sobriety. For the sake of your performance. 

The sweet wine felt divine running down your parched throat. The alcohol did wonders in mellowing out your racing thoughts as you returned back to your place at the piano. Just like before, you did a small survey of your surroundings. Big mistake, for your mind kicked into overdrive when locking gazes with teal eyes.  

‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’. 

A superstition you should really be more mindful of. Shifting your body towards the piano, you ended the impromptu staring contest. Ah, what song were you supposed to play now? Thoughts scrambled as you can still feel the heaviness of Alhaitham’s gaze on your back. ‘Just play’ you internally scolded.

Letting your fingers take over the piano, retreating back into the comforting blackness. 

“Who was that?” Kaveh creaked open the door to his new apartment, inquiring his now former roommate about the scene that unraveled moments before. 

Alhaitham observed the heavy metal frame that closed you off from him once more. This was certainly an unexpected surprise. It’s been seven years since he last hear your voice. Seven years since you marched forth on a path carved by your own grit and resoluteness. 

Many things have changed these seven years.

Who are you?

Eyes still following the cracks of the paint running up your door, the ashen-haired man’s mind recounted a scene from long ago. 

–

It’s been a few months since you first moved into this neighborhood, taking Alhaitham’s title of ‘only kid on the block’ away. During your first introduction, you wouldn’t even greet him constantly tugging on your father’s pant leg and staring at your feet. 

Now you wouldn’t stop greeting him. After lunch, almost like clockwork, there would be a knock at his front door. Disrupting his precious reading time. You’d be there on the other side with a new book for him to read to you, or you’d bounce on the heels of your feet inviting him to hear your piano. 

Today, it was the latter. Alhaitham had his back facing the piano, the position that made you the most comfortable. A book was open in his lap, but his mind was busy pondering a mystery to pay attention to it or to the tune you were playing. Grandma said it wasn’t good to hold in questions, lest they consume the curious mind. Best to get answers from the source of the mystery. 

“Why do you seek me out?” His flat voice interfered with the sharp notes.

“Huh?” You turned to him perplexed, fingers now hovering over the keys.

“Are we friends?” He asked directly, it’s good to be straightforward. 

“Of course we’re friends! Even if you’re a bookworm, you’re still a precious friend of mine.” Chest puffed up at your bold declaration. 

“If I am a bookworm, it’s only appropriate to call you an earworm.”

“E-earworm? There are worms that live in the ear??” 

“No, it’s just a figure of speech. Earworm refers to a tone or melody that repeats constantly in the mind.” 

“Ooh. Earworm…” You pondered the term for a bit before another splitting smile spread across your face. 

“Yes! You’re a bookworm and I’m an earworm.” A finger was directed at him then back at yourself, giggling. 

Strangely, the young boy felt a tickle at the back of his throat, as if your laughter was contagious like a cold. He decided to hold it back in favor of observing your expression for a bit longer. 

“Oh!” You jumped up from the bench, reaching into the shiny pencil case you kept close to the piano. 

Pulling out a bold black marker you uncapped the tool before climbing onto the bench, the extra height allowing you to maneuver the top half of your body into the body of the piano. 

Now it was his turn to be bewildered, quickly snapping his eyes towards the entrance of the living room, watching out for signs of your parents. Soon you reemerged from the instrument, capping the marker with a proud look in your eyes. 

“There, now there’s solid proof of our friendship.”  

Alhaitham peers into the piano, observing the words clumsily written along the wooden shell:

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

“Why am I before you? It’s your piano isn’t it?” 

“Well ‘B’ comes before ‘E’.” You puffed out your cheek at his lackluster response to your heartfelt gesture. 

For the first time ever in front of you, Alhaitham let an obvious smile appear on his face. 

–

What a bittersweet term. Friends. Yes, the two of you were once friends long ago. Close friends who morphed into strangers. The catalyst for this change? With each new stage of life, branching paths will appear, the parting of ways is just a natural phenomenon. 

He is Alhaitham and you are you. Separate individuals with separate lives on separate paths. 

“Just someone I used to know.” Came his candid answer. 

“Right.” Kaveh rolled his eyes, clearly displeased at how the ashen-haired man won’t give his question an actual response. 

Alhaitham removed his eyes from your door, picking the cardboard box back off the tiled hallway. Kaveh didn’t need to know the specifics, the precious details shall forever make their home in a safe corner of his mind. 

Alhaitham exited the ornate doors of the office building. Currently, it was the closing quarter, meaning the office has been more bothersome than usual. Even with his perfected front of acting busy, more and more troublesome characters have been strolling into his office. It’s irrelevant now, for the secretary is now off the clock. 

The sun was still in the sky, perfect weather to grab a bit to eat from a local coffee shop. It’s been a week since he last picked up a new book as well, there was one place that came to mind that would allow the man to kill two birds with one stone. Long legs walked with swift strides towards his destination. 

Even will his earphones in, Alhaitham could still hear the hustle and bustle of the crowded streets. In Sumeru City this was expected, construction, traffic, and pedestrians, everything thing muddled together in noisy inference with his thoughts. He turns up the volume. 

Opening the door to the cafe, the bell sounded his arrival. The usual barista was there at the counter. With a quick glance up the barista instinctively placed his order, a testament to just how often the ashen-haired man frequents this place. Good, this saves him the trouble. 

Without pausing his music, Alhaitham began pursuing the nonfiction section of the small shop. There were a few new scientific journals that have been published, maybe he’ll give them a read. 

Although his ears were currently occupied, that doesn’t mean his other senses were dulled. He could feel the weight of someone’s gaze upon his back. Usually, the man would simply brush such occurrences off. But there was this small nag coming from a corner of his mind. This could be a result of a brain being bored by a day’s worth of paperwork. He’ll indulge his curiosity. 

Returning the weight of the gaze back to the mysterious source he felt his jaw clench just a bit. There you were again, staring at him with your lips pressed together tensely. Your wide eyes were very reminiscent of a spooked songbird. Everything about your body language read startled and for flight. 

This time, Alhaitham doesn’t encroach, he simply nodded his head in a small greeting. It seems even this small action sparked you to flee. You mouthed something before quickly strolling past him. 

Shamelessly, his teal eyes followed your path as you paid for your coffee and disappeared out of sight from the shop windows. Yes, his statement that these seven years have brought about much change was correct. It wasn’t like this before.

–

“Alhaitham, why are you reading here?” His grandma inquired about the reason behind her grandson situating himself at the window nook instead of inside the library. 

“I just wanted to enjoy the sunlight.” Came his crafted response. 

From this small nook, the window gave a clear view of the front steps and the path that led to the house just across the street. The older woman took note of this, kind eyes giving the young boy a knowing look and smile. You had begun attending the local school.

Meanwhile, Alhaitham adamantly wanted to stay home and self-study instead. Stating that all the material the school covered he already knew. The old lady didn’t raise any objections to her grandson’s decision. 

“If you go over to her house remember to be polite, and inform me before you do.” A wrinkled hand tussled through his soft ashen locks. 

“There’s no need. I’m just sitting here to read.” He leaned into his grandma’s touch. 

“Of course, of course. Then I shall make use of this afternoon to review some material. Remember what I said.” 

“Yes, grandma.” Came his reply. 

With that, Alhaitham was left to his own thoughts by the window. He didn’t really know why he felt the pull to sit by the window. Was it to get a glimpse of you? The neighbor’s daughter? 

You and he were the only two kids on the block, so it wasn’t surprising you would often seek out his company. A friendship formed by virtue of close proximity. However, now you were attending classes filled with other kids your age. His company would sooner or later fade into obscurity. 

Alhaitham has always been very attuned to the situation around him, displaying a level of maturity and insight way beyond his years. Perhaps he still retains some semblance of that childish essence. Demonstrated by his current position, the book in his lap only held half of his attention, the other wondering out the clear glass. 

What is he hoping for realistically? Others can provide you much livelier company than he ever could, and yet he still-

The boy puts down the book, short legs pattering across the wooden floor swiftly carrying his body to the door. Small hands turned the cold brass before he channeled all his strength into prying the wooden mass from the frame.

Revealing your bewildered face, hand frozen in its position ready to knock on the now open door. Once your eyes met, it wasn’t long before a smile replaced your expression. 

“Hi, Haitham! Wanna hear me play today?” 

–

Yes, that was how things used to be. Even as your social circle grew, even as new families moved in, you’d still appear back in front of him. Beaming that smile he lost the privilege to see. Like a songbird that returned every day to sing in front of his window as the solitary child read.

 Alhaitham’s eyes found themselves locked once more on a door, the one you had rushed out of not so long ago. There was a weight pulling down on the corners of his mouth. He entered Sumeru’s education system during high school. Missing the crucial formative years previously where cliques and social labels were formed, he stood alone as a loner. 

But You always rushed towards him through crowded halls and rooms. Breaking away amidst your social circle from orchestra and band. Just to tap him on the shoulder and eat lunch together in the sanctuary of a private practice room that housed the school’s piano.

These repetitive memories plaguing him brought a bitter taste to his coffee. Perhaps it was the dreadful combination of sweet memory and awareness of the current state of affairs. 

Finally, the end of the month has come. Meaning things at work have sorted themselves out, at least for another three months. In lieu of attending an actual company-sponsored dinner, Alhaitham decides to get a drink at the local tavern.

Company dinners were noisy, filled with black ties and white lies. Too troublesome. However, recently his mind has been filling the silence of his house with redundant thoughts. 

A drink from time to time is a good way to destress and quell the mind, Alhaitham reasons as he enters the establishment. Lambad’s Tavern was a local joint that provides a small solace from the rambunctious city streets. A place the man likes to visit on occasion, usually when an invitation was extended. 

From the moment he entered through the doors, he could hear a piano ending its cords. It seems that there was live music tonight. Usually, it was nice to have background music accompany the chatter of the other patrons. But why a piano of all choices tonight? Alhaitham takes a deep breath before letting out a small sigh, it’s as if a ghost of the past is haunting him. 

Placing an order for a bottle of wine to be delivered to a secluded area, Alhaitham makes his way to the usual table. His body maneuvered through the sea of flushed face patrons, and the sight of the grand piano came into view.

The bench by the instrument was empty, perhaps his mind really is just conjuring up a ghost. Regardless, once the wine comes these thoughts will settle. 

“Your wine.” The alcohol was set down. 

“Thank you.” Alhaitham swirls the glass a bit before taking a sip. 

 His bored eyes began to wander once more, looking for anything to bide the time with, unsurprisingly they were beckoned towards the piano. Only this, time it was no longer empty. No, this time it was no ghost invented by a bored mind, it was you. He stiffly swallowed down the wine. 

He wasn’t subtle nor careful with how obviously he was staring, thinking too occupied by astonishment. This must have tipped you off, as once again your wide-eyed gaze connected with his heavy one. You made that tense face again. You broke away, tightly shutting your eyes before your fingers hit the keys, making the piano sing. 

‘Oh, so you still closed your eyes when you played’. Alhaitham found a strange satisfaction in this fact as if he found comfort in the one constant he still knew about you. Arms and fingers moved fluidly, a sight he used to not be able to see out of respect for you. 

–

Your parents were busy with their research, and his grandmother had her hands full with academic responsibilities. It was only Alhaitham who had the time, a resource only abundant in youth, to attend your recitals and concerts.

As the crowd and the judges bored holes into your figure up on stage, the young man kept his eyes peeled on the book in front of him. 

The young man didn’t mind attending these events, the audience was mostly silent save for the occasional applause. After so many years and lunches spent by your side at the piano, his ears have gotten used to the melodic accompaniment to his reading.

The final chords of your performance reverberated throughout the air, followed by the rolling clapping of hands.

He lifted his attention up to the stage. Although it’s ironic how the only time you wanted him to watch your performance was at the end, he’ll respect your wishes. From the brightly lit stage, you were finishing your bow, and as your head rises your eyes connected with his. A beaming smile was directed at him.

Was it you or the stage lights that stung his eyes? 

“How’d you think I did, Haitham?” Was the first thing out of your lips after rejoining him. 

The concert hall had emptied out some time ago, and Alhaitham had been waiting by the backstage door to walk home with you. You held a thick folder against the front of your formal black gown, a bounce in your ballet flat steps. Alhaitham pretended to contemplate his answer. 

“I’m not well versed in acoustics nor how to judge music, so I don’t see how my opinion would matter.”  Came his flat reply.  

“Haitham, you listened to me play for years. How have you not learned a thing?” You pouted, just like how he predicted. 

The young man gave you a simple shrug. Of course, he found your performance exceptional, he was there for the hours of practice you put in. 

“Whatever, now that it’s over. I can start looking at the piece the conductor wanted me to accompany for the school’s orchestra. Ahh, I only have three weeks to practice.” You made a face as you dug through the thick folder as the two of you continued to walk. 

He only hummed in response, shifting his focus back to his book. It was the sweet Sumeru Spring of your third year of high school, the perfect for a serene walk home.

Over the top of the pages, his teal eyes could see your lips press into a crooked line, desperately trying to suppress your snickers as you sightread the notes on the sheet. 

“Is that a piece by Debussy?” 

“Huh? How’d ya know, Haitham?” 

You were easy to read. After knowing you for over a decade now, you were like an open book to him. The journal hides his small smile from your sight. 

–

The memory reminded him to advert his eyes, focusing back on the glass of wine in front of him. He came here for a drink, he should follow through with his plan. The wine quickly vanished as Alhaitham signed for another. It took an impressive amount of willpower for his eyes to not wander back, he won’t let them. 

Your small performance had come to an end, sounded by the closing of the fallboard and how the bench dragged against the floor. He knew you were bowing to show thanks to the audience, yet he still refused to look. From your earlier actions, it was blatant that you despised his presence.

So even as your figure passed by his table, Alhaitham refused to allow you into his line of sight.

It’s been an hour since you left the establishment in a rush, and Alhaitham had run up quite the tab now, best to call it a night. Tossing some mora onto the table, the ashen-haired man stands up ready to begin the taxis ride back. 

The effects of the alcohol must have made his eyes wander back to the piano, a fruitless attempt to watch one last glimpse. And a glimpse they found, in the form of a CD you had carelessly left behind. 

You had abandoned it, thus it was now free for the taking.

It was unlike the stoic man to order rounds after rounds of wine, but he needed something to busy himself with. Just as how you were busy with the piano, he needed the alcohol to quell undesirable impulses. However, as his unsteady steps made it up the front porch, he was chastising himself for that decision. A hangover was guaranteed in the morning.

Roughly slamming the door shut behind him, Alhaitham entered the asylum of his home. The newfound stillness of the house was usually a luxury the ashen-haired man indulged in. However, at the moment it was a tribulation, for his noisy thoughts filled the silence. Its volume only exacerbated by the alcohol in his system. 

When he was younger, Alhaitham naively thought the knowledge gained from academic journals was equivalent to experience. After all, he had just read about another person’s experiences, he could pinpoint their flaws and learn from their mistakes so as to not repeat them. 

Just like the knowledge obtained from his books, he assumed that you too shall always remain in his possession, you shall always stay by his side. Of course, only a naive teenager, no, only a naive child would think this way. 

Did you know that the downfall of many great kings, heroes, and gods was their hubris? Excess self-confidence blinds their vision. Excess confidence only a naive child would have, believing he could analyze everything. 

Oh, how life works in mysterious ways, finding lessons to humble such egos. Alhaitham, against his will, reminisces about the event that taught him a valuable lesson in the noisy silence of his house. 

–

“Haitham, I can’t believe they did it.” You were curled up on the couch of his grandmother’s home, tears streaming down your face. 

“They sold my piano, Haitham. They sold it because they wanted me to get over this ‘hobby’. Hypocrites, as if they weren’t the ones who forced me to practice hours a day since I was a kid.” 

Alhaitham said nothing, silently holding the tissue box out to you. The pair of you had just returned from school just a few hours earlier, bidding goodbye before returning to your respective houses. However, just an hour ago his quiet reading was disrupted by frantic pounding on the front door. He had opened it to your tear-stained face. 

“How could they instill in me a passion for all my life, but when I want to continue with it as a career, they do their damnedest to snuff it out?” You were furiously wiping your eyes with the back of your hands. 

Oh, so that’s what happened. Alhaitham had already seen this coming, knowing how your parents were, it was predictable. They had valid reasons for not wanting their daughter to pursue such a career path.

You still had stage fright, constantly telling him to not look at you when you played. How would you make a living like this? He analyzed the statistics and figures before he comes to his own conclusion. 

There was no reason that you couldn’t balance a stable career with your passion for piano. In Sumeru, they had one of the most progressive work cultures of all of Teyvat. There were generous amounts of paid time off, sick days, and reasonable hours. You had more than enough time for music.

He decides to share his conclusion with you. 

“Music should stay a hobby. Even graduates from the most prestigious music universities aren’t guaranteed a career. To be frank, it’s better if you pursue a degree that leads to a steadfast position. Of course, be firm in your boundaries so that you can have the time for piano.” 

The room fell silent, your wide eyes stared into his calm teal ones. A heavy hush hung in the air as the grandfather clock continued to tick away, until it rang, signaling the change in the air. After the last resonance of its chime faded, you let out a laugh, but there was no joy in your voice. 

“Of course… Why did I think you’d be different? This is why they love you.” Your tone was dry as your shoulders shook, eyes now trained on the floor. 

“Look at Alhaitham, what a level-headed guy he is, you should learn from him. Look at his grades, why can’t you be top of the class? He’s so talented and good at everything, what can you do? Why can’t you be more like Alhaitham?” You spat out his name as if it was poisonous. 

“Comparison is the thief of joy, you shouldn’t-” Alhaitham needed to de-escalate this crescendo.

“If only you were born their son… Then I wouldn’t have suffered.” More tears fell from your eyes as you stumbled off the couch. 

“I hate you, Alhaitham. I hate you for ruining my life.” 

Alhaitham once believed that words, which have no physical form, couldn’t hurt him. The stab in his chest from an unseen force dismissed that notion.

Your burning eyes reconnected with his gaze. He knew that look, he’s seen it many times. Jealousy, anger, and hatred. They were familiar emotions that others cast his way, yet he found himself taken aback. You’ve never looked at him like this before… Have you? 

Before he could utter another word, you stormed off. All the young man could do was watch the back of your figure as it disappeared from sight. 

–

There was a firm frown now on Alhaitham’s lips and a furrow between his brows. He wanted this horrible play to end, for his brain to stop showing him events that have already passed. It’s always one’s own mind that can show the most cruelty to itself. 

–

It’s been a month since you’ve last spoken to him. Taking long about ways to school so as to avoid crossing paths with him, your lunches were spent locked in private practice rooms.

Young Alhaitham had a whole month to analyze and reanalyze at which moment everything fell apart. After much deliberation, he concluded that he made a miscalculation. He overstepped his boundaries. 

In the end, it was your life, you should be the one to decide how you will live it. His unsolicited suggestion was wholly unnecessary. He knew an apology was needed.

However, he could read from your actions that you weren’t ready to talk to him just yet. It wouldn’t be wise to approach you, lest you look at him again with those eyes. That’s fine, he can wait until you came to him. Alhaitham bided his time with more books. Was reading without music always this lonely? 

It was the day of your graduation. From within the sea of celebratory gowns and cheering students, teal eyes honed in on your figure. You were intentionally avoiding his gaze, instead going to congratulate and talk to fellow musicians and classmates. His hand balled up into a fist before he unclenched it. It’s fine, you need more time, and he’ll respect that.

It’s the least he could do. Either way, the two of you had the whole Summer to make up before university started. 

Another miscalculation on his part. 

Alhaitham recalls the panicked ringing of his doorbell, but instead of you, the door opened to reveal your parents. You were gone. Your phone was left behind, important documents missing from filing cabinets, and a bag full of belongings gone. You’ve vanished, the only explanation they got was a note: 

“Don’t Bother Me”. 

You’ve already become a legal adult, how could the Matra have any justification to drag you back? 

That whole hellish Sumeru Summer Alhaitham read at the nook located by the front door. For that whole Summer, the young man answered any number that flashed on his screen. He knew that you had limited money, after your pitiful savings dried up you were bound to return. If not to your house, then at least to this haven.

Your voice was never on the other side. 

Laughably, it took the prodigy Alhaitham an entire Summer to finally come to terms with the facts of the matter. The songbird had left its tarnished cage, and it will never return. He started university without you by his side.

–

Grey lashes fluttered open as the play finally ends. Memories that once looped like a broken record in his mind. With time this memory became a softer hum to his thoughts. An earworm that burrowed deep within so as to remind him of his past shortcomings. 

Yes, his past mistakes made him aware of his limited human vision. That he did in fact not know everything. The series of errors that strayed you away from him. Humans weren’t books, they’re not as easy to decipher as scripts on a page. The growing pains of maturing. A lesson he has learned well.  

Once was an accident, twice is a coincidence, and the third time… a chance. Alhaitham doesn’t believe in gods or fate, but he does believe in opportunity.

Teal eyes made their way to the CD left on top of a polished ivory top. This time, he shall turn around and chase after the ghost, to return to her what was rightfully hers. 

If these occurrences were bound to happen more often, then it’s best for you to catch up with the seven-year backlog of information. Of course, instead of consulting the primary source for the much-needed answers, you turned to a secondary source instead. You are nothing, if not a coward.

Hence why on this warm Thursday night you were out at the local bar, wallet getting emptied by the blond slumped next to you. 

“Ugh, that man was a tyrant. Leaving books everywhere, letting dust just pile up, and every other sentence had to be a snide remark.” Kaveh finishes another glass, another cry from your wallet. 

You were still nursing your second glass while Kaveh’s got a scarlet glow already. A part of you regrets inviting your hall neighbor out, but you appreciated the wealth of information he spilled out once a drop of liquor hit his tongue. 

Currently, Alhaitham is employed at the top company in Sumeru city. he’s the secretary but quickly raising up the ranks. He also owns his own house in a rich suburb, one he used to share with the drunk man beside you, but now it only houses himself. 

“Not only that but every week like clockwork that apathetic bastard would bring home the ugliest furniture. He once brought home an old piano. It took up so much space and clashed against the dark wood of the house! He wouldn’t even try to arrange them, he messed up the feng shui! He can’t even play! What was it for then?!” 

Ah, you can see why the architect was willing to move into the lackluster apartment, he was desperate the spare his blood pressure. You don’t blame him, in fact hearing about your former friend’s spending habits brought a sour aftertaste to your wine.

Oh, how nice it must be to have such financial freedom. 

“Then whenever I make a polite suggestion that he try to consider aesthetics, his response? ‘It is my life, my house, and my money. Suggestions from others are irrelevant and should be ignored. I’m guessing such philosophies are difficult to uphold for designers who must bend to their client’s will.’ Can you believe how insufferable he is?”  

“Hypocrite.” That word rolled bitterly off your tongue, a past dialogue resurfacing from the back of your mind. 

The blond’s hazy eyes peered at your inquisitively. Then his drunken mind sparks a thought: Why were you asking about Alhaitham? He also remembers that he had unanswered questions as well. 

“By the way, what is your relation to that detached man?”

“Just a nobody who got compared to his brilliance.” 

That doesn’t satisfy his question at all. 

“Not this game again. Seriously, just what went down between the two of-”

“For a person who prides himself on his empathy, you sure are oblivious to the discomfort you’re causing. Prying for details that don’t concern you.” A deep voice from behind made your skin prickle. 

Why was he here?

You didn’t need to look to feel the heavy weight of his teal eyes, boring holes into your stiff frame. The wine tasted awful now. It’s rude to ditch the guest that you had invited out, but you needed to get out of here before bile begins to taint your palette. 

Quickly signaling for the tab, you didn’t even comprehend the number before you slammed down a bunch of mora. 

“I’ll leave first. It was nice drinking with you, Kaveh. Let’s do this again sometime.” An excuse and lie. 

“Hey, wait-” The blond lifted up his hand. 

“I’ll walk you home. It’s quite dangerous this time of night around here.” Alhaitham’s body turned to follow you. Ah, he’s pointing out how shit your neighborhood was, isn’t he. 

“Oi! Stop interrupting your senior-”

Alhaitham tosses an extra handful of mora onto the table. Kaveh was nearly shaking with rage, but he couldn’t resist the temptation of another few glasses of wine.

You were taking exaggerated strides across the uneven concrete, trying to put some distance between you. However, your legs were no match for the towering man’s steps, as it wasn’t before long until he caught up. 

The clicking of your shoes and the thumps of his steps filled the tense silence. You refused to meet his gaze. But the thoughts racing through your mind needed answers, in particular, why is he haunting you now of all times? 

“Why are you here?” You punched in the code for the entrance of the complex. 

“I was looking for you. It just so happens that I spotted you through the window of the bar.” 

There was an annoyed twitch at your eyebrow. He is not aware of how creepy he sounded right now?

You swiftly pulled the heavy door open and tried to slam it behind you, to create a barrier. However, Alhaitham’s foot was just a bit faster. His tall figure continued to loom behind you as you ascended the stairs. 

“I have a reason to seek you.” 

“Oh? Then pray tell, why a young professional would follow a woman to her home.” Keys fumbling to fit into the loose door handle. 

“I took a CD. I’m no thief, and I believe that a musician should be fairly compensated for her work.” Came his flat reply. 

That’s it? You already had a terrible week at work, becoming the scapegoat for the incompetency of managers. Now, his presence was only exacerbating the negativity flowing through you. Maybe the heat of the fire hasn’t been completely forgotten. You don’t want his money, you don’t want his pity. 

For the first time, you whipped around intentionally staring straight into his teal-orange irises. You don’t need his money nor pity. Perhaps it was the alcohol talking, maybe it was the mounting stress on your shoulders or a damning combination of both.

You wanted to wipe that indifferent look off his handsome face, you couldn’t stand it. 

Alhaitham’s lips parted ready to continue the transaction, only to be interrupted by the crashing of another on his. Your fingers were tangled in the collar of his shirt, wrinkling the crisp fabric. Your burning stare never left his slightly raised eyes, wanting to observe anything hint of human emotion. 

Shock? Disgust? Fury? You’d take anything over his infuriatingly stoic face. 

Instead of shoving you off like you inferred, Alhaitham slowly lowers his eyelids. Parting his lips even more as if to grant more access, allowing his tongue to dance with yours. These actions only irked you more. 

This wasn’t your first kiss with him, the first time happened while two friends were sitting by a piano, heads turning to face each other too fast. An accidental brushing of lips. It irked you that the mushy feeling from that day was currently making its grand return. 

Breaking away to allow oxygen back into your burning lungs, a thin strand of saliva trailing between. You were panting as his eyes reconnected with yours, something else was swimming behind those impartial irises. Too bad you were too impatient to decipher it, as you pulled his face back down.

Back pushing the rusty apartment door ajar. Two bodies disappeared behind the awful singing of its hinges. 

–

For once, you woke up before the screeching of your phone. The sun was just barely peeking through the blinds. A muscular arm was draped over your bare torso, sheets still a bit damp from sweat. You knew that smell currently suffocating you in the room. You just slept with your former friend. 

Your hand itched to slap your face. Idiot, you avoided him for all this time just to welcome him into your bed. 

Stealthily shimming your body out of bed, you could feel the slight wobble of your legs. Of course, he’s good at sex, he’s good at everything. You cast a quick glance at his slumbering form. Teal eyes were still hidden behind closed lids. Good, he’s not awake.

Like a thief in your own home, you toed around the clothes scattered across the floor, careful to avoid the creaky wooden planks you’ve memorized. 

Swiftly grabbing a random assortment of items out of your closet, you deemed the outfit professional enough for work. Trying to glide across the cluttered apartment like a ghost, you put on your heels, ready for the walk of shame away from your apartment. At least your gym membership will see some use now, a shower would be great to wash the shame and guilt off. 

It’s not like you had anything worth stealing. Grabbing your bag off the table, you exited the scene of the crime. Hinges announcing your departure.

If the you from a few months ago saw what the reunion of friends had morphed into, she’d probably keel over in shock. Can you even call yourselves friends anymore?

The next Saturday following that incident, you had finished up another gig at Lambad’s Tavern. An all too familiar face made his way up to the piano. Browsing through the selection of CDs you still had on display. 

“I’ll take this one.” Alhaitham held the smooth plastic in one hand, as his other reached for his wallet. 

You gestured for him to stop. Crossing your arms in front of your body as if soothing your nerves. Pride still too great to accept his money, a resource he seems to have in excess. Just earlier in the day, after reaching the second round in the audition, the proctor thanked you for your time and lead you to the exit. Another failed attempt to join an orchestra.

You knew that returning to your cramped abode will only lead you to wallow in misery with a cheap bottle of liquor. 

“You can come over. I’ll take it as compensation.” 

How would you define this relationship? Friends with benefits? But the two of you were ex-friends, so that wouldn’t really make sense. Regardless, you knew what you wanted. To forget the sting of failure through pleasure. You turned your head to face him, awaiting his reply. An attentive stare was the silent confirmation you needed. 

Does he think you’re easy or desperate? You didn’t particularly care for his opinion anymore. Alhaitham was currently kneeling by the side of your mused bed, he was here to ‘compensate’ you, and compensate he will. Your thighs were firmly held in his large hands, spreading them apart granting him access to the honeypot he seeks. 

His hot tongue lapped at your slick folds, parting the labia and collecting your slick. Making sure to end the journey with a small flick to the little nub on top, before the wet muscle traveled back down. The noise was sinfully melodic. Your legs were straining against his hold, instinctively wanting to close in on his face, but his strength far surpasses yours. So instead, you pressed your lips into the back of your hand. Denying him the privilege to hear your moans.

This must’ve displeased him greatly, as the next thing you knew he broke from his steady tempo, and his soft lips enclosed around your sensitive clit. Alhaitham’s tongue was now accompanied by the suction of his mouth, torturing your poor little bundle. Slurping and sloppy wet flicks bounced off the thin walls. Hot flashes shot up your legs as your toes curled, a moan was fighting its way past your teeth. 

He changed his pace once more. Now intertwining deep laps of your leaking hole with the overwhelming attention on your now swollen clit. Your honey was dripping down his chin as he continued his efforts. Your legs were trembling now, unable to give any resistance against his domineering hold. Thus, allowing him to slip one hand between, two long fingers stretching out your gummy walls. Prodding their way through the tight warm hole, mapping out their way to that special spongey patch. 

Your teeth wouldn’t hold back the moan any longer. Back arching off the messy sheets, the internal and external pleasure created a maddening duo, pushing your sanity off the edge. Your vision when white was your body shook, nonsense babbling out of your lips. Alhaitham gave your pulsing clit a few more slick licks before pressing a sweet kiss against it. 

His towering frame got up from the floor to loom over your recovering body. Teal eyes observing every twitch and shiver of your sloppy face. Soon his face descended closer, this time you were the quick one. Snapping your head to the side. Denying him a kiss, lest those mushy emotions bubble up during this moment. Alhaitham stills, he says nothing, just letting his warm breath fan across your face. 

He got the message. Pulling away to give space between your lips, he searches his back pocket for a condom. Even with your bodies connected. There was still a line deeply etched into the sand, separating the two of you.  

–

Once again you woke up before him. Once again you slipped out of his embrace. Ocne more his arms gave no protest. Another journey to the gym. 

One time turned into two times, two times turned into… you lost count at this point. However, it would simply be a waste of time to think too deeply about it. It’s Alhaitham after all, that man would never bother with activities that waste his time. If it doesn’t serve to benefit in any way, he’d be the first to drop it, what an objective guy he is. 

The two of you were still young professionals with a lot of steam to let off. A familiar face of convenience to destress and feel the wisp of comfort from another warm body in this cold world. This is what’s become of the pile of ashes from a once beautiful bridge.

The back of your head hit against the brick wall supporting your body. Another rejection, this time you made it all the way to the semi-finals. Alas, from behind a curtain, the panel of judges deemed you unworthy of playing in their esteemed orchestra. Your aching fingers dug into your palms, hoping that the pain would distract from the burning sting welling up in your eyes.

The pursuit of knowledge and the pursuit of dreams were more similar to each other than what great scholars of the nation of wisdom cared to admit.

They were the shining light that broke through the murky uncertainly of life, beckoning stray souls towards them. Those lost in the labyrinth of reality desperately seek to walk the path illuminated by their glow. 

In the end, knowledge and dreams were like the sun’s warm rays shining through the leaves of a tree. No matter how many times your hands reach for and grab, you can never hold them.  

The multiple part-time jobs you juggled between your college courses taught you the most valuable lesson no lecture ever could: Dreams cost money, and so did rent, and so did food, and so did utilities. 

Scornfully, you had to tack on extra courses to your piano major, a witless minor in business administration. It stings your pride to this day to attribute your current steady stream of income to that last-minute academic decision. 

It stung because, in the end, Alhaitham’s prediction was correct. Regardless of if one was a natural or artificial prodigy like you. Even the brightest and most dedicated musicians aren’t guaranteed a career, degree or not. Perhaps, this truth that you’ve come to terms with was the water that smothered the flame of anger. Leaving behind the defeated wisps of regret and embarrassment. 

Of course Alhaitham was right, he always is. 

There was a chime from the store door opening up beside you. A certain ashen-haired man walked out with a bouquet of Sumeru roses in hand. ‘Speak of the devil, and he doth appear’.

You quickly adverted your gaze, but it was useless as he had already taken note of your presence. You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Deciding to take control of the conversation before anything starts. 

“I don’t have a show tonight.” Referring to the bouquet in his hands. 

“I’m aware. I was going to visit my grandmother today.” His deep voice drummed. 

Oh. You wanted the archons to strike you down at this very moment. Stupid, why did you assume such things? There’s nothing but a tightrope formed by virtue of convenience connecting your paths. Just what were you hoping for? Your cheeks were now burning with shame. 

“Would you like to come with me?” His calm tone beckons you out of your thoughts. 

At this rate, how could you refuse? Perhaps it was due to the surmounting weight of guilt and embarrassment. But a part of you also knows it’s because you missed her. So you followed Alhaitham to his car, buckling yourself in and opening your arms, offering to carry the flowers. The car ride was silent the whole time. 

Alhaitham’s grandmother always looked at you with those tender warm eyes of hers. Extending out a warm hand to comb through your locks in exchange for every song you’d play for her. She was the only voice that offered your impoverished heart any words of encouragement.

Words that brought an inkling of warmth from the icy stares of your parents. 

–

The final note echoed throughout the common area of the hospital. Applause could be heard from the few patients attending your impromptu concert. However, your attention was focused all on the soft smile of the frail woman in the wheelchair beside you. Her thin, wrinkled hands clapped together. 

Jokingly you gave a dramatic bow from your sitting position at the piano bench, earning a gentle chuckle from her. 

“Oh, what a lovely performance by the loveliest girl.” A hand reached out towards you. 

You swiftly bowed your head under her palm, allowing her fingers to rest against your scalp. Gently she began to stroke your head, making a wide smile stretch your cheeks. Your heart’s weekly dose of encouragement. However, this tender moment was broken by the vibrations of your phone. Your eyes quickly scanned the name of the caller. 

Oh, it was your tutor, you skipped your lessons once more in favor of visiting the Bimarstan. 

The woman beside you takes note of this and lets out a huff. 

“You’re already plenty smart. I don’t understand why your parents insist on such endeavors.” 

You didn’t have the heart to tell her the hours of tutoring and cram schools you sandwiched between your demanding schedule was due to the idolization of her grandson. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t his. 

It was yours, for not being to stand on equal footing with the prodigy Alhaitham. You pressed your lips sealed. This detail didn’t escape her aging eyes. She shifted her attention to the sheet music propped up on the stand. 

“Do you know the story behind Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro?”

You tilted your head to the side, you’ve never researched any piece in depth before. Reading your answer from this action, the old lady continued. 

“It was written for quite a famous play. A story and message that caused waves through society at the time. A story about servants rebelling against their masters, taking fate into their own hands.” Her warm eyes gave you a knowing look. 

“That is why it’s my favorite song from Mozart.”

“Oh? Then I’ll play it for you again. As many times as you want.” The smile returned to your face. 

You never thought that the next time you’d ever play that song would be at her funeral. Fellow professors and colleagues dressed in black filled the room of the wake, paying their respects to her and their condolences to the young man beside you.

What an awful transition into adulthood Alhaitham had. 

Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the marble floor. Peering at the face of your dearest friend, his cheeks were dry. 

By the time the sky began to turn its brilliant pink and orange hues, the attendees had all funneled out of the room. Your parents were the first ones to leave, but you stayed firmly by Alhaitham’s side. It was only you, him, and the casket in the room now. 

She wanted a private burial, thus the staff informed you that they’ll begin the process soon. However, before they did, you wanted to play her favorite song one last time. Your send-off for her. 

Sitting down at the sleek black piano provided by the funeral home, you took a deep breath. Alhaitham takes his place next to you on the bench, with his back facing the piano you couldn’t see his face. 

The bright tones of this joyful song resounding through the room harshly contrasted the somber mood. But you continued playing regardless, fingers never skipping a note nor compromising the tempo. 

Alhaitham’s head found its way on your shoulder, the weight slightly interfering with your range of motion. However, you didn’t say anything and never stopped playing. The bright melody comforting two grieving souls. 

–

The last memories you had of her resurfacing as he places the flowers down at her grave. The tombstone is still as clean and polished as the day it was inlaid into the ground. A testament to the diligence of her grandson, the only family she left behind.

Today was the first time the day didn’t end with a trip to your bed. The mood was inappropriate for such things. 

Just two souls quietly reminiscing about the things that are now gone. As it was, it shall never be again. 

If his colleagues were to ever discover the current predicament the raising secretary of the company was in, they’d either dismiss it or laugh at him. How unthinkable. The phlegmatic man whose hands always held the reins of control, reduced to such a complacent fool? The desert would freeze over before any of them would ever believe such a thing. 

However, Alhaitham didn’t need to justify his actions to anyone. The ashen-haired man already knew the reason behind his actions. He’s known for quite a while now. He holds his convictions firmly and will walk through hell with them.

–

Sitting down in a private study room provided by the university, a senior was currently wallowing in an irrelevant emotion. Alhaihtam knows the name, it’s grief.

Of course, it’s depressing to lose a familiar face, a person who stood by your side throughout your developmental years. However, you were still alive. Why is he grieving over a person who’s still healthy and breathing? Questions unrelated to his thesis plagued his thoughts as his paper remained untouched on the desk.

Teal irises scan the stack of books he had piled to the side. Perhaps he should review some of the material to refresh his mind about his thesis on the consequences of unrecorded words.

Picking a random psychology journal from the mound, this book could hold the answers to why his thoughts are redundant. Alhaitham began his quest for an epiphany.

The student’s experienced eyes scanned through the text, noting details that could potentially support his points. It’s not a surprise that psychology and etymology go hand in hand, after all, words were born out of human thought and the need to communicate them.

This journal was only scratching at the ceiling that prevented him from crossing into the territory of true understanding. It frustrated him. 

Disdainfully scrutinizing the text further, running through each passage over and over, until he finally reads the first line of the final page:

“Psychology as a science has its limitations, and, as the logical consequence of theology is mysticism, so the ultimate consequence of psychology is love.”

The student finally closes the covers of the book, it had served its purpose.

No matter how many times his thoughts circled back, searching for correlations and different conclusions from figurative pinpoints. Alhaitham knew in the end, they were all just excuses. 

Love is illogical by nature, an unexplainable consequence of human thought. A fever which comes and goes independently of the will. Maybe, the true explanation of love has been lost to time, the unwritten words that belonged in the spaces between the script printed in preserved texts. 

So Alhaitham will understand his limits now. It matters not if he understands the origins of love or language or words. All that mattered to him is that he understands now: He was in love. A diagnosis and truth that came years too late. With this revelation quelling his thoughts, he finished his thesis. 

Acceptance, the last stage of grief. 

–

‘This is unhealthy’ a voice in his mind chastised. Alhaitham didn’t feel the need to defend his current actions, because the voice was right. This is unhealthy. Teal eyes concealed the running thoughts in his head, watching the raising and falling of your chest.

After all these years you reappeared in front of him. The ashen-haired man knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Even though it was made from a rope of thorns, he still grabbed onto it. 

For now, he shall set aside his pride, his hubris. Sex was the only time you would willingly approach him. Alhaitham was more than willing to exchange his body for the privilege of being close to you once more. A fair trade in his mind. 

‘If you love something set it free. If it comes back it's yours. If not, it was never meant to be.’

The stoic man is sure the saying would disagree with his tampering. Like setting a songbird free, only to lure it back into his hands with the irresistible treat of pleasure. It was all he could do. Alhaitham knew that cruelly grasping at the songbird will only snap the fragile tightrope that connected your paths. 

After all, you had fled the hated cage of your childhood home the moment the door was left open. He already decided he won’t do that to you. 

Instead, he’ll keep holding out his hand, palms wide open, waiting for you to come back to taste the pleasure he offers you time after time again.

You were laying on his chest, sleep drenched every fiber of your being, heart vibrating steadily against his own. 

It’s a paradox, how can your body be so close but your heart still so far away? 

The desire for sleep outweighed his lust for answers. Or it could be that he already knew, he was just delaying the thought for the morning. His heavy lids closed.

When they open again in the morning, he knows they’ll be greeted by the sight of an empty bed. He knows the sheets that hold your lingering scent will be cold. He knows he will be left alone in your apartment.

Alhaitham knows, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

The Sumeru Grand Orchestra, the golden ticket for any musician. Status, recognition, and generous paychecks. When the auditions were first announced you were one of the first to jump at the opportunity, and so did everyone else, flooding the application sites, but you were able to secure a number: 211. 

Weeks in advance on a muted keyboard you practiced every classical piece you could, sharpening your sightreading senses. You were led into the waiting room with all the other aspiring musicians, it was now a game of survival. 

You made it to the final round. It’s been five hours since you last left the palatial concert hall where the auditions were held. The one cramped room was now a motionless void, mutterings of prayers to any archon that would listen whispered through the thick air. 

“Number 211.” 

You were the lamb up for slaughter. The audition piece that was placed into your hand half an hour ago crumbled under the force of your tense grip. The proctor closed the door behind you, stealing off your path of escape as they led you through the labyrinth. At the end of the tunnel, you were greeted by the harsh stage lights glaring off the grand piano. 

The curtains that once shielded you from the captious glares of the judges were gone. All of you laid out clearly on the stage. Your fate is balanced on the tips of their immaculate pens. The minuscule tremble of your hands couldn’t escape their hawk eyes.

Chin up and shoulders back, you strolled across the polished wooden planks, settling down at the matte black piano, it was like staring into the abyss. 

Taking a deep breath, you signaled the start. Fingers danced along the ivory keys in accordance with the notes memorized. This stanza was from Meditation from Thais, the hypnotic theme filling the empty concert hall.

It’s been a while since you hear your own playing resounded out through such a place. However, this was a turning point a chance to take fate into your own hands. 

To once again stand under the warm lights and bow to an audience enamored by your music. For the songbird to fly free from it’s grey sterile cubical. 

“Stop.” A cold voice struck the fragile wings of a bird in flight. 

You did as you were ordered, even before your mind even registered the words. Oh no, you weren’t finished, you didn’t get to complete this round. 

“Number 211 is disqualified. The playing is soulless, empty notes that just echo off the walls.” 

–

Soulless. Huh, you’ve never been told that before. Raindrops landed into your unblinking eyes as they observed the darkening sky. Was nature taking pity on you too? Crying for you when your tear ducts were still frozen in shock? You let the cold droplets trail down your cheek. Around you, the crowd dressed in suits and ties walked passed the scene of a death.

The death of your dreams. 

You used up one of your precious sick days to attend this audition, but now it might no longer be just an excuse. You couldn’t feel anything but the sharp shards of shattered hope gouging into your back. Staring up at the gray sky from the deep, cold well of your misery.

When did this happen? When did the bright fire fizzle out? When did your passion die?

A sorry excuse of a laugh slipped out. No, it might be accurate to say that there was never a passion in the first place, something nonexistent cannot die. Something nonexistent cannot be created even if the haze of a fever dream might say otherwise. Now that the rain had washed away that haze, you could now clearly see the void. 

Did you really like the piano? Or was it a lie engrained into your flesh by stern hands? 

Maybe the judges were right, your playing was soulless, pieces only ever practiced for technical perfection. Talent meticulously crafted by grueling long hours. Fingers that separated your beating heart from the inanimate black and white keys. In the end, you were an artificial prodigy, with an artificial passion that quickly denigrated under the droplets of calm rain. 

“You’re soaked.” A baritone voice resounded behind you as a warm jacket was placed over your shoulders. 

Alhaitham had just gotten off the clock, exiting the grand sliding doors only to spot your listless figure standing as an obstacle for the weaving crowd of the city. However, you kept staring at the dull sky, uncaring about how your wet clothes clung to your shivering figure. You didn’t even seem to perceive his words. 

“You’re going to get sick.” Two warm hands placed themselves upon your shoulders, guiding your body to a secluded area, away from the crowd and rain. 

This motion jostled your eyes, allowing them to read the company name proudly displayed on the front of the towering skyscraper. Was this the future you had gambled away for a false path shown to you by a dream? A steady job, good savings benefits, and prospective increases in income. All the chips you had pushed into the center of the table as you drew dud cards. 

You shifted your eyes away from the imposing letters and connected with teal-orange irises. Was his mask of indifference hiding his smug satisfaction that his prediction was correct? Was he holding back an ‘I told you so’? The bitter whispers of a green-eyed devil tickled against the shell of your ear. 

“Come, I’ll drive you home.” 

No, you can’t go back to your abysmal apartment. You couldn’t even stomach the thought of seeing the sight of your reality. The messy bedroom, the music sheets scattered all across the cluttered living room, the mocking keyboard pressed up against a corner. If you were to step foot back in there, you’ll disappear under the murky waters in the ocean called ‘regret’. 

Your trembling hands grounded themselves in the crisp button-down, crumbling the fabric against Alhaitham’s smooth skin. No words could travel past your vocal cords, throat numb to move. All you could do was shake your hang head from side to side. You could feel the ashen-haired man take a deep breath, his mind quickly forming an alternative plan. 

“Come with me.” Large hands gently untangling your fingers from his clothes. 

–

Those same gentle hands were now rubbing a fresh towel through your dripping hair, soaking up the excess water that had been trailing droplets down your skin. His house was quiet, no rumbling of car engines from the streets, no loud gurgling pipes, no thumping footsteps. Still and serene, only allowing the soft pattering of rain kissing the ground and windows.

Alhaitham hasn’t spoken a single word to you ever since he welcomed you into his home and sat you down. 

As Alhaitham continued with his efforts to warm your shivering body, all you could do was observe the spotless wooden floors. They were so polished and lustrous… just like the grandiose stage.

Something vile was creeping up your neck, slowly making its way up to the falling sanctuary of your mind. No, you needed to push it back, you needed to distract it. To buy you some time before the vileness consumes you wholly. 

Hopeless hands trailed up the toned arms of the man currently drying your hair, making his movements stop. You took this opportunity to shift your body so that it pressed against his, the dampness of your clothes transferring to his. Ah, it must be uncomfortable for him. 

Clumsily, you began to undo the neat buttons of his button-down, only for your hands to be enclosed within a delicate grip. You could feel the weight of his condemnatory gaze upon you, teal eyes observing your movements as if he was calculating his next move. 

There wasn’t any time for contemplation. The bitter bile thoughts were quickly encroaching on their destination. With your hands immobilized you used your mouth instead, nuzzling into the skin that peeked through the unopened portion.

You could feel the small shiver of his warm body reacting to your cold cheek. Alhaitham lets out a deep sigh, hot breath fanning over the top of your head. He got the message. 

Your soaked dress was pulled over your head, heavy black fabric falling to the side of the bed in which you lay now. The sheets providing your shivering body with softness and a semblance of warmth. Alhaitham presses tender kisses down the nape of your neck, stopping between the valley of your breast to push your body further up the bed.

Larger hands ran along the length of your legs, as if to warm them up with the slow friction. Your legs gave no resistance as he places one over his shoulder, lips brushing against your knee. 

You let out a small sigh, the skin-on-skin contact was just what your frozen body needed. Your body twisted further into his sheets, your other leg pressed against the back of his hip as if to spur him to hasten his pace. However, Alhaitham, being the steadfast man he is, ignored your neediness and continued to trail kisses down your soft skin. His mouth ended his journey with a slow and deep lap at your clit, causing your body to jolt. 

“Mmm.”

Your skin has thawed, every nerve now acutely aware of each slow lick his wet tongue brushed against your sensitive bud. You no longer had any pride to uphold, thus moans just freely flowed out of your mouth just as how slick dripped from your aching hole. Once more you dug your heel into him, your neglected walls yearning for attention.

This time he was merciful, running one thick finger along the slick pooling between your folds. Gathering up the dew and tracing small circles along the entrance.

A whine followed, you twisted even more along the tussled sheets, reaching a hand down to tangle into his ashen locks. Alhaitham gave you want you wanted, slowly his thick finger was welcomed into your eager walls as his tongue continued to play with your clit. Your head was thrown back, heavy pants fogging up the room in the air, lidden eyes barely anything but the back of your head. 

Another finger was soon added, stretching out your leaking hole only leaving your gummy walls craving more. A few soft kisses were pressed against your now twitching bud, before his skilled tongue took over for the final push toward nirvana. With practiced precision his fingers swiftly pressed against that spongey patch, making white flames shoot up your spine. Your quivering legs and curling toes didn’t faze Alhaitham in the slightest.

“OH!”

With a firm tug to ashen locks and one final flick to your swollen clit, your eyes meet the back of your head, a stretched moan bounced off the walls. Back arched almost painfully off the bed, Alhaitham continued the slow thrust of his soaked fingers into your contracting hole. As you rode the waves of pleasure back down, Alhaitham finally detaches his lips from your cunt, a slick trail connecting them. 

The burning between your legs didn’t stop. You needed more, legs wrapping around his muscular torso, urging him to give you more. His self-control all but turns into dust in your presence. There’s not a plausible scenario where he could ever deny you. Finally, his leaking member can have its turn. 

Fighting against the restraints of your legs, Alhaitham was able to pull the condom over his full length. Your hole jolted with joy the moment it felt his fat tip pressing up against your entrance. The slow circling before he finally sunk in, in an instant your walls clung onto every inch he pushed in, thanking him with pulsing contractions.

He sucked in a long hiss from how your warm, slick walls perfectly hugged him. You let your tongue loll out with a deep moan, legs pulling his body closer so that your arms could find purchase around his broad shoulders. 

His pace was slow and deep, warming your walls up so as to not hurt the delicate you. This greatly displeased you, evident by how your nails dug into the solid muscle of his shoulders. You need it fast, you wanted it deep, you wanted him to pound those bitter thoughts away with his thick member. Two hands clasped around your hips, snapping your body tightly against his. He’ll grant your request. 

“Ah! Ah! AH!” 

His merciless pace had your breast bouncing and incomprehensible words babbling out of your lips. Heavy cock dragging out along your grasping walls, then slamming his hips harshly against your sobbing cunt. Every punishing thrust was welcomed by your slick walls thanking him. His heavy pants fanned across your ear as he continued this ruthless speed. 

Your body was now burning, precipitation hanging heavy in the air, yet you still arched your back off the bed to chase after his warmth. Bodies entangled in a mess of limbs in an animalistic chase after pleasure and orgasm. 

The wet noises of your weeping hole welcoming him back in over and over again. In between the heavy slaps of his balls against your sloppy cunt and thick tip bullying your poor spot, you could feel the deep vibrations in his chest. 

“Look at me.” You felt him pull away just a bit so he could have a clear view of your loose face. 

You didn’t want to. Lest his searching teal eyes discover the truth of why you pulled him into bed, to give him the satisfaction. You squeezed your lids closed. The particularly deep thrust he snapped displayed his displeasure at your actions. 

“Please.” The unfamiliar words coming from his mouth made your eyes wide again. The tone is gentle. 

So, with your resolve weakened, you finally connected with his gaze. What was that look in his eyes? It was too soft to be malice, too calm to be anger, too tender to just be lust. Yet your pleasure-melted brain couldn’t process it.

 In gratitude for you granting his wish, his thumb found its way to your swollen clit, rubbing deep circles into the sensitive nerve. You pressed yourself impossibly hard against his body, walls clamping down on his thick member. 

His actions made the knot inside your stomach pull against itself taught until the treads of sanity snapped. Even though your eyes were rolled to the back of your head, all you could see was the blinding white light of cloud nine. Your walls clamped down around him like a vise, snug walls now binding his length. Alhaitham clenches his jaw, stoic face twisted in the throws of pleasure as he spills himself into the barrier deep within. 

Long fingers painting the sides of your hips red as he recomposes himself. Chest heaving from the exertion. He helps himself to a few more slow thrusts in your gummy walls, riding out his own orgasm even as his red tip teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. Your soft thighs still entrapping his towering frame. It looks like you still haven’t come down yet. 

Alhaitham’s hand gently cupped your messy face. Your lips were off limits, so he shall kiss those bitter tears away from your eyes instead. 

Like always you woke up before Alhaitham again. However, this time you couldn’t bear to look at his face. Was this out of embarrassment, shame, or guilt? You didn’t know and didn’t care.

Unwrapping his arms from around your waist, you hobbled towards the clack lump of your dress. The fabric was still ever so slightly damp, ah, the sensation against your skin made the bitter bile restart its journey again. 

You couldn’t help the envy that bubbled up in your system as you observed the spacious halls of Alhaitham’s house. Footsteps softly tap along the polished wood floors so as not to awaken the sleeping homeowner.

Of course, he has a nice house in the most upscale neighborhood. Of course, it's located in a quiet suburb a commutable distance away from the raucous city. Of course, it has nice big windows and expensive dark wood furnishings. 

Of course. Of course. Of course. It’s because he’s Alhaitham. He’s got everything. 

Your face scrunched up as bitterness crept up from the back of your tongue. It wasn’t from the bitter waters of regret, no, it was from a certain green-eyed creature. You needed to leave this house as soon as possible before you did something foolish. 

You dug your hand into your purse for your phone, ready to call a lift back to your shabby apartment. It was all becoming too much. Just at the end of the hall, you could spot the solid oak doors that blocked off the outside world. Get out of this cage and breathe the fresh air. 

You no longer cared about the noise your steps were making, thumps echoed throughout the halls frantically carrying you toward the shiny knob. A shaky hand grasped onto the cold smooth metal, ready to twist the deadbolt free. A glimmer of white coming from the side room caught your eye, reeling it back from its tunnel vision. Your head couldn’t help but follow. 

It was a grand piano. 

His former roommate was right, the white lacquer finish on the piano contrasted harshly against the dark wood bookshelves. It really did look out of place, taking up too much space in the side library. The dark walnut wood piano seat looked odd next to it as well. 

The viridescent seat cushion looked a bit worn as if it had been sat in regularly. Still, the pearly finish that reflected the morning rays beckoned you closer, the sense of nostalgia growing stronger with each step. 

It looked exactly like your old piano, your most cherished treasure that had been plundered from you so long ago. Trembling hands ran along the glossy fallboard, not a speck of dust was found along the paths of your fingers. You caught sight of the gold lettering inscribed along the front, it was even the same brand. 

The pull of intrigue was too great, you had to know, but do you dare? Why are you lifting your hopes up so high? Have you not learned your lesson after being dropped over and over again onto the cold pavement of disappointment below? Maybe you were some type of masochist. Just like Schrodinger’s cat, you can’t confirm if those hopes were dead or alive until you opened the lid. 

A resounding creek rang out from the protesting hinges, the lacquered lid heavy as if trying to conceal the truth away from your searching eyes. But your determination beat out any old hinges, lifting the heavy top above your head. Your breathing halted. 

Property of Bookworm and Earworm

It was written clear as day on the naked wood concealed by the glossy outer casing. Clumsy letters scribbled in harsh black permanent marker. The proof of authenticity. This is your treasured piano. 

Your arm lost all strength, the heavy lid slammed down reverberating all the strings and hammers in a chaotic symphony of shock. The clashing vibrations pierced your ears, causing the ringing that was now the background music to the realization crashing down upon you. 

All this time, Alhaitham stayed himself. His unfazed individuality moved through life to the metronome of his own heart. Like a firm apple tree whose roots held the ground below him together. The fruits of his labor dropping down to satiate a heart hungry for encouragement.

The shiny red fruits were given at every meeting, in exchange for every CD and performance attended. All this time, he never once looked at you with pity nor disdain. He treasured you.

And what have you given in return? You participated in gossip behind his back. You looked at him with the same prejudice you promised to defend him from. You broke your promises to him. You lied to him. You used him, even down to his physical body to further your own self-interests. 

When did the whispers of a green-eyed monster turn you into that selfish child from the storybook? 

If your past self was there to witness the scene in front of her, she’d be appalled. She’d beat you with hatred at the torment you put her beloved friend through. Yes, she’d hate you. You hate you. You’ve never hated yourself more.

How could you do this to him? You really are your parent’s child. You never considered how the shrapnel of consequences from your actions would wound those close by. 

You couldn’t even look at the reflection staring back at you from the polished white surface, her eyes stared back at you with malice. You were a selfish traitor. 

Too self-absorbed in your own wallowing to notice the slow steps approaching from down the hallway. Alhaitham’s steps were slow as he stared at the back of your figure. Like a watcher trying not to startle a resting songbird. Rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, making sure he wasn’t just looking at the afterimage of a person who had long left the house. 

A small creak was all it took for your head to snap toward his approaching figure. Eyes wide and shaking. Alhaitham made sure to stop a arms length away as he accesses the situation. It looks like you’ve discovered his small secret. A fragment of the past that he relentlessly searched for, the only time he ever asked anything of your parents. He planned to return it to you one day. 

You looked like you could collapse at any moment, so Alhaitham held out his hand, palms open and awaiting. You reached a quivering hand out, pulling back slightly a few times before finally landing. Your fingers clasped onto each other, you drew closer to his board figure until your forehead was resting against his chest. You didn’t dare look at his face.

He made no further moves. 

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.” Your mouth couldn’t stop spewing the regrets deep from your heart. 

Even though you were apologizing, you didn’t want him to forgive you. You couldn’t even forgive yourself, how could he? It would be easier if he just hated you. If he were to just say ‘I hate you’ right now with that stoic voice of his, you could die peacefully. The best end that you deserved. You could feel the wet spots forming on his shirt from your tears. 

“I won’t forgive you.” The vibrations from his deep voice were felt against you.

Four words cut into you deeper than any knife ever could. But you deserved this pain. Your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth, on the verge of splitting open from how hard you were biting back your cries. You didn’t deserve to cry. 

“Not until you play Overture to Mozart's Marriage of Figaro.” 

Those words halted your breathing. Like a rope that’s been thrown down the dark well you were wallowing in. Will your hands reach out and grasp onto this opportunity? Slowly you lifted your gaze up. Something behind the calm teal of his eyes was egging you on to do so, to take a hold of the lifeline thrown down from the bright sky. 

“… Of course.” You let go of him. 

Moving back over to your grand piano. Lifting the smaller section of the lid first this time placing it gently back on the larger section, allowing the music rack to appear. Setting up the notches into position, you then lifted the heavy back lid up. Placing the prop up this time so as to not put your piano through the same chaos again. 

Finally, the dustfree fallboard was lifted up, revealing the keyboards that held the faint imprints of history. You settled your self-down at the bench, your hands hesitantly reaching out only for your fingers to retract the moment your soft tips brushed against the smooth ivory. The bitter shame of failure scorching your delicate senses. 

Inhaling a deep breath, you turned to face Alhaitham reconnecting with his teal gaze as he stayed in place. A silent plead. With quiet steps, he approaches closer to the bench, the wooden protested under the added weight. Two bodys not touching, facing in opposite directions. Ah, just like a familiar scene from many years ago. 

Once more, you attempted to reach out your fingers, emboldened by the soothing body heat of the man besides you. Placing your fingers back into position, the scorning of your finger tips becoming irrelevant. Lulling you to return back into the blackness of your sanctuary of mind. Recalling the song that symbolized a period of great change, wonderful change. 

The pressed keys played their notes, the hammers inside your piano striking against the string. Ringing out the awful tones of stings that have gone out of tune from years of unuse. Even if it stung you ears and his the same, you continued to play the chipper overture. The bitter bile fizzling out like sea form, as laughter tickled the inside of your throat. 

“It sounds terrible.” You giggled honestly. 

“Mm. I’m not all that familiar with performance etiquette, but I’m certain talking during a show is bad manners.” There was no bit to his words. You couldn’t see his face, you could hear the smile. 

Two hearts now closer than previously, became the metronome for the off-key rendition of Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, accompanied by the bright giggles of the pianist and the content sigh of her audience. Outside the window, a songbird chirps to greet the beautiful sun that resurfaced after a day of rain.

He absolutely adores you, he always has. He knows that you know now. But he also knows that you weren’t ready to hear it. The weight of three small words would be enough to topple the stability of your consciousness. It wasn’t strong enough to handle them, not after the mangling hands of guilt and regret vandalized it. 

So he won’t say those three words, not yet, not until you’ve repaired your cracking foundations. Alhaitham will wait to tell you ‘I love you’. Like a patient tree standing on the hill biding its time for the return of a beloved creature. 

Fin~

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 39

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome back to the Spreadsheet Digest! It's been.... a while. In order to make up for that, I have a nice long list of fics to rec. Also, surprise! I'm posting this on thursdays now.

All tags and summaries provided by the authors unless they didn't provide one, in which case I filled it in.

Wildest Dreams a Dave York series by @janaispunk

You meet your father’s new friend for the first time, but he’s a lot different than you expected.

explicit smut (18+ only, mdni), dbf!Dave, unhealthy relationship dynamic (reader becomes very dependent on Dave), dom/sub dynamics, angst, feelings, daddy issues, secret/forbidden relationship, corruption kink, able-bodied reader, reader has hair, no use of y/n, divorced Dave, Dave doesn’t kill people in this

the hitman’s guide to getting the girl a Dave York seriesby @kiwisbell

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

Obscenery a Dave York/Tim Rockford series by @sin-djarin

Dave is worried about the day ahead and Tim offers him some advice.

M/M, Established D/s dynamics, edging, orgasm delay, these two come with their own warnings - in particular Tim's mouth and how much Dave really likes it.

Heaven is Hell a Dieter one shot by @inept-the-magnificent

Writing prompt: “I don’t get it,” says the demon, “This person’s lived a perfectly good and virtuous life. Why are you sending them to hell?” The angel nervously rubs the back of their head. “Honestly? We’re pretty sure they’d be happier in hell than heaven.”

demon!Dieter, Angel!marcus pike, mild angst, fluff, mention of drugs, alcohol, orgies, etc. The usual dieter rabble.

Scars and All a Din series by plaidamoosette (AO3)

Hidden away in the desert land of Jakku, you are slowly chipping away at the debt that you and your mother had accumulated following the death of your father to the horrible Denga Niima. But, after the recent passing of your mother, the debt has fallen on your shoulders. Using your skills as a mechanical engineer, you accumulate wealth for your slave master in the hopes that one day you will be free. Free to explore and live as your parents had always wished for you. But things change when you meet a certain bounty hunter when he comes to you to repair his ship. But, nothing is as it seems, and as the lies that were built around your life begin to crumble, you find yourself sucked into a journey of truth, betrayal, and... love.

Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Angst, Drama, Deceased Parents, Indentured Servitude, Soft Din Djarin, Soft Dominant Din Djarin, POV Alternating, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Protective Din Djarin, Intimidation, Male Masturbation, Touch-Starved, Loss of Virginity, MC doesn't know how to take care of herself, Female Masturbation, Burried Trauma, Readers knows how to fight back, Mandalorians (Star Wars), Mandalorian Culture & Customs (Star Wars), Some Canon material, A whole lot of other made up stuff

Just Can't Say Goodbye a Din one shot by @saradika

a final night is spent in the arms of your bodyguard, before your arranged union the next morning.

sorta medieval vibes, references to antiquated societal expectations, mentions and references to virginity, arranged marriage, technically infidelity because of said arrangement, light angst, sneaking around, first time, fingering, PiV, creampie

Back to You a Din series by @kyberblade

You’ve been friends with Mando for years, and he drops by your hole in the wall bar from time to time to catch up. This time, however, he’s carrying an extra little green passenger with him. They are on the run, which is unsettling because Mando doesn’t run from things. Things run from him. A tracking fob, a dead body, and a confession later, all three of you set out to help the child find it’s kind. (Aka: a really typical Din x Force Sensitive reader plot, but instead of the going from stiff scary Mando to friendly Mando it’s gonna kinda go the opposite way. Not in a bad way but she’s gonna finally get to see what exactly he was running from all those times he came back to see her.)

Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Angst, Humor, Friends to Lovers, Introspection, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Romantic Friendship, Emotions, Grogu | Baby Yoda Being a Little Shit, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Protective Din Djarin, Good Parent Din Djarin, Soft Din Djarin, Force-Sensitive Reader, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Spicy thoughts, but no smut

Familiar Strangers an Ezra one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

When your boyfriend's band opens for Familiar Strangers, you get the chance to meet the lead singer. A man whose work you've long admired. A connection sparks a flame that may change your life forever.

Rockstar!Ezra, Infidelity, reader's boyfriend is a huge asshole and deserves it though, Smut, Mildly Dubious Consent, everyone is consenting but they are impaired by alcohol

Brat a Frankie one shot by @freelancearsonist

You've been torturing Frankie, so he decides to return the favor.

short and filthy lil giflet, unprotected p in v sex, power dynamics kind of

Down the Hall a Frankie one shot by @frannyzooey

Your bedroom, just down the hall from his own, proves too tempting for Frankie to resist - even if he is your mother's boyfriend.

age gap, explicit smut, mom's boyfriend!frankie

All Through the Night a Jack one shot by @baronessvonglitter

after it's made clear that you're not welcome as a Junior Agent for the Statesman organization, Whiskey takes you under his protection for an unforgettable night

18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, mentor/mentee relationship, forbidden relationship, vandalism, nightmares, 'only one bed', first time, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, no use of y/n

Is Joel Okay? a Joel one shot by @djarinmuse

Based on this edit that @/iamasaddie shared, and the tag by @/wannab-urs, thanks Gin for the input "#Joel has a menty b and shaves his head". Reader is there for him. No idea who did the original edit but thanks.

Joel cuts his hair, the utter horror of that alone. No explicit smut but 18+ physical intimacy. Depressed Joel, soft Joel. Established relationship but no background given.

Unearth a Joel one shot by @ezrasbirdie

When your normally strict parents go out of town for two weeks and leave you on your own for the first time with little warning, you're left reeling and afraid of being on your own for so long. Luckily, Joel Miller, your father's best friend, very generously offers to let you stay with him. Your long time crush on him shouldn't be a problem at all.

smut, yearning, Joel is a little manipulative, loss of virginity, dad's best friend, nice big age gap (reader is 21, Joel is 40), liberal use of baby girl, religious trauma of the Christian variety (no denomination noted), reader wears a sundress, shaming of sexuality, bad relationship with reader's parents, insecurity, flirting, trouble orgasming, pussy pronouns (she/her), humping/grinding, masturbation, unprotected PIV, oral sex, references to early 00s media, soft Joel

What it is to grow a Joel one shot by @burntheedges

Joel knows he can't keep running from it – from Her – forever.

angst, hurt/comfort, hope, mentions of the canon depths of Joel’s depression (pills, alcohol, darkness, etc.), canon character death (Sarah), AU with Greek lore/gods & goddesses in the TLOU universe, character study

Birthday Boy a Joel one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

Even with a house full of party guests, Joel can't resist when he finds a moment alone with you in the bathroom.

Masturbation, Frottage, light d/s, orgasm denial. Just general Joel Miller filth. There's like a smidge of plot right at the end.

Duality of a Man a Joel series by @wildemaven

A woman shows up at your door looking for your boyfriend

Mentions of food, Mentions of killing, death, birth, birth trauma

Consider it a Favor a Joel one shot by @chaotic-mystery

Your AC breaks in your car and the one person around to help is your neighbor, Mr.Miller.

Age gap (Not specified but I put Sarah in college) DILF Joel mowing his lawn, reader is able-bodied and is wearing a swim suit/coverup, reader has hair Joel can pull, kissing, swearing, (1) blowjob, size kink go brrr, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, baby) facedown ass up, babey, a little manhandling, unprotected penetration (don't look at me okay, the whore in me jumped out), dirty talk, Joel hyping up his ego, pussy ownership, creampie, a little glimpse of aftercare and what really happened to your AC.

Absolution a Joel series by @pedgito

Moving in with your soon-to-be stepfather under the roof of his brother, Joel, ends up being a turning point of change in your life.

DDDNE - stepcest, religious trauma, parental trauma. addition warnings: no outbreak, step-uncle!joel (reader's mom is engaged to marry tommy) age gap (20/late 40s), inappropriate relationships/behavior, slight dubcon (voyeurism), eventual smut (will tag with specific on each chapter), skewed morals, joel using alcohol to cope with life and loss, reader is in the depths of deconstruction.

Imperfect for you a Joel one shot by @joelscruff

you never thought joel miller would accidentally call you baby.

age gap (joel is mid 40s, reader is 23), fluff, very brief instance of blood, tending to a wound, joel is eepy, soft kisses, cuddles

rotten a Joel one shot by @alltheirdamn

Sharing land with Joel Miller has always been infuriating, but when your bad attitude finally gets his attention...things get messy

No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, explicit language, brat taming, semi dark!joel, dubcon elements, degrading, choking, rough spanking, hair pulling, face slapping, throat fucking, touch of dacryphilia, rope/bondage, rough unprotected piv sex, hint of a subspace moment, orgasm denial, squirting, creampie, no aftercare because joel is an old, grumpy asshole

Lost Cause a Joel one shot by @Joelalorian

Joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. You disagree.

Explicit MDNI; Jackson-era Joel; canon-ish but also not; drinking; mentions of cigarettes, drugs, dark thoughts, and death; unprotected p in v; oral (m and f receiving); interesting use of red wine; unspecified age gap; despair and hope

rosemary by the garden gate Joel/Tim Rockford/Dio series by @marisferasiop

(set in an approximate late nineties/early aughts timeline) Shane, turned out by his family after being outed, is sleeping rough when he is abducted by a sex trafficking ring. Joel is Tess' lead enforcer in her gang. His twin brother, Tim, is a highly decorated detective in Major Crimes for the NYPD. Together, they help Tess and her investments navigate both sides of the law. When Shane is given to Joel one evening at a truce meeting between Tess' gang and their rivals, a human trafficking syndicate, he calls Tim to initiate a bust on the opposition. His one request: he wants the kid. Problem is, once Tim meets him, so does he. Most importantly: what does Shane want once his freedom is granted? Or does he even want his freedom, if these two are holding the reigns?

dead dove!! Human trafficking, unhoused gay minors/unhoused gay youth, abuse (physical, sexual, mental/emotional), sex trafficking, sex work, homelessness, food insecurity, stealing to survive, abduction, sex slave trade, gagging/choking (later consensual breathplay), rough oral, "painal" kink, non-con drugging, enemas, forced sex work, bondage for sex and for binding/imprisonment, non-con sex/rape, mafia-esque work and associated unpleasantness (gore and violence), mean but soft Joel, face slapping, spanking as foreplay, caning as punishment, orgasm delay/control, spitting in mouth, body modifications, marking, cum play, all the soft life-affirming gay sex after rescue (Joel and Tim are twins and don't fuck e/o but they do fuck Shane together at one point) a mention of the Meat Rack, the gay sex worker alley where serial killer Des Nilsen abducted his victims.

Win a Date With Javi G + Part 2 a Javi G/Jack Daniels/Reader series by @absurdthirst and @wardenparker

You and your best friend are huge fans of Spanish pop star Javi G, and she managed to convince you to enter a contest to win a date with the singer himself. No one is more surprised than you when you actually win. / Going home with Javi and Jack after the Grammys might be the most important decision you've ever made...

Cursing. Food/alcohol. Pure fluff and flirting. A little dirty talk/dirty flirting toward the end./ Dom/sub dynamic. MMF threesome. *This story features an established MM relationship!* Sex toys, collaring, dirty talk, enthusiastic use of 'Daddy', oral sex (f and m receiving), hand job, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dom!Jack, sub!Javi, cumplay, rimming, light choking, spanking, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, after care, exploration of power dynamics.

Waffles and Cigarettes a Javi P one shot by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin

After you are attacked during a night out, your ex boyfriend comes to your rescue

Attempted sexual assault (not Javi), violence, descriptions of blood and injuries, fingering, spit as lube, unprotected PIV, kinda rough sex, creampie, angst. absolutely feral, protective ex boyfriend Javi

Midnight Rainstorms a Javi P one shot by @thundermartini

Javier is coming home late, escaping from a storm. You’re trying hard not to drown in the incessant rain.

no y/n, female reader, reader is not physically described (except she has long hair), javier and reader are married, mentions of anxiety, mentions of trauma, mentions of guilt, mentions of narcos plot but it’s a blur, nightmare so it may be triggering, grief, no beta.

Crawl a Max Phillips one shot by @proxima-writes

Gym owner Max Phillips offers to let you use the sauna. In return, he uses your mouth.

explicit sexual content (18+ MDNI), no use of y/n, able bodied reader, dirty talk, crawling, oral (m receiving), no aftercare, semi-public sex.

Dancing Phantoms on the Terrace an Oberyn one shot by @janaispunk

You show up to Oberyn's party

(somewhat) modern!Oberyn, able bodied reader, reader has hair that wind is "whipping through", no use of y/n, alcohol consumption, once again it's all aboard the angst train i'm sorry babes

Happy Reading!

[hadesrise]

## sin and repent !!

summary──── you are committed to the lord, but that doesn’t stop you from worshipping miguel.

pairings──── miguel o’hara x priest!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, foul language, top!reader, bottom!miguel, sacrilege, unprotected sex, possessiveness, choking, praise kink, dacryphilia, sex in a church, slight degradation, miguel calls reader “father” the entire time, priest smoking a cigarette, riding, pet names, spitting ( just once ), shotgunning, masturbation with audience ( reader watching ), unhealthy romance, false belief, reader might be a little morally grey, religious imagery

author’s note──── slutty outfit of miggy <3 this could possibly be a dark content because of the obsessive love (i may or may not have written reader as yandere). again, please correct my spanish if it’s incorrect and i’ll edit it immediately. MINORS DNI !!

You’ve devoted your entire life to the Lord. Made a vow, an oath to keep your soul pure for him as you lead a sacred ceremony everyday. You’ve cleansed your spirit to fit the holy standards necessary to be a priest and your dedication to the church earned you respect and love from the people. You were holy, not an ounce of filth littering your heart or soul, having long repented your sins.

The people whispered joyously amongst each other how good you were. How kind, generous, loving, forgiving and accepting. Your warm presence provides comfort to everyone who visit the church, washing away their worry and doubt and sins. You were perfect, they talk among themselves. There’s no way a priest like you could do anything wrong — you’re the people’s hope, their light, the one who reminds them of their purpose. They would never think such thing, you have an utmost respect for the Lord! You’re nothing but a great person.

Miguel hears them say, all the time. But they don’t know.

They don’t know the way you look at him, the way you devour him with your gaze whenever he wears something too fit for his large toned body. How you always mutter “Oh forgive me, Lord” under your breath everytime you take in the outline of his pecks on his clothes, how your eyes darken and pupils dilate when looking at his slutty slim waist, how you stifle a groan when he accidentally enclose your fingers in his mouth while accepting hostia. They don’t know the filthiness of your mind and the temptation you were trying so hard to fight. However, Miguel knows. Of course, he knows, how could he not when you’re staring at him with that predatory look in your eyes, like you would bend him over and pound him right there in front of the altars? And oh, how filthy and fucked-up it was that he gets hard by the thought.

But it’s inevitable, Miguel convinces himself. You’re known for having absolutely no desire for anything at all — so to find out you’re yearning for him? It feels good. Feels so fucking good, because he’s the only one who made you feel that way. He liked the attention, even if it was subtle and nearly nonexistent. You only ever paid proper attention to him in ceremonies or in the confessional, but those lingering lustful gazes you give him when you thought he wasn’t looking made Miguel’s hole clench around nothing.

Miguel doesn’t know what he was thinking when he wore such a slutty outfit underneath his coat to a church, where you usually walked around after a ceremony to check for forgotten belongings or just admire the artwork littered around the ceiling. Maybe, to make you give in to your desires. To find out if you would break your vow for him. He feels filthy to be so desperate for a priest, it’s unforgivable for fuck’s sake, and yet he can’t stop. The unbearable desire was stronger.

He knows your schedule like the back of his hands, what you do at night after the ceremonies are over for the day. You were a divine man as viewed by the public, but Miguel knew your perfect façade peels off the moment those church doors close shut; he was met with a satisfying triumph when his point was proven after entering the sacred place, his eyes falling on your figure sitting on the pew chairs right near the entrance with a cigarette between your fingers. Arm resting on top of the backrest, head tilted back to slowly blow out a particularly large smoke. Miguel feels his clothes get tight around him at the sight. It’s arousing to see the usually collected and well-mannered priest be so loose and careless.

You watch him in the corner of your eye as he sits beside you and mumbles a small greeting. You don’t respond, however, and Miguel wonders why until he sees your eyes trail all over his body very slowly with that lustful look that makes him shiver, a tad bit of annoyance shining within your irises. It didn’t look like you were annoyed with his presence at a time so late like this, but rather with the coat he was wearing that nearly covered his entire body. You bring the cigarette to your lips, inhaling another smoke. “What brings you here, Mr. O’Hara?” The smoke coming out as you speak.

Miguel’s breath hitched; fuck, that’s hot.

He’s unable to meet your gaze when he could feel it piercing through him, the arousal pooling on his stomach and crotch. “I- uh... I missed your ceremony this morning.”

You hum mindlessly, like you didn’t really care despite asking first about it. “So did you think showing up would make up for it?” The question comes off rude and informal, but unlike usual, you don’t pay mind. It honestly doesn’t matter if he missed the ceremonies, the faith wouldn’t thin just because he was unable to attend, but you knew he was coming for other reasons. You have no plans to fulfill your desire despite the fact it’s already devouring you everytime you lay eyes on the man — admitting to yourself that you were crazy over Miguel while not turning yourself away completely from the sacred vows.

It’s a game of who gives in first and seduces the other. The church being the only witness to your silent agreement with one another.

“Yes...” Miguel whispers before he finally meets your eyes with reluctant determination, “Yes, I did think showing up would make up for it. Especially while wearing something like this.” He slowly unbuttons his coat and let it fall over his shoulders, your dark eyes widening at the sleeveless top that hugged his torso perfectly and showed outlines of his pecks and abs. Your pants tighten as your dick gets hard in an instant. Miguel suddenly gets shy under the strong burning stare you were giving him and almost rewears his coat with redness decorating his cheeks, which you quickly stopped by gripping his wrist and slamming him back against the backrest.

Miguel’s breath catches in his throat when he processed you had stood upfront to tower over him, one knee on the seat in between his legs. “Finish what you started, O’Hara.” The low and sultry tone in your voice made him shiver in excitement and thrill, surprisingly listening to your wish and letting the coat slip off. You groaned when you caught sight of his muscular arms being hugged by the long gloves that stopped right before his armpits.

Oh dear God, he looked thoroughly fuckable, like he was begging to be ruined here right in front of the Lord’s altar.

“Fuck...” You sigh heavily, breath hot. Miguel reacts almost immediately at the sound as his body grew tense for a split second before relaxing when your hands gently wrapped around his wrists, cigarette thrown on the polished floor. You trace the fabric up his arms, then ghosted your touch over his exposed skin, the atmosphere growing hot while goosebumps appear. Miguel feels overwhelmed under your hungry gaze, thighs squeezed together, feeling his hole clench around nothing. Your hands slide up his shoulders and one stayed there, rubbing circles, as the other moves up almost teasingly slow to his neck. His breath hitches at the contact, a low moan escaping when your fingers enclosed around his throat.

He was surprisingly putty in your hands, not pushing you off or avoiding your touches. Perhaps, it’s because he knows you will go back to restraining yourself if he stops you, could even discourage you to do anything anymore — your faith has always been impressive as it allowed you to keep the lustful and sinful thoughts at bay. However, the faith never once stopped you from breaking the vow on different occasions, like smoking, drinking, or even flirting with faithful worshippers. He can’t miss the opportunity to have you all over him.

A gentle squeeze to his throat causes his mouth to fall open slightly, cloudy eyes meeting your strong ones that burned in desire. “Open, my dear. Let me.” Miguel does as he’s told, opening his mouth. Pleased with the lack of resistance, you shift your hand to hold his chin instead and gathered enough saliva in your mouth before spitting in his, watching as he squirmed slightly, the filthiness of your action going straight to his needy cock. You smirk when he swallows your spit almost greedily.

Miguel gasped when your knee starts rubbing his dick through his pants, falling forward and clinging onto your leg as his body twitch in pleasure. You click your tongue disapprovingly and slip your fingers through his hair before yanking it, a groan erupting from the man at the roughness. “You come to a church dressed and act like a filthy slut, always tempting me to fuck you in front of God’s temple. You’ve been hoping, haven’t you? For me to fuck the ever living shit out of this cunt?” You rubbed harder, your words making Miguel choke out a moan.

“Y-yes, father,” He gasps between grunts and moans. “I’ve been so desperate. Forgive me, father, please.”

Sweet Mother of God.

How this man manage to make you breathless even while being submissive is quite outstanding. You devoted your whole life to the Lord, thoroughly committed and faithful despite breaking few of your vows in privacy — the only vow haven’t being broken is having sex which is considered a filthy sin in priesthood, although you have technically broken it due to the amount of times you’ve fucked Miguel dumb in the depths of your imagination. It is unforgivable for a priest to be like this, will even be banished from the city if caught, reputation forever tarnished and have no choice but to live in shame.

But Jesus Christ, Miguel was such an irresistible temptation. Like the devil that whispered in Eve’s ear to take the holy apple in the Garden of Eden, he tempted you with that whore-ish body of his that practically begs to be bent over and wrecked. Your vows shattered to the ground and holiness replaced by despicable lust. The thread of self-control being sliced open as the scale of good and evil heavily swung in your head.

You were not good despite what people think. Often indulging yourself in the fantasy to possess Miguel and make him yours, your soul was as corrupted as the soul of sinners even with the faith to God still existing. The reputation as a good priest never settled comfortably within, sometimes would even make you roll your eyes at it while slowly killing your lungs with the cancer stick, hidden behind the thick doors of the sacred temple. You had no resistance to the sinful desires; as twisted as it sounds, you’ve embraced them with open arms and accepted them to just be human nature.

The punishment will be severe if caught, but our dearest Father, it wouldn’t hurt to receive your reward for being such a devoted priest, right?

You glance at the altar where you usually stood to hold sacred ceremonies, the long table and your chair catching your eyes as an idea formed. A sadistic grin spreading across your lips, Miguel yelps when you suddenly hoist him up from the pew chairs and wraps his legs around your torso, heart fluttering at the way you didn’t even struggle to lift him up despite his large size. The showcase of your sheer strength made him nearly whimper as he buried his face on your shoulder, not noticing how you were walking towards where the presence of God is most apparent.

He feels himself being sat on a hard wood and pulls away, freezing up when the sight of the biggest crucifix meet his vision. You sat down on the chair like a throne in between his spread legs, smiling devilishly at the look of horror on his face as you bring up another cigarette to your lips. “What’s the matter, sweet thing? You don’t look so thrilled,” Your teasing tone nearly mocking.

“F-father, I can’t—” His cheeks heat up as shame suddenly settled on his expression, knowing he was here in front of your God drenched in lust and impossibly filthy, his legs threatening to close and rub together at the thought of getting fucked here.

“You can and you will,” You cut him off and exhale a smoke. “You’ve been screaming my name in the comforts of your sheets and praying to him for me to break you, Miguel, and I’m finally giving you what you want.” Oh, Miguel felt himself weaken at the cruel look on your face. “Why don’t you show our Lord some gratitude and fuck yourself here?”

He knew he couldn’t resist. Not when you’re being good to him, willing to answer his prayers from the sleepless nights. With a shaky breath, Miguel unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, face red from embarrassment as he slips it off, leaking cock bouncing on his abdomen. Your eyes pierce into his soul, he feels so fucking dirty like this, presenting himself so willingly to you.

“Spread your legs more,” You nudged his leg with your foot, “Can’t see your pretty cunt properly from here, sweetheart.”

Miguel whines quietly and oh, what a holy sound it was. It almost makes you have mercy on him and spare him another embarrassment. Almost.

He bit his lip and shut his eyes close, bending his knees and raising his spread legs to the table until the heels of his feet touches the surface. You lick your lips at the bare sight of his quivering hole, dick twitching in your pants. Miguel slowly opens his eyes and sees you breathe heavily while palming your still clothed cock, smoke leaving your lips from the cigarette. For a moment, Miguel imagines what it would feel like to be shotgunned by you before bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking lusciously on them as he stares at you, making you groan. He didn’t bother taking off the long gloves seeing its effect on you.

Not wanting to waste more time, Miguel reached down and shoved a wet finger in his hole without hesitation, moaning loudly. He adds another and starts fastening his pace, curling and scissoring himself to stretch his tight wet walls as he whimpers at the pleasure. It feels so filthy masturbating in front of you and the sacred altar, but the thrill only added to his arousal and excitement; your gaze not moving from him encourages him to fuck himself harder.

Fuck, Miguel looks so pretty like this. Previous shame and embarrassment long gone from his face as all he could focus on was making himself feel good, the filthy act serving as display of sins yet you perceived it differently — what Miguel’s doing was an act of devotion, to submit to your will in front of God while making himself the sacred offering. He looks divine being lost in pleasure, his moans like angels singing harmonies from Heaven. You can’t help but breathe deeply and mutter gratitude to the Lord for blessing you with Miguel as you finally peel off your pants and free your aching cock to spring up.

Miguel mewls at the sight, fingers growing fast yet not enough to perfectly stimulate his prostate. Tears pricked his eyes as he whines, “I—I can’t— father, por favor,” You groan at the pleas that fell from his lips. “I’m— please, I can’t do it, I can’t— Want you. Want you so bad.” The thrust of his hand growing sloppy as he gets tired. It wasn’t enough, he wanted bigger. More thick and long, something very warm that could fill his guts entirely and make him feel full.

A curse leaves your lips and Miguel chokes out a moan when you shoved two fingers into his stretched out hole without warning with his fingers still inside. “¡Mierda—!” Gasping at the sting of being stretched open, Miguel grabbed onto your shoulder and moaned as your fingers thrusted into him, forcing his to do the same. The pleasure makes his mouth fall open and eyes shed tears.

“You’re fuckin’ addicting, Miguel.” You say darkly, biting on his throat through the fabric of his turtle neck sleeveless top. He whimpers and tilts his head back slightly to give you more access. A slut correctly dressed in slutty outfit. “You know I’m not a good person right, sweet thing?” You whispered. An underlying mystery in your tone, your head swallowed by horrible thoughts you wish to contain by devoting your life to the holy. “Everytime I see you, I want to just fuckin’ break you and make you mine. Corrupt your soul into the shape of my own. Make you yearn for me, desire me ‘til you can’t live without me.”

Miguel lendered speechless at your display of possessiveness. It was anything but holy. Anything but forgivable. Sin created by the darkness that lurks in your soul; lust, greed, gluttony. You desired him, wanted more of him, and could never get enough of him, the sacred vows powerless against your evil. He should be scared, frightened that those aren’t enough to sustain you, but he really wasn’t. If anything, he felt even more aroused as his hole squeezes down on both of your fingers.

“Then, make me. I want you, all of you. I need you, father, please.” Miguel whines and his hand moved from your shoulder to the back of your neck, pulling you in a desperate kiss. You groaned into his mouth, rubbing harshly against his prostate which releases a muffled cry from him, before pulling your fingers out together with his.

You licked his slick from your fingers and moaned at the taste, keeping eye contact with him. Miguel hides his heated face by the back of his hand. “Aw, don’t go shying on me now, sweet thing. You tempted me, remember?” Faking a pout, you caress his bare thighs and knead the thick and soft flesh that prompts Miguel to slowly lay back down on the table. He feels exposed with wearing nothing but the slutty top that he unregrettably decided to put on today, right in front of you. It made his heart jackhammer against his chest. How you’re completely losing yourself at the sight of him in absolute lust, pupils blown wide.

Standing up from the chair, you push it behind with your foot while inhaling a smoke from the cigarette and align your cock to the entrance of his twitching hole, Miguel’s breath hitching at the contact. “Bésame, por favor...”

You hummed in response and held the smoke in your lungs, leaning in to capture his lips before blowing the smoke into his mouth. Miguel instantly moans, greedily accepting, his legs wrapping around your torso to bring you close. You chuckled into the kiss before slipping yourself inside of him, a stuttered gasp leaving Miguel as your sheer size and length forcibly stretched him open with a delicious sting of pain.

“Father— fuck! B-big, big,” He whimpers.

You shush him, “You can take it, my dear. You’re a good boy.”

You had to grit your teeth to contain yourself from just using him like a sex toy as an egotistical feeling built within you, the monster of your dark desire finally being fed at last. Still, it kept writhing in your guts, swirling around and yearning for more of Miguel. Can’t get enough of him, like an addicting drug that keeps you coming back for more, a living sinful temptation that you don’t refuse. Miguel awakens your demons that you’ve put to sleep by kneeling on the chapel and reciting prayers.

Miguel could see you were struggling hard, even though your nonchalant façade tried to hide it. Darkness screaming to be let out and be your true self, which was being held back by the greatness in you that was afraid of hurting him. However, as much as he loved the softness in your touch, he wasn’t a glass easily broken. He wanted everything of you as much as you did, even if he gets hurt, he doesn’t care. Just like those darkness slips through once in a while, he wants it to be fully out.

“Father, it’s okay,” Miguel whispered and you sharply inhaled a breath when he hooks a hand under his thigh to bend it, knee almost touching his shoulder. He looks at you through lidded eyes as his other hand reached down to spread his hole that clenches around your cock. It nearly makes your head spin with arousal. “I can handle it. I won’t break easily, you can be as rough with me as you want. I’ll be good for you, father. Just please, fuck me, use me.”

You shut your eyes closed and sighed deeply.

Oh, Sweet God, forgive me.

Miguel doesn’t realize he sliced through your self-restraint cleanly as you suddenly pull your cock all the way out, leaving just the tip in. “Wait, what are—” You cut him off with a harsh and rough slam of your hips. Miguel’s mouth falls open in a scream, eyes wide and head thrown back, practically feeling your fat cock in the back of his throat from how deep it buried in his guts.

“You’re— fuck! You’re going to be the death of me, Miguel.” You chuckled, already pulling your cock out to set a merciless and rough pace to fuck him. Miguel chokes out a moan, his hand flying up to grasp the edge of the table. “A whore so willing to take everything of me. Gotta spoil you rotten with my cock, eh?” Stabilizing the cigarette between your fingers, you pushed both of his legs to his chest and slammed your hips down, making Miguel’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“Thank you, thank you— auuughh!!” Miguel moans loudly, his other hand slamming against the table.

You lick your lips with a dangerous glint in your eyes, “You’ll accept everything of me, won’t you? Even my flaw, even my evil?”

Miguel could barely talk with your cock absolutely ruining his cunt, tears staining his cheeks and drool dripping from his lips, but he tries his best. “Y-yes, fuck! I’ll do— I’ll do anything— ohhh!"

You laughed almost maniacally in happiness, one of your hands moving up to wrap around his throat. Miguel whines desperately and latches his hand on your wrist, spilling babbles of begs as you keep pounding him against the table. His tits bounce in rhythm with your rough thrusts, encaged in those tight sleeveless top, and you lean down to bite down on the covered skin. Miguel’s body writhes underneath you, crying out.

“God shall forgive me for yearning you this much,” You muttered, licking his hard nipple through the fabric while squeezing his arteries.

Miguel’s eyes catches the crucifix before rolling back into his skull, uncontrollable moans escaping.

This wasn’t right, but it felt so good to be wrong. Being fucked by a priest, fucked by you. The filthy sin burning his skin and molding with your equally filthy soul. His mind growing dizzy from the pleasure and the euphoric sense of committing an unforgivable sin with you.

His hole squeezing you down made you groan, pace slowing down as you released his throat. Miguel coughs slightly, choking on his own whimpers. You continue to abuse his prostate with less roughness now, gripping his hips with one hand hard enough to leave a handprint as you bring the other to inhale a smoke again. You blow the smoke into his mouth, Miguel eagerly accepting as he pulls you in a desperate kiss. He had no shame, really. Being your perfect slut in the Lord’s place, in front of the Lord’s altar.

Pulling away, you admire the way he looked. Disheveled hair, eyes glossed in tears with pleasured expression on his face, brows scrunched up together, lips red and swollen. His cock leaked precum on his abdomen, staining the slutty black top. He’s the Heaven you’ve longed to see. A sight to behold.

“So beautiful... So divine,” You whispered, your thrust slow and sensual but sharp. Miguel mewls at the praise. “I should’ve devoured you faster if I knew you’re such a good bitch f’me. Would’ve asked for God’s permission to break you sooner. He would’ve allowed me to.” Your hands gently massage his breasts, making him sigh softly, before it travels down to trace his torso. He’s so mesmerizing; a blessing crafted by the divine beings above.

“Mhm,” Miguel moaned softly as he reached for your face. “You’ve been so loyal and patient, father... Maybe he’s rewarding you for it.” His luscious words tempting and seductive, he licks and nips at your neck.

Releasing a quiet moan, you hummed and wrapped your hand around his throat again as he whimpered, completely accepting. “Then, shall I do as I please with my reward?” Snapping your hips against his, Miguel lets out a gasp at your cock poking his prostate.

He bites his lip, nodding vigorously. “Sí, sí... Es todo para ti.”

You slam his body back down on the table with a groan, Miguel’s hands wrapping around your back and scratching at the skin through your clothes as you pick up your pace, the roughness intended to break him returning. You didn’t care even if he ripped your clothes, the church provides them anyway. Your ears swallowing every heavenly sounds that uncontrollably escaped Miguel’s mouth, your eyes never once trailed away from how divine yet sinful he looked, the sight carved deeply into your memories to never be forgotten.

Thank God for Miguel O’Hara, a man so willing to become the meal just so he could quench your thirst and feed your hunger.

So forgiving, so generous, so kind, despite the fact you were nothing but evil disguised in holy figure.

He’s the answer sent by God to your desperate prayers to keep your sinful demons at bay; he’s here for a purpose, so your desire will be fed and your filthy soul will be baptized to become holy again. The Lord wasn’t abandoning you, no. He was giving you solution to not taint your soul furthermore. Yearning for Miguel was not a sin nor wrong — it was how it’s supposed to be.

It is all the Lord’s plan. Otherwise, how could anyone explain this, right?

“Haah, fuck,” You can’t help but curse as you drill into him, no longer holding yourself back. His hole’s too fucking good. “You’re fucking made for this, Miguel, holy shit. Your guts are practically the shape of my dick,” You laugh breathlessly and press his tummy where your cock reaches, Miguel choking out a sob at the stimulation of being sandwiched from outside and inside. He could feel it even clearer, how you mercilessly thrust in and out.

“A-agh! Es— espera, para—” He was cut off by his own scream when you forced yourself even deeper, stars sparking in his vision and back arching as his body quivered violently, white seed staining his top. And yet, you didn’t stop even after he came, relentless pace continuous as if you don’t care about overstimulating him. Fat tears rolled down his cheeks at your sweet cruelty of assault in his tight cunt, mindless choked up moans and incoherent sentences spilling from his lips.

The corner of your lips twitched in devilish grin witnessing the way his mind breaks and turns into nothing but a dumb mess underneath you. “Lo siento, mi alma. pero es tan agradable romperte.” You licked a stripe of tears on his cheek, hearing the way he whined and moaned. Fuck, his helpless sounds of pleasure never fails to drive you crazy.

“Sí, sí, sí— n-no pares, por favor,” The intense pleasure making his legs shake and his mind delirious, Miguel arches his back to meet your hard thrusts. Dear God, you fuck him so good his head spins. Those women who drools over you as you lead the ceremony will never be able to experience how rough and fuckin’ amazing you fuck, he’ll make sure of it.

Miguel sobs from overstimulation when you harshly bit on his nipple, holding onto you for dear life to ground himself and shake away the threat of falling unconscious from the sheer pleasure you give him oh so generously. Sparks never leaves his vision, which should be concerning if it wasn’t for his will to welcome anything you give with open arms. He brought this upon himself anyway, it will be a shame if he doesn’t enjoy every moment of it.

“Feels fucking good, sweetheart, doesn’t it?” You asked rhetorically and grasp his sensitive cock in your hand, making him cry out and weakly attempt to push it off, the pleasure becoming too much it hurts. “Take it, Miguel. Take it like the slut that you are for me.”

“N-no puedo, no puedo, padre, por favor—”

“Yes, you can, sweet thing.” You chuckled softly, pumping his cock in a slow manner. He couldn’t do anything but cry and whimper as you push him over and over to the edge, forcing out another orgasm. “Cum f’me, you’re my good boy, you can handle it.” Miguel throws his head back as his toes curl and his cock shoots out ropes of cum again, eyes rolling into his skull and soundless scream escaping his throat.

You grunt at his tightness, giving him mercy and slowing down your thrusts but not stopping. “Good boy, Miguel.” Pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, Miguel keens when your hips starts picking up pace a little faster.

Shutting his eyes close, he shakes his head vigorously. “No— No puedo, no puedo m-más— Es- es demasiado—”

You shush him and wipe his tears with your thumb, “I know, I know. Just a little bit more, sweetheart, I promise.” The soft words distracting Miguel enough for him to open his hazy eyes slowly, before you pulled your hips back and rammed into him in one swift motion. You shivered in sadistic thrill at the sound of Miguel’s erotic scream and railed him like a dog in heat, overstimulating him further as he became a babbling dumb bitch who has no choice but to take your ruthlessness.

It would be wiser to cover his mouth because of how carelessly loud his moans and screams were, but you were too focused in chasing your climax and driving him delirious that it didn’t matter anymore.

Soon enough, your cock throbbed inside him and had mercy on the poor perfectly used man as Miguel let out a broken moan, throat already hoarse. “Fuck, pray to me. Won’t you, you sweet thing?” You groan, thrusts getting sloppy due to the knot coiling in your stomach.

“Please—” He chokes out, “C-cum, cum in me, por favor, padre.”

String of curses leaving your lips, you finally met your climax as your cock shoots out sperm and paint his guts in white, the warm feeling making Miguel moan lewdly and cum right after you, rather weakly. His body spasms and quivers non-stop, too overstimulated, unable to calm down from the mind shattering multiple orgasms.

You sigh and slowly grind your hips, just to ride out the peak. Pulling down his turtle neck to kiss the skin properly, you looked at the large crucifix in the corner of your eye.

Forgive me, Lord—

Your plea for forgiveness fall into deaf ears as you seal Miguel’s lips who tried kissing back, but ultimately fell into a deep slumber due to exhaution.

—For I am about to break your blessing’s spirit.

You’re a man of your word. You meant it when you said you didn’t want to hurt him, but Miguel insisted. It isn’t your fault your demons are free now.

And it certainly wouldn’t be your fault that he wouldn’t get to see a daylight anymore.

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarising, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[sesshy380]

got any fics or authors you can recommend? :3

Oh wow, it's been a while since I've gotten one of these. I am ashamed to admit that I've been in a real slump this year as far as reading fic goes (same with writing). That being said, I still have a lot of oldies but goodies, as well as a few additions.

(Please forgive me, but I am going to be copy/pasting a few of these from a similar question back in 2023)

It should go without saying, but READ THE TAGS. I tend to like stuff that pushes the boundaries.

Going to start with authors

BladeofM - Also known as @micheladee, is the author of one of my faves, Eldritch Encounter. Not only did this fic introduce me to the indescribable awesomeness that is @andr0nap's art, but I fell in love with BladeofM's writing style. All I need to see is the name and I know it'll be good.

QueenBastet - Sadly, we lost this amazing author this year. She will always be on my rec list. She really had a way with writing the Puzzle boys that I absolutely loved.

Resuri - If you didn't know, I a huge fan of @resuri-art lol. It doesn't matter if it's art or fics...I love it all!

atlas_x - If you like smut, look no further than Atlas lol. I am addicted to their smutfics. Infected is a zombie apocolypse au, less on the smut side, and only a few chapters, but still worth looking at.

Next up is fics.

The Cornered Collection by YadonushiRyou aka @millenniumringg. This AU has an alternative 'bad' ending that ripped my heart out and made me cry...and that's my favorite ending for some reason. If you love your fics in the same genre that Ryou loves his movies, then this is for you.

Role Play AU by @ninjam117. I have always loved fantasy, and this AU hits the spot. Filled with everything a fantasy fic needs: Magic, a Unicorn, battles filled with action, romance/smut, you name it.

The Last Puzzle - by @tenderwulf. I originally binged this over on FFN, and was so inspired that I took the leap and began writing my own longfic. If you've read 'Homecoming' by Fiver over on FFN, you'll love The Last Puzzle.

Philosophy of a Knife by @crush3dmary. Sair's writing style is so poetic. I am very behind on this one, but once I get out of my 'wanting to read' slump, I am going to binge this angst poetry of toxicity.

Kill Shot by @apathetic-theme-song (MMMOTH on AO3)- Another AU that I absolutely love. I am such a fan of immortality and magic in a modern setting. And of course, there's smut. Gotta have that smut in there.

Chained to You by @saijspellhart. A post-season Zero setting where Yugi never learned about the Spirit of the Puzzle. This is another of those longfics that I originally binged over on FFN, and now have bookmarked on AO3.

above all shadows the rides the Sun is a series by lossen on AO3. If you want to see someone put Atem through a meatgrinder the way I do with TKB, definitely worth the read.

The Sunrise is Gone is another fic by lossen. I've been lucky enough to get sneak peeks of some of the coming chapters, and all I can say is I am foaming at the mouth to see how it all comes together. This is a Puzzle boys me-flavored angst fic.

Ok, you can't ask for fic recs without me throwing in a few self-recs.

Our Scars remind Us that the Past was Real . Imagine waking up, and everyone is trying to convince you that the things you 'remember’ never happened, and that those 'memories’ exist only in YOUR head. The Thief King doesn’t have to imagine…because that’s exactly what happened.

An unhealthy Obsession . Set post-DSOD. Explores the toxic side of Tendershipping.

Returned. Gemshipping sick fic sprinkled with bits of me-flavored angst and sarcastic humor.

[lord-squiggletits]

IDW Megatron and Optimus weren't friends before the war. Here's why that makes their ship dynamic more interesting.

One comment I've heard among people comparing IDW1 MegOP to other continuities of MegOP is (paraphrased) that since they weren't friends before the war, there isn't as much material to ship them with/they don't have an established dynamic/they don't have ~*history*~ that makes them be the bitter exes we all know and love them to be.

In this meta post, I'm going to contend that the IDW1 MegOP lack of friendship before the war is actually a benefit to their dynamic in this continuity, not a negative. Although they didn't get a lot of time together before the war in terms of quantity, the quality of their interactions and the weight it gave their future rivalry is due to the tragic nature of their relationship: They saw a glimpse of each other at their best in their youth, but like a tragic myth of old, circumstances conspired to keep them apart, traumatize them, and turn them into people who couldn't trust or reconcile with each other.

The IDW MegOP's first meeting is like a fated encounter, almost as if it was destined to happen. The way that one single brush can change the entire course of history.

I like to call this a "love at first sight" moment because, although they're not in love, it has this sort of storybook magical quality to it where this one single moment has a lot of weight. This one moment where they saw each other at their best and could have a positive interaction.

When I say that they met each other "at their best" here, I'm referring to Megatron's pacifistic essays and poetry that represent his pure revolutionary spirit and care for Cybertron, and Orion's trait of showing kindness and encouraging individual freedom despite his position of authority. The way that their first encounter was so brief and unassuming makes us, the readers, yearn for more. Doesn't Megatron's silent glance behind him in that final panel make you wonder what he's thinking? They only had that one brief talk at the rodion police station but it went on to ricohet the rest of their lives. Orion started thinking about the corruption of the system due to Megatron's writing. Megatron looked back at Orion with curiosity/lingering feeling after he was escorted out of the station. Even Megatron being put on Messatine was indirectly due to Orion, since Orion delivered that speech on his behalf.

It's almost like literal chemistry, where two particles bumping into each other once can cause a chain reaction of other particles bumping and bumping and bumping until suddenly those two particles are back together.

It's a sort of magical real life scenario where you meet a stranger just once but something they did or said to you makes you remember it and think about it for a long time afterwards. except in this case the MegOPs are (un?)lucky enough to meet again. And they start a war.

I also really like that Megatron and Orion/Optimus spent most of their pre-war backstory apart from each other, because I feel like it makes them stronger characters individually instead of making all of their most important moments be about each other. This is more of a comment on fandom than canon, but many romantic stories fall into a pitfall of a relationship where the two people obsessed with each other: their romance is the most important relationship they have; the entire plot revolves around whether they're happy or upset with each other, it can even make their relationship seem unhealthy and like they have no meaningful relationships outside of their romance. In terms of MOP in other continuities, I feel that putting too much emphasis on their friendship kind of cheapens the worldbuilding and political conflict. True, it's nice when the personal and political intersect in the MegOP's lives, but sometimes I feel (especially in fanon) that the "they were friends but then they disagreed and now they're not friends" concept sometimes ends up being written as if this one simple friendship conflict was the basis of a whole war.

The benefit of IDW1 MegOP is that because they spend their pre-war time apart from each other, they develop separately as people and end up transforming into someone different from their "love at first sight" moment. I like that Orion had relationships with people like Shockwave, Roller, and Zeta, and Megatron had his student/teacher relationship with Terminus and the whole arena thing happening.

Both Megatron and Orion went through traumatizing events during this time period that changed their worldviews for the worse and made them more cynical. Megatron suffered an attempted brainwashing, losing his mentor, his first killing, then being stuck in the arena. Orion went through the loss of Shockwave to a fate worse than death, then the disappearance of his best friend Roller, then worked for Zeta and began to doubt in his ideals/goodness as a leader. In that time between the MegOP's first encounter and their ensuing encounters in a military conflict, they came back as very different people than the first glimpse they got of each other.

Since they only had that ONE first glimpse they had of each other, then met again only to be disappointed by each other's fall from grace (in each others' eyes), this sets up a lot of angst. They wonder if that first glimpse of each other was really true or if it was a lie. Should they trust in those "good" versions of each other they saw so long ago? Do those people even exist? Are they or were they ever worth believing in? Does that man I saw still exist or did I just WANT to see something good in him? That man ruined my life and I hate him for fighting against me, he's a hypocrite. I thought that man was a good person, but he's betrayed the hopes I had by becoming a violent criminal warlord/working for the evil government I thought he opposed.

It sort of has the vibes of a "love at first sight" story gone wrong where their first encounter was kind (I like to imagine Megatron was touched or at least curious about Orion, a cop, telling him to keep writing and be vocal) but then they descended into their worst selves. They only had that one small glimpse of each other at their best but now they're in a scenario where they can only be enemies.

The longing and disappointment is more obvious on Orion's part about Megatron, because Orion got this shining glimpse of Megatron at his best and most passionate, only to encounter Megatron again and all those good parts have been buried to leave only his worst. Megatron's POV about OP isn't really shown, but I feel like it could be interesting to write headcanons about it. How did Megatron feel about Orion making that speech on his behalf? Getting moved to Messatine because Orion made him so public, and all the bad things that happened there?

Yes, their first encounter was brief and they didn't really have a personal relationship before the war. But that brief encounter changed the trajectory of their entire lives. When you combine that with the fact that they saw each other as their "ideal selves", it creates that valid obsession between Megatron and Optimus. It is kind of unhealthy LMAO, because they do kind of become obsessed with each other based on an incomplete view of the other as a person. But then the war happens and they keep having personal and professional encounters that would give them opportunities to meet (such as in diplomacy meetings like Tyrest's peace negotiations and other political things that come with war). And those repeated meetings would only cause them to get to know each other better. Then you get into more mythical/legend-like story dynamics where Megatron and OP have to learn how the other thinks tactically, and their tactical knowledge becomes so intimate they start understanding how the other thinks and it's very dramatic lol. The typical our-enmity-is-so-deep-it-could-be-love enemies to lovers fare.

TLDR:

Circumstances outside of their control drove them apart, made them into different people, and kept them from becoming friends. It makes IDW MegOP feel legendary or mythical, like some sort of epic Greek tragedy of two people who were always 🤏 this close to being friends. There's longing there, and tragedy, imagining what might have been if they'd only been able to talk again, or if they had somehow been able to influence each other before they went down the bad path (violence and crime for Megatron, following Zeta and becoming Prime for Orion/Optimus). But despite that, their natural chemistry perseveres, and they talk to/about each other in a way that shows they still think of each other even when apart.

[scentedpepper]

Okok so I have this request that's technically lip x m!reader x Ian where lip and reader are in a relationship but Ian has had a crush on reader since he started hanging out with lip. And once they officially started dating, Ian was pretty much heart broken about it but reader is oblivious to it so they stay friends. Until the relationship starts to get rocky with them arguing all the time (as canon lip high key sucks at being in relationships) and it eventually leads to Ian comforting reader after a dramatic fight with lip and Ian confesses and maybe they kiss 🫶

Bar Fights and Candle Light

IAN GALLAGHER X MALE READER

Summary: You're flawed, but Ian will scream he loves you for it until he's blue in the face.

Content Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, reader has been cheated on, impulsiveness, poor attachment styles, sexual implications

Other Pairings: Lip Gallager x Male Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Hey Anon I'm ngl it's 4:30 in the morning rn

Much to my misfortune, I woke from my sleep at 2am and had an unbearable urge to finish this so lucky for you 🫶

This starting to look a little like a twilight scene..

Anyway, usual shameless stuff, lip is lip, reader is flawed to a determinate blah blah blah

Hope you enjoy 😛

---------------------------------------------------

Lip Gallagher held the kind of charm that reminded you of drunk bar fights and somehow, simultaneously, roses. The kind of trouble that ends with an eyebrow raise and the kind of kindness that gets you on your knees.

As much as you loved him, the man really had no sense of what loyalty was and instead seemed to revert to breaking the hearts of every girl he had ever slept with.

You knew such things well and your ogling from a distance soon became a thorne in your side that you wished to diminish.

You met Lip when he accidentally stumbled upon a gay pride rally. How he'd got there? You weren't entirely sure of those facts even now.

Four months after you'd befriended him and simultaneously, his red-headed brother, when you'd lost your dignity and, later, your boyfriend, Lip had looked at you with, if not genuine empathy, then interest.

"I know what will make you feel better. " He had urged, and you had just rolled your eyes and pressed your face further into the warm pillow.

You had just been cheated on, and nothing Lip could say would be as appealing as lying in the rundown springs of your mattress to inevitably– sink in with them.

However, the things he could do was a different story.

When you, in a half drunken state amongst the alibi a few days later, admitted to what had occurred in your bed the same night your boyfriend dumped you for a woman, of all people, Ian was –for some reason– under the assumption you would've rejected Lip's idea in entirety.

"Wait, " he laughed, his finger prodding the side of your ribcage until you were squirming with a wince, "you–really?"

And he could not believe his ears when you told him the truth of it.

Ian learned two things that night.

One, his brother had more flavoring within him than he otherwise assumed.

And two, no matter how much he tried to shove his affections for you, they only seemed to grow stronger.

Into the next months, however, where it was not entirely shocking, but rather, indescribably insufferable to Ian, you entered a very hot and heavy romance with a rather short and bitter soon-to-be-ending with his brother.

He was doomed.

He knew it from the moment the blush touched your cheeks and not your ears when you spoke of Lip.

And every second of it felt like searing hot daggers plunged and twisted into his stomach.

Ian wanted to resent you but everything you did, be it picking apart the little lies around his brother or, right down to the way your brow pinched in concentration when you played UNO, had Ian just adoring you more.

It was probably unhealthy how quickly he had fallen and you should've noticed the intensity of his stare.

But, nevertheless, your sight was akin to that of a bat.

And Ian cursed you for it.

What he also cursed you for was not understanding his pain.

Falling for the wrong person.

Sure, Lip was charming and deceptively gorgeous but he was as cold and disfigured as a snowman that seemed to melt no matter where he went.

Oh, and how you were the sun that shined down on him.

"You're just-! Fucking-!"

"What, Lip!? I'm fucking what!?"

The unsavory sound of the two of you came to Ian's ears on a Saturday morning.

Like a dog who's been kicked around, Ian reluctantly walks up the stairs with a heavy sigh and a headache already blooming within his skull.

Knowing you and his brother, he braces himself for the worst with a wince.

"For fucks sake!" Lips' voice pitches to an all time high when Ian removes the physical barrier of wood between he and the two of you, the first thing he sees being the redness of his brother's neck, and then the vein popping from it as he yells at you. "You're a real piece of work you know? Fucking selfish. "

"Oh–I'm selfish?"

Ah, and your voice, laced with salt and hurt, such a strange contrast from what he swore to be giggling 5 minutes ago.

"Lip.." he begins to warn, though if anyone catches the genuine concern within him, no one seems to bother notice.

"You are so fucking unbelievable, Lip! You realize what a fucking wreck you are, don't you?”

Ian's head spins with a stutter of thoughts.

He doesn't have the fortitude to beg this to stop nor the confidence to storm away.

His only options, and the ones he decided were best, was to wait until the dust cleared–the chances of things growing civil between the two of you was extremely high, when not fighting, you were an absolute sweetheart, however much you looked tough to be –but never once did Ian try to stop the arguments.

Because inside of him, the part that is far too gone for you, was vindictive and wickedly happy with the idea that you were growing discontented with his brother.

He knew –while guilty over the idea– it wouldn't make you easier to have.

"Youre too fucking clingy, Y/N! I can't breathe around you! I can't even stand to look at you sometimes, fuck!”

The pure, toxic rage spews forth from Lip's lips and Ian winces at the harshness of it.

He hated to see people yell like that.

You, however, were unrelenting as you shouted, like an echo through the house, the vicious noise came to him again.

And as you moved in pace, fists tight and feet steaming for the friction with the floor, Ian was in a comatose-like state and had no trouble tracking the beautiful anger you expelled.

"You fucking asshole!"

You started with a shove that sent Lip halfway across the room. There were tears springing from your eyes and the water glistened like stars.

When you shoved Lip again, his back hit the wall and while not very strong, was still heavy enough to make an ungodly thump.

Lip grabbed your forearms with a fierceness sure to burn through your bones, though everything within him was shattered, down, down, to the core of his heart.

Yet, all he could do was continue to yell obscenities right back into your face.

That is, until Ian had had enough.

The redhead stepped forward and finally yelled your name, much louder than he usually did.

Which was a bit horrifying and nerve-racking and every negative synonym to such an event.

He had to force himself in between the two of you to push you apart and without thinking, his palm smacked you square on the chest in an attempt to set you aside and there was barely a beat in between your hit to the floor and Lip's hands thrown around his shoulders.

"What the fuck is your problem, man?!" His elder brother seethes and Ian doesn't flinch.

"My problem?" He grinds and before Lip can let the flame singe him more, Ian shoves him off of him like it's nothing. "My fucking problem is the two of you. You can't keep yelling at each other like this, jesus. Grow the fuck up. "

If he hadn't seen the shame fill the space of where you both were only minutes ago, he might not have expected you to hang your head and break out crying.

"Oh, for fucks sake. " Was the exclamation of exasperation Lip gave to you, sighing angrily at the sight of you sobbing.

It made you cry harder, feeling betrayed by even his outburst.

Ian thought his lungs might explode.

"Hey-" Lip tried but when his hand came near you you were quick to smack it away.

Lip had made an attempt to further his explanation but you promptly cut him off with an ear shattering yell.

"Get out! Get the fuck out! I don't want to see you again you fucking piece of shit!"

The fiery look in his dark eyes contrasted awfully to your words of pure, burning red.

Hurt, is what he showed.

Broken, is what he felt.

"Fine. " He dared and your nostrils flared.

The door slammed shut not long after he finished, the sound leaving your eardrums ringing and your mind racing, filled to the brim with all the hatred you could possibly have for a single man.

The last emotion you thought you would have to battle, however, was empathy.

It was quiet.

With the tears still leaking from your face, your palms lifted to press against the spaces of your sockets and you hiccuped pathetically to no one.

No one except Ian who had slowly, after the initial shock had worn off, carefully inched his way across the floor towards you.

Right now, Ian held the kind of charm that reminds you of drunks that carry with them the very essence of a candle lit room and some kind of naiveté that was hard to put a finger on.

The kind of trouble that ends with the tightening of sheets and the kind of kindness that just breaks the dams.

He, unbeknownst to your knowledge, had learned how to treat you for a long time now.

He saw the way the plump of you lips tightened when Lip didn't make it home on time and didn't send word, the way the skin around you eyes grew darker when not sleeping in the same bed and the twitching of your hips when kissed anywhere less than suitable for a child.

From the comfort you sought within yourself and within your friends, to the tears shed all alone in your bathroom, Ian became quite versed in everything that made you, you.

"Hey, " the word comes out as soft as his heart feels and you don't move to acknowledge his presence. The sudden relief that sits beneath your skin has him gaping open with an ache pulling at his heart. "Hey, what did he say?"

You shake, maybe not violently, but enough for Ian's hands to move like magnets toward you.

They rest on the sides of your legs at first because that's where you're tucked, hiding and deserted. All alone in your cave as you try to collect the shattering pieces but all you feel is shame.

When Ian attempts to gather you closer, you fall apart and so he comes together.

"I'm sorry he's such an asshole. " He breathes into the side of your hair, rubbing his thumb along your back.

"He–" You hiccup, your body rising and falling again and again before you could get the sentence out. "He said he wasn't attracted to me. "

Ian thought he should vomit.

Or rip Lips cock clean from his body.

"He lied. " Ian insists and he wonders where that came from but when you sigh it's to shift and press your head down the top of his shoulder. His fingers run along the bones of your spine as he ponders for a moment.

"You're fucking hot, Y/N. " Is the next thing he says, hoping to encourage the confidence, but what takes over Ian when he sees the blush form so fast on your neck, is the absolute need to impress you with his tongue.

"Yeah?" Your tone isn't flirty or surprised, rather, exhausted, in need of someone who's not belittling you.

It's everything Ian is and feels.

You laugh softly next, but it feels sarcastic and cynical.

"Everyones attracted to you. " He tells you then and lets the gentle thumping of his chest bring you to solace. "Even me. "

His statement gives the impression of an abnormality.

Your heartbeat halts its rapid state and Ian tries not to flush when the thought of an engagement or invite forms illustrate inside his head; all from an accidental confession.

You, none the wiser, have the audacity to open your eyes and look up at him from beneath your lashes.

When you see him, he seems as though he himself is an extension of a person made of every emotion there is that you haven't learnt how to properly decipher, yet somehow, you felt connected to him for it.

"You're nice. " You say it like there's a small child in front of you, too young to understand you, too old not to want to speak to you.

Your voice is small and the sound it makes is akin to that of a mouse.

While it amazes Ian and has a great hold on his heart, he also knows you've only used the simplest way to describe his softness.

He stares back at you, frozen in a way he can't describe, his heart hammering like he's been told to run a mile and been given nothing but the anticipation of knowing it was, in fact, coming.

When he cups your jaw, the gesture is out of place for two friends, certainly, though your eyes close, serene.

You did not take his statement to heart.

But he meant it with all of his.

As usual, Ian was drowning.

Into another night of contemplating the intricacies of his next move and of the next possible one itself.

Because, without context, it appeared his brother had left him with his ex, sitting alone together, and would probably be fucking the living daylights out of any girl he could get a grasp on.

Lip had a poor source of regulating his emotions.

But so did you.

However, more than just the want to steal you away as his own, Ian felt the need to help you.

The kind of want that hurts like starvation.

‘You okay?’

Was the thing you'd often say to Ian before slipping into bed beside Lip and watching him slink from room to room.

Back and forth in a weird paranoia and an annoying kind of behavior that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

Every time you asked, however, he was adamant on not opening his mouth for anything but a yes.

And you stared at him strangely, the same way you were now.

Again, Ian's lips parted for just one word.

"What?" He asked with a sort of soft laugh that felt like you were a leaf spinning gracefully in the wind across a green, fruitful park.

"You're sort of beautiful. " You told him, without 2nd thought, and Ian jolted.

"Ha. " He laughed –or at least breathed it in a laughing manner, if the strain against his lungs was of any significance– and the warmth was instant.

"Thanks.."

Ian knew.

And you were unaware, but you knew, too.

"He doesn't deserve you, Y/N. "

With every inch of his body aching to scream a declaration, what it resulted in instead was a calm sincerity with an earnest kind of gleam in his eye.

"I know. " You spoke it as a whisper, like it was forbidden and someone would have your head for it. But Ian's reassurance is enough to allow your shoulders to slump as they give out under the weight of the world.

Like Atlas, who caved at the sight of eternity, you feel it too.

Feels as though he were holding up, not the moon, not the stars, not the sun, not the planets, not the earth.

But you.

"Ian. " You said it, ghostly.

A call, something dark and heavy inside of you, the kind of dense which reminds you of death, rising and falling, beckoning you in a way that could only end poorly for yourself and any other life you might choose to cherish.

"Yes.." Ian acknowledged, more a breath against your skin than actual words from his heart.

"Kiss me. "

You didn't allow him the patience for one extra second.

Reaching up, you captured Ians lips with a simple tilt of his head, kissing him like it was the last time you ever would.

There was an odd feeling resonating within you.

One that said, this will most definitely not end well, it was the kind of thing you never seemed to listen to, even before, with the way you treated life like it were the ocean and you were trying to find Atlantis.

Like that, Ian became the kind of addict you held.

It started with the gentle way he kissed, his hands running small tracks down the curve of your cheeks and even smaller ones down the line of your jaw.

"What is this?" He managed to whisper between his lips that began to overtake yours, the glide smooth and succulent.

You don't know the words to respond.

Ian is no fool.

But for you, he resigns the right to be.

And he's kissing you like you're made of sugar and honey and he's been starving in a desert for days. The craving is hard to sate when it's been long fulfilled, the love never gone, the want and desire still constant.

How can this be so wrong? You can't even register the thought because it feels so delicious.

Maybe when one door closes, another opens, but neither was meant to be swung with a latch.

Maybe this is wrong; his conscience tugs, but he doesn't care.

You both ascend, but it's pure teenage stupidity that you enter this together, a high reaching just below the clouds, and you couldn't see past his eyes.

Couldn't see further than the feelings and the affections he gives you; that Lip had somehow left so much that Ian could easily fill up the vacancy.

Fill it so well that, this, all of this, is alright.

Just for now.

[worriedvision]

Historically unfortunate in love - Alhaitham

Gender neutral reader, reader is a book. Angst. I know, it's an odd idea, but the idea is that there's this book known for having romance as it's genre, but the book is also known for causing dreams where the reader shows up. Alhaitham takes an interest in this, curious as to what you were. Chaos ensues. There is not a happy ending here, I'm afraid.

--

"Haven't you heard? That book is haunted!"

"My friend tried to read it, but they freaked out when a scary person showed up on their dreams."

"Hasn't that book been around for decades? More than that."

These rumours, and more, spread about you all the time. Your author had been plagued by an unhealthy attachment to you, to the point they found a way to speak to you in their dreams. As odd as it was, it quenched her loneliness.

But since she died, you were still there. Whenever someone picked you up, you'd appear in their dreams until someone else touched your cover. It was nice at first, meeting people, but you hated the fact they'd keep talking about the romance in your pages. People thought you, somehow, could make their hopes of requited love true. After a few decades, you could not bare it any longer.

So, you made yourself as terrifying as possible. People realised you had no patience left for their love problems, the envy over being used and not talked to like your original owner did being a likely culprit, and the rumour changed to you being so terrifying that you weren't worth reading.

Alhaitham heard from these rumours about you, and he felt like he had nothing better to do. He decides to look into you, taking in the contents of your pages, while also interviewing you.

The first night, he could tell you were trying to be scary. That you couldn't really do anything, positive or negative, towards him. You bulk yourself up, but you can't scare him off. He merely sits there, observing you, and you realise that he's different. He isn't there for a romantic reason, he's not there for some entertainment reason.

He asks you about your origins, your author, what you know about your contents. Over time, he grew more interested in you as a person. You grew to trust him and, you realise, you feel romantic feelings for him. Some pages he mentions to you, it feels like they're happening. Those tight feelings, those warm sensations, the stupid smile your face had.

You were scared of it. You knew he couldn't touch you physically, your form was not physical, and he was an attractive man. You knew that, one day, you would lose him to someone who could give him what you couldn't.

So, you hide from him. You expect him to move on, to see that you aren't showing yourself and his experiment would be over.

Nope, he seems to understand this follows the story you are in. You grow distant after showing symptoms of falling in love, and he would persist.

So, he tells you about himself. His grandmother, his job, anything he could he would do.

--

"I didn't take you to be a reader of romance." Kaveh chuckles, spying the book.

Alhaitham tuts, taking the book away before Kaveh can take you away. He walks away, Kaveh realising that whatever you were, Alhaitham grew to like you.

Unfortunately, this does not last.

--

"Please leave." You cry out, Alhaitham not able to find you. "This isn't a good idea, you know this."

"There is no evidence to-"

"No, you are a human being. I know you'll leave."

Those were the last words you said to him. He tried his hardest to call out to you, to tell you how close he felt to you, but nothing worked. Upon reading the rest of the book, his heart sinks as he reads the final chapter.

Your author ended the story with the relationship burning out, the love interest dying in a house fire and the twist being that you were a living possession of the man who loved you. The man comes to terms with the fact you are not real, and he falls in love with someone who ticked all of his boxes.

This must have been the hypothesis of you gifting your reader their desired outcome. People didn't seem to finish reading your story, and the next time he visits you, you know he's finished reading you.

--

"Burn me. End my suffering." You stare coldly, Alhaitham opening his mouth in horror.

He didn't want to lose you, he didn't give a damn if you were real or if you were simply a dream.

"If you cannot burn me, you have to find someone who can."

No, this isn't right! He didn't want to burn you, he hated the idea of you just, being gone. He didn't understand why you were created, but he understands why he likes dreaming so often.

He enjoys his time with you. He looks forward to sleeping, and not solely because he can escape the people that drain him socially. You don't hear any of it, it was as if your creator made this script for you when someone finally finished your story and stuck with you.

He wakes up crying that morning, Kaveh noting his change in demeanor. Alhaitham hands him the book, unable to carry out your only wish, and he tells Kaveh to sleep at that moment.

--

"Are you _? Alhaitham seems to like you very much." Kaveh explains, you decide to show your form and nod in reply. "...Do you really desire an end? Alhaitham cherishes you, which is something I didn't think possible for him."

"I envy him. I can't hold him, and he can find a person to hold." You explain. "It's too much for me. My creator made me in a moment of selfishness, and people keep using me until they get what they desire."

"Alhaitham is a different man." Kaveh explains. "He isn't one for socialising unless entirely necessary."

Unfortunately, that only makes you feel even more sure you wish to be burned. You realise from Kaveh's statement that Alhaitham wouldn't be able to stand you if you somehow became human. You hate this constant cycle with people where you wish to form a physical connection but cannot.

"...I'll fulfill your wish, in return for one thing." Kaveh starts. "I am allowed to give the ashes from your book to Alhaitham."

You suppose there wasn't going to be anyone else willing to risk breaking the law for your own wishes, you observed from being classed as a relic of sorts. You nod, Kaveh looking particularly sad when he realises, completely, that you were truly fed up with being used and thrown away.

"For what it's worth.... Alhaitham truly loves you."

--

When Kaveh burns the book, he calls Cyno to join him to explain the situation. It sounded rather bizarre, however Cyno was understanding enough to know that Kaveh wouldn't make this up, and he did note Alhaitham looks a lot happier than usual. He prepares the bonfire, along with a jar to place your charred pages into once it was completed.

To say Alhaitham was devastated, realising you were gone, was an understatement. He hated sleeping now, knowing for a fact you weren't there, and the charred remains in the jar were the proof you were gone. Your creator was cruel for creating you, Alhaitham couldn't help but recognise. Who makes a book sentient to the point they wish they were human? He didn't know the answer for that question to satisfy his desire for your rest, you must have been miserable up until you felt the flames against your paper, finally feeling the release from this prison you were born in.

Does he move on like the book stated? No. He carries your jar around wherever he can, creating a pouch big enough for you, and whenever someone tried to tease him for it or touch it, he would glare at them. Those stupid enough to try and steal the jar were met with a swift punch to the stomach, catching you before you could hit the ground.

Try as he might, he knew he would have a hold on his heart once filled with you.

[humdinky]

hey all! i just wanted to take a minute to stand on my little soap box and tell you about a manga i picked up last december. it has gotten much more attention since then, but i'd still like to throw my thoughts into the mix.

on the surface, the summer hikaru died explores a pretty common horror trope: what if a person you loved changed into something unrecognizable? do you reject them, or try to connect to the person that they have become? of course, this fear is twisted into something more threatening in a supernatural horror format. what if they literally died and came back as something else that could potentially harm you and your family?

we follow two teenage boys: yoshiki and his best friend (and one sided crush) hikaru, who goes missing in the mountains for a week and miraculously reappears unscathed. he looks the same as ever, but yoshiki can tell that what came back is no longer the hikaru that he once knew. now, yoshiki must come to grips with the fact that something sinister has taken over his friend’s body - and that it has a strong attachment to him.

that's the basic premise, but this manga is still ongoing and there are plenty of different directions it could take. if you haven't read it yet, it's worth experiencing firsthand. beyond the body horror are themes of grief and repressed homosexuality, as well as subtext to read into. i'm not going to be spoiling any explicit plot details, but i'd encourage you to stop reading this and go check it out if a bl manga with gorgeous art, toxic but engaging romance, and body horror sounds appealing to you.

the first thing you'll notice about this manga is that *chef's kiss* gorgeous art! it is uncanny, as you would expect, but it is drawn with so much care. the heavily detailed background art and visual horror create a rather oppressive atmosphere. the author also really excels at conveying character emotions through facial expressions, and there's a lot of very subtle bits of information that you can pick up from them.

being a body horror manga, this aspect is of course given extra care. when it gets supernatural, it takes on an oddly surreal quality. i'd even say that the transformations of hikaru take on an air of eroticism. that sounds out of place, but the author understands that the line between fear and attraction is thin. there is one scene in particular that would be very sexual if not for the absolute nightmare scenario unfolding before my eyes.

one of my favorite things about this manga is the confidence the author has in the reader. yoshiki having had feelings towards' the previous hikaru is never outright stated, it's just assumed that the reader will pick up on it. the village yoshiki lives in views homosexuality as some kind of curse, and the insecurity this creates in him is shown very subtly. the camera's gaze and the little things he says all convey this, like his apparent guilt over staring at hikaru shown through the shadow on his face. his fear of and attraction to hikaru's transformations also conveys this idea. he's also coping with grief in an unhealthy manner, and this is shown through the almost experimental way he's sometimes drawn. but yoshiki is not the only important character, and hikaru also has some depth. his character is harder to parse, but there's more to him lurking below the surface. he's more delicate than his outgoing demeanor would suggest. hell, it's understandable - being a literal monster means his position in yoshiki's life is extremely tenuous. our two main characters form a codependent relationship based on a fear of being alone, something very human and compelling in a messy sort of way.

something that i do not see being brought up quite as much is how tshd uses horror elements to discuss the fears around coming out and dealing with same-sex attraction. so much of hikaru’s internal struggle is such a wonderful metaphor. many of the moments between him and yoshiki serve as a dual narrative - the surface-level narrative but also this very delicate story about two boys from a rural village who realize they have feelings for one another. the whole story in fact is one giant metaphor for dealing with the anxiety losing who you thought you were and embracing concrete truths about sexuality and love.

overall it left me with some very strong first impressions. it is both an excellent horror manga and a nuanced exploration of loss and sexuality. i also find it very refreshing that their relationship isn’t built on any sort of deception or lies, and that yoshiki is aware that he’s an imposter, just not the extent of what exactly he is or what is happening in the town.

[slushiesandshowtunesat3am]

honest question to these "non con fics are a kink“ people.

Do you think pedophilia is a kink too then? I’m honestly wondering lol

The ask above and the text below is a response to concern about the growing number of infantilization and dub con/non con content that is taking over certain fanfiction spaces.

I will be using tags from those spaces to spread the message and further encourage conversation, so if you do not want to see my posts, block me now

Okay, so I do want to acknowledge a few things.

I do know that pedophilia is defined as a psychological disorder. Just putting that there. I do know that a comparison to certain kinks, and fetishes shouldn't be made to actually mental illnesses.

However, I feel like we need to talk about the subconscious effects that pedophilia as a social tool has had on all of our communities.

This is something I can go on and on about, because you can quite literally find a connection to it in almost every system where there are dynamics between women and men.

But I want to talk about media influence, and how it's leading to certain (unhealthy) sexual dynamics being more accepted.

If you look at almost any piece of media portraying a romantic relationship between a woman and a man from the early 2000s and before, you will find evidence of the social defect. Women for lead romance roles were always petite, docile, most likely flat chested, clean shaven, expected to uphold traditional "roles of women", and expected to be sexually obedient.

Even in scenarios where women could be a tad more dominant, it was always at the discretion of the man in the scenario, and most of the time it was a sexual fantasy that no woman would want to be a part of (sexy teacher, sexy librarian, etc.). It was never at the consent, consideration, or comfort of the woman.

And of course, because media influences human dynamics, these were the type of women that were viewed as being the most favored, even now (disgustingly).

Fanfiction gives us the authority to write worlds where women aren't constrained by these nauseating expectations. So why are we still not only limiting ourselves to them, but allowing them to have a place in our private sexual spaces, which should be for empowering each other. Not finding pleasure in the violence that has, and is, bringing us and other women down.

Non-con, dub con, heavy infantilization fics do feed into pedophilia. There's no debate about it.

Again, I have to use this term, the Lolita-like descriptions of readers becoming more frequent is a prime example.

The rise of daddy kinks and age gap fetishes, even when characters are the same age as the majority readers/writers, is a prime example.

The rise of non-consensual dynamics where the reader is either easily taken advantage of or portrayed as too innocent to understand they're being taken advantage of, is a prime example.

The sexualization of dark content is a prime example.

You can NOT write or consume this content, and pretend that you are not feeding into a harmful narrative that has caused women harm in private and public spaces for years.

[itsjustlux]

Alright. Rivals. I have thoughts.

**Brief TW for potentially uncomfy discussions of unhealthy power dynamics, SA, and violence towards women.**

I don't have enough thoughts to do a whole essay, mind. I think the show is very okay with being campy, overdramatic, and 80s in every way, so I don’t feel the need or desire to do any true ‘character analysis’ (though some bits of the score are *really* fun). But still, I have thoughts.

Namely, did anyone else come away disliking Rupert as much as Tony? I felt a degree of pity for both characters (David Tennant is an immaculate choice if you are trying to give a character wet cat energy - I say this as a David Tennant fan), but also a pretty strong amount of dislike. Tony is a liar, a cheater, a misogynist, and just generally pretty rude to the people around him. For contrast, Rupert is a liar, a cheater, a misogynist, and strikes up a romance with a girl 20 years his junior. Ew.

Tony obviously has a very unhealthy, manipulative relationship with Carmen that I am in no way in support of. However, it’s portrayed as a bad thing. The music gets all ominous and I’m pretty sure they throw in a Dutch angle in there for dramatic effect…We even have a Kilgrave-esk moment where he’s just…already in her home. Gross! But I also found the romance between Taggie and Rupert to be equally as uncomfortable. I mean, he grabs her in front of an entire room, flirts multiple times with her mother, and is just generally inappropriately older. I mean, she's 19. That's a child, let's be real. And when he’s called out for this by Taggie’s mother, he doesn’t really own up to it in any meaningful way. Like, the man fully has children. Tony uses his power improperly and eventually pays the price. Rupert also uses his power improperly, and it’s labeled a romance. While he’s definitely a less bad person overall, I just had trouble getting behind it. I found the potential romance between Carmen and Rupert far more compelling, and far more realistic.

I also felt like, for something advertised as a fun 80s romp, there was a lot of serious discussion about the 80s as a period, and how genuinely horrible it was for many groups of people. I’m in no way against it - quite the contrary actually -  it was just a bit of a surprise when I sat down to watch.

They nailed the gross, smoke-covered mustard yellow that was on every available surface, though. Massive, massive props for that. 

And, of course, (somehow) Tennant still manages to look great even with that stupid, stupid slicked back hair and aforementioned yellow everywhere.

Also, love Lizzie. Not normally a fan of the sort of author self-insert type, but honestly she was the only character I was genuinely rooting for the whole time. I liked Taggie and Declan, but of course the whole Rupert thing mentioned above happened….Anyway, you get it.

ALSO ALSO LAST THING UH DID HE F***NG DIE?????? 

TLDR; Season two. Please. Like, soon.

[thevanillerose]

INEBRIATE | YANDERE!TIFA x FEM!READER | FFVII

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~ ~ NOVELS ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

Author Note: Classic waifu material uses unhealthy drinking to fuel her unhealthy romance.

CONTENT WARNING: Unhealthy relationships / Slight!NSFW (Tifa has big booba, okay?)

“Drink up~”

You were her prettiest regular, and Tifa had a lot of girls who came through Seventh Heaven on a regular basis. But really, you stood out above all the rest. You practically exuded a gentle beauty which she found hard to resist.

Kudos to you though, you knew how to hold down a drink or two. This was why you’d often have nights together like this one, where the two of you would engage in a little revelry, and Tifa would generously let you indulge in the vast array of spirits she had at hand behind the Seventh Heaven bar.

Tonight though, she was finally going to make her move. If you were drunk enough, she felt like it would be so much easier to say what she was going to say. To ask you what she was going to ask you.

She didn’t even know how you would react. Hell, she didn’t even know if you were attracted to girls. She thought so, the signs were there. Usually she wouldn’t jump to conclusions like this but was it really such a leap?

Would you really refuse her when she finally asked you?

She certainly had a whole lot of faith, as she poured two amber colored shots of tequila for the both of you, and slid one delicately across towards you, with a suggestive smirk already curling her plush lips. 

“Go on. You know you want to.”

“Ahhh…”

You reeled a bit in your chair, knowing you probably looked stupid in that moment, but you were starting to get to a point where you were drunk enough to not entirely know which way was left and which way was right. Was it a good idea to keep drinking? The you of tomorrow morning was going to regret it, probably.

But Tifa had a very convincing way about her. You sighed but reached out to clasp the glass, conceding.

“Okay okay…one more.”

And you lifted the cool glass to your lips, taking that shot. It was the last shot Tifa needed to see. She was convinced that you must be ready now. Hopefully you were, because she was about to do it anyway. 

As she turned around to slide the tequila bottle back onto the shelf, she took that precious moment when she was facing the wall to take a deep breath and compose herself. She eventually turned and faced you again, and she finally worked up the courage to say it.

To finally say:

“[Y/N] I-”

“Oh man!” you cut her off as you suddenly exclaimed and threw your brow against the bar counter, heaving out a sigh, “Tifaaa…I really need your advice.”

“O-oh…” a little caught off guard by that, Tifa nonetheless stiffly smiled and gestured for you to speak up, “Of course. Tell me anything, you know you can.”

“...It’s stupid…” you murmured like a child in a huff, and she leaned against the other edge of the bar, chest pressing over it, a feature she had no qualms about showing off in front of you. But you weren’t paying attention to her chest. You weren’t really paying attention to her, period. Because the person on your mind in that moment was someone else entirely.

“It’s…Aerith. I just…I really wanna come out and finally tell her how I feel. Truth is, I really like her, I always have. But it’s so hard to actually be honest about my feelings. I’m worried that she’ll freak out and that our relationship’ll be ruined or something…Am I being stupid? You always seem so put together, Tifa, can you give me some advice?”

No, and not because she wasn’t capable of some solid relationship suggestions. Rather, because she hadn’t registered a single word you had said after ‘It’s Aerith’.

The glass she held in her hand felt like it was going to shatter into smithereens with the pressure she was applying (and Tifa was a tough girl, that was for sure). Why did she even bother? You already liked someone else.

Though she was keeping her cool enough that she could stiffly smile at you, internally she was already a mess. Why Aerith? WHY AERITH? WHYWHYWHYWHYWHY–

Ah but…there’s a solution…

And it was as simple as giving you one last drink.

“Well [Y/N], it’s tough to say. But do you want my honest answer?” she asked you, while turning to fix another drink, not letting you see the powder she slipped into it and swirled around. She didn’t want to have to use this stuff, but desperate times…

“Please, tell me what you really think…” you begged her, teary-eyed. Alcohol always made you over emotional.

“Well…I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

Tifa almost felt bad when she turned back around with her sinister concoction in hand, seeing the look of sudden devastation on your face. But you have to understand…this is for your own good. 

And the tainted alcohol was like the medicine you needed to take.

She watched you swig it without question, too upset to refuse what might take the edge off this hurt. Little did you know, it wasn’t going to just take the edge away. Your consciousness began to slip soon enough, and you blinked with confusion, seeing Seventh Heaven becoming a swirling mess of colors. 

“Woah I…I uh…I think I drank…way too muu…uuch…”

Tifa circled around calmly from behind the bar and helped lift you out of your seat before you accidentally fell and cracked your head open. She tried not to get too excited when she felt your body fall limp against your own, your face practically getting swallowed by her cleavage. Anyone’s dream…

“Let’s get you to bed. I’ll bring you some water.” she said, easily pulling you along and up the stairs. Good thing Barrett had moved into his own place with Marlene, late nights meant having the place all to herself. And with you…

“I’m sorry Tifa…” you groaned sadly into her chest, feeling the after-drinking guilt already, but she just hushed you and told you not to worry about it. Reaching the spare room where Marlene used to sleep, Tifa pushed the door open with the toe of her boot, revealing quarters which had since been tailor-made for you.

She might have fooled herself into thinking she would be nice about it, that you would happily accept her as well, that there would be no need for all this. But the fact that she had prepared it in the first place was indication enough that she had long suspected things might turn out this way. 

You rejected her. Even if not in so many words, the fact you’d confessed you loved Aerith was all she needed to know. It was a good thing after all then, that she’d put in the time and effort to build your cage.

If the others questioned it, no worries. There could be a somber moment when she told them that you’d perished when you both took on a mission together that was too hard to handle. The walls in here were soundproofed. She’d already tested it by coming in here and screaming herself. Even if they were right downstairs, they wouldn’t know you were here.

Nobody would, from now on. 

Laying you gently on the bed, she cupped your face for a moment, exhaling softly, happily. It stung when you’d first said it, but she was happy she knew the truth. Now she could focus on helping you understand her own feelings, day by day, from now on.

As you dozed off, blissfully unaware in your drunken stupor about the spider’s web you were currently trapped in, Tifa kissed your forehead chastely, and decided to save the rest for next time. She wasn’t a total monster, after all.

And she was convinced, with a little coaxing, you’d really come to understand that the right girl for you had been your bartender this whole time.

Walking to the door, she slid every lock into place as she exited, every impossible-to-break bolt that she’d had arranged.

Placing her palm and her forehead to the surface of the door, she exhaled softly…

“See you in the morning, [Y/N]...”

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[no1sharkenthusaist]

! hsr headcannons for several characters ! [modern au]

♪ In-ter-net-o ya-me-ro ♪!

Y u m i - c h a n i s n o w o n l i n e !

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Characters : Dan Heng, Serval, Blade, Gepard, March

Plot : no real plot, just headcannons about honkai Characters in a modern au setting

Tags : modern au, headcannons, fluff, slight crack, wrote this at 11pm while heading home from a road trip

authors note : omg got a steam deck for my birthday (may 30th) and I. AM. IN. LOVE !!! I could talk abt it for hours and hours but i have my discord for that ehe. Anyways, ive been having fun rediscovering my old childhood games and thats when i had an epiphany. Hsr or genshin boys in a ddlc type scenario!!! Feeling so swag abt the idea. Also i got out of school so more uploads yaya. Thank u all for the support on my intro page yippee. I promise not to let you all down

╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ enjoy !

DANHENG

Now playing : Scrawny - The Wallows

He definitely dresses like with collared shirts and kinda has that accidental soft boy look

English major frfr

definitely listens to lovejoy/wilbursoot and bo burnham

Water drinker enthusiast (even tho he forgets to drink half the time-)

burnt out gifted kid

messed up sleeping schedules

Hes that quiet guy everyone has a crush on to some extent

He looks cold and serious during lectures, but hes actually just daydreaming and has his head in the clouds

Probably stays with the same group of kids he met in middle school because he cant socialize

I think said kids would be march, stelle/caleus, himeko And on ocasion blade, kafka, and silverwolf

Welt would be a chill english teacher that would let Dan Heng sit in his classroom during lunch

he likes going to concerts a lot

Learned to play guitar in middle school but doesnt like playing in front of people

Consider yourself lucky if he plays in front of you

Extremely oblivious to romance

Girls will try to flirt with him but he will just have a blank and confused look

Spends his free time in book stores shopping for records

Ps5 gamer frfr

Theater kid (had a hamilton phase)

SERVAL

Now playing : Shut Me Up - Mindless Self Indulgence

Shut me up by mindless self indulgence on loop

Like its probably to an unhealthy level

Always has headphones in(that gepard gave her for her birthday)(And so loud to the point you can hear the music standing next to her)

(went deaf at the ripe age of 13, after that it was all "huh?" /j)

Shirts from old bands, baggy jeans, fishnets, etc

Had an alt phase

Bad habit of smashing guitars

Dropped out of college after first semester

Had a band in highschool with Blade and Dan Heng that received noise complaints on a regular Basis

Really extroverted and easy to get along with

Loves going to concerts (especially the ones that get crazy like halfway through )

Probably gets in fights during black friday

Addicted to coffee (gepards needs to step in and help her drink something else)

Likes bitter stuff more than sweet stuff

Cares very deeply for her friends

The type of gal to go on road trips with friends and go Camping

Goes to protests every other tuesday

Probably banned from several places

very passionate about things she loves

Loves scary movies and Rollercoasters

The six flags employees have memorized her name

(shes just so cool i wanna be like her fr)

BLADE

Now playing : Consequences - Lovejoy

Theater kid (would never admit it tho)

Kafka teases him about it so much

met kafka and silverwolf in detention

The teachers hate the three of them

Alt kid and never got out of his emo phase

Besties with serval, change my mind

Kafka probably pushed him to join boxing to get his anger out in a less…destructive way

Loves the sleepovers he has with kafka and silverwolf

Broke silverwolf's tv while playing wii sports

Goes to college, no clue what he wants to do so hes just doing liberal studies

Adopted a small stray cat he saw on the ground during a storm

he tries to be tough and mean, but hes a big Softy

Loves the Beetlejuice musical(and mean girls but we dont talk about that)

has probably been on probation on multiple occasions

Probably vandalized the car of someone he didnt like

Kafka has to sweet talk everyone out of getting blade in serious trouble

Hes really good at basketball, he just doesnt like it so he never pushed it further

Doesnt really like or understands sports

probably listens to videogame osts 24/7

GEPARD

Now Playing : Pretty Face - PUBLIC

Getting serval out of trouble isnt a choice, its a lifestyle

Which is ironic, as he is a criminal justice major

But he still will always be her biggest supporter

Dresses (like a costco dad) soft boy by pure accident

Completely oblivious to anything and everything

Enjoys gardening and has a lemon Tree

Cave Town enthusiast

Lemonade Enthusiast

Sends people those "reminder to drink water and be happy" messages

Straight 4.0 GPA student. The teachers loved Him

Was really shy so he didnt have many friends growing up (Serval had to help him out)

Hates rollercoasters, serval drags him around six flags and he screams his head off

Poor guy :<

Still loves it since he loves hanging out with his sister

Student council secretary

No clue how the internet and technology works

Strong sense of justice

That has gotten him involved in several issues

Which ironically, serval got him out of

Wholesome cinnamon roll, pls protecc

MARCH 7TH

Now playing : Cupid - FIFTY FIFTY

That one girl in class that no one could hate

Class representative and student council public relations officer

Photography major (duh)

Social butterfly and very easy to talk to

Want to go out to go eat something sweet while having fun? March has you covered !

March Makes friendship braclets and sells them so she can go shopping

has a secret stash of candy hidden in her dorm

March has a babysitting gig and comes to peoples houses with candy

Shes a little kid magnet, they all love her so much

had a club penguin phase with Dan Heng and they both shudder just thinking about it

learned all her profanity from watching Dan Heng play Call Of Duty

sucks at english, fries her brain like a hashbrown

k-pop girlie

dresses really cute with cardigans and pastel pinks

(watched aphmau, Her favorite one was a mermaid tales and mystreet) [submitted by someone on my discord who wants to stay anon]

plays overwatch and says things like "Hey, thats not nice!"

lowkey kind of a teachers pet-

Loves webtoons and collects the physical releases

! Thats a wrap !

! Join my discord HERE !

! Likes, reblogs, comments are greatly appreciated !

and thank you for reading ^^

♪ Overdose 君とふたり やるせない日々♪

! y u m i - c h a n i s n o w o f f l i n e !

t h a n k y o u f o r c o m i n g ~

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[wildflowerteas]

hella got through chapter 6 everyone cheer!

i don't know how to respond to this coherently so i'm just going to scroll down and let the word vomit happen:

the choice of emoji reacts to some of these . . . i'm surprised hella hasn't killed you guys. keeping gin away from this mess is the last thing on my mind, unfortunately *stares at the BEAST tag*

ARRGHHHFGHHH IM SO GLAD YOU GUYS LIKE SSKK. they're such a breath of fresh air, and writing them comes so easily to me. while i like writing skk ( fucked up as they are--even at this point in the story ) and the fast-paced nature of their relationship, this is romance writing work coming from the guy whose only other fic had a first kiss at uhhh...160k words.

yesenina did serve too hard. i imagine her as similair to the others, but with a Rita Hayworth-like air of ambition about her, and that's a serve. and it's what gets her killed.

Chuuya Yuan history coming in SOON. actually. Next chapter. seeing hella lose it over Chuuya's internal monologue here has been absolutely hilarious and kind of rewarding. I Knew All That because I'm the author ( duh ) so i never really grasped how strange the shift to Chuuya's thoughts about the relationship would be. I mean there's snippets of it, like the diner scene, but you're right, it's fanfic and so that is a lot easier to sweep under the rug.

ACAB. I considered putting a line from Doc Riedenschneider in The Asphalt Jungle ( 1950 ) "Experience has taught me to never trust a policeman. Just when you think one's alright, he turns legit." in a divider chapter between part I and part II, but I thought was too on the nose following 7 ( and a bit pretentious considering this is just ao3 fanfic and not a published work or anything ) so i grabbed myself by the metaphorical monkey backpack and didn't. Mafia Nepo Baby 😭 I love Hella HUGE WIN FOR ME. I was so nervous because i needed to balance Chuuya being observant but also quite literally *out of the loop.* He's not from the same world as Dazai--he's not involved with the murders or the politics or the mess going on yet. He comes across as oblivious at times because Dazai's POV is purposefully designed to make you see him that way. Dazai's so sure he's in control of what Chuuya knows that he doesn't realize he might have met his match.

ZSKK are uhm. yeah. all im gonna say there.

the "PARDON." IM CACKLING

argh. the switch up with this chapter...why the hell am i getting nostalgic for something i wrote less than two months ago ( ican't believe i've been grinding through this fic so fast jesus ).

i love unhealthy dynamics, truly. this fic was really a test to see if i could write soukoku making each other worse. which is a pretty stark contrast to my other stuff.

HELLA. OH MY GOD. that bit about their careers . . . i can't believe she noticed that. Chuuya started the fic genuinely ambitious, wanting the spotlight, wanting to defy expectations set upon him by his looks, his race, and his past. Dazai's a cop, sworn to uphold the law, but he doesn't feel like a good person. He can't ( interlude chapter . . . stares out the window ), but he can use everything about who he is to give Chuuya the life he wants. like a guardian ange--*gets taken out by a sniper chapter 8 style* Their original goals aren't gone, per se, they've simply been reoriented.

can't wait for chapter 7

i know it'll make Hella want to hunt me down for sport, so i'll sleep with both eyes open for the forseeable future.