#please why are we letting him have a relationship

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 16

pairing — professor gojo x med student reader

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

word count — 11.5 k

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

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

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

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Professor Gojo! No way!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's terrifying how thin that line is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enough," I bit out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's faster."

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

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

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

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

"You're angry," she said.

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

"I'm doing this for you—"

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

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

"This isn't your problem to fix—"

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

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

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

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

She went still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why would you think that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"On one condition."

"What's that?"

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus. Fucking focus.

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

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

"Create distraction," she breathed back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You wouldn’t dare," Naoya scoffed.

"Try me," she replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect distraction.

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

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

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

Well played.

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you cold?" 

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

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

“I’m fine, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

"You can leave."

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

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

Some professor I was. Some man I was.

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

And I was still letting her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. That's new. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. Just fucking perfect.

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

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

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

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

"Nobody leaves until we say so."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You okay?"

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

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

I couldn't bring myself to answer.

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

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

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

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

"EEG results?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Seen the future?"

"I should have been better."

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

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

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

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

"I hate this," I whispered.

"I know."

Silence.

"Do you blame yourself?" she asked quietly.

"How can I not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does that scare you?"

"I think one gets used to it."

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

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

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

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

I walked ahead.

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

─── ·✧· ───

Too quiet.

He was never this quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suguru."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sounds fun."

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

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

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

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

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

"Monday morning."

He looked up sharply. "What?"

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

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

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

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

"I can manage two more days."

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

"Monday."

"For fuck's sake, Satoru—"

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

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

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

"Deal."

"I mean it, Satoru."

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

"So Yaga has exempted you?"

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

"Everyone would have known that."

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

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

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

Suguru fell silent.

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

"Yaga doesn't know about your condition?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're impossible."

"That's why you love me."

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

"Kinky."

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

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

"Satoru—"

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

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

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

"This will kill her."

"I know."

Silence.

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

"You already apologized."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're so calm about it." 

"And what would you have me do?"

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

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

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

"For what?"

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

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

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

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

"Satoru? You sure you're okay?"

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

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

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

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

But then again, what did it matter anyway?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

tags — @browrm @panteramarron @starlightanyaaa

@myahfig4 @rosebluod @bloopsstuff @depressedemosantaclaus @nanamis-baker

@tofumiao @shoruio @s3vtrue @rosso-seta @bnha-free-writing

@chiyokoemilia @bonequinhagojo @janbannan @mikkmmmii @yeiena

@coeqi @faustina @glenkiller338 @yenmrtnz @buni-bunnydoll

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

[misseverandever]

I CAN READ THIS, AND I WILL! LET’S GOOOOOOO!

omg was not on my 2024 bingo that I’m actually gonna read Melinda’s set for Anya

FRIST CARD: FOUR OF CUPS (the past)

that’s symbolizes Anya past implicating on her present, the cart indicates a need to experiences something new that brings joy and fills this empty space, something we see in our little girl eyes and i’m happy to see she’s doing good cuz in the past she certainly was a person that spends their days with their head down.

SECOND CARD: DEATH (the present)

The upright Death tarot card symbolizes transformation and the beginning of something new. It represents closing a chapter, leaving past experiences behind, we can think about Anya maturing and liberating from the trauma! Well in relationship (anya question) suggests the relationship may be stuck in a stagnant or unproductive dynamic, what we definitely can see, she tell his mother that he bullies her

THIRD CARD: THREE OF SWORDS (hidden influences)

The unseen problem huh? There’s a lot of them, well Donovan, Twilight, Operation Stixs… etc etc….

Whenever this card appears in a reading, it indicates conflict, disappointment, and misunderstanding (Well that’s definitely is the case), maybe Damian is definitely gonna be sad about why her approach to him, we know this is real cuz Damian already say before about people approaching him just because he is a Desmond and we know Anya have the same goal, but no worries is gonna be difficult but it can be resolved (they need to talk about this) !!!!

FORTH CARD: THE STAR (ANYA)

The Star in the upright position symbolizes hope, inspiration, and peace for the future. BUT is in the reversed position, so Anya reflects the feelings of hopelessness, confusion, and doubt as her navigate life's challenges and question your circumstances. We see Melinda like that, and surprisingly Anya feel empty for her!

(So cute Anya being the star)

FIFTY CARD: TEN OF PENTACLES (the influence of others)

What kinds of external influences are dominating the situation? Well all of them! This card is important because it influences how others close to the Querent feel about the situation. AND GUESS ITS ALL RIGHT! This is a very positive card, and its positivity indicates that the path of challenges and difficulties has already been traveled, and now is the time to reap what is deserved. INNN THE RELATION WAAAAY (remember Anyas question not just because you know… i’m a shipper) is gonna be an harmony between them, whit a lot of happiness, cuties!

SIXTH CARD: ACE OF CUPS (what Anya have to do)

We see he is receiving, It’s often represents sadness, loss, and frustration, signaling difficulty in connecting. We know Damian is a difficult person, Anya have to deal with his feelings, is an important thing to do cuz if she don’t, they don’t will be together.

SEVENTH CARD: THREE OF WANDS (final results)

This last card is important because it takes into account all the six previous cards in its response. Here, we have an indicator of what the final resolution to the problem will be.

In this spread, the energy here is one of movement, so Anya cannot (and will not) stay still and she cannot try to handle everything alone.

The card indicates complicity, true love, and a strong connection. Sooo don't worry, as the frendship is real, and they will overcome it together.

SHE KNOWS!

SORRY MY ENGLISH IS KINDA BAD SO CAN YOU GUYS PLEASE FORGIVE ANY ERRORS IN THE TEXT? I was so exited to reed this, if you need a read dm me 🫶

[kaminocasey]

Hey! I'm gonna take advantage of your charity and incredible talent and ask me some Silco stuff, and I will make it very personal.

Im just a sucker for angsty fluff, so I was thinking something in the lines of reader works either in some restaurant where Silco goes or actually works in the last drop. And she's just having a rough couple of days and Silco finds out about it and just wants to help (maybe he gets frustrated because of it all, and goes all Silco, you know what I mean? Damn I'm gonna shut up now). But we all know Silco is not the most affectionate man, or at least shows it in weird (?) ways. I feel like it would be better (?) if they didn't have a relationship yet. But I'll leave it to your brilliance to do as you please, I have complete trust in your skills.

But remember, you don't have to do this if you don't feel like it of course.

Anyway, to much information already. So good luck, love your work, that brain of yours and you in general ❤️💙💛🤍

PS- do not allow me to make more requests, I will make them long, weird and I'll keep remembering more stuff to add and the next thing you know it's a full blown fic 🤣

Take All Your Sins

A/N: Thank you so much for your request, love!!! I was excited to do this one!!! This is going to be a two parter or MORE for SURE. <3 ilysm thank you again for your trust in me!!!

Summary: You work in the Last Drop and very close to Vander. What happens if Silco comes along and ruins that?

Pairing: Silco x Reader

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst, sweet Silco, protective Vander, alcohol

Taglist Form | Arcane Masterlist

“If you have something else to do, I can finish those.” You come into the doorway of the kitchen, nodding toward the dishes that he’s doing. 

“I got ‘em. Almost done.” The older man smiles at you.

A few years ago, Vander gave you a place to stay when he found you out on the streets and ever since then, you were basically inseparable. His kids were like your own. 

“Rough night, huh?” Vander asks as you lean in the doorway, keeping an eye on the place in case more patrons came in. 

The Last Drop is usually busy this time of night, especially on this day of the week. But it’s like a ghost town right now and you can’t seem to figure out why.

“Rough week.” You sigh, crossing your arms. 

“Do you need a couple days off?” Vander asks, genuinely.

He always made sure you were taken care of, which you appreciate, but sometimes it feels like he does too much for others, and never lets anyone do anything for him. You’re bound to change that though. His birthday is coming up and you’ve been saving up for something special that will be from you and the kids. 

“Nah, I’m-” You start but hear the door open.

“You got it?” Vander asks and you nod with a grin and turn around to greet the customer, letting the kitchen door swing shut.

“What can I get ya?” You smile at the older man, who makes you do a subtle double take.

“Whiskey. Neat, please.” He smiles. 

He’s got dark hair, a partially scarred face, one blue eye and the other dark black with an orange iris that makes him look incredibly menacing. He’s wearing an open, fancy peacoat with a buttoned vest and tie. Who the hell is this guy?

His eyes rake over you as you approach the bar where he sits. 

“Haven’t seen you before.” You smile, politely. 

“I don’t get out much.” He takes his coat off and sits it down on the stool next to him. “I… work a lot.” 

His voice is silky and you can’t help but want to hear him say more. 

“What do you do?” You ask as you pour his drink. 

“I own my own business.” He tells you and takes the drink when you slide it to him. 

The way he says it, makes you think he doesn’t want to answer anymore questions about himself. 

“What’s your name?” He asks softly. 

You tell him and he takes a sip, keeping his blue eye on you. You smile softly, unsure of what to say.

“Pretty name.” He tells you, after he finishes off his drink. 

You go to pour him another but he puts his hand over his drink and shakes his head.

“Thanks.” You put the bottle back down and then take the empty glass from him, sitting it in the sink. “What’s yours?” 

“Silco. Do you like working here?” He asks, not missing a beat. 

You nod. “Yeah, I do.” 

“And you like Vander?” 

You nod. “Who doesn’t?” 

He chuckles, glancing around subtly. “Who doesn’t, indeed?”

“What are you doing after work?” He asks. 

Oh… of course. He thinks you’re going to put out- 

“I’m not trying to fuck you.” He tells you, as if he can read your mind while he stands up and puts his coat back on.

“You’re not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to, but that’s not why I asked.” He smirks.

You both stare at each other for a moment. His eyes fall to your lips before coming back up to your eyes.

“So… the real reason is?” You cross your arms.

“I think you’re beautiful and I’ve not been on a proper date in years.” Silco shrugs, placing a hand on the back of the barstool. 

You go warm in the face before looking down at his slender fingers and immediately can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like inside-

“I’ll be by at 11.” He tells you, snapping your thoughts back to the present as he places a few cogs onto the bar. 

“Um. Alright.” You nod, giving a kind smile. 

He stares at you for another short moment before giving you a smile back and then leaving. Just as the door closes, Vander walks out and sees you staring at the door, breaking you out of the trance that Silco seemed to have put you in.

“Everything okay?” He asks, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You look up at him, smiling a little dreamily. It’s not something you’re used to. Normally, when customers ask you out, you brush them off and pay them no mind. But Silco… he managed to get you to pay attention. 

“All good. Um… I have a date after work.” You go warm in the face at the word ‘date’. 

It’s not like you don’t date… you do… just not consistently. The last date you went on was a year ago. It didn’t go well so you decided to just focus on work.

“With the customer that just came in? Who is he?” Vander’s eyebrows raise in surprise, knowing that you haven’t gone out with someone in a long time.

“Just… some guy.” You shrug, starting to wipe down the bar. 

Vander chuckles. “Alright. Keep your secrets. I was young once, too.”

You laugh with him, your thoughts immediately going back to Silco’s unmatching eyes and the way they softened at the sight of you. 

“You can go get ready if you want. I can finish here.” Vander smirks. 

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. I owe you.” 

“Nah. Get outta here.” He nods toward the door that leads to the upstairs. 

You pat him on the shoulder as you walk past him, heading upstairs to go shower. You look at the clock and see that it reads 9:30. That should give you plenty of time to get ready. You don’t take particularly long showers. 

As you turn on the water, you climb into the shower, letting the water flow over your body as you stand there for a moment before starting to wash your body and hair. You still can’t stop thinking about the older man. He had to be about Vander’s age, right? You wonder if they know each other. Perhaps after you get to know Silco a little more, you’ll introduce them. 

After your shower, you dry your hair the best you can and then settle on a dress that you’d saved up forever to buy just because. What better excuse to wear it than on a date with an extremely attractive, slightly intimidating, man? 

At ten til 11, you make your way back down to the bar. Vander and Benzo both let out a whistle at the sight of you.

“Don’t you clean up nice?” Vander grins. 

You shrug, going warm in the face from the attention. “I guess.” 

You sit up on the bar stool next to Benzo. You glance over at the door and then back at Vander. 

“Do you want something to loosen your nerves?” Vander teases. 

“I’m alright, thanks.” You roll your eyes, amused.

“Who’s this hot date with?” Benzo nudges you with his elbow. 

You go warm in the face all over again, thinking about Silco. “Just some older guy… he’ll be here any minute.” 

They accept that answer and continue their conversation from before about business stuff that you don’t really mind yourself with. You pretty much just show up and do your job and do exactly what Vander tells you to do and then go back upstairs and sleep. And then repeat. 

The door opens moments later, and the three of you look up to find Silco walking in. You can’t help but give him a sweet smile. He smirks at you and pauses by the door.

“Are you ready-” He starts.

“Silco.” Vander growls. 

“Hello, Vander.” Silco’s eyes fall past you to the man behind you. “Lovely establishment you have here.”

You turn to Vander, confused. “You know each other?”

“Oh yes, we do.” Silco walks toward you, wrapping an arm around your lower back, looking you up and down. “You look beautiful, darling.” 

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Vander comes around the bar and starts toward Silco but Benzo gets up quickly from the stool and stops him. 

You look between Silco and Vander, still confused.

“I think that’s for her to decide.” Silco smirks up at Vander who stands almost a foot above him.

You turn to Vander, with furrowed brows. This man is the one who gave you life again, the man who is like a father to you. The man you owe your life to. If he says you shouldn’t go… then shouldn’t you listen to him?

[peppermintquartz]

Continuation of this

"Why do I keep thinking about shellfish?" Evan asks after he's eaten breakfast and downed half the bottle of water along with the painkillers.

Tommy pulls up a chair. "You were going on and on about oysters and the sea last night."

"Oysters?" Evan's brow creases adorably. "Why oysters?"

How is it that I can't let you go? Tommy doesn't voice the thought, though he does smile at Evan. "Beats me. You were the one who was fixated on it."

Scowling, Evan pouts as he tugs on the hem of his old tee. The color used to be a dark green but it's been washed so often that it's faded. "It musta made sense. Otherwise I wouldn't be talking about it." Then his brow clears. "You!"

"Me?"

"I was comparing you to oysters!"

Tommy grimaces. Yeah, Chimney did say something to that effect. "You don't like oysters, Ev- Buck."

"Not the ones here in LA, they're fucking overpriced and not fresh enough. Peruvian seafood is among the best in the world, and I had this amazing oyster ceviche once that blew my mind." Evan pauses, then smacks Tommy's arm. "And don't distract me. I'm trying to remember my analogy. Okay, so you're like an oyster. How are you like an oyster?"

"I have the consistency of snot?"

Evan glares at him. It's a cute glare. Tommy coughs into his hand, trying not to show that he is charmed. With a huff, Evan starts with, "Okay. You have cultivated a hard exterior to survive a difficult environment."

Tommy nods. "Fair enough."

"And in response to the difficult environment, you cling to the familiar and try to hide because you're actually full of soft and tender delicious goodness." Evan raises an eyebrow in challenge.

Tommy pretends not to be perturbed by the read. "I guess you'd know exactly how I taste," he jokes flatly. Evan ignores it.

"You hide in plain sight," Evan continues, on a roll now, "and it will take skill to pry you out from your chosen rock." He reaches over to grasp Tommy's forearm. "But there's something that's different between you and oysters."

Tommy can't look at him. "I'm not a mollusc?"

Evan's tone is infinitely gentle. "Yeah. Showing me vulnerable side won't kill you, Tommy."

Clenching his jaw, Tommy stands and takes the tray from the bed. "You can take a shower if you want. I've washed and dried your clothes. A-and you have the other clothes you left here."

"You didn't pack them up," Evan points out when Tommy's nearly to the door. "You could've packed them up with my stuff and returned them. But you didn't." He cocks his head and a sad yet hopeful smile crosses his face. "The way I didn't pack up yours. Because we still want each other in our lives."

Tommy can't breathe. He flees the bedroom.

---

Now that he is here, Buck plans to stay until Tommy really opens up to him. Even if he has to camp here forever. Even if Tommy throws him out physically and changes the locks.

He knows how to pick locks now - thank you, Lockpicking Lawyer - and he will not leave Tommy's home until that uncomfortable conversation about the breakup is held. Maybe several.

Oysters aren't shut forever. At some point they open up. And Buck is going to be there when Tommy does. He's done waiting for Tommy to make the first move. He's done waiting, period. Now he is going to act.

"I'm driving you home," Tommy declares at noon. He is resolutely not making eye contact.

"Good luck doing that," Buck says. "Are you going to carry me out of here? Big strong firefighter pilot like you, I'm sure you can do it."

"I could... I could report you to the police for-for home invasion."

"You brought me home, Tommy. Hen and Chim will vouch for that, and I'm sure there's security footage." Buck isn't smirking, not that Tommy will know since he isn't looking. He gentles his tone. "All I'm asking is for us to talk about our relationship. Why can't we do that?"

His face red, Tommy shuts his eyes. Then he mutters, "Fine. Fine, we'll talk about it. But please put some clothes on."

"You've literally eaten me out for hours before."

"That's when we were dating!"

"If I put some clothes on, promise you won't try to get me out of your house?" Buck says, deliberately shifting in the bed so his legs fall apart a little more. Watching Tommy squirm is kind of fun. (So sue him, Buck's feeling rather vindictive about the entire matter.) "Because I can and will strip in your car and have us both arrested. Then we'll have to spend the night in a jail cell together."

Tommy inhales sharply. "Fine. I promise. Now... now cover yourself up."

First chink in the armor. Buck grabs Tommy's LAFD T-shirt and pulls it on, appreciating the way it hugs his body, and pulls on his briefs. He's been shameless before, he can be shameless again. He'll show Tommy that it's perfectly okay to be vulnerable and open to the people he loves through visual metaphor if his words won't cut it.

Anything to get Tommy to be his again.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Eddie Munson's royal wedding

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 21

Prompt: Formal

Rated: M

Tags: Modern AU; Rock star Eddie; Royal Steve; Established relationship; Sexually explicit language

Notes: Previous part | Part 1

“Okay,” Eddie says. The crowd outside the toned windows of the limousine has been getting thicker, which means they must be there soon. “Lemme get this straight again.” 

Steve, seated opposite him and looking both stupidly at ease and infuriatingly handsome in his tailored suit, chuckles.

“You’re talking about your tie, right? Because you’ve been tugging on it again.” 

Eddie groans and attempts to right the dreaded thing. It feels like trying to strangle himself. 

“Very funny, you asshole,” he grouses, but Steve doesn’t rise to the insult, just continues to observe his struggle with fond amusement. “I'm talking about this wedding. Why do we need to- … I mean, how are you related to these people again?” 

“Here, let me,” Steve mutters, leaning over and swatting Eddie’s hands away so that he can straighten the tie for him. “You know my cousin?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “The Duchess of What’s Her Face. Met her at a fundraiser once. Major bitch, please don’t tell me it's her getting married.” 

“No, that’s my father’s niece,” Steve laughs, markedly not correcting him on the major bitch part. “This is my mother’s side of the family.” 

“Ah, the banker and entrepreneur side,” Eddie says. He tries to fiddle with his rings, but they’ve made him leave most of them at home. “Much better.”

“Hey,” Steve says. “Try to look at it from the positive side. You won’t have to remember any titles. There'll probably also be less cameras.” 

Silence drops. The car slows down as they pass another security checkpoint. 

“Hey,” Steve says. His hands settle on Eddie’s shoulders, featherlight and familiar. “Hey, look at me.” 

Eddie does. 

“You don't have to do this,” Steve says. His eyes are serious, his brow furrowed. “I can get out of this car alone and tell the driver to bring you home, and nobody will need to see you like this.” 

“Wow,” Eddie scoffs. “You can tell you've been trained in diplomacy. That's the nicest way anyone has ever told me I looked like shit.” 

Steve drops a chaste kiss to his lips, just as the car stops. “I never said that. I know it's not your favorite type of event, though. Or your favorite type of people. I don't ever want to force you into-” 

“Hey,” Eddie interrupts him. “You're not forcing me. I chose this. I chose you. And for the record, I know I look fantastic in this thing.” 

Steve hums, a low sound that settles heavy in Eddie’s abdomen. The driver’s door shuts and steps approach. An excited chorus of voices swells outside. The goddamn press, eager to catch a photo of him making a complete ass of himself on his first royal engagement. 

“You know when you'll look even better?” 

Eddie flinches back to attention. “Huh?” 

The door swings open. A storm of flashing cameras breaks loose.

Steve smiles, bright and professional. His voice is so low Eddie needs to strain to catch it. 

“When we get back to the hotel and I take it off you.” 

*

“There he is!”

Eddie turns to see the bride swooshing towards him in a flurry of white skirts, her new husband trailing on her heel like an eager puppy. He casts a nervous glance over his left shoulder, then one over his right, but Steve is nowhere to be seen. 

“Eddie Munson,” the bride says, coming to a stop in front of him and taking a generous sip of her champagne. “The rock star who bagged the crown prince. Every eligible person in this room either wants to be you or kill you, you know that?” 

“Yeah well,” Eddie says, taking in the mean curl of her mouth and the sharp glint in her eyes. “Good thing you're not eligible anymore, I guess.”

Her face twitches and her hand grips the glass a little tighter. 

“Carol,” says her husband, smile sharp. “Don't tease him. He must have it hard enough. The backlash from his fans, the media claiming that this is just a rebellious phase Steve is going to grow out of soon. I imagine it can't be easy.” 

“Ah, you know how the press are,” Eddie says. “Better not to listen to them. Steve and I are in this for the long haul. We're planning on making it work.” 

The bride quirks a brow. “Well, good luck with making that white dress work at your wedding.” 

And Eddie wanted to behave, he really did, but what can he do when served a cue like this?

“Bold to assume I'll be the one wearing the dress.” 

Silence drops. The bride and groom gape at him. A scandalized murmur runs through the assembled bystanders, and fuck, when did they gain an audience?

“Um,” Eddie says. “Listen, that was-”

“There you are!” Steve exclaims, materializing out of nowhere and taking him gently by the shoulder. “Tommy, Carol, I'm so sorry, but we need to get going. Early start tomorrow, you know how it is. Beautiful wedding, congrats again.” 

And then Eddie’s being pulled out the doors and into the venue's lush garden, past a crowd of gawking wedding guests. 

“I can't believe you said that.” 

Eddie is already drawing a breath to apologize, but then it dawns on him that it's not rage that's making Steve’s voice shake. It's laughter. Steve's hand, against all rules of propriety and protocol, has slipped into his. 

“Told you I'd be a disaster at this,” he shrugs, and Steve snorts. 

“Ah, they deserved it. We can deal with the fallout tomorrow.” 

“Oh?” Eddie smirks as the limousine rolls to a stop before them and the driver jumps out to open the door for them. “Is this the part where you take me to the hotel and-”

“Oh no,” Steve says, and pulls him inside. His eyes are sparkling. “Change of plans. You're fucking me in the car.” 

And who's Eddie to disregard a royal order? 

More holiday drabbles

[eringobragh420]

🖤 Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader 🖤 Summary: Damian’s fiancée receives a head injury during a match resulting in amnesia. (Part 3/5) 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 🛑 Warnings: Dirty thoughts 🖤 Taglist: In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here!  🖤 MASTERLIST

DAY TWO

“Can I please carry something?” you asked, watching Damian stack the duffel bags on the suitcases with rollers as he pulled them from the trunk. He smiled at you and shook his head. You weren’t sure you actually wanted to be responsible for anything other than getting yourself safely through the airport and aboard the plane, but you felt guilty—Damian had done everything for you up until now and would probably continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

“Hell, baby, if I could carry you—” He trailed off, glancing down at his shoulder before sliding his dark, mischievous eyes back to you.

“Don’t even think about it,” you scoffed.

Once Damian was confident he’d won the game of Luggage Jenga, the two of you entered the busy airport, and anxiety blasted through your veins, flash freezing everything in its wake. So many people hurrying about their lives, memories intact, trying to catch their respective rides home surrounded you, and you felt even smaller than you already were. Because you felt fear, your body reacted as if no head injury had ever occurred—you instantly reached out for Damian, gripping a flexed bicep as he tugged the suitcases behind him. He stopped, looking down at you, then your hand, and finally back at the luggage.

“Are you sure you can handle one of these?” he asked. You nodded quickly, and, whether he believed you or not, he reluctantly transferred the handle of your suitcase to your possession. He made certain you had a good grip, though he took your duffel bag from its place on your suitcase, packed it on top of his, and he looked at you. “You wanna do this how we normally do?” You nodded again, fingers squeezing the handle of the suitcase white-knuckle tight.

Damian placed a long, protective arm around your shoulders carefully, and you melted into his side, fitting perfectly, and your own arm snuck around his waist. He smelled so good, his body was warm and solid and big, and you understood why the two of you had such a physical relationship. His touch was electric, like a static discharge, but comforting, and you rested your head against his chest. The need for distance had long since been replaced by the need to be held and consoled and … loved, despite not reciprocating that love. The guilt only poured on. You hated what you had to be doing to Damian, but you selfishly needed him as close as possible if you were going to make it out of this airport alive. The big man sighed, pressing his face into the top of your head before kissing your hair.

“We don’t have to fly today,” he mumbled into your scalp. “We can wait if you’re not ready.”

You shook your head. “I wanna go home,” you determined.

Damian pulled away to look at you, smiling, nodding, and he kissed your forehead. “Me too,” he confessed.

The two of you meandered through the airport at your own pace, Damian having gotten you there with several hours to spare just in case. He held you closely to him, fighting the urge to cop a feel of your breast that was mere inches from his hand hanging over your shoulder, something he did almost on a daily basis, especially when you were in public because he loved to watch your squirm. Things were going swimmingly until Damian spotted the fans approaching, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, though it did nothing to soothe his raised hackles. Neither of you had ever minded interacting with fans—taking pictures, signing autographs, joining in bad-mouthing whoever you were feuding with—but now just wasn’t the time. And he’d ignorantly thought people would respect your need for distance and privacy considering your very public injury and your still—as of now—rumored diagnosis of amnesia.

“Just let me handle it,” Damian said to you once the small group of people noticed him and his giant frame, then you, and they immediately made a beeline toward you. “Don’t say anything.” His arm tightened around your shoulders, yours did the same around his waist, hand fisting the bottom of his t-shirt. “Listen, guys,” he said once the group was close enough to hear him, “I’ll sign some things for you, but just leave her alone, alright? She’s been through a lot.”

You watched as he scribbled his name on random items, and you thought maybe you should feel excited or flattered that the two of you were receiving this attention, but all you felt was tense and tired and nervous. You glanced in the direction of your gate, wondering how far you had left to walk, when Damian’s body suddenly became stock still. You looked at him, blazing fury in his eyes, and then your gaze fell to see what had upset him so—a glossy photo of you that had to have been snapped a mere millisecond after you’d begun to fall and before your head hit the floor had been presented to Damian for an autograph.

“Damian,” you said softly, your eyes still locked on the picture, but the unadulterated rage pulsing off the big man had you much more concerned. Your grip around his waist tightened.

“You think that’s funny?” Damian asked the man holding the picture, who shrugged and nodded. 

“I mean, it’ll probably be worth something if she never wrestles again,” the guy explained.

You gaped, tears pricking your eyes, but you didn’t quite know why. It was like your brain knew exactly what was going on, but it was playing keep-away with this vital information.

Damian dropped the Sharpie he’d been using to sign the autographs with before using that hand to shove the shorter man, who stumbled backward and eventually fell on his ass. The photo of you he’d been holding slid across the floor, and the other fans who had gathered erupted into gasps and murmurs. Damian’s arm was still around your shoulders, and you tugged at that hand and his waist, softly reminding him that you were there and close and the two of you had a plane to catch.

“Dude, you are so getting fired!” the guy on the floor hollered as he scrambled to his feet.

Damian lifted his arm from your shoulders to raise his middle finger as the two of you gathered your things and started toward your gate again. “Sit and spin, dickhead,” he tossed behind him. And then his mood changed, you could feel it in the ether between you. His focus shifted from the confrontation back to you, his arm securing itself around your shoulders, hugging you to his side, and while you weren’t quite comforted, you didn’t feel as destroyed as you had moments before.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, shaking his head. “That guy just—”

“Don’t apologize,” you interrupted, looking up at him. Damian’s expression was stony until you shrugged and said, “The dickhead had it coming.” He blinked at you a moment and then snorted, collapsing into giggles, and you had to join him, though your laugh was a lot less enthused considering your current situation and whether or not Damian was going to be fired over what he’d just done for you.

Damian led you the remainder of the way through the airport and to the correct gate, onto the plane, and he positioned you in front of him, his giant, clearly capable hands tenderly massaging your shoulders as he directed you to the correct row of seats. He gestured to the window seat, and you turned to him.

“You’re much bigger than I am,” you pointed out the obvious, “I should be the one to sit in the middle.”

Damian shook his head. “I bought the aisle seat, too, in case you didn’t wanna sit next to me,” he sheepishly explained, rubbing at the back of his neck and looking at every passenger but you. You could have made the argument that he’d been the one afraid to sit next to you when he’d booked the flight, but you did your best to ignore those intrusive thoughts.

You took the window seat that was offered, Damian packing your duffel bags into the storage bins above your heads before collapsing with a sigh into the middle seat. As much as you were prescribed sleep to heal, you felt like Damian needed it more than you. You knew he woke up in the middle of the night to check on you because, while it was mostly easy for you to fall asleep, it wasn’t as easy to stay that way. You wondered how long you’d both laid there silently—you pretending to sleep, Damian making sure you were still breathing and tucked in—trying not to burden the other. A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth—you were learning more and more about the man you were supposedly marrying in a few months, about the relationship you had, and all the fear and anxiety and worry and apprehension were finally beginning to melt away. Damian had been chipping away at all of it since the moment you woke up on the floor with not a clue in the world who the hell you were and he hadn’t stopped.

You turned to thank him for everything and for probably the millionth time, but your mouth ran dry and clamped closed, your heart pounding out of your chest like a damn cartoon. It was only a few inches, dwarfed in his hand—a stuffed dolphin with tiny black eyes that had seen better days. But your own eyes grew and continued to grow as you stared at it, slowly reaching out to touch it with the tips of your fingers. You recognized it. You recognized it! It was yours, you knew it for a damn fact, though you couldn’t remember when or where you’d gotten it, but none of that mattered because you recognized it. And not only that, you felt connected to it, you understood the importance of it in your life, and you knew, somehow, both you and Damian were tethered to this tiny stuffed dolphin.

“This is—” Damian began.

“Archie,” you finished in unison. Your eyes locked, and you heard his question without him having to ask it, so you simply shook your head in response—yes, you remembered Archie, no, you didn’t remember anything else. 

The weight of that thought—the one where you remembered a fucking stuffed dolphin and not your fiancé—promised to crush you. Your lip quivered, and you caught a quick glimpse of Damian’s pained expression before he pulled you to his chest.

“It’s alright,” he said, words muffled by the top of your head. “Come here. Put your legs like this.” You bent your knees, bringing your calves against your thighs, and he brought your arms around your legs. You then watched as he wrapped his own long arms around you, and you were enveloped in his warmth and love, your eyes closing, body relaxing, tears falling. “Sometimes this makes you feel better,” Damian said. You could understand why. “I think we have a few minutes before we take off … want me to tell you about Archie?” 

You nodded against his chest and listened closely to his hushed yet serene voice as he told you a beautiful story. He was taking you out of the country for vacation, he explained, and you’d been confident you’d be able to get on the plane and fly over water for the first time because what was really the difference between water and land when you’re traveling at roughly five hundred miles an hour at 30,000 feet? But while you were waiting to board, he could feel the fear radiating off you, so he’d volunteered to get you a cup of coffee. Upon returning, he’d given you the coffee and the tiny dolphin, which he’d glimpsed while passing one of many gift shops in the airport. You’d hugged the small stuffed animal to your chest, Damian remembered, smiling sweetly and thanking him. It was on that vacation, he said, that you’d confessed your love for one another, and later that evening, he’d taken you out to celebrate, complete with dinner on the beach, drinks, and a pod of dolphins frolicking in the distance.

“I think you said dolphins are our spirit animal, or something like that,” Damian chuckled, though he knew it was exactly what you’d said because he remembered every fucking detail of that vacation. He blinked and saw you say, I love you, Damian Priest. He swallowed, blinked again, and saw you gushing about the dolphins before turning and throwing your arms around his neck, saying, I’ll never forget this for the rest of my life. He shook his head, cleared his throat. “Anyway,” he sighed, “you don’t travel without Archie.”

You sniffled, so engrossed in the story that you only now realized how truly decompressed you’d become, how safe you felt in Damian’s arms. He placed the dolphin against the back of your hand, which was gripping your own upper arm, and as soon as you felt its softness, your hand opened and closed around it. “Does Archie mean anything?” you quietly asked.

“Yeah,” Damian breathed a laugh. “You wanted to name him after me.” Your brows furrowed and you slowly lifted your head, Damian backing away so you could do so. At your confused expression, his handsome, friendly face morphed into a smug smirk and wicked eyes, and he said, “I’m the Archer of Infamy, baby.”

Upon landing in Florida, Damian gathered your things from the overhead storage bins and again let you walk in front of him as you deplaned. He continued to carry the bags, and you slipped your hand around one of his flexed forearms, the pad of your index finger tracing one of his protruding veins, because apparently that’s what you did now—reach out for him. Maybe it’s something you always did, and Damian didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but the action still made your stomach tight. Just like all the hugs and forehead kisses. You liked them, you were even starting to crave them, but these gestures were still coming from a stranger. Your body wanted all the time to be pressed against Damian’s, but your concussed brain wanted to keep at a you at a distance. 

At the baggage claim, Damian pulled his phone out, and you watched him read the caller ID before sighing and shaking his head. He raised the phone to his ear. “Yeah, boss?” He tried to sound upbeat and unbothered, but failed miserably. He cleared his throat and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and he glanced at you, attempting a smile that also failed. “Yeah, no problem … Absolutely … Thanks, boss.” He hung up, tucked the phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and smiled at you once more. You waited for him to explain, and when he didn’t, you asked what the call had been about. Damian sighed. “A video of me pushing that guy is already all over the internet. So …”

“Are you fired?” you instantly jumped to the worst case scenario because, at this point, why wouldn’t you?

“No, I’m not fired,” Damian replied, reaching down to grab your suitcase off the carousel, followed by his own a few seconds later. You squeezed Archie, the softness helping to ease the tension. “I just have a meeting after the holidays. So it can’t be that bad, right?” He grinned, and he was so fucking beautiful and genuine, and how could you not believe him? How could your knees not weaken and your resolve not crumble? How could you not follow him blindly to the sleek red vehicle awaiting you in the long-term parking garage, climb inside after he opened the door for you, and allow him to drive you to a home he claimed you and he had purchased together?

It was a gorgeous home—one you didn’t remember and felt no connection to, but gorgeous just the same—and when you stepped inside? It was as if Christmas had literally thrown up all over the cozy house. Wreaths, hanging holiday pictures, several Christmas trees of varying sizes and designs, miniature Santa Clauses, poinsettias, and, of course, a tree at least nine feet tall in the corner of the living room, dressed exquisitely, surrounded by gifts wrapped in shimmering paper and bows.

“Yeah,” Damian said, joining you in taking in the scene before you, “my girl really likes Christmas.”

And apparently you still did, because while the decorations may have been this side of tacky, you absolutely loved it all. Everything sparkled or twinkled, or made you feel nostalgic, and you had no memory whatsoever of this place or its contents, but you knew it was home. You were home.

Damian left you alone to shower, and to occupy your mind from thinking about Damian in the shower, you examined nearly every individual decoration before you made your way over to a table full of nothing but framed photos. You, sitting behind Damian on a jet ski with your arms wrapped around him, smiles on your faces and tongues out. Damian, carrying you on his back up what looked like a hiking trail, again both with grinning faces. The two of you in the ring together, on opposite sides, looking at each other, sharing roguish smirks. A few professional photos complete with color-coordinated clothing and fall foliage. A very happy couple, plainly in love, but still, nothing jogged your disconnected memory, so you were about to find another room to investigate when you heard Damian clear his throat behind you. You jumped, spinning around, and he put his hands up.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. He wore a white t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of dark-colored joggers. His long hair was wet, curly, and dripping onto his shoulders, and your gulp seemed to echo off every flat surface in the room.

You wondered what the normal you would do in this situation, because the broken you didn’t bother fighting the image of hopping into his arms and simply bouncing on his cock mid-air, in the middle of the living room, or the image of you sinking obediently and wantonly to your knees before him, worshipping him, forcing him to have to take another shower. Your hormones were suddenly out of control. You felt your face heating up, the burn scalding all the way down your neck. Was it possible your body was having withdrawals from all the sex the two of you had? Or could this be the way the man always made you feel? Did you have the same effect on him? Was he experiencing the same desire, just better at hiding it?

“Shower’s free,” he rumbled, chocolate eyes glittering, tossing a thumb over a broad shoulder. “I didn’t know if you—”

“Yep,” you interrupted, head down, making a beeline for the general direction Damian had headed on his way to the shower. 

“Uh, do you wanna know where everything is?” Damian called after you.

“I’m sure I’ll find it!”

You located everything you needed, moving faster than, well, than you remembered ever moving in your life, or what you could remember of your life—panties and a tank top and shorts that were super soft and incredibly thin (was this a subconscious choice you thought would give Damian a taste of his own medicine?) Disappearing inside the apartment-sized bathroom, you turned the shower on, the temperature as hot as you could stand, and you stood below the waterfall, eyes closed, and you were able to zone out completely—no Damian, no injury, no amnesia—allowing the water to wash away the past couple of days. You visualized everything negative and stressful and overwhelming and scary swirling down the drain at your feet, hopefully gone or healed forever, or at least temporarily.

You washed, scrubbed, and even shaved before reluctantly exiting the comforting warmth of the shower. While drying and standing in front of the gilded mirror—one or the both of you had expensive taste, that was for sure—you did a double take upon spotting a smudge near your shoulder. Leaning closer to the mirror for a better look, you realized there was a small tattoo along your collarbone. You narrowed your eyes, trying to read the words through the reflection until you noticed you had no chance of figuring them out—the script was in Spanish, and you could only guess that it had something to do with Damian. 

“Yeah,” he answered fondly. He reached up to touch the ink, hesitated, and when he was sure you wouldn’t run away, his thumb caressed your skin. “It says el campeón. It was my nickname when I was the champion.” You shivered and your skin tingled where he was touching you. His hair was now up in a bun, the shoulders of his shirt drying.

“So where’s my tattoo?” you asked, expecting a laugh. 

Instead, Damian straightened a colorful, sinewy arm, turned it over, and pointed at his wrist. “La  ladrona,”  he growled. Your thighs clenched. “The thief.”

You looked at the script that matched your own tattoo. “… because I stole your heart?”

He guffawed. “Because you stole—”

“Oh, my god,” you whined at the tooth decaying sweetness that evidently was your relationship with this devilishly sexy man. 

The plane had arrived late, and neither you nor Damian felt much more than exhaustion—aside from your raging hormones—so you decided to head to bed early. Still on the path to normality, you again wanted to sleep however you normally slept together, and your fiancé was only too eager to accommodate. You figured out why when he explained that the easiest way for you to fall asleep was for you to cuddle into his side, head on his chest, arm around his waist, while his hand gave you what he referred to as booty rubs. He was perfectly fine simply holding you if that’s what you wanted, but who were you to turn down booty rubs from Damian Priest when that might be the very action that triggered your memories?

You could see how the booty rubs might be considered sexual, but right now, you felt sedated. Soft touches from his deft fingers over both your cheeks through the thin shorts were enough to put you to sleep within minutes, snoring gently against Damian’s chest. He kissed the top of your head, eyes closed and smiling. The TV playing a Christmas movie in the background was turned off, and he worried he woke you when you shifted, but you only lifted a leg over his, somehow pressing yourself closer. For a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, everything was normal.

[gyubakeries]

❆ 𝐠𝐲𝐮𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 : 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐬! ❆ | 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮 - 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 <𝟑

❆ 𝑑𝑎𝑦 9: pre-christmas dinner | k.mg

a/n: hi!! welcome to day 9 <333 be prepared to see some chef!mingyu haha :P i also must thank kyii and sousy for brainstorming with me for this fic, and a few others as well. love u guys <3

p.s. it definitely takes much more time to pull off an entire roast chicken, but for the sake of the fic, the process is relatively faster and mingyu is like, the masterchef or something. also im writing this the evening before a major exam and im just as cooked as the first chicken lol.

word count: 1.2k contents: mingyu x gn!reader , established relationship , ceo!mingyu , cooking , theyre gonna roast a chicken for funsies , good chef!mingyu , clumsy helper!reader , fluff , christmas fun , one (1) chicken was ..... cooked too well in this fic , im sorry chicken (or not...) , read to find out why <3

"baby! i'm home!" mingyu calls out, and that's all it takes for you to come out to the living room, only to be met by the sight of your giant of a boyfriend dragging in huge bags.

"you said you were going to buy some ice-cream," you raise an eyebrow at mingyu. "so, either you bought an entire year's worth of cookies 'n cream, or you bought stuff that we didn't need."

"you know how i get at grocery stores, especially the large, gourmet ones," mingyu pouts. "everything looks so good."

"this is exactly why you need to let me buy groceries," you sigh, grabbing one of the bags and starting to empty the contents. "your bank account won't thrive for long."

"please, we both know i have more than enough money to live comfortably," mingyu sasses. you turn away from the pantry, where you were putting away the organic pasta mingyu had bought, to face your boyfriend.

he looks absolutely adorable like this; beanie nearly slipping over his eyes, large figure bundled up in a sweater and crouching in front of the fridge, stuffing two boxes of something in the freezer.

in moments like these, it's almost impossible to imagine mingyu as the CEO of a high-tech company. trying to visualize him in the crisp suits he wears to work feels like a distant dream, especially when at home, he's just the embodiment of a golden retriever, always so soft and loving.

"yeah, i know mr. ceo," you snicker when he plops down on the floor, complaining of a backache because of crouching at a weird angle. "you don't have to flex your money."

"i'm not flexing," mingyu defends himself with wide eyes. "just saying; we could totally quit our jobs and travel the world, and we'd still have enough money to buy your dream house in the countryside of france."

"we'll see about that," you laugh. just as you finish putting all the groceries away, your stomach starts rumbling. "what's for dinner?"

"roast chicken," mingyu hums, and you notice him flitting around the kitchen, gathering spices, sauces, herbs, and lots of other things.

"you're kidding," you deadpan. "you're gonna roast a chicken?"

"yes!" mingyu grins at you, patting a box placed on the counter. "mr. chicken is here. i'm just going to let him marinade for a while before we roast."

"you're insane," you gape at how professional he looks, washing an entire chicken, patting it dry, mixing together a quick marinade, covering the chicken in it and setting it aside in a matter of thirty minutes.

"again, why aren't you a full-time chef?" you ask him. you're both munching on some snacks while he waits for the oven to finish pre-heating and the chicken to rest in the marinade.

"because i only want my baby to eat my cooking," mingyu answers, stealing some of your chips.

"you've literally cooked for all our friends."

"okay, my baby and our friends."

"and what about our future children? won't you cook for them?" you tease, and as usual, mingyu whines.

"y/n, you know what i meant," he sulks. "i didn't want to turn something i love doing into a profession that i may end up hating."

"well, i'm lucky to have experienced your amazing cooking skills," you remark, and mingyu rolls his eyes affectionately. "if you're trying to sweet talk me into giving you the last slice of cheesecake in the fridge, it's not gonna work."

"aw man," you frown, and mingyu presses a kiss to your cheek as compensation. as if on cue, the oven's timer dings, and mingyu springs into action. he takes the chicken out of the fridge, and you watch in awe as he preps a baking tray, places the chicken in it, and puts it in the oven.

he finally finishes fiddling with the settings of the oven and comes over to you, expression serious.

"babe, i have an online meeting right now. the chicken's gonna be in for an hour. can you keep an eye out for when the oven timer rings? i should be done by then, but if i'm not, just carefully take it out of the oven and set it on the counter, okay?"

"got it, chef," you mock salute, and he smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. "stay alert okay? you do remember what happened last time with the cake, right?" mingyu teases.

"i got distracted by the show! it could happen to anyone," you cross your arms.

"i know, but i don't want a repeat of that," mingyu chuckles. "cleaning burnt cake wasn't exactly fun."

"i promise, gyu, i'll be extra attentive this time," you assure him, and he heads into the study for his online meeting.

to no one's surprise, you completely miss the timer.

your best friend had called you fifteen minutes after the chicken had started cooking, and what was supposed to be a five minute call regarding what dress your friend should wear to her boyfriend's office party, turned into more than an hour of gossiping about your respective office colleagues.

you only notice something is wrong when you smell something burning, and it hits you then.

the chicken.

apparently, mingyu too had smelled the burning, because he's already grabbing the tray out of the oven and placing it on the counter.

the chicken is burnt, and there's no way of salvaging it.

"min, i'm sorry-" you gasp, mortified by your mistake. "i swear i was trying to-"

"it's okay," mingyu shakes his head, setting the tray down in the sink, leaving the disaster of a roast chicken to cool before he attempts to scrape it off the tray. "i kinda thought this may happen, so i got reinforcements."

you watch with furrowed eyebrows as mingyu walks over to the fridge and pulls out another box, revealing yet another whole chicken.

the entire situation seems absurd, and all you can say is, "were they twins??"

mingyu bursts into laughter, and so do you. it's hilarious seeing his six foot-something figure double over as he nearly falls to the ground because of how hard he's laughing.

"babe, you're so silly," he wheezes, trying to catch his breath. "i just got a backup chicken, in case something went wrong with the first one."

"and you didn't bother to check if they were from the same family?" you gasp in mock offense.

"my bad," he raises his arms in surrender. "in my defense, the burnt one kinda looked like this one's cheating ex, which is why it has to go in the trash."

"hm, i'll allow it then," you nod, face serious, as if you both weren't making up ridiculous stories about chickens of all things.

"anyways, now, all you have to do is sit back, while i cook this one," mingyu instructs you.

"it was a mistake," you pout, crossing your arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. mingyu crosses over to you and pecks your lips. "i know it was baby, and it's okay. you can help me with the marinade this time, okay?"

(the way your eyes lit up in joy makes mingyu feel like he'd be okay with any food burning, as long as it gets you this happy to help him redo it.

god, he'd buy you all the chickens in the world, just to see you like this.)

- fin.

divider made by @bernardsbendystraws !

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@t-102 @gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie

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[st4rgiirll]

secret

jj maybank x routledge!reader.

this is heavily inspired by that part in friends where everyone finds out about monica and chandler😭 this is also in little segments for each character finding out.

also, some of the events dont match up to the storyline of the show. i just thought of storylines for this fic and incorporated them into this.

synopsis: jj and reader have had a secret relationship for the past couple months, secret all thanks to the ‘no pogue on pogue macking’ rule. but what if the pogues find out on their own?

you loved jj. truly. the past couple months with him have been amazing, though you both yearned to be able to do this in public. but you wouldnt, not with john b around. sneaking around with jj was fun,

of course it was, but it got repetitive very quickly.

until you got found out.

pope:

hushed giggles and rapid footsteps invaded your bedroom as jj and you rushed inside for some very much needed alone time together, lips crashing together between laughs. your hands wandered his biceps, feeling them flex and twitch under your fingers.

it wasnt long before his hands were on the back of your head, tugging your head closer for another kiss. you resisted, thinking you heard footsteps. he grumbled, trying to pull you closer once more.

“c’mon princess, i havent been able to kiss you all day! let me make up for it now.” he mumbled, lowering his head toward your neck.

he sucked and bit at your neck, soothing the slight sting with a swipe of his tongue. he barely got to touch you today, let alone kiss you! he felt like he was going insane.

“jay- just- someone might be coming.” you mumble lowly, tilting your head up to allow him to kiss your neck.

yeah, so what? your resolve was weak when it came to jj, you couldnt help it.

“you’re paranoid, cupcake. jus’ give papa j some lovin’ yeah?” he grins goofily against the supple skin of your neck.

“y-yeah… you’re right.” you agree, allowing your hand that was previously itching to grip jj’s hair finally doing so.

you allowed jj’s kisses to travel up your neck and to your lips, your tongues immediately fighting for dominance. jj sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, fiddling with your crop top’s straps. he pushed the strap to the side, allowing it to fall off your shoulder.

pope, who’d watched jj walk in your room, had swung the door open to ask jj what he was doing in your room. his jaw had dropped, but jj just smirked. until his brain caught up with what was happening, in which his smirk melted off his face and grew into a more flustered look.

“uhm- jj- y/n-“ pope stumbles over his words, eyes wide in shock.

your own face was complimented by a light tint of pink, your hands now resting on jj’s shoulders rather than in his hair.

“well- w-we can explain.” you say, hopping away from jj’s body.

“we’re kind of, like, seeing eachother… in secret though, so please please please… dont tell anyone, especially not jb.” you explain, your eyebrows pulled together in concern.

“y-yeah, yeah.. okay… how- i mean, how are you two together? why?” pope asks, confused.

“well pope, when two people love eachother-“ jj starts before you smack his chest.

“we got together after the midsummers, to be fair jj was pretty tipsy. but we’re really happy together, and he’s great.” you smile.

“and the sex is just as great-“ jj guffaws before you give him a deadpanned look and his laugh dies into more of an awkward smile.

“im uh, im happy for y’all…” pope says, before shooting us a smile and quickly making a break out of the room.

”god, that was so awkward.” you mutter.

kiara:

the both of you were at an infamous boneyard party, maybe a little too tipsy. neither of you cared very much though, just dancing and having fun with your boyfriend, brother, and friends.

you’d excused yourself to go and grab another drink, jj offering to come with you. he followed behind you like a lost puppy, and once you were far enough away from the others he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“y’know why they call this ‘the boneyard’ baby?” he whispered seductively with an even more seductive laugh.

“no, why?” you bit your lip to supress a smile.

“well, obviously because people’d come here all the time for parties. and y’know what they’d do?” he paused for a moment before continuing.

“they’d bone, baby!” he laughed, pulling your hips closer to his own.

“‘nd i think we should do the same… y’know, continue a legacy or some shit.”

“hmm..” you hum.

“i guess… it wouldnt be a bad idea..” you giggle, turning around and holding his face in your hands and pecking a kiss on his lips.

“mm, good girl.” he grins, his head going straight to your neck to suck hickeys onto the skin there all while being too drunk to care about who would see it in the morning.

you let out an involuntary shiver, your arms wrapping around his neck while your fingers fiddled with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“jump.” he mumbles huskily, and of course you comply with that tone of voice.

he catches you in his arms, wrapped around your thighs. he quickly takes you away from prying eyes toward the twinkie, pushing you against the door.

“the things you do to me…” he groans, his hand caressing your thigh.

“y’so pretty baby, cant believe i landed you…” he says in a lovestruck tone, kissing up your neck and eliciting a couple of breathy moans from you.

he pulls you away from the door to pull it open, laying you on the floor of the twinkie. within seconds of shutting the door, his lips are back on you sucking and kissing. his hips rolled against yours as his wandering hands pulled the end of your dress up.

“oh baby, y’soaked through your panties… all this mess f’me?” he smirks, fingers playing with the edge of your panties.

“y-yeah, all f’you jay… please..” you whimper, and of course he cant deny you.

he’s completely pussy whipped, and he doesnt mind admitting it.

“i know baby..” he coos.

“i’ll help you baby, my good girl..” he grunts, unbuckling his belt.

you giggled in excitement as your legs instinctively spread further for him, until the door opened and kie stood there.

you were frozen in shock, this was the second time! jj closed your legs, giving you some sort of dignity.

“kie…” he starts.

“oh my god… john b’s actually going to end you.” the frizzy haired girl muttered.

“what? no he wont, im his best friend. he knows i’ll take good care of her.” he shrugs, though deep down he was worried john b would disapprove.

“please, kie.. dont tell anyone, not even sarah… we’re gonna tell everyone eventually, but just in our own time.” you plead, hoping she’d keep this a secret for our sake.

“okay, fine… but you keep being reckless and everyone will find out on their own.” she said, before grabbing what she needed and shutting the door.

and god, you knew she was right.

cleo:

jj was just working at the shop, stocking shelves and working behind the counter. you were supposed to be doing the same. key word: supposed.

see, you were too busy ogling at jj. i mean, how could you not?! he was a total dreamboat with his fluffy hair, his cargo shorts, those damn sleeveless shirts he always wore that made you want to jump his bones. dont even start with the rings.

you figured you must be ovulating because this never usually was an issue, and the dirty thoughts infiltrating your mind definitely didnt help.

“staring’s rude y’know?” he laughs slightly, not even looking up from whatever he was doing from behind the counter.

“i wasnt staring.” you reply, clearing your throat and starting to stock shelves again.

“right, and im not baked all the time. sweetheart, there’s no shame in drooling.” he snickers.

“i am not drooling.” you had to check your mouth to make sure you really werent drooling, the way you were so distracted with him you werent even sure what was happening around you.

“whatever you say.” he sighs, closing the cash register after counting the money. “c’mere darlin’.”

you didnt even fight it when your legs automatically started moving behind the counter, god you were so down bad. and you didnt even care.

you immediately gripped his shirt and pulled him into a passionate kiss, not able to resist him and his damn kissable lips. he let out a surprised grunt, but kissed you back.

this kiss lasted for a couple minutes, blocking every other thing in the world out. you guys were in your own little bubble.

“whatchu doin’?” cleo’s voice sounds out from infront of the counter.

you quickly jump away from eachother, jj scratching the back of his neck. god this was so embarrassing, you seriously needed to get better at this sneaking around bullshit.

“ah, i see… you guys been mackin’ eachother huh?” the girl grinned.

“glad to see y/n’s finally getting some though.” she winked at you.

“ha ha, funny.” you huff.

“please dont tell anyone..” you ask.

“or do, not like it’d make much of a difference. we’re always getting caught-“ jj gets cut off by a slap to the chest.

“shush jj, she should keep it quiet.” you hiss.

“right, yeah. cleo, keep it quiet.” he says.

“huh. rude boy’s pussy whipped.” she huffs out a laugh, walking out of the shop.

“well- wh- are you gonna keep it quiet?!” jj calls our after cleo but earns no response.

john b & sarah:

jj and you were just cuddling, that was all. nothing more, nothing less. there wasnt any sexual intentions behind it, just some romantic cuddles between lovers. and he’d just been beaten by his dad, again, so he needed some extra loving from his girl.

“he’s an asshole, jay… i hate what he does to you, i wish i could kill ‘im for you..” you say softly, carding your fingers through his soft hair.

“i wouldnt let you do that, cant have my pretty girl goin’ to jail for me.” he smiles, kissing your cheek lovingly.

“mm, you’re so perfect jay.. y’know that?” you ask.

“nah sweetheart, i think you’re the perfect one.. have you looked in the mirror lately? i mean, hot damn.” he grins.

you blush, you were never good at accepting compliments. “jay, stop…” you whine a little, covering your face.

“nuh uh… i wanna see that beautiful face of yours.” he pulls your hands away from your face and pecks the tip of your nose.

“much better.” he smiles.

the door swings open, the exhausted couple - john b and sarah - barging through with their small, 3 year old toddler in tow.

“yo jayj, can-“ john b’s voice dies out in shock.

“what the fuck man?!” his voice rings out, sarah placing a hand on his bicep to ground him and remind him of his son still in the room.

“you’re macking my sister?!” john b huffs, the vein in his neck popping out in anger.

“john b- i-it isnt what you think! we arent.. macking! okay?!” you get up to stand infront of john b, blocking his view of jj.

“john b.. we’re dating, jj’s my boyfriend-“

“wow! that’s supposed to make it better?! you’re supposed to tell me, y/n! and jj! my best friend man, what the hell?! could’ve atleast asked for my permission!” john b was so angry, he just wanted the best for his baby sister, wanted to protect her.

he really wasnt ready to see her getting into relationships, having to let her go and be protected by some other guy who wasnt him. a guy who could hurt his baby sister.

“he doesnt need your permission! im my own person okay?! if there’s anyone you can trust with protecting me, its jj! you know that! he’s as loyal as a damn golden retriever!” you defended jj.

it seemed to calm john b a little, sarah was outside the bedroom so the little guy didnt hear the ruckus.

“yeah… god, yeah you’re right… i just- i dont want you to stop being my baby sister, i wanna be able to be the one you always come to when something’s wrong.. i wanna protect you.” john b says softly, he was used to having to protect you since dad had gone to find the royal merchant, and was now dead.

“i know… and you still can okay? you and jj can be like- like guard dogs, huh?” you giggle.

“john b.. man, i love her.. i really do. she’s everything to me. you can trust me.” jj reassures.

sarah comes back into the room once she hears the calm talking between you all, little baby jesse john routledge, or jj as everyone called him, following with a smile.

“so… you two huh?” sarah wiggles her eyebrows, grinning.

“yeah…” you smile, blushing slightly.

“well, i guess… i approve, but if you hurt her maybank-“ john b starts.

“you’ll kill me, i know. i’d kick myself over and over if i ever hurt her, before you could even kill me.” he sincerely reassures.

“well, now that’s over… could you watch jesse for us? we gotta go help out around the store…” sarah asks.

“sure, we’ll look after him.” you smile, picking little jesse up.

jj looks at you with the utmost love in his eyes, and john b knew he’d made a good choice trusting jj with you. john b could see how in love the maybank boy was, it was a look unlike any he’d ever seen on the boys face, and if you knew jj, you knew he was a facially expressive person.

john b smiled, ushering sarah out the door and closing it behind him. all he heard as they left were giggles from the three of us.

[thatdesigirl17]

you and i

toxic!theo x fem!reader

kinda inspired by the song you&I by one direction

warnings: theo being toxic and manipulative, slight angst, theo may seem a bit possessive and territorial

It had been going on for months now. The constant fighting, the making up, the arguing again, it had converted into a cycle with Theo. Today, another misunderstanding led Theo to storm out of Y/N’s dorm, leaving her alone to dwell in her frustration and sadness. It had become excessively frustrating for Y/N, the way Theo would never listen to her, would never talk things out. He would always avoid the conversation, he had become an expert really in getting out of it. Her friends had started to tell her that this was toxic, that he wasn't good for her. That was what had started the argument this time, her friends 'interfering' in their relationship as Theo had phrased it. Y/N sat on the ground, her knees tucked in her arms towards her chest, her chin resting on them, as she thought over her relationship with Theo. She loved him, and he always seemed to know what exactly to say to win her again but it was getting exhausting to be like this. 

The door to her dorm opened slowly, pausing her thoughts midway as she looked up to see who it was. Theo, of course. He was standing there with a bouquet and a small carry bag in his bag. The slightest bit of a smirk appeared on his face as he took in the sight of her. 

‘What do you want?’, Y/N asked slowly, her voice low, her words making him frown slightly. ‘Bella, I shouldn’t have fought with you like that. You know I love you right?��, he said, coming closer to her. He handed out the bouquet of white lilies, her favourites, to her. It was neatly packed in brown paper, tied securely with a white ribbon, the arrangement of lilies done with white orchids and baby's breath. 

'Theo...', she sighed accepting the bouquet and placing it next to her on the floor. He crouched down beside her, setting the other bag on the floor. She shifted her position on the floor, crossing her legs, sitting up straighter to face him. 'Why do you always have to avoid talking things out? It’ll just be so much better for the both of us.’, she started, trying to get him to talk, her hand on his forearm. ‘Cara, please, let’s just forget about it okay? Both of us said things we didn’t mean.’, he said, his voice silky smooth. Y/N looked at him, knowing that he couldn’t get out of talking this time that easily, Theo sat down in front of her, cupping her cheek and caressing it gently. 

‘Cara mia…’, he started, his eyes pleading and full of sincerity, ‘I know we have been arguing a lot lately, but we love each other more than that. I know you think your friends are right, but they don't know anything about us, about how we make this relationship work. Did they ever fight like us? Did they ever hold each other like us? We see things differently, amore, but we try, like no one ever has and that’s what makes us special. That’s what makes us stronger.’ 

Y/N looked at him feeling herself get swayed by his words again. No matter how hard she tried, she knew he loved her and she loved him. She knew she would go back to him, he would make her come back. 

‘Y/N…’, he said in a soft voice. Her name on his lips further crumbled her doubts about him. ‘Amore mia, we can make it till the end, till we are one. I know it, I believe in us. Nothing has come between you and I, definitely not some silly argument like this. Do you believe in me? In us?’ 

Theo looked at her, his eyes full of hope. Y/N nodded, making Theo smile, as he leaned in, pulled her closer and kissed her. It was soft and passionate. ‘That’s my girl.’, he smiled pulling away, 'Promise me you won't let anyone get to your head again.' 

He held her gaze, searching her eyes for any reaction. Y/N nodded slowly, her hand coming up to rest on his wrist and caress him reassuringly, a small smile breaking out on her face. Her words made him grin, as he gave her a quick peck on the lips, before continuing, ‘I planned to take you out on a nice dinner tonight, and then give you this, but I think here will have to do.’  He turned slightly, picking up the bag that rested on the floor, beside them. 

He handed her the bag and she opened it carefully to reveal a square, red box that read ‘Cartier’ in neat cursive. She looked at him a bit surprised as she opened the box. In the box, laid a beautiful bracelet made of white gold and diamonds, the classic Cartier design. ‘My god Theo, this is beautiful. It must have cost a lot, you didn’t have to do this.’, Y/N said, her fingers gently tracing the piece of jewellery. ‘Anything for you, cara. Don’t worry about anything and let me put it on, yeah?’, he smiled. 

He gently picked up the bracelet, opened the clasp and then put it on her left wrist. He then pulled up a small driver out of the pocket of his jacket as Y/N eyed him with confusion. 

He chuckled, ‘It’s a Cartier love bracelet, Bella.’ He tightened the bracelet with the driver and caressed it on her wrist. The sight made him smirk softly. Holding her hand, he brought it up and kissed her knuckles. ‘It can’t be taken off without the driver. You’ll wear this forever now, as a symbol of our love.’, he explained, her eyes widening in surprise. Before she could say anything, he continued, his voice soft but firm, ‘Nothing can separate you and I now, amore, not even the gods. I’m gonna throw the driver in the Black Lake so that it’s always there on your wrist. You’re mine, Y/N, forever.’ 

[tackykachowch]

OKAY CHAT I DIDN'T INTEND IT TO BE THIS WAY BUT THIS POST IS SUPER-HUGE. Read at your own risk lol

*taps the mic* Uh, welcome to Chili's. So, I mustered up the courage to finally make a post about how I view Silco and Jinx's relationship and why I think it is actually a lot better than it's commonly perceived. Please please please do not assume that I do this to specifically whitewash Silco or make him less morally gray, this is my genuine read on them based on my own experience and views. I do not claim that I don't have any bias at all, but I think that it didn't influence my opinion that much.

I am going to say this from the start: I don't have much negative to say about them and I don't think of their relationship as toxic. If this point of view is unacceptable to you, please disregard this post. However, if you want to discuss this topic with me and challenge my points, please be civil about it and don't insult me. I don't have any ill intentions, nor am I trying to normalize unhealthy behavior.

Okay, from this preamble to another. This analysis is going to be based entirely on season 1 and nothing else. Some of my points will address common perceptions about them in the fandom, some I'll write as a regular analysis.

Now let's start shall we (yes, this is going to be a one long post because they're so so important to me). In the second paragraph I said that I don't view their relationship as toxic. Let me explain. I think this is a very complex topic and opinions will vary from person to person. Considering that both Silco and Jinx are mentally ill this adds another layer to our already complicated cake. So, for me toxic relationships are those where at least one person almost always behaves in the way they see is right, disregarding other person's wants or needs. It also must include unhealthy/toxic behaviors, i. e. manipulation, gaslighting, possessiveness, control over other person's decisions, physical and/or emotional abuse etc etc. These behaviors must be routinely occurrences and not happen only once or twice. You can say: "But a lot of things you listed exactly describe how Silco behaves towards Jinx!" well. No but I'll get to this later.

There's also an elephant in the room we need to deal with: codependency. Now, I don't claim to be an expert on the topic or even well-informed, but I have a feeling that this term is a Bit overused. Terms, especially medical ones, are very useful for describing one specific thing. But as of late a lot of terms are used on things that are not. Well. The thing the term is describing. You don't need to go far for examples: hyperfixation, depression, panic attack, etc. When knowledge becomes widespread, things like that are inevitable, unfortunately. But back to the topic. Are Jinx and Silco's relationship codependent? I personally don't think so. One of the key characteristics of a codependent relationship is losing a sense of self and disregarding your wants/needs, and Jinx and Silco never display that. They are very self-driven characters. And while Jinx did do some things to impress Silco, it's not necessarily a symptom of a codependent relationship specifically. Again, I'll compare it to medical symptoms. If your right side hurts it doesn't mean you have appendicitis, if you have a short attention span it doesn't mean you have ADHD. Mental health problems Jinx and Silco have can be just that: mental health problems. Trust issues, low self-esteem, fear of abandonment, etc. They don't need to be a part of a bigger problem, even if there are some similarities. (Also just a side note: I got misdiagnosed with OCD this year, so I take correct descriptions and understanding of conditions/words very personally).

MAN THAT WAS TOO LONG. GET TO THE ACTUAL POINTS.

Alright. So first of all, Jinx and Silco are VERY trusting of each other. They both allow each other to enter their personal spaces, and feel comfortable and free in each other's presence. Silco allows Jinx to do his eye injections, to show him physical affection, he also trusts her with missions for his job, even when everyone else is against it. When Jinx in ep4 tells him that "(her screw up) won't happen again", he simply answers "I know". Despite Jinx's own insecurities Silco fully trusts her (sometimes even to his own detriment). And she fully trusts him as well (until the whole Vi shenanigans anyway), what can be seen in a way she's not afraid of his emotions or even to hurt him, because she knows perfectly well that he'll never harm her in any way (physical, I mean). And although there is a clear miscommunication between them in ep4 I don't think it's a common thing between them, and this specific case was caused by Jinx's deeply rooted trauma and low self-esteem, which Silco is unfortunately unable to fix.

Now onto the probably most common criticism of Silco specifically: that he made Jinx his weapon and raised her to be this bloodthirsty on purpose. And to this I say - no way. Silco DOES love Jinx and DOES trust her, but he's not blind and not an idiot. He perfectly knows that Jinx can cause a huge mess and potential troubles on the missions, his subordinates hate her, her mental state is unstable and therefore she's not the most reliable asset in the slightest, nor a necessary one. At no point do we get actual proof that Silco needs Jinx specifically for his operations, he seems to allow her to participate in them out of her own volition. After all, she does like being needed and included in the family business. You could argue that he needs Jinx for her gadgets and weapons, but nobody besides her uses them, so this option doesn't fit. "But he did request her to build Fishbones!" yeah. After Jinx stole the gemstone, again, out of her own choice. Silco is a swift strategist, if he sees an opportunity somewhere he takes it immediately. So there's nothing actually wrong with him asking Jinx to build a weapon with the use of gemstone. She didn't steal it for it to just. Lie there, after all. As to her bloodthirsty-ness I think he only nurtured what was already there. If you remember, in the very first episode Jinx made a bomb with NAILS in it. I don't think I need to tell you that it's just a horrible idea for a bomb, and she was only 9 at the time. As to Silco's "become what they fear" line. I don't think it indicates that he specifically raised Jinx to be a weapon, because he applied the same phrase to himself and we don't see him running around throwing glitter bombs at everyone (although it would've been cool to see ngl).

Next - Silco is very supportive of Jinx. His office is filled with things she drew all over, her inventions are tied to the ceiling. When Jinx is overwhelmed and upset about the failed mission he tells her to "focus on her gadgetry" and to "take some time". He clearly knows what she likes and what would put her in a better mood. He also doesn't restrict her self-expression, which can be seen in the way Jinx looks. I mean, you'd think that Silco would probably want for her to wear something more...classy? But he doesn't mind even one bit.

Another point I see a lot - that Silco loves Jinx but not Powder. I actually kiiinda understand where this point of view comes from, because the show does frame Vi and Silco as representatives of her Powder and Jinx persona respectively, but I don't think the text itself supports this. Let's take the river scene because it is the cause of this discussion in the first place after all. Silco tells Jinx that she needs "to let Powder die" and that "Jinx is perfect", but I don't necessarily agree that he meant it in a "choose between two of your personas" kind of way, because this conflict never existed between them in the first place. Vi does want "Powder" to come back, but Silco didn't show anything that would indicate of him disliking young Jinx in any way. He did adopt her when she was still Powder, after all. And even if she changed her name on the same night, her personality didn't, because that's not how humans work. So, he NEEDED to love Powder to raise her. Back to the river scene, he tells Jinx that she needs to let Powder die so "the fear of pain would no longer control (her)". "Powder" is tightly connected to Jinx's trauma of killing her entire family and Vi leaving her, i. e. the fear of pain of being betrayed again and the fear of messing up. In terms of psychology she really does need to live through this moment and properly process it, but unfortunately there's no psychologists in neither Piltover or Zaun, and Silco being mentally ill and not knowing better himself can only help her this way. "Jinx is perfect" also doesn't mean that he prefers Jinx over Powder, but rather "Jinx, the person you are right now, is perfect and strong. You need to let that weak part of you (Powder) die, so you can move on and become something greater". Jinx might've interpreted his line in the wrong way herself, but again, there's no actual evidence of Silco liking "Powder" less and only ever wanting "Jinx". And if we hop further into the finale, he literally says "YOU are perfect". Whatever seat she chooses, she will always be perfect to him. Even if she turns against him and everything he fights for, even if she kills him, even if she hates him, she remains perfect in his eyes. He might differentiate "Powder" and "Jinx" and a weaker/stronger part of her, but despite all that she's still his daughter.

Also. He's dealing with her mental health SOOOO great chat it's not even funny. I mean obviously he can't take care of it perfectly because again, psychology is non-existent in this world, but everything he CAN do he does just sooo good. He never lets other people berate or insult her, if he scolds her he only ever does this in private, he always tries to be patient and gentle with her, and the only time we seem him lash out at her is after Jinx stole the gemstone. He also seems to know what causes her psychosis and how to stop it, because he yells "Don't listen to her!" to Jinx when Vi triggers her, and then proceeds to try and shoot in Vi's direction to shut her up. We now know that this wasn't the best decision at all, but he literally goes feral when Jinx is hurt, so can you really blame him? There is of course an issue of him enabling her violence and letting her do everything she wants, but to cut Silco some slack he deals with a very mentally ill child, and as we saw in ep3 cutting Jinx off of something can easily cause her to have a mental breakdown. So I think partly his enabling was caused by his want not to hurt her.

Phew. I think we only need to get through the minor points now.

Manipulation: we only ever see Silco manipulate Jinx once, when he lied to her about Cait and Vi's reason for being in the Underground. Nothing indicates that he regularly manipulated her before.

Possessivness: I think this claim also doesn't have substantial evidence to back it up. We only see Silco being possessive of Jinx because of Vi, and even then it's not pure possessiveness. He literally doesn't want Jinx to be betrayed and possibly even killed like him. I think if Jinx just wanted to leave him on her own he would be a-okay with that. Also he doesn't watch over what she does/where she goes, which again reinforces his trust in her and him respecting her privacy.

Silco isolated Jinx from others: uhhh. See the end of the previous paragraph. If Jinx wanted to befriend someone she could've easily done that, and Silco wouldn't even know. The only person she couldn't befriend because of him is Ekko, but even he says to Vi that Jinx chose to be on Silco's side herself, so *shrugs*

And with that, I think I covered everything I wanted about their relationship. It's not perfect, but it's not bad either. Personally, I don't want to label it as anything, because minus the drug mafia and murders aspects they're just a regular father and daughter. There are no perfect parents, there are no perfect children, but if they try their hardest to love each other in a way they're both happy with, they're great in my book.

[szariahwroteit]

FUNGIRL A Trent Alexander-Arnold + Original Character Erotic series.

Chapter 7

18+ Minors DNI

The thin cotton of Amber’s T-shirt clung to her pert nipples as she raised her arms, pulling her hair into a messy bun. Trent smiled lazily over the FaceTime call, melting into his seat as he relished the visual.

As he sat there, his gaze drifted to the three elegant bouquets of velvety roses arranged neatly behind her. The vibrant red of the petals caught his eye, pulling at the corners of his consciousness. A cloud of uncertainty settled in his stomach, and his smile wavered slightly. “Someone’s pleased with you,” Trent remarked, trying to mask the surge of anxiety that twisted within him, betraying his feelings at that moment.

“Thank you! We closed on a case that I’d been working on for a few months. My colleague Kenneth gave them to me,” Amber explained, a soft smile spreading across her lips as she glanced over his shoulder at the flowers she’d been gifted earlier.

“Congratulations!” Trent smiled, clearing his throat as he attempted to stop his mind from going to the worst places.

Outside of her—her body, the way she viewed the present world, her surface-level likes and dislikes, and physical wants and needs—he didn’t know much about Amber’s life, and the revelation made his heart sink.

He had always been drawn to her vibrant energy and infectious laughter, but the more he learned about her professional life, the more he realized how little he truly understood her. The roses were a symbol of her success, but they also highlighted the distance between them—both physical and emotional.

“Thanks! It was tough, but I’m really proud of the outcome,” she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “Kenneth helped me with some of the finer details of the case, we spent months and countless late nights working to get a win, I’m over the moon.”

Trent nodded, forcing a smile as he tried to mask the unease brewing inside him. “Congratulations. You deserve it. You’ve worked hard.”

The truth was, Trent had no real grasp of the effort that had been poured into the case that she had successfully championed for her client. As he reflected on their relationship, he began to understand the depth of her words when she remarked that he saw her as little more than a source of pleasure. The woman who existed beyond the warm, intimate cocoon they had spun around each other was an enigma to him, a puzzle he was increasingly eager to solve, yet felt wholly unqualified to approach because of his own doing.

He felt terrible.

Every match he asked her to attend, she attended. Whenever he asked her to make the commute from London to Liverpool for him, she did so without question, and he didn’t know much about her day-to-day life outside of what she did as an occupation. 

She’d even faced scrutiny from his friends, degradation and disrespect yet Trent hadn’t paid any attention to the world around her that made Amber Webb the woman she was. 

He finally understood why she was so hesitant to accept the earrings he sent her and threw his flowers out. It was Trent doing what he thought was right, not what she actually needed of him. 

“Are you doing anything to celebrate?” Trent asked in an attempt to mask his current inner turmoil.

“Not really, we’re having after-work drinks on Friday and then it’s on to the next case I guess,” Amber shrugged. 

“Do you have any other plans this weekend?” Trent asked, the knot in his stomach tightening ever so slightly. 

“No,” she confirmed. 

“Then would you like to come up to Liverpool after your work drinks?” Trent asked, the cogs in his head already turning. 

“I’d like that, but the commute…” Amber trailed off. 

“Leave it to me,” Trent interjected. “I’ll figure it out,” he continued, surprised by the vulnerability present in his voice.

And so, when Friday rolled around Amber and her colleagues made their way out of the office for the weekend, she messaged Trent to let him know the name of the bar they were heading to and left the rest up to him. 

She knew that yesterday evening’s football match against a team she couldn't remember the name of was the last game of the week for Trent and his teammates and that was about it. 

Whenever they exchanged words over the phone, he had consistently kept his plans under wraps, leaving her in a state of suspense. Despite the flutter of nerves that churned within her, Amber found herself relishing the thrill of uncertainty and spontaneity that came with it.

“I need a whole bottle of wine to myself,” Amber’s colleague Isabella sighed dramatically as both women climbed into the cab set to take them over to the bar. “This week has been tedious.”

“It has,” Amber agreed, a smile creeping onto her face when her phone vibrated in her hand, the black screen coming to life as a response from Trent came through. 

Trent: Have a good time with your colleagues, we’ll have our fun later 😏

The message was rather flirty and made Amber’s cheeks warm as she read it over, before responding and putting her phone back into her purse. 

“Who has you smiling like that?” Isabella asked teasingly, playfully poking Amber’s dimpled cheek as she attempted to sneak a peek at her phone. 

“No one,” Amber blushed, dulling any suspicion as Trent took over her thoughts, holding them captive as they drove through the city. 

“Is it Kenneth?” Isabella asked, her eyes widening in shock. 

“No, it's not Kenneth. It's someone else, he's…a friend.” Amber explained trying not to give too much away. 

“Would you ever go there with Kenneth?” Isabella pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Amber hesitated, the question hanging in the air. Kenneth was a great colleague, she appreciated his mentorship, and he was incredibly easy on the eye, but the thought of anything romantic with him felt off. “No, I don’t think so. He’s more like a big brother to me. I really value our professional relationship.”

Isabella nodded, but her expression remained skeptical.

“What?” Amber asked in amusement as she took in Isabella’s expression, it was clear she had more to say. 

“It's obvious he likes you, have you never noticed?”

Amber rolled her eyes and laughed, shaking her head as she leaned back in her seat, the soft hum of the taxi driving through the night serving as background noise. "Isabella, we're colleagues. Yes, I think he respects and maybe even fancies me, but professionally, nothing's ever crossed the line. He's never made a move, and I've never considered him as anything more."

"Sometimes as women we don't always notice these things," Isabella argued with a raised eyebrow. "Your job's high pressure and your focus is always elsewhere, it's not unusual for people to feel unnoticed if someone's interested but never expresses it."

"Fair point," Amber conceded, though she still didn't see Kenneth in any other light than a valued mentor. As for potential suitors, she had no room in her mind for anyone besides Trent, and lately, that connection had become increasingly complicated.

“As handsome and friendly as Kenneth may be, my attention is elsewhere,” she continued vaguely. 

Isabella pressed her lips together, still appearing unsatisfied with Amber's response. "Well, if he's such a good colleague, you should at least consider being kind to him. Someone might miss out on feeling special if you keep passing him up."

"Who says I'm passing him up? Like I said, he's more like a brother to me. I value the professional relationship we have," Amber defended, her tone a touch firmer now as they pulled up to the bar.

The neon lights of the establishment cast a gaudy glow over the vehicle as they climbed out onto the sidewalk, their heels clicking against the pavement. As they stepped inside, the familiar hum of conversation and clinking glasses enveloped them like a warm blanket.

Isabella stopped at the bar, ordering a glass of Sauvignon Blanc for herself before turning to Amber. "I'm heading to the ladies' room. Do you need anything while I'm in there?"

“Just for you to come back out with a change of heart and at least flirt with him,” Isabella smirked. “The same for you?” she asked as the bartender placed a crisp glass of wine in front of her. 

“Yes please,” Amber smiled before turning on her heels and heading in the direction of the restroom. 

After relieving herself, she lingered at the sink, enjoying the refreshing feel of cool water as she thoroughly washed her hands. Once dry, she reached into her purse and retrieved her favourite lip gloss, the shimmering tube catching the light. With a careful application, she coated her lips in a glossy, vibrant hue, adding a touch of glamour to her appearance. Satisfied, she ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the strands into place, before making her way back out to the lively atmosphere of the bar.

“There she is!” Isabella smiled as she held up Amber’s glass to her, now joined by a few of their colleagues including Kenneth who had changed out of the suit he wore earlier in the office into a more casual outfit of jeans, sneakers and a knitted sweater. 

Amber felt a flutter of nerves as she approached the group, her heart racing slightly at the sight of Kenneth. He looked effortlessly handsome, his dark tapered waves shaped to perfection and his smile warm as he caught her eye. She returned his smile, but the moment was fleeting as she was quickly swept into the lively banter of her colleagues.

“Amber! You made it!” one of her coworkers exclaimed, pulling her into a friendly hug. The atmosphere was electric, laughter and chatter filling the air as they settled into their evening.

“Cheers to a successful week!” Isabella raised her glass, and the others followed suit, clinking their drinks together in a toast. Amber felt a wave of camaraderie wash over her, the weight of the week lifting as she took a sip of her wine.

As the night wore on, the conversation flowed easily, and Amber found herself enjoying the company of her colleagues. They shared stories, jokes, and laughter, but every so often, her gaze would drift to Kenneth. He was engaged in conversation with another colleague, but every now and then, he would glance her way, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“Are you going to keep staring at him, or are you going to say something?” Isabella teased, nudging Amber playfully.

Amber rolled her eyes, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m not staring! It's… you made things awkward now.”

“I didn't do anything wrong,” Isabella winked, and Amber couldn’t help but laugh.

“Okay, okay, maybe I’m a little distracted,” she admitted, her heart racing at the thought of Kenneth’s attention. But her mind quickly flickered back to Trent, the anticipation of their plans later that night sending a thrill through her.

“Speaking of distractions, what’s the deal with that guy you were texting earlier?” Isabella asked, her tone shifting to a more serious note. 

“It's a little complicated,” Amber said honestly, her heart fluttering as she thought about the rather complex situation she’d found herself in. 

As if Trent had a sixth sense Amber’s purse began to vibrate as her phone rang inside of it. Placing her glass down on the bar, she lifted the flap on her bag and pulled out her phone. 

She couldn't help the smile that took over her features as she Trent’s call and placed the phone to her ear. 

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice warm and inviting, cutting through the ambient noise of the bar.

“Hi, beautiful,” Trent replied, his voice smooth and familiar, sending a rush of excitement through her. “How’s your evening going?”

“It’s great! We’re just getting started, actually. Everyone’s in here,” Amber said, glancing around at her colleagues, who were laughing and chatting animatedly. “How about you? I watched your game last night, congratulations.”

“Not too shabby on both of our parts. We’ve both won,” he chuckled, and she could almost picture the lazy smile on his face. “But I’m more interested in hearing about your night. Are you having fun?”

“Definitely! It’s nice to unwind after a long week,” Amber replied, her heart fluttering at his praise.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Trent asked instantly, making Amber’s eyes widen in surprise as she looked towards the entrance of the bar.

“Are you here?” Amber asked, her voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Her cheeks flushed a warm shade of pink as she envisioned the intricacies of her arrangements. The thought of her Premier League star friend with benefits mingling among her colleagues sent a flutter through her stomach, blending excitement with a hint of anxiety about how the evening would unfold, and the questions that would be asked. 

“I’m outside, but I wanted to make sure you were okay with it first,” Trent replied, his tone light but earnest. “I didn’t want to crash your evening.”

Amber bit her lip, weighing her options. She could feel the energy of the bar pulsing around her, the laughter and chatter of her friends creating a warm atmosphere. But the thought of Trent being there, of seeing him in person, sent a thrill through her. “No, I’d love for you to come in! Just… give me a second to prepare myself,” she said, her heart racing.

“Okay, I’ll give you a second,” he replied, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “See you soon.”

Amber hung up and took a deep breath, her mind racing. She quickly scanned the room, spotting Isabella and the others still engaged in their conversations. She felt a rush of excitement mixed with nerves. What would they think?

The volume of the bar seemed to increase towards the entrance of the bar, bringing with it the patter of Amber’s heart in her chest. Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard someone utter Trent’s name. 

When their eyes met across the room, a jolt of electricity surged through Amber. He stood at the entrance, tall and confident, his presence commanding attention. The dim lighting of the bar highlighted the sharp angles of his jaw and the playful glint in his eyes.

Clutching her glass Amber let out a breath she’d been holding as she walked towards Trent, who had been pulled into a conversation with a group of men who asked if he'd take a picture with them. 

Amber slowed down slightly as she made her way towards Trent, trying to calm her nerves. She couldn't help but notice the way his broad shoulders filled out his casual grey sweater, and the way his dark curls had grown slightly since she’d seen him last, his hairline lined to perfection as if he'd just stood from his barber’s chair.

He took a deliberate step away from the conversation, letting the noise around him fade into a dull hum. He could feel the weight of curious gazes upon him, each one filled with a mix of intrigue and recognition. He sensed the silent speculation in the air as onlookers tried to piece together why his face seemed so familiar or, more than that, concluded his identity.

Trent's eyes traced over Amber’s figure as she stood before him, the lowcut blouse, jeans and heels she wore equal parts casual and sexy. 

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice low and husky as he took in the sight of her. “You look stunning.”

Amber felt a blush creep into her cheeks at his compliment, her stomach fluttering with excitement. “Thank you! I wasn’t expecting your company, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Trent stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating towards her. “I couldn’t resist crashing the party when you’re celebrating a win,” he said, his tone teasing, but there was an earnestness behind his eyes that made her heart race.

With a fleeting glance over her shoulder, Amber noted her colleagues, engaged in their conversations and completely oblivious to the presence of her unexpected guest. She turned her focus back to Trent, her expression softening into a warm smile. Gently, she extended her glass towards him, the polished surface catching the light as he reached out, fingers brushing against hers. He took a careful sip, savouring the drink while their eyes locked for a brief, electric moment.

“Are you going to introduce me to any of your people?” Trent inquired, his brow furrowed in curiosity as he scanned the crowd, trying to decipher which group Amber belonged to. Just then, Isabella turned away from her conversation, her gaze suddenly drawn to Amber. He noticed a flicker of surprise cross her face, her eyes widening as she recognized the woman standing a short distance away.

“Amber, is that…?” Isabella didn’t even finish her sentence before her expression shifted to one of realization and excitement. “No way!”

Trent chuckled, his confidence soaring as he caught the eye of several of Amber’s colleagues, who were now gaping at him in shock and awe. “Hi,” he said playfully, flashing a charming smile that only seemed to terrify them even more.

Amber’s heart raced with a mix of pride and nervousness as she leaned closer to Trent, feeling his warmth seep into her. “Okay, come on. I’ll introduce you,” she said, trying to shake off her wide-eyed disbelief and pass it off as normal behaviour. She led him toward the small cluster of her colleagues, who had momentarily paused their banter, captivated by the presence of the football star.

“Guys, this is Trent,” Amber announced, gesturing towards him. “He's a friend of mine.” She felt her cheeks grow warm as she admitted it, unsure of how her colleagues would respond.

“Trent, this is Isabella and Kenneth,” she continued, pointing out each one. Kenneth's expression was bemused, his mouth slightly agape, as he absorbed everything unfolding before him. 

“Wow, nice to meet you!” Isabella said, flashing a smile of genuine enthusiasm while the other colleagues introduced themselves, their excitement palpable.

Kenneth, however, was still standing a beat too long in silence, assessing Trent with a guarded expression. “So, you’re Amber’s, um, friend,” he remarked, tone casual but with an edge of something more possessive underneath. 

Trent turned his attention fully to Kenneth, eyebrows raised with playful challenge. “You could say that.” He shot back with a sly smile, his teasing tone igniting an internal tension that sparked to life igniting the air between them.

Trent had never been an insecure man, nor was he a controlling one in arenas he didn't have to be, but there was something about Kenneth, something about his proximity to Amber that he didn't feel. 

She wasn't his girlfriend, but given their situation, there was a level of possessiveness that Trent had adopted when it came to Amber. 

The idea that the two good-looking twenty-something-year-olds spent hours on end together was a fact he didn't want to ponder on and in an instant, he'd to his verdict. 

He didn't like Kenneth.

Trent stayed close to Amber as he engaged in small talk with her work friends, doing his best to keep his wandering hands at bay. 

“Can I get a round of drinks?” he asked, purposefully slipping his hand around Amber’s waist, leaning into her as she said something enthusiastically to Isabella. 

“Wines good,” Amber confirmed, holding up her half-empty glass, her breath hitching in her throat when she felt Trent’s fingertips on the skin of her stomach as he listened to the orders of the rest of the group. 

As Trent carried their drinks back to their cluster, his fingers brushed against Amber's lower back, sparking a tingle that ran through her. He placed her glass in her hand, his touch lingering just a beat too long, making it clear that he was as affected by their intimate moments as she was. 

Trent's gaze softened as it met Amber's, the air between them charged with a current of tension and desire. For a fleeting moment, the noise of the bar faded away, leaving only the two of them suspended in a cocoon of raw emotion. 

But reality snapped them back in an instant, their surroundings demanding their attention once more. Amber sipped her wine, her thoughts racing as she tried to process the surreal situation; Trent standing among her colleagues, making small talk as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

As the evening went on, Amber found herself fully at ease in the moment, slightly giddy from a combination of the wine she’d consumed and Trent’s presence. 

But beneath the surface of her carefree laughter, she could sense the tension; Kenneth and Trent were exchanging glances, a silent battle of wills playing out in the backdrop. Kenneth’s practised charm felt a touch too deliberate, while Trent’s confidence exuded a raw, lingering energy directed solely at her.

“Another round?” Kenneth asked, attempting to divert the attention back to the drinks, his voice smooth as he regarded Amber. “How about a shot to celebrate your victory?” He leaned closer, his fingers brushing against her exposed collarbone. The contact sent an involuntary shiver down her spine, though she couldn't ignore the discomfort that flickered in Trent’s eyes as he watched.

She noticed Trent’s relaxed demeanour shift slightly, tension curling at the corners of his mouth.

As Kenneth leaned in closer, Amber could feel the warmth radiating from him, but it was an oddly misplaced warmth—one that made her acutely aware of Trent's presence just a breath away. She turned her gaze back to Trent, whose expression had shifted. A subtle tension gripped the space between them, and Amber's heart raced in response.

“Maybe we should skip the shots,” Trent interjected, his tone light but layered with something deeper, an underlying challenge that only Amber seemed to notice. 

“Oh come on, Trent,” Kenneth said, his voice dripping with casual confidence. “Amber has just achieved something incredible; she deserves to celebrate.” The way Kenneth's gaze lingered on Amber made her feel exposed as if she were caught in the crossfire of a power play.

“I have a surprise waiting on her,” Trent replied, his smile never faltering, but the intensity in his eyes spoke volumes.

“Oh really?” Kenneth’s brow furrowed slightly, leaning back as he assessed the situation. “What kind of surprise?” The amusement in his tone was at odds with the tension radiating from Trent, who stood protectively close to Amber, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back.

Trent didn’t break eye contact with Kenneth, his expression a mix of amusement and defiance. “Let’s just say it’s something that’ll take us away from this place for a while.” 

Amber’s heart raced at the thought. She felt a rush of excitement and curiosity flood through her alongside the growing tension. “What do you mean?” she asked, looking back and forth between the two men, trying to gauge Kenneth’s reaction and Trent’s intent.

Trent’s eyes flickered toward her, softening momentarily. “I arranged for us to take a helicopter ride back to my mansion in Liverpool after your drinks. I thought it might be a fun way to kick off the weekend.”

Kenneth’s demeanour shifted. The confident smirk slipped from his face as the reality of the situation set in. “A helicopter ride?” he repeated, trying to mask his surprise and jealousy.

Amber bit her lip, trying to process the grand gesture. The idea of soaring through the night together, feeling the wind tousle her hair as the city lights twinkled below them, sent a thrill through her. Yet she couldn’t ignore the weight of Kenneth’s glare, a silent challenge in his gaze.

Amber wasn’t sure what any of this was, but until Isabelle had taken the time to point out Kenneth’s behaviour towards her, she hadn’t noticed it. 

The unspoken energy between the two men was palpable, hanging heavy in the air like a storm cloud on the horizon. Kenneth seemed to bristle at the suggestion, his earlier carefree attitude evaporating, replaced by an uneasy silence.

Amber felt caught in the middle, torn between two different worlds—the life she led with her colleagues and the whirlwind of intimacy she shared with Trent. She could sense the undercurrent of jealousy emanating from Kenneth, an emotion that stoked the simmering tension.

“Are you ready?” Trent asked, his voice low and inviting, drawing Amber's attention back to him. The warmth in his gaze made her heart race, and she felt a thrill of anticipation ahead of the adventure he had planned.

Isabelle and Kenneth watched the interaction between Amber and Trent, as they readied themselves to leave the bar and head to Liverpool. 

“Do you have everything?” he asked softly as she pulled her thick winter coat over her shoulders and fastened the buttons. 

“Have a good weekend,” Isabelle smirked knowingly, already anticipating her catch-up with Amber on Monday morning at the office. 

“Be safe,” Kenneth added, his tone a mix of concern and something else—perhaps a hint of possessiveness that Amber couldn’t quite place. She caught his eye, and for a moment, the air between them crackled with unspoken words. 

“Thanks, Kenneth,” Amber replied, forcing a smile as she felt Trent’s presence beside her, a reassuring warmth that made her feel bold. 

“Let’s go,” Trent said, his voice steady and confident as he gently placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit. The gesture sent a thrill through her, and she couldn’t help but glance back at Kenneth, whose expression was a mixture of disappointment and something darker.

As they stepped outside, the cool night air hit Amber’s face, invigorating her senses. She looked up at the starry sky, feeling a rush of excitement at the thought of the helicopter ride. Trent led her to a sleek black car waiting at the curb, the driver stepping out to open the door for them.

“Ready?” Trent asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he slid into the back seat beside her.

“Absolutely,” Amber replied, her heart racing. She felt a mix of exhilaration and nervousness, the thrill of the unknown ahead of them.

As the car pulled away from the bar, Amber glanced out the window, watching the city lights blur by. She could feel Trent’s gaze on her, and when she turned to meet his eyes, the intensity of his stare sent a shiver down her spine.

“Tell me more about this case you won,” he prompted, leaning in slightly, his voice low and inviting. “I want to know what you’ve been working so hard on.”

Amber smiled, grateful for his interest. “It was a complex case involving the separation of a merger that joined in the early 2000s. There were thousands of documents to go through and hours of emails, but I was able to come to an agreement that both parties were happy with. It was exhausting but rewarding to see it all come together in the end.”

Trent nodded, genuinely intrigued. “It sounds like you put your heart into it.”

“I had to,” she agreed. “My dad always says you either took up law because you're crazy or you love it,” Amber smiled softly, making Trent do the same. 

“Sounds like you’re a little bit of both,” he teased, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “But seriously, it’s impressive. I love that you’re so passionate about your work.”

Amber felt a warmth spread through her at his words. “Thanks, Trent. It means a lot to hear that from you.” She paused, her expression turning slightly more serious. “I’ve worked hard to get where I am, and it’s nice to have someone recognize that.”

Trent leaned back in his seat, his gaze steady on her. “You deserve all the recognition and more.”

Amber’s heart fluttered at his sincerity. “Thank you, Trent,” she blushed. “I really appreciate it. It’s been a while since someone told me they're proud of me.”

Trent smiled, his expression softening and his heart cracking, he pitied her. 

“I’m proud of you, Amber. You’re doing incredible things, and I want you to know that I see you,” he said, his voice sincere. “Not just as the woman I’m attracted to, but as a talented professional who’s doing something and making her mark in the world.”

Amber felt a rush of emotion at his words, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. “That means a lot to me, Trent. I sometimes feel like I’m just wading.”

“You’re not a distraction,” he replied firmly, his gaze unwavering. “You’re someone I want to be around, and I want to be part of your life, not just the fun parts. I want to know everything about you—the good, the bad.”

Amber smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. “I want that too. Life is just crazy, I guess.”

Trent reached out, taking her hand in his, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing gesture. “We can figure it out together. Just take it one step at a time. And tonight, let’s enjoy this adventure. No pressure.”

Amber nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. “You’re right. Let’s just enjoy this.”

As the car approached the helipad, Amber’s excitement bubbled over. She could see the helicopter waiting, its blades spinning gently in the night air. The sight sent a thrill through her, and she turned to Trent, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

“More than ready!” Amber replied, her heart racing at the thought of taking to the sky. 

As they stepped out of the car, the cool night air enveloped them, heightening Amber's senses. She looked up at the helicopter, its sleek design gleaming under the moonlight, and felt a rush of exhilaration. Trent's hand remained firmly clasped around hers, a reassuring presence as they approached the aircraft.

“Just a few safety checks, and we’ll be on our way,” Trent said, his excitement palpable. Amber could see the thrill in his eyes, and it made her heart race even faster.

The pilot greeted them with a nod, and Trent helped Amber into the helicopter, ensuring she was securely seated before taking his place beside her. The interior was surprisingly spacious, with plush seats and large windows that promised breathtaking views.

“Ready?” Trent asked, his voice low and filled with promise. 

“Yes,” Amber replied, her pulse quickening. She could hardly believe this was happening.

As the pilot began the pre-flight checks, Amber turned to Trent, her heart swelling with affection. “Thank you for this. It’s incredible.”

Trent smiled, his gaze warm and sincere. “You deserve it. I wanted to do something special to celebrate your success. You’ve worked hard, and I want you to know how much I admire that.”

Amber felt a flutter in her chest at his words. “It means a lot to me, Trent. I’ve never had anyone go out of their way like this for me before.”

“Then let’s make it a night to remember,” he said, his voice filled with promise.

The helicopter lifted off the ground, and Amber felt a rush of adrenaline as they ascended into the night sky. The city below them sparkled like a sea of stars, and she couldn’t help but gasp in awe. The view was breathtaking, and she turned to Trent, her eyes wide with wonder.

“Look at that!” she exclaimed, pointing out the twinkling lights of the city. “It’s beautiful!”

Trent leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Just wait until we get higher. It’s even more crazy up there.”

As they climbed higher, the world below faded away, and Amber felt a sense of freedom wash over her. The worries and stresses of her life seemed to dissipate, replaced by the exhilaration of the moment. She glanced at Trent, who was watching her with a soft smile, and her heart swelled.

“Thank you for being here with me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve it.”

Amber felt a warmth spread through her at his words. Everything felt a little too perfect and it scared her. 

The journey from London to Liverpool was filled with laughter and shared stories, the hum of the helicopter blending with their voices as they navigated the heights together. Amber felt a sense of connection with Trent that she hadn’t fully grasped before, a bond that transcended their physical attraction and ventured into something deeper.

As they soared above the city, the lights twinkling like stars beneath them, Amber couldn’t help but steal glances at Trent. His profile was illuminated by the soft glow of the cockpit lights, and she admired the way his eyes sparkled with excitement.

Her heart raced as the helicopter climbed higher, the wind whipping through the open windows, creating a thrilling sensation that added to her excitement. She could feel a heady mix of adrenaline and longing as she reached out, her fingers brushing against Trent's arm as she pointed out various landmarks below, her excitement bubbling over.

“This is amazing! I can see the river! And look at the skyline!” she exclaimed. The world below was a patchwork of lights, shimmering like diamonds scattered across velvet fabric.

Trent turned to her, his expression a mixture of pride and endearment. “Just wait until we’re over the water. The view is even more breathtaking from there.”

His words sent shivers down Amber’s spine, not just because of the awe of the scenery, but because of the intensity of his gaze. At that moment, she realized just how much he meant to her. As the city continued to fade into the distance below, she felt liberated—free from the constraints of her thoughts that often weighed her down.

As they flew over the shimmering waters of the Mersey, Amber couldn’t help but turn to Trent, her voice barely above a whisper. “This is the most incredible thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

Trent’s expression softened, his eyes never leaving hers. “You deserve everything good in your life, Amber.” 

A flutter of warmth spread through her at his words, and she felt a thrill course through her veins. Their eyes held steadily, each heartbeat echoing like drum beats, further closing the gap between the two, bringing them closer to that tension they both felt but had yet to fully acknowledge.

Within those electrifying moments, the helicopter banked gracefully over the coastline, the night sky wrapping them in a cocoon of serenity and allure. Amber marvelled at the rolling waves illuminated by the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow over the water.

By the time the helicopter landed Amber felt as though she was stepping out of a dream as Trent helped her climb out of the aircraft. 

“That was amazing,” Amber gushed as took in the sprawling fields around them, turning to look at Trent who had pulled out his key to unlock his car parked a few yards away from the helicopter. 

Holding out his hand to Amber, he guided her towards the svelte black car, the way he moved with confidence making her heart flutter. 

When they finally made it to Trent’s house, Amber removed her heels eager to rid herself of them before heading upstairs to his bedroom to finally decompress after a long and rather precarious day, with Trent following close behind. 

“Finish whatever you’re doing and come to me,” he murmured softly against Amber's lips, his breath warm and inviting. With a teasing grin, he pulled away, playfully catching her lower lip between his teeth for a brief moment before releasing it.

Amber felt a shiver run down her spine as she watched him turn on his heel, his confident strides carrying him across the room and out of sight. Left alone in the intimate setting of his bathroom, she could hear the faint sounds of his movements in the distance as he settled on his bed, awaiting her.

Her heart raced with anticipation as she reached for the hem of her blouse, she pulled it over her head, the fabric grazing her skin before she tossed it casually into Trent’s laundry hamper. Next, she turned her attention to her jeans, unbuttoning and sliding them off with a fluid motion, sending them to join her blouse in the hamper. Now standing in Trent’s bathroom clad only in her delicate lingerie, she felt an intoxicating mix of vulnerability and boldness, the anticipation of what was to come taking over her movements. 

Making her way out of the bathroom Amber slowly made her way into Trent’s bedroom, her breathing steady as their eyes met. 

“Come here, Amber,” Trent commanded, his voice soft yet filled with dominance as he eyed her hungrily. 

Amber stepped closer to him, the anticipation that hung between the palpable as she stood at the end of the bed. 

Sitting up, Trent shifted toward the end of his bed, his eyes never leaving Amber's as he reached out for her, pulling her to stand between his parted legs as his hands traced the curves of her shapely hips and thighs, leaning forward to press a soft kiss just above her pantyline as his eyes flicked up to her face.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with want. “I want you in every way.”

Feeling a wave of desire come over her, Amber titled her hips towards Trent’s lips, her breathing uneven as she looked down at him. 

“I want you too,” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mix of longing and urgency. The heat radiating from Trent's body was intoxicating, and she felt herself drawn closer, as if an invisible force was pulling her into his orbit.

Trent's hands moved with a gentle yet firm touch, exploring the delicate fabric of her lingerie, his fingers tracing the lace edges as he savored the moment.

Amber's heart raced as she leaned down, her lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. The connection ignited a fire within her, and she deepened the kiss, feeling Trent respond with equal intensity. His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer until she was pressed against him, the heat of his body enveloping her as he pulled her into his lap.

Trent's strong hands roamed over Amber's body, feeling the softness of her lingerie beneath his fingertips as he devoured her lips in a passionate, dominating kiss. She melted against him, her curves fitting perfectly into the contours of his muscular frame.

As their tongues danced, Trent slid a hand up Amber's side, his thumb brushing the side of her breast before finding the hard peak beneath her bra. He pinched gently, eliciting a gasp from Amber that he swallowed as he deepened the kiss.

Breaking away, he leaned back to trail kisses down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as his hands found the straps of her lingerie. He worked at them, uncaring of the scraps of fabric that fell away until Amber was bared to him, her skin glistening in the dim light of the room.

There was a lack of control that Amber brought over Trent that no other woman was able to conjure from him. 

And despite being a man of self-control and discipline, with her he loved to exercise his reckless side and lean into his lack of control. 

Despite the vacant king-sized bed above them, Trent and Amber had found themselves on Trent’s bedroom floor, his hands gripping Amber’s behind her back as she rode him. 

“There you go, sit all the way down on it,” Trent coached through his teeth as he looked up at Amber through heavy, hooded lust-filled eyes. 

Amber moaned lowly, her hips rolling languidly against the rigid length of Trent’s dick, their bodies slick with sweat as she adjusted herself to take him fully.

"Just like that," Trent grunted with a furrowed brow, his grip on her wrist dropping so he could palm her ass, his grip tightening as he watched her work him into her pussy.

Amber’s muscles clenched around Trent as she started to move, rocking her hips in a sensual rhythm that had them both panting with desire. She leaned down to kiss him again, her tongue dancing with his as she set a pace that left them both breathless and needy.

“Trent, I’m going to cum,” Amber whimpered helplessly, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as her back arched into him. 

As Amber’s orgasm moved through her, her body flopped against his before going stiff as she moved through the motions of a powerful climax. 

Trent let out a moan as he felt her teeth press into his neck, her lips brushing over it as she whispered sweet nothings against his warm flesh. 

Raising his hips, Trent tangled his fingers in the hair at the back of Amber’s head, tugging it backwards as he peeled her face from his chest so he could look her in the eye as he rearranged her from the inside out. 

“I’ve been thinking about fucking you since I woke up this morning,” he grunted as he felt his end nearing. 

Drawing out their sex for as long as he possibly could, Trent decided to exercise the power he knew he had over her. 

“Who do you belong to?” he asked as he buried himself inside of her, his filled with a mix of desperation and possessiveness. 

“Only you,” Amber gasped, her voice laced with surrender as her words hung in the lustful air between them. A declaration of their undeniable connection and the ever growing passion between them. 

Trent's hands left imprints on her skin as they reached the peak of passion, her eyes rolling shut as she caught her breath far too suspended in pleasure to do anything but sit there, Trent’s softening cock still buried inside her. 

As the final waves of their shared ecstasy faded, Amber remained in her blissful daze, resting her forehead against Trent’s. 

Much like the effects of alcohol, the act of intimacy had a profound ability to unearth deep-seated emotions. As Amber nestled her head against Trent's broad chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a comforting backdrop to her thoughts. A haunting melody, begging for reflection and clarity, clarity that she had been trying to avoid the admittance of.

In the case of Trent Alexander-Arnold; she was his without regard—even though she knew he wasn't ready to give himself to her in the same way. 

[chris-hallelujah]

coffee | m.s.

Summary: A series of different situations where exbf!Matt and reader meet to catch up.

Warnings: mentions of sexual acts, alcohol use, angst

Word Count: 661 words

My Master List

Join my tag list : @matthewsroses @lvrsturniolo @sturnzblog @nickgurl4life @emely9274 @sturniolozbae @ksturnz

Divider by: @anitalenia

A/N: Hello friends! I took quite the hiatus from writing. I've had lots of ideas flowing but no motivation to actually write them :( but I am going to try and push some out for the holidays. I hope this idea/concept makes sense. Please tell me if it doesn't and I can add an explanation!!

<3 Billie

"if I didn't love you, it would be fine"

Can't meet you for dinner at the Italian place...

The table held the awkward space between you as you recalled the last time you were both at this restaurant. You stared off at the booth in the corner. It felt like yesterday that you and Matt sat across from his parents, meeting them for the first time.

"How's your mom doing?" you asked, breaking the silence.

"She's good. She asks about you all the time. She misses you," Matt responded looking in your eyes. You felt a pang in your chest.

"I miss her too," you said with a slight frown. The relationship you had with MaryLou while you were dating Matt was so good. She was like a second mom to you. You pitied the many women who hated their mother in-laws because you absolutely adored her.

"Why don't you come home and say hi for a bit?" Matt offered.

a few hours later

Your legs were tangled up with Matt's as you rested your head on his bare chest. Both of you were breathless and trying to figure out how meeting up to 'talk' ended up with you in his bedroom at his parents' house.

I'd suggest the jazz bar on MaryAnn Street...

The soft saxophone music played in the background as you and Matt sat at a small table in the corner. "I want to apologize for how things ended between us," Matt sighed. You fiddled with your purse strap as you listened to him talk. "It wasn't fair to you to not think about how my career was going to impact you and us."

"I feel like you chose your career over me," you spoke softly.

Matt's face softened. "I know. I have my priorities straight now. Can I buy you a drink?"

One drink lead to another. Somehow Matt's face ended up between your thighs as you gripped onto your bedsheets. You missed him and definitely missed this.

If we have wine...

Matt's lips were flavored with merlot. Even though you preferred a riesling, you couldn't get enough. Your lips chased his as he backed you up against the bed. You weren't sure where your clothes had gone but you didn't really care. "I want you," he whispered. Matt left open mouthed kisses along your jaw as his hand slipped down your torso. You moaned softly. The night started casually. Matt stopped by to have a chat and catch up over a glass of wine. A few hours later, there were two empty wine bottles on the table.

You said let's do the park 'cause I love the park...

The park swing held your body in a hug as you caught up with Matt. It felt like it had been ages since you saw each other, but really, just a few months. It started off a bit awkward, but you warmed up slowly. Then, the rain began. It poured on you both as you laughed running to his car for shelter. Inside the car, the two of you talked for hours until darkness crept in. It didn't take long for your heated kisses to make the windows to steam up as Clairo played through the speakers.

I'll meet you for coffee...

The warmth of the mug increased the perspiration in your nervous hands as you sat across from your ex. "How are you?" he asked.

You nodded, "I'm doing good actually. How are you?"

He gave you a genuine smile, happy to know that you have been doing well. Matt felt a lot of guilt around your breakup and was hoping that you were doing okay. You both chatted about his career and your schooling. The world felt at peace and almost back to normal. Both of you relieved to have the friendship back.

But the feelings in your heart crept out of hiding each time Matt laughed or recalled a memory between the two of you.

So let's not do coffee, let's not even try.

[multifandomloverthrowaway]

What Sky’s Character Should Have Been

(And why her and Viktor needed to be canon.)

This is LONG, and just my opinion. Please be nice!

In storytelling, each character, each scene, and each literary device is crucial for the advancement of the plot. If any is over or under utilized, the story remains cluttered or incomplete. That being said, it truly is a tragedy how horribly the characters, especially the Zaunite characters, came to be treated in season two. The characters and arcs set up in season one are butchered, and Viktor’s story is particularly disappointingly miswritten by the authors and misrepresented by the fandom, and we see this in the narrative and to a certain extent even fan treatment of Sky.

Sky is a ghost. Her presence, while tangible in the story, is not fully realized to the audience. We do not get to know much of her besides her interest in Viktor and a small flashback indicating that they knew of each other in their youth. Thus her existence and her death are ultimately unsatisfying; we do not know enough about her to be able to connect with her, and so she is ultimately only perceived to be an object to propel Viktor’s descent, even though we do not know much of his feelings towards her either. This is an unfortunate misuse of her as a supporting character, especially when it has a good potential reason to exist other than to solely be Viktor’s love interest.

Before understanding what Sky can represent, let us first define her in the context of the setting, particularly in relation to the characters that she supports. I have touched upon this in more detail in my Viktor character analysis posted, but for the TLDR:

It is clear that Jayce and Viktor are foils to one another. The difference in their opinions on Hextech sets them up to be a parallel to an important aspect of the class struggle set up in season one: Even when the oppressed are “good enough” to compete with their privileged peers, the resultant treatment by the oppressor between both is starkly different. Where the privileged will be lauded and commemorated, the oppressed will only be served minimal acceptance and approval. Thus, their characters and how they interact with one another, as well as the characters of their immediate mutual contacts and their own corresponding interactions, should serve explore this struggle further, especially when it comes to Sky, Mel, and Heimerdinger.

So Sky, like Viktor, should show how Piltover can misuse Zaunites against their hometown. However, to keep her character separate from him, unlike Viktor, who loses himself getting out of this trap and back to Zaun, Sky must be lost to trap itself. She must show just how inhumanely far Piltover will go in exploiting Zaun to maintain its subjugation over the latter. Like we see with other innocent Zaunite background characters that are killed by Piltover on the battleground, Sky must represent those that are killed in softer, more covert methods: through the extraction of Zaun’s finest intellect and the resulting false diplomacy. We must eventually see how Piltover indirectly kills her for being Zaunite, even though we know she is killed by Viktor and the Hexcore.

Sky then needs to have a fleshed out background that indicates of her optimism, grit, and innocence. It does not have to be as in depth as that of the main characters, but the audience must be shown the following:

Her academic prowess that indicates how she can capture sponsors and spin her botany research to help Zaun into something that Piltover thinks it can also benefit from. From which councilors or patrons does she benefit? How and why?

Her motivations for Zaun. What does she view an ideal Zaun to be? What would its relationship with Piltover be? We know she wants to make it better by creating natural greenery, but why does she choose to do so in Piltover? What pushed her to apply to the academy?

Her relation to Viktor, the only other known Zaunite at the academy. Did they interact more than that one time in the river? Were they friends or mutuals? How did Viktor help her get a position as his assistant and why? We know she is fond of him, but what about the other way around? What are their experiences at the academy like? How do they interact with casual prejudice? Do they stick up for each other? Do they find support in each other?

We must see her struggles to successfully obtain funding and traction for her own research due to Piltovan pushback and prejudice. (In this case, she must be in the same research group as Jayce and Viktor, but no longer their assistant as a decade is far too long to remain as such. She will be tied to Jayce’s name but not under him or Viktor.) This needs to be shown to contrast Jayce’s ease in becoming a councilor and gaining enough authority to push out Heimerdinger to further his and Viktor’s research. We need to see her project take the back seat because it is not the project that Jayce is directly tied to. We must see her have to to be careful and planned in who she talks to, how, and what she is able to get from them. This would provide a perfect parallel to Mel and about how being outsiders provides challenges when it comes to change; one being born into power with an imperialist upbringing and getting past Piltovans gracefully to a councilor position to invite it, and the other having no power and so relying on the street smarts and a resource seeking mindset from a more impoverished background to scavenge for it… yet both using the same methods (smooth talking, strategic connections, etc.) to do so.

We need to also know her relationship with Zaun and her perception of Piltover. She must be shown to nurture her feelings about the unfair treatment of her home into a more determined and optimistic view of potential equality and diplomacy, and their growth over time with her and Viktor’s research and their duty to represent Zaun. We should see her friendship with Jayce. We should see her interact with Mel and Heimerdinger. This not only lets the audience sympathize with her by empathizing with the struggles she faces above and her defiance in face of them, but also contrasts Viktor’s internal anger about Zaun and Piltover that he lets fester with his growing ailments and erasure of academic and technical contributions. This contrast sets her up nicely to symbolize the “good that could have been” in the relationship between Zaun and Piltover, and thus by extension, between Viktor and Jayce - hence her initial role as their assistant, and something that is cast aside as each character grows more towards their goals rather than the partnership.

This also sets her up to personify Viktor’s humanity. We’ve seen them meet. Let us see them study together, build things together, perhaps even fend for essentials together. Let us see how and why Sky fell in love with the Viktor from her youth. Let us know of Viktor’s endearment of her as we see him choose her to be his assistant. Let us see how they interact after facing prejudice from Piltovans and band together. Let us see her meet him when he’s on the hospital bed. Let us see her and Viktor be protective of and vulnerable with each other as they face the enemy. Let us see them bond just like we have seen him do so with Jayce. With Sky, we can see Viktor’s insecurities and his empathy like no other character can; in her we can see what makes him human.

This is integral to Viktor’s character and his arc. Whereas Jayce can actively work towards a future for his life with Mel and his career outside of Hextech, Viktor does not have the same luxury due to his illness. He cannot pursue anything but Hextech because his life and the lives of his people are on the line due to Piltover’s control. And that is precisely why when Sky loses her life due to the technology, it isn’t just Viktor that kills her. It’s Piltover’s waste, Piltover’s luxuries, Piltover’s unfulfilled promises that do. And Viktor realizes that after. Sky, in all her optimism, is fundamentally what Viktor could have strived for had he not let his anger and urgency spiral. As a mirror to Mel and Jayce, Sky is not just Viktor’s past but also his hopes for the future. And he realizes that he and Zaun has lost what could have been.

By giving Sky agency, we see just how much she could have done for the plot. But seeing how much the story fumbled Viktor, it’s not surprising to see her get “fridged” twice. I hope I did her justice!

If you’ve read this all, you deserve all the desserts. Thanks for reading!

[nneteyamss]

ROSES — 19. FAWK

(partly written)

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

y/n walked to the park, clutching her jacket closer to her body. the december air blew into her face making her cheeks red as she buried her face further into her scarf.

“why the fuck couldn’t i have picked somewhere warm… my ass should not be put in the cold at 8 o’clock at night.” y/n mumbled to herself, already regretting leaving her warm bed. from a distance she spotted intak seated on a bench, looking at his phone. he was bundled up in a big winter jacket and a scarf wrapped around his neck. yet he had hat, letting snow fall and stick to his black hair. intak suddenly looked up hearing y/n approach and stood to greet her.

“hey… thanks for meeting with me, sorry it’s cold.” guilt instantly ran through y/n’s body because he seemed nervous.

“sorry for making you wait, i don’t know why i picked outside..”

“no it’s okay, i just got here a couple minutes before you.”

y/n simply nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets. the silence was lasted as neither of the two said anything after that.

“uhm do you want to sit? i cleared the snow off the bench.” he gestures to the bench and she nods. they sit down and another awkward silence fills the air.

“so, what did you want to talk about?” y/n turns to him, breaking the silence.

“oh right! i wanted to apologize again about the other day. i shouldn’t have kissed you without asking or so suddenly like that.”

“i appreciate and accept your apology, but why were you there?”

“i don’t know how to explain this without sounding crazy but i knew jaehyun was going to be there, and i had a weird feeling he was going to try something. i came in disguise and i approached you because i saw him walking up to you” y/n started at him with a blank stare, processing what he just said.

“so you were stalking me?”

“well no… but yes? yes to an extent!” intak fumbled over his words, not expecting that question. he thought of it more as keeping an eye out on her for a space she knew the man she so says didn’t like was going to be in. now that she said it though, it kind of seemed like stalking. “sorry” he mumbled.

“your disguise was ass by the way, you should’ve asked shota for his fake mustache” she giggled looking ahead of her. the situation was getting too serious, and she felt the need to make it more lighthearted.

“no way… he said the SAME thing. how do YOU know about the fake stache?”

“i’m the one who bought it for him of course!”

“this is like a full circle moment, what the fuck.” the two laughed together at the moment. who would’ve ever thought that shota having a fake mustache would arise in this convo. however, the laughter eventually died down and intak turned serious. he turned to y/n and grabbed her hands, which were now out of her pockets.

“listen, i need to talk about the main reason i wanted to talk. please don’t say anything until i’m done.” he was dead serious, y/n nodded and pushed down any jokes she could’ve made in the moment. “we’ve been fake dating for a couple months now. we both know the original reason this started. but y/n… i really like spending time with you, like a lot. you’re funny, gorgeous, caring, and so much more. i didn’t plan it but i thought this was just gonna be some fun side quest activity. the more time i spent with you and got to actually know you and your personality, the more i started to actually like you. i tried to fight it off because i mean this relationship wasn’t real and i’m your brothers friend, but i can’t help it. i really… really want this to be real. we get along so well, and there’s a connection. what i really called you out here for was to ask this. i really really like you, could i have the honor of being your boyfriend?”

the long speech was followed by silence. one blink, two blinks, no words. embarrassment gnaws at intak who immediately started to regret asking out of fear of her not feeling the same. yet, he didn’t say anything and let her take her time.

“intak, i didn’t know you felt that way. i feel like this is very sudden though. i need to think about this before i answer, im so sorry” intak nodded and gave her hands a squeeze before letting go. “i’ll text you, i just need to think.” she said again before standing up.

“that’s okay” he gave her a small, yet warm smile. his cheeks were red and his hair was getting damp from the snow. y/n reached forward and pulled his jacket hat onto his head.

“you should get home before you get sick… it’s cold and you don’t have a hat.” the words left her mouth quietly, but intak still heard since the night was quiet was well.

“you should get back as well”

y/n nodded and put her hands back in her pockets, “i’ll see you.” she said and began making her exit of the park and going back home, leaving intak standing in the cold. by time she got in her car and started driving away, intak made his way to his car, waving as she backed out the parking spot.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊

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notes: lalala guess who finished finals, passed all their classes, and got back to work again this week (i need to make all the money i can over break for psyfe and 127 concerts) 🙂‍↕️

[sams-butt-dem0n]

i loved ur hc about breaking up with the gang! could you do the gang breaking up with reader?

The Gang Breaking Up with Reader

DARRY would have the simple excuse of not having enough time for you due to his busy work schedule and taking care of his brothers in the small amount of spare time he had at the end or beginning of each day. You had tried to convince him that you didn't care that the only time you got to spend together was in bed after a long day, but he wasn't having any of it. "I'm sorry," he says. "I really am. I don't want to do this but it's only fair." "Darry, how often do I have to tell you that I don't care about you not being here all the time? I enjoy the time we have together already and I know that you're busy and stressed but that's okay. I love you. Please don't do this to me." "I'm sorry," he repeats, turning to look away from you. "I'm heading off to work in five minutes. I want you out of here before I get back."

SODAPOP would hate to have to break up with you but he feels like it's the right thing to do. It's definitely due to his lack of self-confidence in a relationship since he found out about Sandy cheating on him and moving away. Don't get me wrong, he's confident in his looks and everything but when it comes to relationships, he tends to beat himself up about every tiny detail. "Y/n, I gotta tell you something," he says, his voice quieter than usual as he stands at your front door. "Yeah? What's wrong baby?" You ask, confused as to why he was at your house when you were supposed to be at his place in less than an hour. "Please don't call me that. It'll only make this harder." You were really confused now. "Huh? Soda what are you talking about?" "I can't do this anymore." He says, straightforward as ever. "What?" You ask, tears welling up in your eyes. "Why? What are you doing/ Did I do something wrong?" "I don't know. I don't know if you did something wrong. Tell me if you did won't you?" "Soda, you sound crazy right now," you say. "Talk to me, don't do this." "I can't. I just can't How do I know you aren't two-timing me, huh?" You were shocked at what he just said to you; appalled even. "You think I'd do that to you? You really think that low of me?" He stays silent. You nod, close your eyes tightly and when you open them again, a single tear rolls down your cheek. "Stay there," you say, walking away from the door and leaving him standing there for about 5 minutes, wondering if you were ever going to come back. You dump all of the shirts and jackets and little crafts he'd given you in front of him on your patio and throw a plastic bag at him afterwards. "I can't believe you think I'd do that," you said. "So much for trust."

PONYBOY was nervous when he realised he wanted to focus more on school than on his relationship. He didn't want to disappoint Darry with his grades dropping since he was with you. He felt as though you held a restriction against him from succeeding even though he knew you weren't in his heart. "Y/n," he says to you as you're walking him home. "Yeah?" You ask, turning your head to look at him. "I- um. I have something to say but I know you won't like it." "What is it?" You ask. "You can tell me anything, I promise I won't get mad." "I want to break up." He says, bluntly. "What?" You ask, stopping dead in your tracks, his house is only a few hundred yards away. "I need to focus on my schoolwork and you're not letting me do that," he explains, angering you more and more by the second. "What do you mean I'm not letting you do that? Pony, all we ever do Is read and study whenever we're over at each other's houses," you reply. "And the one day a week where we aren't studying, we spend some time together and out with the gang. Just like everybody else on a Saturday." "Just respect my decision," he says. "Respect? Why should I?" You ask, getting angrier by the minute. "You want me to respect you breaking up with me for pretty much no reason because the one you 're giving me makes no sense." "Just go home," he snaps before turning around and walking away, leaving you standing there, tears rolling down your face.

DALLAS would break up with you right after he gets out of the cooler. He had convinced himself you were cheating on him with Sodapop, similar to Sylvia. You had gone over to Buck's the second you had found out he was free again and walked in with a huge smile beaming across your face. However, when you opened the door, Buck gave you the dirtiest look he could before mumbling something under his breath and watching you walk past him and up the stairs. Weird. "Hey, Dal!" You exclaim, opening the door and jumping onto his, wrapping your arms around him. "I missed you." Usually, he would hug you back and kiss you on the head, telling you how much he had missed you too; even when he was only in there for a couple of nights. This time, he shoves you away from him, anger displayed across his face. "Dal?" You ask, confused. "What's wrong? Did something happen while you were in the cooler?" "You tell me, y/n. You tell me what happened," he says, snarling at you. "I- I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't done anything. at least, I don't think I have," you say, trying to think if you had done anything wrong in the three weeks he had been gone. "Don't pull that's hit!" He yells, scaring you and making you jump a little. "I know what you did, you little whore! I know you fucked him!" What the fuck was this guy talking about. "What!? I didn't fuck anybody! I haven't had sex since a few nights before you got done in, and that was with you." "Oh, bullshit!" "Who did I fuck then, huh? Who are you convinced that I slept with?" You ask, yelling in his face, hurt in your eyes. "Soda." You almost laugh in his face but remember that probably would be the smartest thing to do. "Seriously? Soda?" You say. "You really think I would do something like that? How could you?" "How could I?" He yells. "How could you! You fucked my friend!" You shook your head and scoffed. "I don't know why I bother. You're clearly not listening to me and you don't want to believe me. Ask Soda about it and then you'll see that I have not laid a finger on him."

JOHNNY breaks up with you after weeks of weighing up the pros and cons. He felt that you were too good for him and someone with a life as messed up as his doesn't deserve someone as perfect and as gorgeous as you. "Johnny?" You ask, seeing a figure lying on the concrete in the lot as you're walking home late from the drive-in. "Is that you?" "Y/n," he says. "I'm sorry." "Why are you sorry?" You smile, helping him up onto a bench, sitting beside him and holding his hand. "You have no reason to apologise." "I do, though," he says, hesitating before continuing. "I can't keep doing this." "What do you mean?" You ask, worry clouding your eyes. "I can't keep doing this. I'm constantly embarrassing you when we're out together; I can't tell that people make fun of you for dating me. I'm nowhere near good enough for you. I can't sit here and watch you waste your life away for someone like me. You deserve some rich fancy soc like Rndy or Bob." "Johnny, what the hell are you talking about?" You say, letting go of his hand. "I love you more than anything. I don't care what anybody else thinks and if you think that I should then why? Why should I care? if they saw you the way that I do then they'd all understand." "I've made up my mind," he says, not bothering to look you in the eyes as he gets up, his back facing you. "And there's nothing you can say to change it." With that, he walks away, leaving you sat on the bench with hot tears streaming down your cheeks, leaving red lines on the skin. Cold. Lonely. And confused.

STEVE has some trouble with girls. He always ends up saying the wrong thing and, similar to Johnny, he feels that you are way too good for him to treat you the way that he knows he eventually will. He knows damn well that one day, you'll get sick of him being a dick and leave him anyway, just like everyone else. So why bother waiting until then when he could just end it right now? The phone rings. "Hello?" You say, picking it up after a couple of dials. "Hey, babydoll," Steve says, his voice making you smile. "Hi, handsome," you reply. "What can I do for ya?" "I have to talk to you about something," he says. "But I want you to hear me out first." "O...kay?" You say, confused about what is about to happen. "Am I in trouble?" "No," he chuckles. "But I know I will be soon." Your smile drops. What is he doing? "Firstly, I want to tell you how much I love you. I think you are the most amazing woman I have ever met and I want you to know that this is not your fault and I have loved every moment with you." He says, making a tear form in your eye. You know what he's doing. "Steve," you whisper. He never shows his emotions like this. the most he's ever said to you is that he loves you and thinks that you're the most gorgeous broad he's ever seen. He has never admitted his feelings this extremely before. "I can't let you be with me anymore. I don't want to be a part of your life anymore. I know I'll just ruin it. I'll be over tomorrow morning to pick up my stuff. I love you, y/n." He hangs up. You hold the phone to your ear and drown in the continuous beep of the ending line. You had never been so hurt in your life.

TWOBIT breaks up with you because he finds someone else. I know this makes him out to be a bad person but I feel like he has so much love for you but when he meets this other girl, he knows that if he loved you as much as he thought he did, she wouldn't have sparked so much interest. "Two," you say, looking up at him. "Who's Kathy?" He lowers his head, looking at his hands in his lap. "Shit, baby." "Just tell me," you say, a tear falling onto your cheek. "She's a girl I met a few weeks ago," he admits. "I bumped into her at the dingo while I was waiting for you and the gang and I realised that I liked her. I'm so sorry" "Do you love her?" You ask. "What?" He says, looking at you with watering eyes himself. "You heard me," you say. "Do you love her, Kieth?" You only ever called him Kieth when you were upset or angry. Right now, you were both. He nods, "I think so." You say nothing and stand up, picking up your bag, putting your shoes on and taking one last look at him. One last look at the man you thought you would spend the rest of your life with. The man who had made you so much happier in the three years of dating you had been through. And you leave. Never to speak to him or your friends, the gang, ever again.

[milkstariez]

hidden hearts ; choi yeonjun

a lively show, unexpected surprises, and fleeting moments that hold more meaning than meets the eye—sometimes, the smallest interactions have the biggest impressions.

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ❟ 𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗶 𝘆𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗻 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲 ❟ 𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 . 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 .

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 ❟ 𝘆𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗿𝗲𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 . 𝘆/𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗵 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗮 . 𝘆𝗲𝗼𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗻 𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘆/𝗻 .

𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ❟ 𝘁𝘅𝘁 𝗺𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗲𝗿𝘀! 𝘀𝗼𝗼𝗯𝗶𝗻 . 𝗯𝗲𝗼𝗺𝗴𝘆𝘂 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗮𝗲𝗵𝘆𝘂𝗻 . 𝗮𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗮'𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗹𝗲𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗷𝗶

(⭐'s note) — this is my first fiction and i hope you guys like it! i'm writing this based on No Prepare Ep. 34 - 35 where yeonjun, soobin, beomgyu and taehyun were invited to lee youngji's show and it was sooo funny. i couldn't help but let my delusional thoughts get the best of me... so i wrote this ;D

📝 english is not my first language, so please forgive any grammar or vocabulary mistakes. i would love any feedback and suggestions

yeonjun adjust his microphone as he sat on the couch in lee youngji's cozy studio. the atmosphere was lively, with his fellow members laughing and joking around. this was their first time on "No Prepare" aside from soobin who had previously attended this show and they were excited about the chaos the show was known for. what yeonjun didn't expect, however, was the little twist that was about to shake things up.

“today, we have another special guests joining us!” youngji announced with her trademark enthusiasm. yeonjun's brow furrowed slightly.

another special guests?

the members exchanged curious looks, but youngji was quick to reveal the surprise.

“please welcome aespa's y/n and winter!”

the studio erupted in cheers, but yeonjun froze. his heart skipped a beat as he watching y/n step in with winter, both of them smiling and waving at the cameras and staffs. y/n looked stunning, her charisma lighting up the room as always.

yeonjun masked his shock with a practiced smile, but his mind was racing. of all the coincidences, how had they both ended up here? the two of them had been secretly dating for over a year, managing to keep their relationship under the wraps. now, here she was, sitting beautifully just a few feet away from him on cameras.

“woah, we didn't know there were more guests! i thought we were special, youngji-ah” soobin said with a wide grin and teasing tone, glancing between the girls and his members.

“plot twist,” taehyun muttered, earning a laugh from everyone.

the first half of the show passed smoothly. everyone was getting along well, sharing stories and playing light games.

“y/n-ssi, can you tell us why you guys came to this show?” asked youngji with a big smile.

“isn't it because we were invited?” replied you innocently while pointing yourself and winter. upon hearing y/n's answer, it instantly drew laughter from the others. yeonjun could only blush and hold back his laughter when he saw your innocent expression.

“nooo! but yes you guys were invited but not only that..i invited you all because you are the people i wanted to hang out and also on the list of playing a big role in this show. i thank you very much for coming to this show” said youngji while bowing and receiving a loud applause.

“woah! i didn't know that i was that important in this show” said soobin proudly, earning a head shake from beomgyu.

...

for a while, yeonjun tried to focus on the conversation, but his eyes would occasionally drift to you. you seemed relaxed, chatting with youngji and the others, but he noticed the faint tension in your shoulders. you was as aware of the situation as he was.

things took a turn when youngji suggested a drinking game.

“let's make this interesting!” she declared, placing a row of soju and beer bottles on the table.

yeonjun glanced at you, who was laughing nervously. he knew that your alcohol tolerance was almost nonexistent, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. he masked it well, but his gaze lingered a little longer than it should have.

the game started simple—truth or drink. winter bravely took a shot after dodging a question about her ideal type. beomgyu, as expected, turned the game chaotic with his over-the-top reactions.

when it was your turn, youngji asked teasingly, “y/n, have you ever had a secret relationship?”

the room burst into laughter at the cheeky question, but yeonjun stiffed. he subtly clenched his fists, waiting for your response.

you can only smiled sweetly, picking up a shot of glass, “i'll drink to that” you said with steady voice. the room exploded in teasing cheers, but yeonjun's focus was on you. he watched as you took the shot, your face scrunching up at the bitter taste. he knew you was doing it to avoid giving anything away, but he couldn't help but worry.

the game continued, you managed to avoid drinking too much by answering most questions with charm and wit. but as the night went on, your cheeks turned pink and your laughter becomes a small giggle.

...

at one point, during a particularly rowdy moment, your eyes accidentally locked with yeonjun's. it was brief, but the looks you exchanged spoke volumes. concern flicked in his gaze but you gave him a small, reassuring smile.

when the recording finally wrapped up, yeonjun excused himself and made his way to a quiet corner of the studio. he didn't have to wait long before you appeared with poise slightly undone by the alcohol.

“you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low enough that no one could overhear. you can only nodded, leaning against the wall. “i'm fine. just didn't expect to see you here”

“same...you handled it well, though” he said, running a hand through his hair.

you chuckled, “you too, but you looked so worried during the game. relax, i wasn't going to spill our secret”

he smirked, his usual confidence returning, “i wasn't worried about that. i was worried about you getting drunk and embarassing yourself”

you rolled your eyes, but smile fondly, “geez, thanks for the concern, boyfriend”

you and yeonjun stayed there for a few moments, savoring the rare opportunity to be close without prying eyes.

“let's get back before someone notices we're both missing”

“yeah..” yeonjun agreed, but before you could walk away, he reached out, gently squeezed your hand and pecked your cheek,

“take care, okay?”

you nodded, cheeks turning even redder— but this time not from the alcohol.

as they returned to the group, both of them wore usual carefree smile. but beneath the surface, their hearts beat a little faster, knowing they'd just shared another secret moment in a sea of hidden ones.

a week after the chaotic yet entertaining episode of No Prepare aired, it didn't take long for netizens to dissect every detail of the interaction between the guests. the video quickly became a trending topic, with fans loving the unexpected chemistry between TXT, aespa and youngji.

but, one thing stood out—yeonjun's behaviour towards y/n.

youtube comments section was full with:

is it just me or did yeonjun keep glancing at y/n throughout the episode? 👀

yeonjun looked so concern every time y/n took a drink. protective king?

i swear he was subtly helping her when she looked uncomfortable during the drinking game. like, bro was READY to catch her if she stumbled.

their interactions were so lowkey, but something about the way yeonjun kept checking on y/n feels... suspicious???

is anyone else shipping them after this? because SAME.

TXT and aespa’s dynamics were fun, but why do I feel like yeonjun and y/n knew each other a little too well? 🤔

on twitter (#yeonjuny/nNoPrepare):

this episode was gold, but yeonjun’s eyes kept drifting to y/n don’t tell me i'm the only one who noticed!

it’s the way he helped y/n with her mic when it got loose mid-recording for me. gentleman behavior 👏

did anyone else catch yeonjun’s soft smile when y/n answered youngji’s question? MY HEART

i don’t know what’s going on, but yeonjun looked like he was ready to throw hands if y/n got too drunk lol.

plot twist: yeonjun and y/n are secretly dating, and this episode exposed them 😭

the way y/n laughed at yeonjun’s jokes even when they weren’t THAT funny. hmmmmm.

fans began creating compilations titled "Moments between yeonjun & y/n on No Prepare", filled with clips of his subtle glances, his quiet attentiveness, and the way they seemed to share unspoken moments.

while neither yeonjun nor y/n commented on the speculations, those who knew the truth couldn’t help but laugh at how close netizens had come to figuring it all out. hidden behind the camera lenses and beneath the layers of their busy idol lives, their secret relationship remained intact—at least for now.