#pls don't rip this (me) apart

[dykespence]

Carla : lisa , you know I'd go to hell and back for you. but sometimes I just wish you'd stop going there

[forevermore05]

1. I can't speak for other cultures that were represented in this show (I'm so sorry if your representation was ruined too), but since I'm a South Asian and specifically an Indian and Hindu. I think I have some credibility. Ok, so this may depend on the interpretations of Hinduism that you've grown up with if you're a Hindu reading this. Well, growing up, I was always taught that Chakras were so important. I learned that the GODS could not accomplish something unless they access all their Chakras (again, this is the interpretation I grew up with it might not be the same for you). So the fact that watching Aang just be able to live life without accessing all of his charkas properly was a big slap to the face. Let me just say this right now. If you were representing a culture, especially the culture that you base the entire show on you either do it correctly or you don't do it at all. Don't make it half-baked because that's just disrespecting the people who follow that religion. And you're emphasizing how insignificant their religious values are (mind you Hinduism is one of the oldest religions in the world). What little representation we had was also ruined.

2. I also want to talk about another point since I'm here. I think I've made it very clear that I'm a woman of color. Even though me and Katara Are not the same ethnicity. She was my representation through skin color. And it's so interesting. How even though I knew that she was not my ethnicity, I still grasped onto her as a representation. Now this is not a PSA for studios to say "Hey, let's have a person that is brown, and everyone will be okay with it because they will have a person of the same skin to relate to." No this is me criticizing the lack of diversity in the show. The fact that you can base an entire show on a culture but not be able to handle a main character from that culture. And also I think the reason why I like Zuko and Katara ( I've made this point before) But the amount of respect that they have. As a woman of color, I have not exactly received respect from other men whether that be because of my gender or my skin color. So seeing a woman of color be respected regardless it's just so refreshing to me.

3. Also I want people to be mindful that a lot of people who ship this ship. Are women of color and/or part of the LGBTQIA2S+ community. However, I'm going to talk specifically about women of color since I'm straight. A lot of us have come from countries that have been colonized and still face the repercussions of colonization to this day, so what I'm trying to say is. When woc ship this duo they know what they're doing and they're not doing anything wrong. It's disrespectful to insult them for being racist and misogynistic when in reality a lot of these women face misogyny and racism in their own lives. They understand why they ship this ship. They understand it very well because they able to see and understand what is truly going on.

4. If you have a problem with this post and want to potentially hunt me down. I'm only saying this because I've seen other women of color be harassed for liking Zutara. I need you to remember that I'm a teenager. I'm a kid. I don't think you want to beef with a kid. And no, it does not matter that I'm 18. You shouldn't be harassing anyone over a ship. In fact, accusing shippers of being racist but then being racist to that poc/woc shipper is insane. It kind of shows that those people are not on a moral high horse.

5. I'm a kid......don't even think about it.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

"I don't wanna write smut- but the parasites in me (tbz) want me to write smut."

[galexystern]

every road leads back to you

pairing; steve harrington/ace!reader

rating; t

warnings; fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, second-chance romance

word count; 8.2k

masterlist

It’s all your fault because you aren’t looking where you’re going. Or maybe it’s your coworker Melanie’s fault, for raving about and lending you her copy of the book you can’t tear your eyes from even as you’re walking. Or maybe it’s Brian’s fault, for recommending the book to Melanie. Or maybe it’s the librarian’s fault, for picking it out for Brian.

Regardless, you aren’t looking and so you crash directly into someone.

As your face smushes against a chest, your book tumbles to the ground and you let out an unnecessary yelp. You immediately step back, leaning down for your novel as the other person does too, and you knock heads.

“Ow,” they say, and you freeze. A hand you recognize is holding the book out to you, paired with a familiar voice. You take it hesitantly and slowly straighten back up and look at who you desperately hope it isn’t.

But it is. It’s Steve Harrington.

Realization dawns in his eyes as he stares at you. He says your name in surprise and follows it up with a “Hi.”

You blink at him. Much too late, you reply, “Sorry for running into you,” with red cheeks and hot skin.

A nervous, awkward smile adorns his mouth. “It’s no trouble. I wasn’t looking either.”

You can’t take your eyes off him. He’s still so fucking pretty. You’d really hoped that after he broke your heart, you wouldn’t find him handsome anymore, but no such luck. His hair is gorgeous, his eyes are bright, his lips are perfectly kissable. He’s still toned and fit, tan from the summer sun.

“Hi, I’m Robin.” You finally look away from the specimen that is Steve to see there’s a girl with him. There’s no reason for your heart to twinge, but it does all the same.

You introduce yourself and shake her outstretched hand. Steve’s still looking at you, seemingly oblivious to the conversation until Robin—girlfriend?—elbows him hard. He jerks and glances back at her with a sheepish face and pink cheeks before clearing his throat.

“How are you?” He asks, almost earnestly.

“I’m fine,” you reply, unsure. You’ve heard through the grapevine that Steve has changed somehow, possibly for the better, giving up his King ways and treating people with something like kindness and respect. It all sounds nice but you’ll believe it when you see it. Maybe you’re seeing it now.

“Good,” he says forcefully, like it’s what he wanted to hear. “Congrats on graduating. Heard you were at the top of your class, that’s great.” How is he getting this information about you? Robin eyes him but he pointedly ignores her. “Where’d you go again?”

If he knows your class rank, why doesn’t he know the school? “Butler University,” you supply, confused. Steve smiles and you get it—he did know. He just wanted to make you say it. You think he might be making fun of you, but then he glances at Robin and raises his eyebrows, and you blush when you realize he’s trying to impress Robin with your achievements.

“Um, thanks, I guess.” You clear your throat and change the subject. “What are you up to?” You want to say you’re asking to be polite but it’d be a lie. You wanna know.

“Not much. Robin and I work at Family Video, though she’s leaving me soon for another job.”

He smiles when she rolls her eyes. “We still live together, Dingus. We’ll see each other all the time.” Live together? That’s pretty serious.

“It’s not the same,” Steve responds with a fake-sad teasing tone. Robin looks at you like she’s done with his shit and you have to hold back a giggle. Steve grins at you with a distracting twinkle in his eye when he notices.

“Besides,” Robin adds haughtily, “you are also leaving FV soon.”

Now Steve’s bashful, as you turn to look at him expectantly, and it’s oddly endearing. “Yeah, to spend money, not make it. I’m going to school,” he clarifies for you.

“Business school!” Robin jumps in loudly.

“At the community college,” he rushes to finish. “Nothing fancy.” You bite your cheek at how he’s downplaying something impressive.

“I am allowed to be proud of my best friend,” Robin scolds him and your mind races. If they’re dating, why would she use those words? Sure, couples can be best friends, but is that really the descriptor they would use?

You shake away the thoughts and agree. “It’s something to be proud of, Steve.”

“See?” Robin grins at you. “I like you already. Do you wanna come with us? We’re getting lunch.”

A look of panic flashes over Steve’s face before it disappears, disheartening you. Though you don’t really want to go either. And you can’t. “I have my shift at the library soon. That’s where I’m heading now.”

Robin nods, looking glum. Interestingly, Steve also looks disappointed. “We can let you get going then,” he says. “Sorry again about running into you.”

“Partly my fault too,” you reply, and the three of you do the awkward dance of switching places on the sidewalk. When you’re finally in the right spot, you give them a wave. “See you around.”

“Bye!” Robin calls out.

Steve smiles shyly. “Later.”

And with that, you go on your ways.

;

“What was that?” Robin demands. She and Steve are sitting in their regular booth, regular drinks in front of them and regular meals ordered. She’s staring at him with an expectant expression.

“Uh, our waitress?”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

He sighs. He does know. “We used to date.”

He says it quietly, with feigned lightness, but it doesn’t work. Robin’s eyebrows go even higher. “Date? When?”

“During King Steve.” His mouth twists at the memory. “It was for a couple of months. Didn’t end great. Kinda my fault.”

“Kinda?”

“Okay, all my fault.”

“What happened?”

Steve looks down at the table and plays with his straw wrapper. “I sorta dumped her when she wouldn’t sleep with me.” He winces when he hears Robin’s gasp. “I know. I wasn’t very nice about it either.”

“Steven Edward Harrington!”

“That’s not my middle name,” he mutters.

She goes on with a glare. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Look—“ He ducks when her straw comes flying at him. “Look! I regret it, okay? I feel bad about it. I have since I did it.”

“Did you apologize?” Her eyes are blazing holes into his forehead; he’s still looking down. He shakes his head. "Why the fuck not?"

“I don’t know, so much time has passed. Thought it might be more awkward.”

“You know what’s more awkward? Not apologizing and still having feelings for her.”

Steve jerks his head up. “What?” He sputters. “No, I don’t.”

“I’m not blind, Harrington. I saw that entire interaction.” She pretends to be all moony-eyed. “Oh, where did you go to school again? So I can brag that you graduated at the top of your class?” She drops the act and looks at him.

“I didn’t sound like that.” But he’s unsure. He did know where you went to school and didn’t need to ask. He did want Robin to be impressed. And you're just as gorgeous as you were when he had that hopeless-but-turns-out-not-really crush on you. He can still remember the surprise he’d felt when he learned you liked him too, it had floored him. He couldn’t believe his luck. He still couldn’t believe it after you'd become official.

But thoughts of your relationship bring back memories of how it ended, and he’d blocked those from his mind for a reason. He closes the box and pushes it away again, and continues, “Doesn’t matter. It’s ancient history.”

“If you say so.” She says it like she agrees, but there’s something in her tone that makes him think she knows something he doesn’t.

“What?” He asks.

She eyes him with fake innocence. “Nothing. It’s history. I won’t bring it up again.”

“Robin,” he growls. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She steals the straw from his drink and places it in her glass, swirling the liquid like she’s mixing a potion. “I just don’t think it’s done.”

“Why?”

“Oh, just the way she was looking at you. Like you hung the moon or something. And agreed with me that you should be proud of school. And her blush when you bragged about her. And her shy smiles when you grinned at her.”

He blinks at her. “That’s impossible. I broke her heart.” Badly, he doesn’t add.

She shrugs. “The heart wants what it wants.” She picks up her cup and sips delicately, watching him as he processes. Or tries to process; his brain feels like it’s melting. The box has exploded open and he can't contain everything that's now flooding back. Robin sighs as she sets the drink back down. “I think you should give it another try. Maybe it’ll work out. And if not, at least you’ll have apologized. Because you will apologize.”

She’s expectant again, and he nods meekly. Of course he’s going to apologize. He’s just not sure what he’s gonna say.

;

You’re thinking about ramming your head against the desk—you’ve been that bored for hours—when someone taps on the surface. You look up from your impossible crossword and straighten when you see Steve standing before you. He has a nervous smile and seems to be fidgeting. When he notices you’ve noticed, he places his hands in his pockets.

“Hi,” he says quietly.

“Hi,” you reply, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you. Um, if that’s okay.”

You stare at him. You can feel the anxious energy rolling off of him and the longer you stay silent the more pleading his eyes become. Eventually, you nod. “Gimme a minute.”

Steve nods and waits as you disappear into the office and tell them you’re going on break. Since it’s dead, they don’t mind and so you meet Steve on his side of the desk.

“Outside?” He asks, thumb pointing to the doors.

“Sure.”

He leads the way, holding open each door for you and picking out a shady bench. You sit next to him hesitantly, unable to look him in the eye. What is he doing here?

Steve takes a deep breath and then says, “I’m here to apologize.”

Oh. “Why?”

“For how our relationship ended.”

You finally look up at him. “What?”

He has soft eyes. “That was really horrible of me, and I’m sorry. I’ve regretted it ever since, and I’m a coward for not apologizing sooner. It wasn’t right. None of it was. Well, except for everything before what I did. But it kinda ruins it all, doesn’t it?”

You’re not sure what to say. What he did was horrible. You can still remember all the mean things he’d said, when he’d dumped you and left you crying on your front porch. He hadn’t talked to you after that, and you'd both graduated like nothing had happened. It’d broken your heart. It was devastating. And yet…

“The stuff before that isn’t ruined,” you reply softly. Steve perks up. “It was a really good part. I, um, I liked that part.”

“Me too,” he breathes, like he can’t believe what you’re saying. You almost can’t believe it yourself. But the feeling of euphoria you’d felt after learning Steve Harrington had a crush on you too, when you realized it wasn’t a fantasy but something attainable, eclipses the heartbreak a bit. And your dates are still some of the best you’ve ever had; ones you’ve been on since just don’t hold up to them. And the sensation in your body, mind, and soul when you’d kissed him…ineffable.

So, no. Not ruined. “It did, um, hurt.” You avert your eyes and watch the leaves sway in the summer breeze for a minute. Steve seems content to wait and see if you have more to say. “But I understood,” you eventually add.

“What?” He sounds so confused that you have to look at him again. His brows are furrowed.

“Come on.” You laugh awkwardly. “A girlfriend who wouldn’t put out in high school? That’s a nightmare. I see why you dumped me.”

Steve blinks, and then his hands are grabbing yours and holding on tight. He says your name like he’s pained. “No. That is not a reason to break up with someone and it’s not why I broke up with you. It didn’t even matter to me that much. I ended things because my stupid friends kept making fun of me that we hadn’t had sex yet. I let them influence me into pressuring you and then dumping you when you wouldn't be pressured. That’s what I’m apologizing for. For not having enough of a spine to stand up to those idiots and fight for the only relationship that’s ever been worth anything to me.” He goes red when he realizes what he’s said. “I thought I needed to impress them, but I was wrong. And I lost you in the process.”

You gape at him. Before you can say anything, he’s continuing, “Also for what I said and how I did it. That wasn’t right either. I let them get into my head and speak for me. I didn’t even mean any of that stuff. That doesn’t make it right, I know, but I want you to know that. That I never meant what I said.”

He’s looking at you with those hazel eyes shining in the sun and a ashamed but hopeful expression, and holding your hands in his like he used to when you’d watch a movie together or have dinner, and you want to hug him so tight you might squeeze him to death.

So you do.

He’s caught unaware by it, by you leaping forward and hugging him hard, but he regains composure quite quickly and hugs you back. He exhales in relief and you giggle. It feels amazing to be back in his arms, and it ends much too soon. You both lean back and look at each other, smiling.

“Do you wanna get dinner sometime? Catch up?” Steve asks.

Your heart catches, but… “What about Robin?”

“Robin?” He looks confused but then it seems to dawn on him. “Oh! No, she’s not my girlfriend. She’s just my best friend. Has been for five years.”

You’re a little surprised but take it in stride. “Oh, okay. Dinner sounds good.”

He nods excitedly. “Maybe Friday night, 6pm? We can go to the diner. It’s our favorite.”

You smile at his eagerness. “Is 7 okay? I work until 6:30.”

“Of course! I can come pick you up here and walk you to the diner.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” he reassures, and you blush a little.

“If you insist,” you say reluctantly, and he grins in triumph.

At that moment, the door opens and your coworker sticks her head out. She motions for you to come back and then disappears. You sigh and stand, Steve following suit. “I gotta go.”

“No worries. I’ll see you Friday?”

You nod. “Friday.”

Steve smiles brightly and then starts walking away. You go to the door and open it, pausing to watch him leave. Your heart skips a beat when you see the happy skip in his step.

;

A knock on the door has you lifting your head from the last of your closing tasks. You see Steve, hair gleaming in the sun and sunglasses coolly covering his eyes. But they don’t hide the smile on his face, or the excited wave he sends through the glass. You smile back, motioning for him to give you one minute, and he nods. You rush through the rest of your agenda before rushing to grab your stuff and rushing out the door.

“Hi,” he says happily when you appear.

“Hi,” you reply softly, hiding your shy anxiety by focusing on locking the door. Once that’s done, you look back at him.

He's gorgeous. “Ready?”

At your nod, he sweeps out an arm for you to go first, and so you start the journey to the diner. He falls into step with you, strolling easily, like it’s effortless.

“How are you?” He follows up, as you pass the florist.

“Good. Tired, but who isn’t?” You attempt to joke. Before he can respond, you continue, “How are you?”

“I’ll be honest, I’m a little nervous.”

“What?” You can’t help your shocked laugh. “You’re nervous?”

He grins and nods. “Terrified.”

That knowledge relaxes you a bit, and some tension floods away. His arm brushes yours as you pass the pharmacy. You have to hide the shiver it sends down your spine.

“Here we are.” He slows to a stop and pulls open the diner door for you. You walk in with a grateful nod, noticing that it’s pretty empty, despite it being prime dinner time on a Friday night. Steve notices you looking around. “Football game. First of the year. That’s where everyone is.”

You look back at him but then the hostess comes up and takes you to a booth. You slide onto the red vinyl bench as he does the same opposite you. The butterflies start to swarm when you realize you’re alone with Steve Harrington on purpose for the first time in five years.

“Why aren’t you there?” You blurt out, immediately regretting it.

But Steve doesn’t look bothered. “At the game?” He shrugs. “Football’s never been my thing really. I’d rather be here with you.” The butterflies threaten to make their way up your throat when he smiles widely.

You look down at your menu with a blush. “So,” you say a little too loudly, “what’s good here?”

“The classics. Burger, fries, milkshake. Vanilla only though.”

You make a face. “Absolutely not. Chocolate or bust.”

Steve holds a hand to his chest like he’s clutching a string of pearls. “You heathen. Don’t you dare disrespect vanilla in my house.”

“I’ll do what I like,” you shoot back. He laughs.

“Just as sassy, I see,” he teases. “At least you’re not like Robin. She only goes for a strawberry milkshake.” You stick out your tongue in disgust and he nods. “Exactly! It’s horrifying.”

Your mouth twists to hold back a huge grin. He can tell and lets his own blossom. The waitress comes over and takes your order—vanilla milkshake for him and chocolate for you—before whisking the menus away. Steve sets his hands on the surface, fingers intertwined.

“So,” he says, “how was work?”

“Slow, oh my god. No one comes to the library on Fridays, I swear.”

“‘Cause they’re all at Family Video,” he replies.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. It was nonstop today. Everyone wanted movies for the weekend and wanted to get it done before the game. I even had to break up a fight between two old ladies over the last copy of Dirty Dancing.”

You burst out laughing. “No way.”

“Seriously! They wouldn’t cut it out so we didn’t rent it to either of them. It was snatched up by Mrs. Fletcher.”

“Shut up. Mrs. Fletcher, our old math teacher?”

He nods. “Emphasis on the old. But good for her.”

“Did she recognize you?”

“She always does. She insists on squeezing my cheek and lamenting how poorly I did in her class.”

You giggle. “You never did get a good grade.”

“It’s not my fault math isn’t my strong suit. She should’ve been an English teacher if she wanted to see me succeed.”

“Right, you were always freakishly good in English.”

“I recall my knack for English saving your butt when midterms rolled around.”

“Only because my science knowledge saved yours.”

“Yes, that was a good balancing act, huh?”

You two look at each other, remembering happier times when you’d tutor each other before descending into a makeout session. As you stare at Steve, memories of his lips sucking on your neck while you tugged on his hair surfacing, you blush and change the subject. "What kind of business are you gonna go into?"

He adopts a thoughtful expression. "I don't know. Been thinking about it a lot lately, but I can't seem to pick something."

"Well," you spread your hands on the table, "what do you like?"

"What?"

"In life. What are your favorite things in life?"

"My friends," he replies automatically, and you smile. "Basketball."

"Maybe sports business?"

He makes a face. "I only really like basketball. Nothing else is interesting."

"I could argue with you about that as baseball's advocate but I won't. For now." Steve grins at that. "What else?"

"Kids. I want a whole pack of them."

You melt. There's a niggling thought invading your mind about the origin of children, but you push it away and offer, "Maybe school administration? Like a principal or superintendent."

Something lights up in his eyes. "That could be good. I'm not sure I'm cut out to be a teacher."

"You'd make a great teacher."

He blushes but says, "Thanks. But I meant more in terms of picking a grade or subject. I like the lot of them."

"You like all ages of kids?" Your eyebrows are at your hairline. "Even angsty, angry eighth graders? Even rude, can't be bothered high schoolers?"

"Yup." He pops the p while nodding. "Adults seem to forget that they were that age once too. I just think about how I wish I'd been treated and do that."

"You'll really put the 'pal' in principal," you joke, laughing when he rolls his eyes at the corny nature of it. "Seriously, Steve, that sounds perfect for you."

"You think?" When you nod, he grins and you smile reflexively. His smiles were always infectious. "Okay. I'll look into it more."

The waitress reappears and places your milkshakes on the table. "Burgers and fries are on their way, kids," she says. "Couple minutes."

"No problem," Steve says brightly, with a kind smile just for her, making her blush. She walks away, and both of you excitedly unwrap your straws and dip them into the frothy goodness. You each take a sip, your eyes widening in pleasure as he groans at the delicious taste. After a few more sips, you lean back.

"Wow, that is so good," you say in surprise. You've never really trusted diner food tastiness.

"Told you," he replies, around a mouthful of ice cream, and you laugh. He pushes the glass back towards the middle of the table and gazes at you. "Almost perfect."

"Almost?"

"Perfect would've been us splitting one." Your face heats at the picture of the two of you leaning forward to sip at the same time, so close that you'd be centimeters away from each other. The idea of his honey eyes being right there, staring into yours, with lips pursed around his straw like puckering up for a kiss, has your mind spinning. You'd never been able to resist getting lost in those hazel beauties.

"Would've been nice," you squeak out, immediately wincing internally at the uncoolness of it all. But Steve just smiles and nods. At the same time, your waitress comes back with your food, placing all the plates on the table and a stack of napkins so high it's kind of ridiculous. You sigh in relief, both of you arranging your meals how you like—you remove the tomato and Steve steals it to add to his burger, he takes out all but a little of his onion—and digging in. You two eat in comfortable silence until your food is about half-gone.

"So, pretty girl, how was school?" He asks before taking another handful of fries.

You blush at the nickname, but thank god, a safe topic. "It was good. Spent a lot of time in the library."

His face doesn't change, but you can tell he finds that disappointing. "Oh, okay. That sounds fun."

You giggle. "You were always a bad liar, Steve."

He turns sheepish. "Sorry. Books are not my idea of a good time, but I know how much you love to read. And I guess you don't get to be top of your class without spending a good amount of time studying."

"True. But I wasn't a complete recluse. I joined a sorority."

"A sorority?" He's surprised. "Like Greek life sorority? Frat parties and everything?"

"Kinda. It was a sorority but not a slutty one or anything." You sigh. "That's not what I meant. I mean our members were not limited to blonde, skinny white girls; it was more diverse. We had our slutty members too. Nothing wrong with that."

"Were you one of them?" It's a tease but there's a tense undercurrent to the question. You shake your head and relief flashes over his face briefly. It's sweet that he was worried about it, it makes your heart beat just a little faster, but you have an uneasy feeling in your stomach. You'd had your fun in school, did your time getting wasted and high and doing dangerous things with your friends and flirting with plenty of people, but you'd never actually wanted to have sex with anyone, even those you found aesthetically attractive. You'd done it anyway of course, to be an insider, because it's what you're supposed to want and do. But it'd never felt good and you'd never really desired to do it. It'd freaked you out then and it freaks you out now. So you refuse to think about it.

"What have you been doing since graduation?" You ask.

"Well, I worked at the mall before it exploded."

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that."

"Yeah, it was wild. I worked at the ice cream shop. Scoops Ahoy."

"Ahoy?" He nods. You cock your head as your mind races ahead of you. "Was it nautical-themed?" He nods again, this time with a disgusted face. "Wait, did you have to wear a uniform?"

He looks a little anxious now. "Yes," he answers nervously.

"OMG," you exclaim, reading all the signs in his body language, "did you have to dress up...as a sailor?" His features scrunch in distaste. When he reluctantly nods for the third time, you gasp gleefully. "That's amazing. I wish I could've seen it."

"Unfortunately, the uniform did not go up in the fiery blaze." He sniffs haughtily. "A true shame."

"So you still have it?"

His eyes widen when he realizes what he's admitted. You stare each other down and he blinks first. "Yes," he sighs, rolling his eyes fondly when you clap your hands in joy.

"I have to see it. I have to see you in it." He shakes his head firmly and you pout. You put a pleading edge to your next words, "What can I do to make that happen?"

He eyes you in interest. He pretends to think about it, but his answer comes a little too quickly for it to have been thought up in the moment. "Go out with me again."

You bite your lip slightly and shrug, suddenly so nervous that a reply is caught in your throat.

He plays with the straw in his milkshake, practically finished. "Did I mention that the shorts are absurdly short? And it comes with a little hat?"

You fight back a smile but he knows he's won. His grin is blinding when you respond, "Okay."

"Great." Your stomach flips at the happiness in his voice, like he's won something precious. "What should we do?"

You ponder the question. "How about we go someplace with alcohol?"

"I can make that happen," he replies, his wink making you look away with pink cheeks. You watch as he takes out his wallet, throws a couple bills on the table, and then stands. He holds out a hand and you take it, sliding out of the booth. He doesn't drop it as he walks you to the door and through it. He glances at you. "Wanna get some ice cream?"

"We just had milkshakes," you point out, giggling.

"Can never have too much ice cream."

"Shouldn't you be sick of it by now? That's what happens when you work at a restaurant; you get sick of what you serve."

He makes a conceding noise and you smile. "You got me. I just wanted to spend more time with you."

"I can make that happen," you tease. "Let's get some ice cream."

He looks at you with a fond gaze as he gently tugs you down the street. "You just wanted to hear me say it, huh?" You smile enigmatically, and he chuckles, squeezing your hand tighter. "Never change, honey."

"Wasn't planning on it." You bite your cheek to make sure this is really happening.

"Good."

It is.

;

The next few months are a whirlwind of Steve, Robin, their friends, work, Steve, Steve, Steve. You two see each other a lot, both feeling like everything is right with the world when you're together. He keeps his promise and takes you to a bar for the second date, staying mostly sober while you get drunk, so he can make sure you get home safe. He finds intoxicated you adorable, speaking your mind and letting loose on the dance floor. He's surprised he has so much fun dancing without a sexual end to the night.

You go to the movies a couple times. You choose Ghost but have a bad time, uncomfortable with all of the sexual overtones while being there with Steve, who doesn't seem to notice your poorly hidden tension since his eyes are glued to the screen (though he refuses to admit he liked it that much). So you let him pick next and he goes with the hottest new release Goodfellas, which you liked for its comedy but not its violence, for which you'd held Steve's hand (something he'd been very pleased about). You both end up picking Home Alone as your next choices, loving it and finding it absolutely hilarious, just like everyone else in the theater.

Steve takes you along to some Hawkins basketball games, since his friend Lucas is on the Varsity team and plays a lot. You watch amusedly as Steve gets really into it, yelling at the refs, cheering loudly, telling you the things he would've done had he been the coach instead. But Lucas plays great, putting up the winning shot just as a buzzer rings during one game, and Steve goes crazy with the rest of the crowd, shocking you by hugging you tight in his excitement. He's apologetic about it after, but you reassure him it's very okay; you'd never turn down a hug from him.

Steve even drives you into Indianapolis now and then, escorting you to museums and tagging along to concerts. His friend Eddie joins sometimes, when you're seeing a band he likes—you two have surprisingly similar music tastes, something that delights him since no one seems to appreciate his “artistic genius” in Hawkins. Steve brings you to the Hideout at Eddie's urging and your pleading; despite not really liking Corroded Coffin, he can't say no to your puppy dog eyes. You end up loving them and predicting they're gonna make it big, something Steve doubts but enjoys seeing you have fun.

Throughout it all, there's a thread of tension thrumming in your body. Steve had kissed your cheek at the end of your first couple of dates, and then upgraded to a chaste kiss on the lips, and while his lips were soft and warm and felt nice on your skin, you didn't feel anything beyond a growing romantic attachment for him. You don't want to rip his clothes off, you don't want him to rip off yours. You have no desire to do anything naked with him, with maybe the exception of skinny-dipping, and only because you haven't done it before and it's on your bucket list. But you can feel yourself falling for him anyways, which is a dangerous game. He hasn't pressured you into having sex, and you keep reminding yourself of what he said in his apology about not minding not having sex, but that was five years ago and you were high schoolers, basically kids. Now you're full-fledged adults and a sex life is an important part of an adult relationship and he would be well within his rights to break up with you if you refuse to have sex with him.

You dread the day that happens, knowing it'll come, but you can't help yourself from still seeing him, going on cute little dates where he makes you blush and laugh and smirk. They're better than the ones in high school, and mostly only because you two can do whatever you want now and can drink on top of it. There's nothing stopping you from spending all your time together, and so you do.

You even entrust him with the secret of applying for grad schools, wanting to get a master's in library science so you can become an actual librarian. He thinks it's perfect for you, encourages you to apply anywhere and everywhere, promising to come visit when you eventually get accepted somewhere. There's a lump in your throat whenever he says the distance doesn't matter, he'll come to you no matter where you are, and a constant voice in your head telling you that it's not fair to him, not fair to keep hidden your lack of sexual attraction while he thinks about a future with you. But you're so scared of telling him and being rejected again—and you really think Steve is the one—that you keep your lips sealed.

And then the day comes.

It's a normal, ordinary night. You're up late reading—another book recommended by Melanie—when the phone rings. Annoyed at being interrupted at a good spot, you pick up the phone and grit out an irritated "Hello?"

"Angel!"

Your bad mood instantly vanishes when you realize who it is. "Hi, Stevie. What are you doing?"

"Alcohol!"

You giggle at his unnecessary loudness. He must be pretty drunk, which makes sense; you knew he and Robin were going out tonight. He'd invited you but you weren't feeling up to it. "Sounds like you're having fun."

"Yeah! But I miss you!"

A smile blossoms across your face. "Miss you too."

"Wish I was with you!"

You snort softly at the exclamation point he puts after every sentence. "Me too. How's your night been?"

"Good! Robin got a girl's number!"

"Good for her. Vickie might be upset though," naming Robin's girlfriend.

"Probably!" You laugh. "Baby!"

"Yeah?"

"Wanna kiss you!"

"Me too, pretty boy."

"Wanna kiss you all over! You're so sexy, you know that!" You freeze. "You turn me on so much!"

You think your heart may have stopped completely. "That's nice," you hear yourself reply faintly, a buzzing in your ears blocking all sound. "Stevie, can I talk to Robin?"

"Yeah!" You hear rustling and then Robin says, "Sorry about that. He escaped when a girl was flirting with me. Even though I told her multiple times I had a girlfriend she gave me her number anyway." You can picture the eye roll she must be performing.

"It's fine," you reply, voice still quiet. "Make sure Steve gets home safe, yeah?"

"Of course, you'll get him back safe and sound."

I won't get him back at all, you think. "Thanks. I'm gonna go, okay? Feeling tired."

"Okay. Have a good night, babe." There's more rustling and then she adds, "Wait, Steve wants to say bye."

"Goodnight, honey!" He yells into the phone. "Sweet dreams!"

"Thanks, Stevie," you whisper. You hear the line click as the call ends, and you slowly hang up your phone in a daze. You stare at the wall for a while, mind blank, and then turn off the lights and slip into bed. You lie awake for a long time, hoping you can come up with a different plan of action than the one you currently have, but you can't. Your time has run out. It's time for the extraction.

;

Steve knocks on your door for the third time that week. You hadn't answered the first two times he'd come around, but he needs to check again. He can't let you disappear on him, can't give up this time, not when it's going so well. Or had been, at least. It's been a couple weeks since you stopped answering his calls, wouldn't call him back, hid from him at work when he visited you, wouldn't open your door, and he's desperate. He's at the end of his rope. He needs to talk to you.

He knocks again and calls your name. It sounds pathetic enough, but he puts every ounce of pleading into his voice to croak out, "Please."

The door opens to reveal a sliver of you. You look awful—Steve thinks you're pretty all the time and always will, but there are layers of sadness, exhaustion, frustration on your face that look like they weigh you down so much you'd sink in shallow water. His heart clenches at the sight and he wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms and take away your burdens.

"Please go away, Steve," you say quietly, half-heartedly. "I don't want to see you."

"I don't believe that. You want to see me, you just won't let yourself." You look away and he knows he's got it right. "Why? Sweetheart, talk to me." Your lower lip wobbles and he reflexively takes a step forward, stomach falling when you step back. "Please, baby. I'll do anything. Just tell me what's wrong. Tell me what I did and I'll fix it."

Tears spring to your eyes and start dripping down your cheeks. You hesitantly open the door wider and he seizes the space, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. "You didn't do anything wrong," you say, and he almost cracks apart at the heartbreak in your words.

"Come on, honey," he says gently, and slowly leads you into the living room, sitting you on the couch and placing himself beside you. "What's happened then? I thought things were good."

"They were. It's just...I'm not right for you."

"What? Yes, you are."

"We aren't a good match."

"I don't understand. We make each other happy, isn't that enough?"

"I can't give you everything you need." You're staring at him like you're hoping he'll know what you mean, but he doesn't. He's at a loss.

"Like what?" He asks desperately. "Tell me."

"Steve," you say in anguish. You take a shuddering breath. "I don't wanna have sex with you."

He blinks at you. "You're not attracted to me?"

You shake your head. "But it's not you. Or just you. Something's wrong with me. I'm not...I'm not attracted to anyone." A fresh wave of tears spill down your face. "I don't wanna have sex with anyone."

Sobs emerge at the end of your sentence, and Steve leans forward to wrap his arms around you and pull you to him. You press your face to his chest, soaking the fabric but he doesn't care. He buries his face in your hair, placing kisses at the crown of your head, only happy that he's with you again. "Nothing's wrong with you," he says softly, hands tightening when you cry harder. "I promise, pretty girl. Nothing's wrong with you."

"Then why don't I wanna have sex with anyone?" You mumble against him, with another surge of sobs.

"Some people just don't wanna have sex," he replies. "It's called asexuality. Robin taught me. She gave me a crash course in all things LGBTQ+ after she came out to me."

You lean back to look up at him and hiccup a small laugh, which Steve considers a win. "She would."

"I'm surprised you didn't learn about it in college."

"I didn't tell anyone," you admit. "I thought I was, I don't know, defective. And Greek life isn't a great place for that, I guess. Like, I had sex anyway." You shake your head. "I didn't like it."

"I'm sorry, baby," he says empathetically. "I hope no one forced you."

"Just myself." You smile humorlessly.

"You don't have to," he reassures. "Not with me."

"But what about you? I know you're not...asexual." You try out the new word.

"I'm not, you're right. But we'll figure it out. Promise."

You duck your head. "It's not fair to you."

"That's my decision," he says gently but firmly.

"I'm not worth it."

He tuts, placing his fingers under your chin and lifting your head until you're facing him again. "Look at me, pretty girl." It takes a few seconds, but you eventually meet his gaze. "You are definitely, absolutely worth it."

"Steve," you say, like you don't believe him, because you don’t. "Come on."

"I mean it. You are one hundred percent worth it." He puts every last drop of meaning into it.

"I'm worth not having sex again?" You doubt it.

"Look, are you open to having sex with me?"

Anxiety invades your features. "I don't know," you answer quietly.

"Okay. That's not a no. We can look into it. And if it becomes a no, we'll deal with it. We can talk about other options. But I'm not losing you again. You're it for me."

You gaze at him with hope in your eyes, at last. It's beautiful, just like you. "Are you sure?"

Instead of answering, he leans down to kiss you. You're surprised by it, but you lean in anyways, unable to turn down a kiss from him. He hums happily against your lips, and you break away with a giggle. He rests his forehead against yours. "I'm so sure, baby," he whispers.

You study him, looking deep in his eyes, and then whisper back, "Okay."

He relaxes completely, smiling widely. Your smile back is small, but it's there and he's still yours so it doesn't matter. Then you lean your head on his shoulder and groan. "I can't believe I never knew about asexuality. You'd think all those books would teach me something, but I guess not."

"It's okay, sweetheart," Steve chuckles. "I only know because of Robin. She actually asked me if you were ace but I didn't know. So she suspects, at least."

"As long as y'all didn't bet on me," you warn.

"No bets," he promises. "That's for TV shows."

You laugh a little, the sound music to his ears. You lean back and look at him shyly. "You're it for me too."

He beams.

;

“Come on!” You sing-song. “You promised.”

“I never actually promised,” comes Steve’s muffled voice from behind the closed bathroom door.

You tsk. “Then I will just have to tell everyone Steven Michael Harrington doesn’t keep his word and reneges on his deals.”

“That’s not my middle name,” he groans, making you smile. It grows wider when he adds, “Alright, alright. I’m coming out.”

You watch in rapture as the door slowly opens to reveal Steve, in a dark blue sailor’s outfit, shorts as absurdly short as he’d said, a little white hat sitting atop his styled hair. You gasp as soon as you see him, unable to decide what to look at first, hiding a giggle at the grimace on his face.

“I told you it ruins my hair,” he mutters.

You give him a fake sad expression. “Oh, baby. Did it ruin your chances with tons of girls? They couldn’t swoon since they couldn’t see your luscious hair?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, shutting his mouth when you playfully raise an eyebrow. “I mean, no! I’m grateful it made me look horrible and childish in front of a lot of girls I was trying to flirt with. Because I wouldn’t have been able to be with you. It was…a gift from the universe.”

His face breaks into a relieved grin at his ingenuity in the moment, and you finally laugh. “Whatever you say, baby.”

He sticks his tongue out at you and you do the same back to him.

It’s been a couple weeks since your big talk. Steve has been just as caring and thoughtful as before, and you’re starting to think he was telling the truth (you don’t think he was lying per se, but now you can feel yourself start to believe it). You’ve started seeing a therapist—it’s very early and no decisions have been made, but she’s very understanding about asexuality and actually helping you work through it. Steve has even offered to go to couple’s counseling if you need it, to discuss what you should do going forward.

It’s very sweet of him, and makes you fall even deeper in love with him, but you don’t think it’s necessary. You haven’t thought it all the way through yet, but you think you’ll try sex with him. You may not be attracted to him, and you may not get any physical pleasure out of it, but the idea of being so intimate and close with him, and making him feel good, feels like the right choice. You haven’t talked to him about it and you hope he’ll be happy about it. You don’t see why he wouldn’t be.

He also doesn’t pressure you into anything and never initiates more than cuddling and kissing—he’s quite clingy when he’s in a relationship. In fact, it’s been you who’s doing the initiating, starting a make-out session or kissing somewhere other than his lips. The rush you get from his reactions are more than enough to make up for the lack of physical desire you have. The desire to make him feel good is just as nice.

“So,” he says, bringing you back to the present. He does a little twirl. “What do you think?”

“You look really sexy, baby.” At his look, you add, “Seriously! I know when things are sexy even if I don’t find them sexy. And you’re sexy in that. The amount of leg shown? The low cut of the shirt? The little ascot things that someone can use to pull you forward? Not to mention the prospect of calling you 'sailor' in bed.”

“If someone called me 'sailor' in bed I think I’d actually die of embarrassment,” Steve states, and you snort.

“How is that any different than ‘cowboy’?” You ask. “Or for that matter, how is it worse than ‘daddy’?”

“I don’t know, it just is.” He groans and makes his way over to the bed, where you’re sitting, and flops next to you. He takes off his cap and goes to throw it away from him, but you grab it and place it on your head.

You pose. “How do I look?”

He smiles. “Gorgeous, angel. Sorry—sailor.”

“Is ‘sailor’ gender-neutral?” You wonder aloud.

“I don’t know,” Steve murmurs, still gazing at you with heart eyes. He still can’t quite believe you’re here with him again, for good this time if he can make it happen, and how amazing it feels. You two just fit together.

You look down at him and blush at his blatant adoration. He huffs a little laugh when you glance away. He loves that he can still fluster you so easily. He wants to do it forever.

“Hey,” he says softly, and waits until you meet his eyes again. “I love you.”

He can see you melting inside, and it makes him go all gooey too. “I love you,” you reply, barely above a whisper, like if you say it louder it’ll break the illusion.

But there isn’t an illusion. And Steve is prepared to make sure you know that for the rest of your lives.

Your mouth twitches. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a sailor tell me they love me,” you continue innocently. Steve narrows his eyes. “I’m surprised you didn’t say ‘ahoy’ instead of ‘hey’.”

He pounces and you let out peals of giggles as his hands descend to tickle you mercilessly. “I could make you walk the plank for that kind of sass, baby,” he teases, fingers digging into your sides as you flail and try to escape him, laughing all the while.

“I’ll bring you down with me,” you shriek. You finally get a foot in between your bodies and shove him away, making him go toppling off the bed. You gasp as he lands with a thud. “Steve!”

He’s laughing as he lays on the floor, watching you peek over the edge of the bed. “Man overboard,” he wheezes out, and you collapse on the bed in exasperated relief.

When his laughter dies down, he looks up at you, peering down at him from the safety of the mattress. “Would you like a hand, sailor?” You ask jokingly.

“Yes, please pull me from these depths, they’re infested with sharks,” he replies dramatically, making you chuckle as you reach a hand down for him to grab. He does so, and you haul him back into the bed with you. He lays down and pulls you close, and you rest your head on his chest. Closing his eyes, he revels in the feeling of you against him, and vows to never let you go again.

[freezethebeez]

Oh and this song is literally about a vampire haha

LETS GOOOO MORE VAMPIRE MUSIC ah i can really never have enough. love me some vampire music :thumbs_up:

[clochanamarch]

honestly the thing that's ruining my good vibes today is the fact that i can't make screencaps on net.flix anymore, like idk what that's about but it's very rude and i wanna fight the man responsible.

[drewsbraziliangf]

nothing to say when heaven falls | Drew Starkey x black!reader

summary: what can you do when the person that’s supposed to understand and be on your side chooses to doubt your fears?

Word count: 1388

a/n: not edited, we die like soldiers!!!!! pls let me know if you wish to be added to my taglist

"How can't you see how disrespectful this is to me, Drew?" You ask with a strained voice and teary eyes. "Everywhere you go she's looming like a shadow."

"She's my friend, what do you want me to do?" Exasperated, he asks.

"I don't know. Maybe tell her that your fiancé doesn't feel comfortable with her following you around, traveling abroad to see you or fuck, being all fucking touchy and handsy with you in public."

My throat was burning as the words slipped my mouth but I simply couldn't avoid it any longer. I am so tired of this whole situation and it has been going on for far too long. I just can't hold it back anymore.

"Can't exactly tell her what to do," he rolled his eyes this time.

"Really? Am I really asking for that much?" I look at the man in front of me with disbelief, "I just want to feel like I'm not invisible in my own goddamn relationship. She sees you more than I do and I am the one with a ring on my finger. How is this fair?" 

"Babe, listen, there's nothing going on between me and her. You have to believe me," he pleads as he runs his hands through his hair.

"You don't think I'm trying to believe you? I'm in the trenches everyday telling myself this over and over again, but how can I turn a blind eye to it when the first thing I see whenever I'm online is that you're both coincidently in the same city. For the millionth time."

I know that pulling this out in the open this way isn't the best option. But how could I keep bottling all of this up when it's causing such a heavy pain in my chest every time I see their names together?

It was always clear the perks of dating a public figure and I never backed out on it. Now seeing the man who asked me to spend the rest of my life with him and have his babies walking around with the woman everyone swears he was romantically involved with is messed up.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” he admits as he walks away from me.

That felt like a punch. Because how could I make it anymore obvious? Do I have to draw it to a thirty year old why he should respect the woman he chose to propose to? 

“Are you for real right now?” I asked as I follow him into the kitchen of our shared apartment. “Did you really just said that to me, Joseph?”

At this point it felt like there was no going back anymore, either this was going to be totally fixed here or it wouldn’t at all. The bandaid was ripped and the wound was open and burning.

“How can you be so dull? You really can’t see what the problem here is?” 

I watch as he fills a glass with water and turns his back to me. He did it twice already. The off white walls of the kitchen lacked the warm they always brought when we were in it together. It felt claustrophobic and like the roof was going to fall over our heads at any given minute.

“You’re acting like I’m cheating on you. Like this is some major fuck up. It isn’t, you’re turning it into something it isn’t.” His tone was cold but looking at his posture it was clear that he was trying to maintain his calm.

The condescending tone in his voice made me want to shrink into myself and hide away from the world.

“Oh, right. Yeah, blame it on me for thinking that my fiancé going out of his way to be with his ex fuck buddy isn’t normal.”

“Careful,” he warns once finally looks at me.

“Or what, Drew? What else could you possibly do that will make me feel worse than I already do?” I challenge, my gaze locked on him as I wait.

After a few minutes of us staring down at each other, he shakes his head and sighs. 

“I’m not doing whatever this is. I’m done entertaining this,” he declares and he leans against the countertop.

Drew and I met around two years ago through a mutual friend. We instantly hit off and after a few dates, he officially asked me to be his girlfriend - which I obviously accepted. We had this instant connection that isn’t common. At first I was terrified of it, I knew who he was and the fact that his life was always being scrutinized by thousands of people. I knew what people said online about him and as we got closer and closer I couldn’t help but lose myself in the speculations about him even more.

Our relationship was great and we always made sure that each others boundaries were respected, so color me stoked to be in this situation right now. I am not dumb and every single day there is a needle pinching me making me think of stuff and situations like the one we find ourselves right now just indulge those thoughts.

In the early days of our relationship we made sure there were no secrets between us and past relationships. I knew I was his first black girlfriend, I knew he was born and raised in the South too. So joining that and the fact that I am an immigrant did make me scared of a lot of things, the main of them being the fact that it isn’t uncommon at all for men to always find their way back to that they are used to. 

So seeing her upon him all the time while people online barely know about our relationship feels like hell. Because even though I’m in family pictures that his sisters post online, and the very visible ring on my finger I am never considered the option of being his significant other. She is. Every single time. And he never did anything about it - hell, he never even set boundaries with her and she knows that we’re together. Am I really reading too much into things? 

Being three months away from our wedding day, this isn’t the kind of thought or conversations I would like to be having. I should be fucking excited and dress hunting, but lately the only thing that I feel like doing is swallowing lumps and holding back tears, faking smiles and pretending I’m fine. I’m not, I’m fucking falling apart and I’m so tired of begging to be seen. 

“I don’t know how else to tell you that I am not comfortable with this and that you shouldn’t be either,” I point out as the first tear cross the edges of my cheeks. “I don’t know how else to ask you to respect our relationship.”

“I respect our relationship, I always did. I just don’t think that what you’re saying right now makes any sense. Whatever I had with her in the past is over.” He says as he runs one of his hands through his face.

“Drew, honey, you’re not seeing things from my point of view. Imagine if it was me catching planes every other day to be with someone that I was involved in with in the past. And all of our friends know that you and I are together. How would that make you feel?”

At that he says nothing but silence can mean many things, and in this case it means consent. 

Tired of this back in forth conversation, I reach for my phone that was besides his on the counter and as if the timing couldn’t be more right, the screen of his phone lights up with an incoming call. No surprise flashes through my features as I see the picture on the caller id, both of them in a mirror picture as they brush their teeth.

“I can’t do this anymore,” I confess watching as he reaches for his phone quickly declining the call. “Not when you’re up to your eyeballs into whatever this is. I’ll make the calls tomorrow and cancel the dates with the venue.”

I grab my phone and my purse and I walk towards the front door before he can say anything else, I’m closing it behind me. 

[dark-moonlust]

Werewolf’s Birthday Presents

Pairing: Werewolf x human reader

Summary: It’s your birthday, and your werewolf has special gifts in store for you—gifts that will leave you gasping and moaning as you enjoy one orgasm after another.

Warnings: minors don't interact, 18+!!!!, monster smut, explicit werewolf smut, oral(fem receiving), huge 🍆, lots of cumming (fem). Don’t like, don’t read.

The cabin was lit by the fading glow of the fireplace.

Ass up in the air, face pressed to the side, you writhed on the bed, your mate’s long tongue thrusting deep into your cunt. Your werewolf held your thighs apart, while he claimed your tight pussy with shameless skill. Bubbling and moaning, you wiggled your waist and fisted the cotton sheets while he had his way with you, devouring your pussy over and over.

It was your birthday, and your mate had promised to give you the best of gifts; one orgasm after the other.

You cried out as you were wracked by another orgasm— was it the fourth or the fifth? You’ve lost count. Your thoughts turned into mush as your pussy clenched around his large tongue. Your big hairy boyfriend growled and didn’t stop stroking you— of course he didn’t.

You gasped, your hips bucking as he found your clit, swirling his tongue around the swollen nub. Your whole frame trembled, the sensations electric. He did it again, circling your clit, his wicked tongue moving in deliberate movements. His musky scent and the heat of his mouth drove you mad with longing and, in no time, you were flying high toward another climax.

“Pl—ahhh… please don’t stop, baby,” you mumbled, your heart pounding in your chest.

“It’s your birthday, little one,” he said, teasing your folds with flicking licks. “I’ll never stop. I’ll make you the damn happiest girl in the world.”

Your orgasm built quickly and crashed over you with perfect blissfulness. Moaning, whimpering, and chanting his name, you let go, your body shaking with force. He didn’t let up, and this time he thrust a thick manicured finger (he kept his nails neat and round for you) inside your quivering depths.

You whined with little aftershocks while he kissed your sensitive clit and purred at you.

“That’s it,” he drawled, a vibrating growl leaving his chest. “Beautiful… my mate is so beautiful when she’s enjoying her birthday gift.”

A flurry of movement and you found yourself sitting back against the headboard, your monster mate crawling between you and draping your legs over his muscular chest that was covered in a fine layer of brown fur. He spread your legs wide, exposing your pink glistening pussy to his hungry gaze.

“Fuck me, please?” you asked sweetly, your fingers opening the lips of your cunt. You wanted his cock.

But that didn’t seem to have the effect you wanted.

Eyes darkening, he bent down and nosed your folds. “My pretty pink pussy. Smells like heaven.”

“Hnn…please, no…”

You meant to say no more teasing, but your words died out when his tongue thrust back inside your cunt. You arched and grabbed his head, but he gripped your asscheeks to keep you in place for his claiming. Thin moans were ripped from you when he curled his tongue upwards, hitting your G-spot. Once again, he had you thrashing wildly, breath coming in short gasps, yet another orgasm hitting you like a freight train.

Breathless and trembling, you didn’t protest when he lifted you and positioned you above his massive, throbbing cock. His shaft was massive, he was so aroused that his knot had already started forming at the base. The slick head of him rubbed against your pussy, his amber eyes fixed on your face. He lifted you a little, adjusted himself until the head of his shaft stretched your entrance.

“Ready to be fucked, birthday girl?”

You nodded eagerly and opened your mouth to reply but a loud cry left your lips instead. He’d pulled you down and impaled you on his cock, your ass resting on his hairy hips. You gasped at the sheer size of him, your walls clenching around his thick cock.

He looked up at you with a smug grin. “Happy birthday, my love. I’m going to give you your second gift now.”

And then he started fucking you, his cock claiming your pussy, the room filled with your moans, his growls, and the wet plap-plap of your bodies joining together. He fucked you again and again, stretching you in ways that left you breathless.

You eagerly took what he gave you, your heart full of love, pussy filled so full of him.

This would be a night you would NEVER forget.

[ovaryacted]

chris redfield is the type to have you on all fours and when he hears you trying to muffle your moans into the pillow he pulls you up into his chest with a bicep around your throat and all you can do is claw at his arm whilst he goes ten times harder 🤗

MDNI/18+. NSFW.

WHEWWW LAWDDDD. Anon, you got me thinking over here, let me cook for a second. cracks knuckles. (I'm a little rusty with smut so pls be nice).

You'd lost track of time, the only thing keeping you grounded being the constant thrusts of the man behind you. It was one of those days, where the stress just built up a tad too much and he needed that release that only you could provide. You couldn't deny Chris when he was so needy, grabbing at you and kneading his hands over your ass, nipping at the base of your throat.

The audible sounds of skin slapping together filled the four walls surrounding you both, loud enough to make a nun blush. One of his hands clutched at your hip, the other dug into the mattress beside your head, keeping him upright. His muscular hips moved against yours as you were propped up, face down ass up, just the way he needed you to be.

Chris pummeled into you with calculated strokes, his cock reaching the deepest parts of you before pulling himself back out. Your walls clenched around him and sucked him in, wrapping his length with your slick that dripped down your thigh.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, digging your face into the pillow underneath you as your mind turned to static. Chris could be overwhelming sometimes, his physique and strength alone being things that he used to his advantage in the bedroom. Nonetheless, he still took great care to focus on your pleasure, to make sure every spot he touched would make you fall apart over and over again.

He groaned as he moved against you, his chest growing wet with sweat that dripped down from his collarbone to his sternum. He remained hyperfocused on the way your ass jigged against his pelvis, the base of him glazed over with streaks of white. His ears picked up on the muffled sounds that came out of you, your chest fully pressed into the mattress and your arms against the sheets.

With ease, Chris brought his fingers to your head, tugging you up with a soft yank of your hair and positioning you flush with his chest. You whimpered at the change of angle, the tip of him hitting that textured spot tucked inside you.

"Are you getting shy on me?", he teased you, grinning against the shell of your ear as he spoke. His tone of voice alone made you clench around him, the ache becoming almost unbearable as you craved more.

"Don't want you to hide from me baby, let me hear you", he wrapped a thick bicep under your neck, securing you against him and intensifying his thrusts. A broken moan ripped from your throat, your fingers clutched at his skin as your nails dug into his forearm. He chuckled deeply against your temple, kissing your cheek before sneaking his other free hand between your legs.

"Chris!", you cried out for him, thick fingers rubbing against your oversensitive clit, pulsing with need as were quickly reaching your limit.

"That's my girl", he praised you, leaving playful bites on your neck and shoulders, not planning on stopping until your voice grew raw and your body had nothing left to give.

[loveyjelly]

Love and Deepspace Boys and their kinks ♡

CW: SMUT, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, thigh job, creampie, clothed sex. (kinks involving clothes specifically) MDNI pls

Rafayel - Uniform Kink

He would insist that you keep your uniform on during sex. He would push you face first against the wall and eat you out from behind, your pants just barely below your ass. His cock would twitch and throb at the sight of you trying so hard to hold yourself up when you're so close to cumming from just his tongue and fingers.

One of his arm would find it's way near the side of your head to support him and the other would reach down and rub gentle circles on your clit. His cock rubs against your folds, using your soaking wet pussy to lube him up. "Cum as much as you want, I need to see your uniform soaked and messy."

He loves gripping your waist and feeling the leather corset that wrapped around your blouse and pulling on the buckle that rested at your collar. After reaching your limit, making you cum multiple times, only then would he allow himself pull out and shoots his load at the fabric resting at your lower back.

Xavier - Nylon Fetish

"Let me just rip it, please" He moves to the edge of the bed and kneeled between your legs, kissing your inner thighs. You tried to protest, you still had a date to go to after all. "Forget about the date. Please, let's just stay home tonight. I'll replace it, I promise" His pleading worked every time. You nodded, and he immediately rips it out to give himself a way to your pussy.

He was eating you out like it was going to be his last meal. His tongue going up and down, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit, and his free hand jerking himself off. Your heartbeat and the slurping sounds Xavier was making were the only thing you can hear right now. You try to push his head away, cuming made you sensitive.

Xavier finally got up, grabbing your ankles and putting them against his shoulders. He pressed your thighs against each other and positioned the tip of his cock in between. He starts thrusting, using your thighs like it was a pussy until he shoots his hot sticky load on your stomach.

Zayne - Wearing his shirt

"Come here" Zayne pats his lap, gesturing for you to sit on it. You do as you're told and wrapped your arms around him. He hooked his finger on the hem of the shirt and lifted it up. "Wearing just panties, huh. Were you expecting something to happen tonight?" He moved your legs so you were straddling his thigh, grabbing your hips and guiding them back and forth. "Don't take your shirt off" He places your hands on his shoulder to prevent you from taking it off.

Your hips started grinding on his thigh by themselves so Zayne moved his hand away from your hips and reached under you shirt to cup your breasts. Every inch he touched left a cold sensation to your skin. It soothed your needy aching body. "Take out my cock and ride it like it's yours." He knew what you wanted from the moment you stepped foot into his apartment today and he is more than willing to let you take it from him. He wanted the same thing too, walking around with just his shirt and panties on, who wouldn't go insane after seeing that? Your hips slapped against his, you wrapped your arms tighter against his shoulders and bury your face on it.

"Fuck, you're clenching around me so tight." He hissed. The sensation of your walls gripping his cock is enough to send him over the edge. You shudder and arch as you take it to the base and cum all over his cock, his orgasm followed not long after. He slowly pumped in and out to see his cum slowly drip out, while enjoying the sound of your heavy breathing and the weight of your body resting on top of his.

[xenteaart]

you are not difficult

pairing: chan x reader (i wrote it with idol!chan or producer!chan in mind, but it can fit any au, really) word count: no idea but it's short genre/warnings: er, angst, hurt/comfort, implied suffering w depression, implied history of SH. also implied shitty ex. so PLS keep that in mind before you read. also, it's all good in the end. author's note: it's a self comfort thing y'all but i hope you like it too.

it was yet another night where everything felt too much and you kinda hated yourself for it. bad day, maybe some hormonal imbalance due to a certain time in your cycle, history of mental illness — it's hard to put a finger on the exact cause. you're sick of trying, anyways.

chris was, of course, right there for you, and as you were falling apart in his arms, your entire soul was aching so bad that it made you want to crawl out of your own skin. it's usually like that, everywhere in your body like some sort of extreme inflammation, except physically you're perfectly fine.

"'m sorry…" you blurt out somewhere between your sobs and cries, still unable to hold eye contact with him.

"baby, you have nothing to be sorry for," chan shakes his head and keeps rubbing circles into your back, just between the shoulder blades where the ache feels the most excruciating.

"kiss me?" you squeak. almost pathetic, honestly, but it's always been your way of checking, whether he still wants you. whether he still loves you and desires you, even at your lowest, even with your mascara all smudged over your cheeks, eyes puffy and red, lips slightly irritated and swollen. even when there's a gaping black hole where the heart is supposed to be.

chris doesn't even question it, really. he simply leans in and gives you a long sweet kiss full of both a partner's tenderness and a lover's lust, so, so willing to do whatever it takes to calm the thunderstorm inside your mind and ease your struggle.

the kiss doesn't really satisfy you, the feeling is still there.

"sorry," you whisper again as you breathe out into chan's lips but the intimate contact doesn't last long. chris frowns and makes some distance between you two to look into your eyes.

"why? baby, why do you keep apologizing?" he sounds gentle but still slightly frustrated.

"i dunno? cos 'm difficult? for bein' difficult?"

there's a silence as he blinks a few times, processing and putting two and two together.

"just because it was difficult for them to love you and take care of you, doesn’t make you difficult. you are not difficult. like, at all," he puts on his serious tone, the one he uses for you when you can't see the obvious and he has to remind you.

you don't really know what to say to that, so you keep playing with the tissue paper in your hands, ripping it apart piece by piece just to keep yourself busy and focused on something other than the burning ache in your chest.

"dealing with mental health isn't easy, that one is true, baby, but it's so easy to love you. you are easy to love. even now, looking so small and in pain but it's still you, and my duty as your boyfriend is to take care of you when you can't. and, hell, you're one of the most capable people i know, so please just let me hold your hand through it once in a while, yeah?" chan speaks slowly and quietly, as if to make every single word sink in, tenderly forcing it into your stupid lovely brain that refuses to cooperate sometimes.

chris feels safe. he feels like lighting up a cookie scented candle after a long day at work. he's the feeling of the ocean timidly licking at your feet and burying them deeper into warm wet sand. chris is the first sip of coffee in the morning and the cold side of the pillow at night. he's everything worth living and trying for.

"thank you," is the only thing you manage to say, but in the way you lean back into his embrace he's able to read a lot more.

"do you want a nice mug o' hot chocolate and some fairy bread, baby?"

this question makes you hiccup and sob once again. you nod and nuzzle closer into the crook of his neck.

[forevermore05]

For me watching Katara and Zuko and shipping them an older teenager reflects on my taste as I've grown up as a teenager. I feel that this dynamic brings a lot of nuance and complexity. I find it amazing that two characters that have been on opposing sides can see eye to eye and create a stronger bond through being able to embrace darkness but being able to find a light within the darkness in each other. And finding a balance between light and darkness within their relationship creates a level of nuance that is so human. I think another reason why I like this dynamic is that there is a focus on what both characters need and want rather than just one (Aang). The idea of being able to understand both characters and why they go together is so important rather than just rooting for a character because they simply have a crush on someone. And as a girl watching Katara taking care of Aang like he is her little brother or child knowing that they're gonna be love interests set off alarm bells for me. When it is a constant issue in our society where women are mothers to their partners. But also it goes to show how young Aang is. But anyway I feel, that even though both Katara and Zuko are so flawed. They can support each other and be able to help one another. There is a level of respect that I appreciate in their dynamic.

I will go in-depth soon I just wanted to get this out there

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

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

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

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

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

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

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

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

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

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

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

I hope he gives her space.

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

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

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

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

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

Words are meaningless in the end.

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

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

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

But time doesn't care. 

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

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

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

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

Irrelevant.

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

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

So, I lied. 

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

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

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

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

This was my punishment. 

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

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

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

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

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

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

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

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

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

Yeah, maybe.

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

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

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

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

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

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

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

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

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

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

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

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

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

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

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

That itch.

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

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

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

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

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

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

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

My blood roared in my ears. 

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

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

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

It was a stranger.

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

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

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

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

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

My hand reached, then hesitated.

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

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

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

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

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

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

"Funny to you?"

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

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

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

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

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

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

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

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

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

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

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

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

See her drown.

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

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

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

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

"Shut the hell up."

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

"You expect a thank you?"

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

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

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

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

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

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

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

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

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

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

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

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

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

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

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

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

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

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

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

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

I watched my hand for a second.

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

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

Traitor.

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

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

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

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

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

Took too many, didn't I?

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

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

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

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

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

Too many. 

Way too many.

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

Stupid. So damn stupid.

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

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

This wasn't me anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

How pathetic.

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

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

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

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

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

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

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

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

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

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

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

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

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

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

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

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

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

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

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

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

Terror. 

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

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

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

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

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

How I hated her silence.

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

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

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

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

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

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

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

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

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

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

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

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

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

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

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

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

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

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

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

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

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

"I know."

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

"I know, love."

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

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

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

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

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

"It's for the best, believe me—"

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

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

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

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

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

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

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

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

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

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

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

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

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

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

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

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

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

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

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

Still—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I spare you," I rasped.

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

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

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

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

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

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

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

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

Her love terrified me.

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

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

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

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

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

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

"Say something, damn it!" 

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

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

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

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

She knew. She always knew.

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

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because I'm selfish.

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

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

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

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

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

So I was barely sober.

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

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

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

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

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

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

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

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

Yet, muscle memory took over.

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

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

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

Once, perhaps, it was.

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

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

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

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

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

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

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

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

But I knew it was wrong. 

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

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

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

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

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

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

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

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

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

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

Silence. 

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

Now, it was done.

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

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

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

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

Silence again.

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

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

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

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

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

"How are you?"

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

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

She didn't need to voice it.

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

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

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

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

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

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

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

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

Each word was acid on an open wound.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the look of someone who loved me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

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

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

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

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't push me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

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

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

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

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

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

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

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

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

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

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

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

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

I watched her go.

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

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

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

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

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

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

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

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

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

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

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

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

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

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

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

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

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

How could that possibly be wrong?

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

Perhaps.

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

It was over. 

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

The silence was unbearable.

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

That bitch. 

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

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

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

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

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

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

"Rough night?"

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

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

I knew why the name was so familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

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

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

Ah, fuck it.

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

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

I couldn't stop.

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

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

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

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

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

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

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

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

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

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

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

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

"You're bleeding."

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

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

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

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

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

─── ·✧· ───

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

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

Yeah. Now she remembered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh? 

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

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

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

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

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

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

I really needed a pill now.

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

I knew it.

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

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

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

I needed two pills now.

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

"I'm not high—"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

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

How little you matter? 

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

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

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

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

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

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

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

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

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

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

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

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

"More."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, now it gets personal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

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

She's so damn beautiful.

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

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

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

She felt incredible.

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

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

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

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

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

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

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

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

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

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

I loved that look on her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

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

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

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

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

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

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

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

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

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

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

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

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

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

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

Oh, love. I know you like that.

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

"More," she begged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tell me something I don't know."

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

"Anything you want, love."

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

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

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

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[oompaloompadidu]

Can I ask for PM and ADA men with a reader who struggles with depression? feel free to ignore!

hi! Sure I can try!

PORT MAFIA

Chuuya

He'd try to make you happy, doing everything you ask him to

He'd buy you lots of gifts and put them on your desk without saying anything and buy you flowers everyday

He's so sorry for you and fears it might be his fault (pls tell him it's not, he's such an angel), and everytime something happens he gets really worried for you

He keeps you from taking any decision against yourself (he knows Dazai and he'd give his life for you to not become as desperate as him)

He puts his hat on your head when you get really sad and tells you: "keep it as a reminder that I love you. And it looks better o you, anyway."

Akutagawa

He doesn't know what to do, he's terrible at dealing with emotions

At first he told you that you were "too emotional", "exaggerating" and "weak" but when he realized you actually had depression problems he stopped

He buys you tea/figs when things get bad with your depression because he doesn't know what to do and since he likes those things he hopes they can help (help it's so cute-)

Mori

Like chuuya, he buys you everything, but not just what you ask, even what you just look at for too much time. He wants you to feel better but usually he doesn't worry for people, so he's not very good at it.

he lets you mimic him even if it could offend him a bit, because it makes you laugh and he loves it

You have lots of plushies that he bought you during your worst depression episodes

He always brings you at fancy restaurants and buys you dresses to cheer you up

ARMED DETECTIVE AGENCY

Dazai

Oh well. You two are in the same situation.

At first he always asked you for a double suicide but, after he discovered you struggle with depression as well, I think he would stop. He couldn't actually accept the fact that you could risk to die for his fault while he could survive at the attempt (he wants you to live as long as possible so that he can stay with you)

He keeps trying to find new ways of suicide, but a lot less than before

Still, if you asked him for a double suicide he would accept without a second thought

He makes a lot of jokes and try to make you laugh when you're really sad or tired

Kunikida

He'd have stress attacks every time you get worse

He never had a girlfriend/good friend so he doesn't know how to make you feel better

He tried to ask Yosano how to help you but she just said "don't know man, go shopping with her"

And so he did

Now when you get really bad and don't want to do anything/talk he makes you get out of the house saying that "there is 'shopping time' in his schedule and he wants to go"

You know he doesn't really like going shopping but you appreciate it

Atsushi

he buys you a lot of tea rice

And a lot of plushies

And everything that you like (even if it might means that he has to work twice because he doesn't have the money)

He tries to be always there for you and tells you that you are the most brilliant and fantastic person he knows

Ranpo

Girl you'll be COVERED of candies and chocolate and sweets of every type

He asks Poe to keep you company when he's obligated to go at meetings with the ada because he doesn't want you to be lonely

I hope you're good with orientation because you two will get lost a lot if you let him try to guide you (but it's okay he's a cute babyyy-)

Kenji (he's a minor I hope you are a minor as well pls don't do anything weird to him he's just my adorable baby)

He always offer you to visit his camps to cheer you up

His smile is contagious TRUST ME

my adorable little baby loves you with all his heart and he would literally rip apart everyone who dares to say something bad about so that you don't feel bad anymore ❤️

Junichiro

He tries to get off work earlier so that he can stay with you

He's scared Naomi will do something weird to him and get you worse but actually you two are friends and she likes you a lot

He asks Dazai and Kunikida for help about how to cheer you up but they both said "why do you think I know?" and he's very confused

He gives you kisses even in public sometimes when you're really sad but pda embarrasses him and also he doesn't want Naomi to see it

[aubaee]

yours — y.jh

seventeen yoon jeonghan head cannon

warnings: fluff, childhood friend!au, jeonghan x reader, slightly suggestive

childhood friend!Jeonghan whom you have feelings for as long as you can remember.

childhood friend!Jeonghan who visits you on the weekend to hang out at your apartment complex.

childhood friend!Jeonghan who brought your favorite food to eat together.

"It's your lucky day, your favorite best friend is here AND bought you food."

He jokingly says as he walks past you, placing the food on the coffee table in your living room.

childhood friend!Jeonghan who goes along with your choices on what movies to watch, he wouldn’t mind watching a rom-com or horror with you.

childhood friend!Jeonghan allows you to style his long hair with hair accessories, such as cute pins or ribbons.

childhood friend!Jeonghan tends to tease you about your embarrassing moments, in which you punch him in the arm for reminding you.

"Can we please not talk about that." You plead, throwing a pillow at him.

childhood friend!Jeonghan who updates you on what's going on with his life regarding work and family.

“There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

With a confused smile, you gestured him to continue. Anxiety slowly creeping in your body. What could he possibly announce?

childhood friend!Jeonghan plans to confess to the girl he likes, the same person he's been discussing with you. And every time he mentions her, your heart breaks a little more each day.

childhood friend!Jeonghan has no idea how much he means the world to you. You contemplate whether or not to hide your unrequited love from your best friend, whether to rip the bandaid now to make it easier for you to move on from his rejection.

childhood friend!Jeonghan notices your slight change in mood, questioning what happened for your mood to go down. His brows furrow knit together, his hand placed on top of yours to comfort you.

“Are you okay? Tell me what’s wrong. I’m all ears.”

childhood friend!Jeonghan leans closer to you, brushing your hair to the back of your ear.

childhood friend!Jeonghan knows about your infatuation towards him, although you try not to make it so obvious, much to your dismay he notices the blushes that crept up easily to your cheeks, the quick glances you try to steal, the cute pout whenever he talks about the girl he likes.. which is you [you don't know that tho]

Before you can express your feelings, Jeonghan smiles fondly at you, “You might not know this yet, but the girl I’ve been liking is you.”

Your eyes widen in shock from his confession, “H-huh?” Still unable to process what he said, “You’re lying. Don’t joke with me.”

childhood friend!Jeonghan chuckles from your reaction, pleased to see you in a flustered state.

“Now why would I lie about my feelings? Can I show you how real it is?”

You slowly nodded, giving him permission, “Prove it.” Unsure of what he can possibly do, although you really do and hope he makes the first move.

He smirks as he leans forward, never breaking the eye contact he held with you, “I like you.” In doing so, he closes the distance between you with a kiss. His lips molded with yours in sequence as he tilts his head, his hands held on your waist to bring you closer to his body. “Can I be yours?”

a/n: happiest early birthday to our angel, jeonghan 🤍 wishing him all the best from afar. 😊

here’s for all my jjongjjongie girlies, i hope this brings us all some sort of comfort since he is officially enlisted for the military.

it’s been hard lately ever since i knew how close he’ll be for enlistment earlier in the year ㅠㅠ

these tears won’t stop but let’s put it in a positive view whereas Jeonghan can live as himself, Yoon Jeonghan, and not as the idol we know. these two years will bring great health and relaxation for him. let’s wish the best for his well-being while he’s away <3

let’s stay strong jjongjjongie’s :)

pls like, comment, & reblog <3

[satans-codpiece]

8 with screamer pls

8) oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

(Implicitly TFP Starscream, post-Partners. Him sneaking around the Nemesis is so good for this.)

----

You thought you were dying; that someone's finally come to kill the High Command's pet human in an idiotic power play-

Until he was shushing you.

"What are you doing here?"

You hadn't seen him in weeks, months-- you still didn't see him as talons had curled together in a protective cup. Until your demand registered in his audials and each towering rod of metal sprung apart.

"ME???" He hisses, optics wide, lighting up the room in scarlet. All around you, his thin digits twitch with indignation. He holds you at chest height, but even here he makes you look up to see him. "What do you think I'm doing? I'm running on fumes out there and-" Starscream's head whips towards the door. All at once the red light that had been bathing you is gone, illuminating dark metal. It takes another several seconds before you hear what had drawn his attention. Footsteps- several in succession. A squad of Vehicons. Were they there for him? You turn back towards him and truly take in his appearance. As bright as his lights are in the pitch black room, they're dim- dim for how blinding they should be with him keyed up, ready to fight whatever came through the door. Worse, him looking away gives you the perfect view of the horrid scratch just below his right optic.

He holds you so close, so precariously folding his limbs to fit into the closet anyway- you stretch up onto your tip toes and reach for him. "Starscream..."

Your fingertips barely brush metal. His face snaps back towards you.

In an instant you can see it, plain as though he'd told you himself. He didn't come back for you-- not that you would have expected him to, he was hardly the most dedicated of them-- but now that he has you in his servos again... The apertures of his optics spin, watching you, betraying more than he would ever want to say. Outside, the footsteps recede.

"I was worried about you." You say, "I missed you." and it's true. When you reach for him again, he lets you touch, your tiny palm against his massive, cool cheek.

"Of course you did." Starscream says on instinct. But the waver of his optics, of his derma means there's something else. Starscream quiets as he struggles to say something with sincerity. Evidently, he doesn't quite get there. "I can't mass displace." It's not what he really means to say, replaces his first-line defense of sarcasm and self-aggrandizement with second-line allusion. It's enough to give you pause- "Have to be quick." and that's enough for you to push it aside.

You nod, instantly breathless. You don't know what quick means to him right now, so you skip the formalities and kick your pants off the edge of his servo. His optics darken at the sight of you adjusting, settling back against the quickly warming plates.

And when you part your legs for him- his engine hums, spooling up despite his attempts to suppress the sound- and his glossa spills from his intake. Slick, smooth metal joints trace up your thigh- and that's all the warm-up you get before he's sliding between your lips.

A gasp rips its way from your mouth- and you quickly cover it with your hand, sinking your teeth into your fingers just to keep quiet. From the heat in Starscream's gaze and the momentary flick of his wings, you think he'd wish you wouldn't- regardless of how tactically sound that impulse is.

He drags his glossa up nice and slow, lets his optics shutter, rerouting processing power to the chemical sensors on his glossa. It's been a quartex- no, two- since he last tasted you and your strange little organic lubricant. It's sweet and so strangely inert, his drained tanks aching for energy-dense fuel, not the delicious strings of proteins you leak so obligingly onto his glossa.

His faceplate is cool when he draws his servo even closer, your thighs pressing up to rough-worn metal. You sigh for the contact, squirm in his palm as his languid licks turn intentional, the tapered tip prodding at your entrance while the base rubs teasingly across your clit.

"Star," You sigh into your fist. He must hear it- because his engine gives a stuttering, half-aborted purr and his glossa pushes in.

With so little effort, he fills you- and your warmth, your softness, your taste surrounds him. This time, his engine's spooling goes unchecked, a deep rumble that rises in pitch- and yet does nothing to hide the distinctive shnk of his panel opening.

You wish you had the time, that he had the energy to fuck you properly. It's been so long, and as nice as his glossa feels pumping into you, squirming deliciously against your walls, it's not the same.

Around you, his talons twitch again- and now you watch his arm move and stroke himself with a pace that shuns the very concept of patience. Heat bursts from his vents, fans clicking ever higher in vain. It's been too long- too long without him, too long worrying. There's no room for the nice, slow reunion fuck you each deserved.

"Close," You gasp, but he already knows. He's felt how your soft, squishing walls keep trying to clamp down on his glossa, as though you could trap him inside that soft, wet little frame-

"Yes, yes," He purrs- voice rumbling unimpeded from his vox. Red light washes over your tiny body as he re-engages his optics, watches as you squirm in his servo-

And when you cry out, "Star!" body going rigid because of him- for him- Starscream's engine stutters, skips a cycle and he moans against your skin. His arm trembles, struggles to work himself through his own overload.

He leans away, his vents hot like desert air on your skin. The light of his optics has dimmed, lowered in the wake of his spent charge- but still coat your body in a garnet gleam, every inch of you painted red for him.

You rub your hand along his, feel the grooves between plates. "Do you have to go?" You murmur, staring up him.

"I'll be back." Starscream promises, stroking your body so carefully with one long, sharp talon. "I'll find you."