#thanks to all of you who have stuck around

[gloomwitchwrites]

You send him a text "Thanks for the flowers, babe" attached with a photo of a bouquet as a prank. Obvs, he gets jealous/possessive.

Anon, I love this. I cackled the first time I read it, and I've been wanting to get to it for a while. There are so many requests (and I will get to them all), but with my health being shit, I'm trying to select from the pool where I'm not overworking my brain or stressing myself out trying to come up with something. This prompt came very naturally to me.

These are all spicy. Period. I didn't hold back with this one. Maybe I'm ovulating or some shit but I literally couldn't write anything but smut for this prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, spanking, oral sex (female & male receiving), face fucking, restraints, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, jealousy, possessive behavior, orgasm control

Word Count: 4.4k

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ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it, attention stuck on Price who stands in front of a large map of Europe.

There are pictures—some have a red “X” through them while a couple others have black question marks. The mission isn’t done, but that isn’t surprising. This has taken months to complete. It’s been slow, and entirely too complicated for Simon’s liking.

His phone buzzes again, the vibration pulling his attention away.

When the third buzz comes in, his agitation turns to worry. Simon never allows messages to come through at work unless it’s from very specific people. To have three come through in less than two minutes stirs something in his gut.

Price starts talking again but Simon’s brain is melting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. Keeping it next to his thigh, Simon awakens the screen.

Your name is there and 3 new messages.

Simon glances up, but no one is looking at him. Silently, he unlocks the phone and clicks over to his messages, tapping on your name.

At first, Simon doesn’t understand. His brain short-circuits, and then unbridled jealousy comes roaring forward.

The first message is a photo of a beautiful bouquet sitting on the kitchen island. It’s fucking large, taking up most of the space. The flowers are different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. It looks like spring.

Beneath the picture are two texts.

Thanks for the flowers!!

I love you!

But Simon did not get you flowers. He didn’t order these, and he certainly didn’t have them delivered to the flat.

Fuck. What the actual fuck.

Someone else did this.

Simon’s first thought is that Johnny did it to prank him. But Johnny has been a bit subdued today, and his attention isn’t on Simon at all.

No. It’s likely not him.

Simon locks his phone and stews. He can’t just leave this meeting. It’s important, but he’s going to get to the fucking bottom of it.

By the time Price dismisses them, Simon is already out the door, charging toward his locker to grab his stuff. It usually takes him a half hour to arrive home, but today he does it in twenty. When Simon bursts through the front door, he’s ready to toss those flowers right off the balcony.

But then he sees your face—how happy you are—and Simon melts. You throw yourself into his arms, and Simon instinctually responds, embracing you tightly. He presses his face into your hair and inhales.

“Missed you,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I didn’t get you any flowers.

Simon smiles because it’s all he can manage. That jealousy from earlier starts to curl back up, twisting around in his ribcage.

“Did you like the note?”

You frown. “What note?”

The way you ask is…odd. It’s far too innocent in the presentation. Simon knows your cues and this seems forced to him. But the sender didn’t leave a message. That doesn’t give Simon much to go on if he’s going to track down who sent them.

“Maybe they forgot,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “Show them to me.”

With a bright smile, you take his hand, guiding him into the kitchen. They’re much more stunning in person and Simon momentarily freezes. Did he forget your birthday? An anniversary? An important event?

Simon recalls nothing for today’s date.

The jealousy rises again but he clamps down on it. Anyone could have sent this, especially a friend of yours or a family member. Doesn’t mean there is someone out there with predatory intentions. And for all Simon knows, you’re having a laugh, riling me up. You’ve done it before.

“They’re lovely,” observes Simon. “Better than the picture.”

Your grin is gorgeous, a thing Simon wants to bottle up. You open your mouth to answer him but the dryer goes off. “Hold on,” you call over your shoulder as you dash away. “Let me change over the loads.”

When you disappear, Simon goes for the bouquet. He quickly checks through every flower and between the stems, even sticks his fingers in the dirt. Simon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but he’s grasping for anything.

The only thing of note is the business card which Simon quickly plucks from its holder and tucks into his pocket. Simon steps away from the bouquet when you appear again.

Jealousy is stewing, showing its fangs, curling tighter around Simon’s ribs.

When you reach for him, Simon sweeps you off your feet, planting you on the kitchen island. You giggle, but Simon cuts it off, drawing you to the edge to seize your lips in a fierce kiss.

That jealous viper between his bones tells him to possess you.

Simon’s hands drop to your waist and then your hips. He settles himself between your legs, hands moving down to your bare thighs.

You’re flushed with embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him, giggling his name as you fist his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” rasps Simon.

Your lips part and Simon slides his tongue inside. You moan, suck on his tongue, and release him. Simon’s grip on your thighs tightens.

“All day?” you ask softly.

Moving his hands to beneath your thighs, Simon tugs you into his arms and carries you over to the dining room table, but doesn’t place you on top of it. He brings you to your feet, and then his fingers curl around the shorts that are little more than underwear.

“Take these off.”

“Simon—”

“Do it,” he growls, releasing them and bringing his hand back to his side.

Slowly, you do as he says. You bring them up so that Simon can see them before tossing them to the side. That viper in him hisses, the venom leaking into his system.

Simon slides his hand between your thighs. You lean back against the table, hands resting on the edge as you part your legs. What his fingers find only makes him groan.

Withdrawing, Simon licks his fingers clean. “Turn around. Bend over the table. Show me what I want.” With a smirk on your lips, you face the table, and bend forward, going up on your toes.

Fuck the flowers and whoever sent them. You’re his.

Simon unbuckles the front of his belt, undoes the zipper of his pants, and frees his aching cock. He needs to be inside you, to hear you say his name, to feel you come around him. He needs to possess because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

Guiding with his hand, Simon rubs the head of his cock through your slickness. You’re already so wet for him—so fucking needy, and he’ll devour it all. Give you exactly what you want while taking something for him.

As he starts to slide in, you whimper. Reaching back, your hand grabs your ass, opening yourself a bit wider for him.

Bloody hell.

Simon doesn’t want to go slow. Using his grip on your hip, he slides all the way in, making you take him to the hilt with one forward thrust of his hips.

Your gasp is choked, and then Simon is lost, pounding into you as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you. It’s only your tightness, your breathy moans of pleasure, and the desperate why you say his name. It wraps around him, satiates the viper, calms the rising jealousy until it’s only you Simon can focus on.

Through the haze, Simon finds your clit, plays with it, slows his thrusts until your orgasm arrives, squeezing him so tight he almost finishes right then and there. But once that wave crests and crashes, Simon is back at it. Planting both hands on the table on either side of your waist, Simon stutters out, his lower back tensing, everything draw up.

Simon’s orgasm is an unraveling. All the tension melts as he finishes, and even then, he continues to thrust, pushing his cum deeper inside you. His chest heaves, body shuddering as he draws back a bit. Your breathing is just as labored.

Easing out of your body, Simon admires the bloom of cum at your entrance. He presses it back inside before helping you unbend from the table. Turning you around to face him, Simon claims your mouth in a deep kiss, his grasping the back of your head.

You form to him, and Simon’s hunger flares.

“To bed,” he says, drawing you away with a tug on your hair.

“To sleep?” you ask, smirking.

Maybe you did all this. Planned it all from the beginning.

Naughty girl.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He releases you, and then smacks your ass for good measure. Squeaking, you scurry away toward the bedroom. Simon stands there for a moment, composing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws the business card. There is an address and a phone number.

Glancing over his shoulder at the bouquet, Simon comes to a decision. Stalking toward his duffle, Simon secures the business card in a side pocket. He’ll deal with this at work.

Right now, you’re getting undressed.

And Simon is much more interested in that.

Flowers can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You send the final text and lock your phone, leaving it on the coffee table.

It’s just a little prank. A tease.

Kyle is always a gentleman even when he makes your toes curl and pulls unseemly sounds from between your lips. But riling him up can be just as fun. Kyle isn’t one to be jealous or even possessive of you. He’s certainly protective, and his presence always makes you feel safe, but you’re aching for something else right now.

The flowers weren’t all that expensive. And they are pretty.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again.

When you check the screen, you see two new texts from Kyle. You stare at it, and set it back down. You’re going to let him stew and question. If anything, Kyle might think the flowers innocent.

Tapping your fingers against your knee, impatience stirring in your belly, you stare out the patio door. You need to distract yourself, but the urge to look is too strong. Snatching the phone back up, you glance at the messages.

That’s sweet, love.

But I didn’t get you flowers.

Honesty. This man is terrible at lying or hiding his feelings.

You tap out a reply.

Of course you did! Loved the note you left with it!

Kyle’s reply is instant.

Note?

You nearly cackle at the ceiling and when you hit send.

I want you tonight. You know you can have me whenever lol. No need to send flowers about it.

Within seconds of you hitting send, you phone starts to vibrate. Yelping, you nearly drop the thing. Kyle’s name and a photo of him at the beach pop up on your screen. You stare at it, allowing it to go to voicemail. He calls again immediately.

You launch off the couch, pacing as the phone falls back into voicemail. It’s a bit thrilling knowing that Kyle is likely worked up on the other end.

Answer the phone, comes Kyle’s next text, and then, I’m coming home.

Oh shit.

You are all nervous excitement waiting for him. And when he does come barreling through the door, you’re a bit shocked at the sight of him.

Slowly, he shuts the front door, striding into the kitchen where the bouquet is. He stares at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on you.

“Kyle,” you say brightly, walking toward him.

He holds up a finger and walks past you. You hear the opening and shutting of doors, of drawers being opened, and items moving around. Kyle returns, hands on his hips, concern on his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I didn’t send you those flowers.”

“Didn’t you?” you reply, innocently, moving toward them.

Kyle shoots forward and begins digging through the stems. “Where is that bloody card?” he mutters.

There is no card. No note. You made it all up.

“Kyle,” you say, but he ignores you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he says, ripping opening the plastic to see inside.

“Kyle,” you repeat, adding a bit of volume behind your voice.

Again, he ignores you, scattering the flowers across the countertop.

“When I find the fucking wanker that—”

“Kyle!”

He turns, eyes a bit wild. Kyle looks ridiculous, and you suddenly feel terrible. You reach for him, placing both hands on either side of his face. “There’s no note.”

Kyle blinks like he didn’t hear you correctly. “What?”

“There’s no note,” you repeat. “I bought the flo—”

Kyle groans loudly and places his entire hand over your face, muffling the last few words. “Bloody hell, baby girl.” He lightly pushes off, dropping his hand, and stepping back.

You grin sheepishly as Kyle crosses his arms over his chest.

“What was the goal?” he asks, leaning forward a bit.

You shrug your shoulders. “To rile you up?”

Kyle laughs, short and clipped. “Rile me up?”

“Yes,” you say slowly.

He leans in a bit more, a smirk on his face. “And what do you think was going to happen once you riled me up?”

You know that Kyle already knows the answer to this question. But he’s indulging you. As he always does.

“I didn’t think that far,” you reply, but it’s far from the truth.

You wanted to rile him up so that he’d come home and fuck you like a man possessed.

Kyle bites down on his bottom lip and you track the movement. “No, love. You did.” He straightens. “And I know what you want.”

Kyle steps into your space, his head dipping as if to kiss you but pausing just before. “You need a good throat fucking. I need an apology. And then I can give you what you want.”

“Kyle,” you breathe.

“On your knees, love. Present your mouth.”

You obediently drop to your knees, and part your lips.

“Wider,” he almost growls.

You do so just as Kyle reaches down and undoes the front of his belt. He doesn’t even look. Doesn’t flinch. The belt is gone and the front of his pants are open by the time Kyle grabs your face and brings you close.

“Tongue out.”

You do so, and Kyle taps the head of his cock against it before sliding it back and forth over your tongue. His hold shifts, falling to the nape of your neck.

“Take it like a good girl. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle draws you forward, forcing you to take all of him. Holding you in place for a few seconds, Kyle only eases you back once your gag reflex kicks in. Kyle adjusts his stance, and your hands grasp the sides of his thighs.

Kyle’s hand on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand tangles in your hair. Keeping you in place, he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. All you can do is cling to him, to hold on as he grunts above you.

There isn’t any anger there, just a stern brow and a need for control. It’s delicious. Entirely mouth-watering. Your core warms, a slickness blooming, indicating just how much this turns you on.

To bring Kyle toward his end, you make little sounds in your throat. It makes him stutter. It makes him moan. Beneath his pants, you feel the muscles in his legs tighten. And then he’s forcing you down his length, throating him entirely as he comes down your throat.

Breathing through you nose is the only thing holding you together. And when he slides you off, you cough, wiping at your lips.

Kyle’s hand caresses your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. He arches a single eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Reaching out, Kyle draws you up to your feet, bringing you close. His smile is soft, and when he comes in for a kiss, it is consuming.

“Now that you’ve riled me up,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Kyle pulls away, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

“Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed. And bend over. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle drops his hand.

“That’s my good girl.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s ears are ringing.

“You better be bloody joking,” he growls at his phone.

On the screen is a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Flowers that you’re thanking him for. Flowers that he didn’t send.

And the card? Bloody fucking hell. That card is going in the shredder. Johnny will tear it apart with his own teeth if he has to. Some fucker had the bright idea to send you flowers like he’s the one you’re dating.

No. Fuck that.

Johnny might be the demolitions expert, but he knows Ghost could dig around for him if he asked. Scratch that. Johnny is asking right fucking now.

“Hey, Lt!” Johnny jogs over to Ghost and turns his phone around. “Can you trace who sent these flowers?”

Ghost’s expression behind the balaclava remains flat. “It’s a fucking photo, Johnny.”

Cursing under his breath, Johnny forwards the image to Ghost. Ghost checks his phone, enlarging the image.

He grunts. “Should be easy.” Ghost glances up from the screen. “Why?”

“Someone making a move on my woman,” replies Johnny, holding back a growl.

“Done,” says Ghost. “Give me a couple hours.”

It doesn’t take Ghost long, and Johnny has to laugh out loud.

“You fucking naughty thing,” mutters Johnny as he unlocks the door to your flat.

When he enters, you’re nearly on your toes, eager for him. It’s cute, but you need to learn first. Sure, the prank is harmless, but you were wanting a rise out of him.

Punishment is needed.

“Johnny,” you say brightly, coming around the counter to greet him.

As you arms reach for him, Johnny removes his belt. Your gaze drops, but he is faster than you. Johnny has the belt around your wrists and secured before you can even protest.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Thought I wouldn’t find out?” Johnny tuts. He yanks you forward, bringing the two of you almost face-to-face. “Bought those flowers yourself.”

Johnny tugs on the belt again. You stumble into him and he spins you around. With another quick tug, Johnny has the belt looped onto one of the coat hooks embedded in the wall.

Reaching down, Johnny palms your ass, his lips pressed to your ear. “Got me all jealous at work. Had Ghost stalking the flower shop and everything.” He squeezes, and then smacks your ass. Hard.

You whimper. “Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, love.” He kisses your throat. Your skin is soft and he inhales, savoring your scent. You’re freshly showered, and the smell of your shampoo invades his nostrils.

It doesn’t take much to rid you of your underwear. It’s just you in an old shirt and your bare ass on full display. Johnny slides his hands between you clenched thighs.

“Spread them.”

You do so obediently and a primal part of him simmers with pleasure. Johnny slowly drops to his knees behind you. He savors the view, taking his time to enjoy the sight before him. Even from here, Johnny can see how slick you are. How wanton.

He’s going to devour you. Make you beg. Deny you what it is you most want until you’re a fucking mess for him. That’s punishment enough.

Johnny tests by running one finger over your pussy. It comes back glossy. He pops it into his mouth, groaning at your taste.

“Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” asks Johnny, running his finger over you again.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

That’s a start.

Johnny leans in, the tip of his tongue playing with your entrance. He traces it with his tongue before slipping inside, slowly fucking you with it. It’s not enough, but Johnny knows this. He needs to suck on your clit and give you his fingers to make you come.

But even then, you’ll have to wait.

You’ll have to beg.

Johnny trails upward, swirling his tongue, finding your clit. He teases it. Flicks it back and forth in a steady stroke. You’re already growing wetter. You’re already moaning above him. Too bad you don’t know what’s coming.

Johnny slides one finger inside of you, pumping twice before inserting a second. You’re tight around him. He can feel the stretch.

He works you slowly, lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy as he teases your clit with his tongue. Above him, your moans come unbroken and loud. It’s sweet. He loves the sound. But Johnny knows your tells, and when your muscles begin to clench and unclench quickly, he ceases all movement.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, glancing down.

Johnny chuckles. “You have to earn it love.”

“Johnny, please,” you beg.

“What’s that, love? Didn’t hear you?”

“Please,” you say, drawing it out.

“Please what?” he prompts.

“I want to come,” you murmur.

Johnny smirks and starts fucking you with his fingers again, but doesn’t put his mouth back on your clit. It’s not enough for you. You’re squirming. Wiggling. Needing more.

“You pull another stunt like this again, love, and this,” Johnny smacks your ass with a sharp thwack, “will be red.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please. Just—please.”

Johnny teases your clit with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Beg some more.”

You do. All sorts of obscene things fall from your lips. When tears form in the corner of your eyes, Johnny finally gives you relief.

He fucks your gorgeous pussy with his fingers. He tastes and teases until you’re crying out, clamping around him as you come undone.

Johnny withdraws. Straightens.

You’re still hanging on the hook.

He frees you from it, but does not remove the belt from around your wrists. Johnny presses you against him with a flat palm upon your stomach.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

Johnny kisses your throat. “To bed.”

You frown, holding up your bound hands. “But the belt.”

“Stays on,” he says, fisting the tangling leather. “Until I’m done with you.”

John Price

John isn’t one for texting.

You’ll send him a barrage of texts only for him to call you hours later asking what you were texting him about.

Which is why you didn’t think this plan would work.

But then it did, and now you’re bent over John’s lap, bare ass in the air.

John told you that he was working late to catch up on paperwork. Whenever that happens, he always gives you a call to check-in and hear your voice. It’s routine at this point. A comfort. Most of the time, he just wants you on the other side, to have you talk about the day or whatever you want while he’s working. John will usually remain silent, listening, basking in your voice.

You planned it perfectly, knowing that he’d check his phone before giving you a call. You sent the photo of the flowers. A beautiful display really. And they were on sale. You also sent him a picture of the makeshift “note” that you made for it. All it said was “thinking of you” with no name. All of that was follow up by a “thank you” and promises to please him later.

John was calm when he called you—almost eerily so. When you thanked him from the flowers, he didn’t reply. He simply pushed past it. The thing is, John saved all of that energy up for when he came home.

Your ass stings. John rubs the spot he just smacked before squeezing.

“Now, love. Tell me the truth.” He says it so sweetly, like it’s such a simple thing.

And you don’t know how much longer you’ll last under this barrage.

“You bought them for me,” you whimper, keeping up the façade.

John shakes his head. “We both know that’s not true.” He squeezes your ass again, the sting burning slightly when he let’s go.

“I’d guess you’re seeing someone else but that would be lie. Wouldn’t it?”

He punctuates this statement by slipping his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your pussy, parting your slickness. John dips one finger inside and then another, only to retreat and grab your ass cheek with the same hand.

“I know just how to make you wet, love. You have no one else to run to.”

“I told you—Fuck! John!” You jolt in his lap as his palm comes down on your already throbbing cheek.

“Be honest, love. Or you’ll get a few more.”

You swallow down your pride. You wanted him riled up, but you weren’t expecting this. Not for John to come home, strip you down, and bend you over his lap.

“I bought them,” you grumble.

John’s hand eases. “You what?”

“I bought them,” you snap.

“I knew you did.”

Before you have the chance to form a retort, John guides you up and into his lap. He grabs the front of your throat, bringing you close to him. He does not kiss you. He simply hovers.

“You’re going to straddle my lap and bounce on my cock until I fill you up. You understand?”

You nod, and Price let’s go of your throat.

“Get to it,” he purrs.

John is fully clothed, and you’re wearing nothing at all. You undo the clasp of his belt, pull the zipper, and he flexes his hips enough that you can work his pants down a bit. When his hard length is free to you, you straddle him, lining yourself up.

He remains impassive as you start to sink down. The stretch is perfect—as it always is, and you groan as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. Gripping his shoulders, you roll up and back down, rocking when you can to give your legs a break.

John still stays quiet but his gaze is assessing. Slowly, his hand comes around your neck again, and this time he squeezes slightly. It’s not to hurt. It’s to dominate and possess.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you murmur, sinking down on him.

“Say it again,” repeats John.

“I belong to you,” you gasp, coming up and then back down.

“Again,” and this time there’s a growl in his tone.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right,” he says, crashing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is a claiming, one that shoots through your body and consumes your limbs and control. You shudder, pussy clenching, and then John is fucking up into you, his hands on your hips.

You’re no longer in control. It’s just John, and his need to possess.

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[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 13

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 15.1 k

ღ warnings 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, dark and mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, moral ambiguity, borderline insane behavior by all involved, heavy angst with happy ending, panic attacks, family drama/trauma, mentions of death, illness, and blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hello again !! we're back to our beloved insane gojo and he's down bad for our reader in this chapter hehe. sorry, for saying this chapter will be calm bc i kinda reworked it and made it angsty again ooppsii. anyway, as always love to hear your thoughts and a big big thank you for reading and supporting my writing !! <33

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

Your eyes were dry.

Your vision began to swim.

You'd been hunched over the microscope for what felt like hours.

With a weary sigh, you leaned back in your chair, rubbing your temples in a vain attempt to ease the throbbing pain behind your eyes.

Just as you were contemplating taking a break, you heard loud footsteps echoing down the corridor outside the lab, followed by the all-too-familiar voice of a certain neurosurgeon.

"That old bastard!" Satoru burst through the door, slamming it open with enough force to rattle the test tubes. "Who the hell does he think he is?"

Suguru followed close behind, his own expression equally angry. "Fucking piece of shit." He walked over to the corner of the lab where he'd left his white coat. "I can't believe he had the fucking balls to drag Higurama into his bullshit."

You glanced up, one eyebrow arched. "You're late."

At the sound of your voice, Satoru's head whipped around. His anger seemed to dissipate as his gaze landed on you, a slow smile forming on his lips.

He walked over to you, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you close, planting a soft kiss on your forehead. "Sorry about that."

"What's going on with Yaga?"

Satoru's gaze flickered over to Suguru, who was now shrugging into his lab coat, an entire conversation between them seeming to pass in a mere heartbeat. 

"Don't ask," they said in unison, their voices grave.

You frowned, gaze darting back and forth between the two men.

Satoru reached up to loosen his tie before cradling your chin, tilting your face to meet his gaze. "You okay?" he asked softly, tracing the shadows under your eyes with his thumb. "You look exhausted."

"I'm fine, Satoru. Don't worry."

He didn't look convinced, not even a little bit. 

His piercing eyes studied you for a long moment, his brows furrowing slightly. "You know, I love it when you lie to me."

"Could say the same about you."

"Fair point."

Reluctantly, Satoru moved away and headed over to his workstation to start prepping. "So, I had this idea for the project," he began. "I was thinking we could—"

But you were only half-listening.

You sank deeper into your chair, your body feeling heavy. Your fingers found your temples once more, trying to smash your skull in to relieve the pain.

Your nerves felt raw, exposed, every sensation amplified to an unbearable degree. The scratch of your clothing against your skin, the hum of the air conditioning, even your own heartbeat — all of it assaulted your senses mercilessly.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small plastic cup, setting it down on the table beside you with a decisive thud.

Satoru's movements abruptly halted. He stared at the cup, before slowly lifting his gaze to meet yours. "What's that?"

You met his gaze head-on, the pain making your voice sharper than intended. "What does it look like?"

Satoru's eyes darted between you and the cup. "You want me to take a drug test?"

"You really think I'm going to let you work on this project while you're high?"

"You know it's gonna take me a few hours to get clean."

"Yeah, well, I hear exercise helps speed up the process," you said, your tone dry.

"You serious?"

You tilted your head. "Do I look like I'm joking?"

For a long, tense moment, you stared at each other, a silent battle of wills playing out between you. Satoru's hand came up to scrub his face, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Finally, he let out a dramatic sigh, his shoulders slumping.

He stepped closer, leaning down until his face was mere inches from yours. "Fine, first-year." He braced one hand on the back of your chair, his fingertips brushing against your shoulder. "I'll go rub one out thinking about you. That count as exercise too?"

You met his gaze unflinchingly. "Whatever helps you get clean, Professor. Just make sure you clean up after yourself."

"You know, you could make it a bit easier on me. Maybe we should make a little video next time, give me something to really focus on."

You leaned forward until your face was just a hair's breadth from his. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I think you know exactly how much I'd like that. The question is, would you?"

"I don't think you could handle me on camera, Professor."

"Is that a challenge, first-year?"

"You wish."

Satoru's smirk widened. "Oh, you have no idea, love."

He straightened up, snatching the drug test from the table and grabbing his jacket. "I'll be back in a few hours," he called over his shoulder with a quick wave as he headed for the door. "Try not to miss me too much."

In his wake, an awkward silence settled over the lab.

You could feel Suguru's eyes on you, but you stubbornly avoided his gaze, focusing instead back on the microscope in front of you.

"We'll be working alone on this project, if you're going to send him away every time he's high," Suguru said.

"Yeah, seems like it. But I'm not gonna let him jeopardize this project."

"Satoru was always on opioids when he worked. Why now?"

"I don't know," you said softly, and it was the truth. 

You didn't know why this time felt different, why you couldn't turn a blind eye as you had before. Maybe it was the project, or maybe it was the unfamiliar vulnerability that had burrowed under your skin since that day back home.

Maybe it was the terrible realization of how much he meant to you. 

How terrible you loved him.

And how terrible it would be to lose him.

Sometimes you wished you could just tear that love from your chest with your bare hands, plunging your fingers into your own flesh, grasping for that pulsing, traitorous organ and crush it in your fist.

It would be easier.

Your migraine pulsed. You closed your eyes briefly, trying to center yourself. When you opened them again, you saw concern in Suguru's eyes, and you realized how much of your inner struggle must be visible on your face.

You looked away. 

Suguru was quiet for a long moment, the silence stretching between you like an endless chasm. When he finally spoke again, his voice was so soft you had to strain to hear it. "You know, I'm not going to act on these feelings."

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

You'd avoided thinking about it, pushed it to the back of your mind. But now his confession hung in the air, threatening to shatter the fragile denial you'd built up.

You took a deep breath. "I know. You respect me too much for that."

He looked down at his hands, absently flexing his fingers. "I just want you to know that I care about you."

"And I care about you, Suguru. I really do. That hasn't changed, that won't change."

His lips twisted into a sad smile, a look of pain flashed across his face, a fleeting vulnerability. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, hidden behind a carefully constructed mask of neutrality, but you knew him too well to be fooled.

You could see the shame burning in his eyes, the self-loathing that ate away at him.

Stupid.

Stupid because he shouldn't be.

No one can control their feelings after all.

"Don't be sorry," you said.

His head lifted to meet your gaze.

"I can tell," you said, a faint smile touching your lips. "By the look on your face, the way you look at me sometimes. You don't have to apologize for your feelings, Suguru. You can't control them." You paused, your heart heavy. "I know that all too well."

He watched you, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips once again, the shame still lingering in his eyes. His jaw clenched and unclenched, as if he was physically holding back words he knew he couldn't say. 

"Come on, we have a bit of work to do." You tried to smile. "Nobel Prize doesn't win itself after all, right?"

Suguru paused, his expression softening. "I'll always care about you."

"I know. And I'll always care about you."

And you meant it.

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, a small genuine smile finally breaking through. "So, what's on the agenda today? Cell manipulation or paperwork?"

You raised an eyebrow at him.

Suguru's smile widened. "Cell manipulation it is, then."

─── ·✧· ───

"So, the key here is that the enzyme acts as a catalyst, lowering the activation energy and speeding up the reaction."

You head throbbed. 

You were hungry. 

And you hated biochemistry.

At least the library was quiet, save for the sound of pages being turned and the soft scratching of pens on paper. Dust motes danced lazily in the rays of the midday sun filtering through tall, arched windows.

Not many students, at least not in this corner. It was lunchtime after all. But you still sat around a table with Maki, Toge, and Yuta, each of them focused intently on their studies.

Well, Yuta was focused, at least.

He was walking you through biochemical pathway, his voice low as he tried to fill in the gaps from the lectures you'd missed. But try as you might, you were having a hard time keeping up. 

"So, see here," Yuta said, pointing to a diagram in your notes. "This is the citric acid cycle. It's like the powerhouse of cellular respiration, where glucose gets broken down to produce energy."

You squinted at the diagram, the symbols blurring slightly. "Right, right."

"So, as glucose gets oxidized, it generates NADH and FADH2, which are then used in the electron transport chain to produce ATP."

"The energy currency of the cell," you recited.

"Exactly." Yuta smiled, his eyes lighting up with a genuine enthusiasm that was frankly a little intimidating. "Now, the key thing to remember is that the citric acid cycle is a series of enzyme-catalyzed reactions. If even one enzyme is deficient or inhibited, the whole process can get thrown out of whack."

You nodded, trying to look like you were absorbing the information.

He went on to explain the different enzymes involved, their specific roles and the potential consequences of their dysfunction. You listened, struggling to take in the information through the fog of sleep deprivation and pain.

Still, you were truly thankful for Yuta's help.

"Did you get that?" he asked.

"Yeah, kinda." You tilted your head as if that would somehow help. "I might need to reread this bit later, though. Just to make sure it sticks."

Yuta smiled. "You'll get it."

"Thanks, Yuta. I seriously owe you one."

Maki, who had been observing the exchange with barely concealed impatience, finally interjected. "Okay, enough biochemistry for one day. We all need a break."

"Agreed," Toge said, his nose still buried in his biochem textbook.

You were about to protest, guilt nagging at you for falling behind in your studies, but the sheer exhaustion that weighed down your limbs made it impossible to argue.

"Yeah, I could definitely use something to eat," Yuta said, leaning back in his chair and placing his hands on his stomach. "I'm starving."

Then, a shadow fell across your textbook.

You looked up to find Satoru standing there. His hands were tucked casually in the pockets of his perfectly tailored dress pants. Crisp white shirt, navy tie. His expression was unreadable — as always. 

He didn't say a word, just held your gaze with those piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through you.

Silence stretched. 

Satoru's gaze remained locked on you, as if the others in the room didn't even exist.

Maki rolled her eyes. "We'll head out," she announced, gathering her things with a pointed look in Satoru's direction. The scrape of her chair against the worn wooden floor was jarringly loud in the hushed library.

"Yeah, I'll catch up with you later," you said.

Your friends gathered their belongings, shoving notebooks and pens into their bags. Toge paused briefly, glancing back at you. You managed a weak smile in response, as they filed out one by one, their footsteps echoing in the now eerily quiet space.

And then you were alone with him.

"What are you doing here, Satoru?"

"Just checking in on my favorite student." He set a bulging folder on the table with a soft thud.

You eyed the folder. "What's that?"

"Take a look."

Reluctantly, you reached for the folder and flipped it open. 

Inside, neatly organized notes and summaries of the lectures you'd missed stared back at you, each page filled with carefully highlighted passages and detailed diagrams. Brightly colored sticky notes peeked out from between the pages, explanations and key points meticulously written in Satoru's messy handwriting.

You flipped through the folder. It wasn't just notes. He'd even gone through the old exams, the ones you'd failed due to, well, everything that had been going on in your life lately — him mostly to be fair.

"These are old exams," Satoru explained. "Nanami has a habit of recycling questions. Lazy bastard. Doesn't like to put in the effort."

You met his gaze. "Isn't that cheating?"

"Do you want to be an orthopedic surgeon?"

"No?"

Satoru shrugged. "Then cheating is fine."

You looked down at the papers again, your fingers tracing over the notes in Satoru's handwriting, the neatly highlighted key points. The sheer effort he'd put into this—

"You did all this...for me?"

"Why does that surprise you?" Satoru tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "Just taking care of my future wife, aren't I?"

Your head snapped up. "I didn't say yes. And you haven't exactly asked me."

"Oh, first-year," he chuckled, leaning forward. "You already said yes. It's written all over that beautiful, exhausted face of yours. I was more worried about your mother saying no, but apparently she's already planning the wedding. Wait, what did she say again?" He paused, then mimicking your mother's voice with uncanny accuracy. "Oh, please, Dr. Gojo, take my daughter. She's so lucky to have such a handsome, intelligent man as a husband—'"

Your cheeks burned.

You grabbed your half-empty, now lukewarm coffee cup, and before you could even think, the contents splashed across his smug face.

Satoru stoped, momentarily stunned. 

Then, he raked his fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back as droplets of coffee trickled down his forehead.

"Ouch," he said, that infuriating smirk returning to his lips. "Is this how you plan to treat me in our marriage? Because I have to say, it's turning me on."

"Again, I didn't say yes. Nor did you actually ask." You pressed your fingertips to your temples, trying to massage away the pain. His words grated against your frayed nerves. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the world to stop spinning. "God, you're giving me a migraine."

His smirk vanished. "Since when do you have it?"

"Since this morning," you muttered. "I'm out of meds."

"What do you take? Rizatriptan?"

"Sumatriptan."

Without a word, Satoru reached down and scooped up your bag, slinging it over his broad shoulder before you could even think to protest. "Come on," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "I've got some in my office."

You hesitated, your body protesting against every movement. 

Satoru's brow furrowed as he met your gaze. You knew that look, knew the stubborn set of his jaw. He wasn't going to take no for an answer, no matter how much you might want to curl up under the table and die.

And, as always, you found yourself powerless to resist.

With a resigned sigh, you followed him.

─── ·✧· ───

You sank onto the worn leather couch in Satoru's office, each muscle protesting the sudden movement. The migraine throbbed in time with your pulse, making your stomach churn.

You swallowed hard, willing yourself not to vomit all over Satoru's floor.

You watched Satoru rummage through his drawers. His desk loomed before you, a chaotic landscape of teetering book towers and scattered papers. Your gaze, drawn by some masochistic instinct, landed on a familiar orange pill bottle nestled among the debris.

He didn't even try to hide it.

But you were in too much agony to care.

"Sorry, I don't have any pills on hand." Satoru still rummaged through a drawer. "Just this." He held up a sleek, blue pen — an auto-injector.

"God, I hate those things." With a resigned sigh, you slumped back against the plush cushions. You shifted, trying to find a position that offered the slightest bit of comfort, but every movement sent a fresh wave of agony crashing through you. "They always sting like hell."

"But they work, don't they?"

Satoru sat beside you and rolled up your sleeve. "Since when do you have migraines like this?" he asked as he pressed the cool plastic of the injector against your skin.

"Since–" You hissed as the needle pierced your skin, a brief sting followed by a wave of numbing coolness. "Since forever. But lately, they've gotten worse."

Satoru's gaze remained fixed on you as he held the injector in place. When the device clicked, signaling that the full dose had been delivered, he carefully retracted it, his movements precise and practiced.

You met his gaze, your own eyes glassy with pain and exhaustion. His brows were furrowed, a look of guilt and concern etched onto his handsome features.

"Not everything is about you, you know."

"You never told me," he said quietly. "About the migraines, I mean."

You closed your eyes, sinking further into the couch. "Why? You want a complete rundown of my medical history?"

He stood up and crossed the room. "Yes."

You opened one eye, peering at him. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told."

You closed your eyes again, trying to find a position that didn't make the world spin. You could feel the medication starting to work, your fingers and toes tingling as the migraine and nausea intensified momentarily before slowly receding.

You knew this shit all too well.

Satoru returned with a cool pack in his hand. "Can you blame me for worrying about you?" He sat beside you once more, gently guiding your head onto his lap. He brushed the damp hair from your temple to place the cool pack on your forehead. "Better?"

"Yes. Thank you." you sighed, closing your eyes. "For everything."

"Anything for you, love."

For a long moment, you simply lay there. His hand brushed over your hair in soothing strokes. The office was blissfully quiet, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds outside the open window and the soft rush of the wind through the trees.

"Are you on any preventative medication for your migraines?" he asked, his fingers still idly stroking your hair.

"No, I'm not. I'm done trying every fucking thing. The side effects were too severe. Shaking hands, nightmares, insomnia. You know them."

"Have you considered antibody treatment?"

"Yeah, but you have to try every goddamn pill on this earth before they'll even consider it. I'm sick of it."

"Hmm," Satoru hummed thoughtfully.

You opened your eyes again, blinking away the haze of pain and medication.

As you looked up at him, his gaze met yours, the blue of his impossibly bright — almost too bright, fever-bright, framed by lashes so pale they looked like frost against his skin.  His lips were pressed into a thin, a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, tiny droplets catching the light. 

He looked ill. 

Haggard. 

Haunted.

"Satoru," you whispered. "What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. His gaze drifted to the windows, unfocused. His other hand, resting on the back of the couch, clenched and unclenched, the muscles of his forearm flexing beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a hoarse. "It's hard, coming off the high."

"You—" you started, but the words died on your lips as guilt seized your heart, squeezing painfully. 

He looked down at you again, his hand still pressing the cool pack against your forehead. "You said I could only work on this project if I was sober."

"To be honest, I didn't think you would actually do it." The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You saw the flash of hurt in his eyes, and your heart constricted.

"You really think that low of me?"

"No, I mean—" You reached out, cupping his cheek. His skin was rough with stubble. "You don't have to do this, Satoru. I'll accept you as you are. Addict and all. I don't care."

It was the truth.

You didn't care.

But why did you ask him to be sober for the research then? Why did you try to get him clean in the first place then?

You accepted him. 

Loved him, flaws and all. 

But deep down, a part of you hated his addiction with a rage that frightened you. Not for the addiction itself, but for what it was doing to him. 

For destroying him.

Piece by precious piece.

Somehow, you felt that your unconditional love for Satoru and your desperate need to see him whole again was tearing you apart as surely as his addiction was tearing him apart.

Ironic, isn't it?

He leaned into your touch, his hand covering yours, and you felt the slight tremor in his fingers. "But you shouldn't."

"Why?"

His hand tightened around yours, his grip almost painful. "Because I don't deserve it. Not after everything I've done, not after the way I've hurt you."

"Why should I get to have the good parts of you without the mess?" you said softly. "I want all of you, Satoru."

He looked away. "You don't know what you're saying."

"Stop it. Stop saying that." You sat up, the cool pack falling from your forehead, forgotten. Your hand reached up, cupping his face, fingers splayed across his stubbled cheek as you forced him to meet your gaze.

"Listen to me, Satoru," you paused, waiting until his eyes locked with yours, until you were sure you had his full attention. The intensity of his gaze almost made you falter, but you pressed on. "You think you're the disease, but I think you're the cure. And I'll keep saying it, over and over again, until you start to see it too."

He stared at you, a war raging in his eyes. "But I hurt you," he said, the words catching in his throat. "I'll only continue to hurt you."

"Maybe," you whispered, your thumb tracing the familiar contours of his face. "But let me decide when it's too much."

His gaze searched yours, looking for something — some hint of doubt or hesitation, some sign that you didn't mean what you said. But there was none to be found.

"Stubborn as ever," he said.

"You wanted me, remember? Now live with the consequences."

He smiled then. After a pause, he said, "Let's go throw some hoops. I could use a distraction. Withdrawal sucks."

You let your hands fall from his face. "Sounds like a plan. But I need to meet up with my friends first."

"Alright. I'll wait for you. Like I always will."

"You're stupid."

"No." He reached for your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, his palm warm and rough against your skin. "I'm in love."

You stared at each other, your eyes locked in a gaze that felt like it could last an eternity. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, his lips twisted into a smile that made your heart stutter in your chest.

He cleared his throat then, breaking the spell.

He turned away and walked over to his desk. He rummaged through his gym bag, his back to you, as he removed his tie and began to unbutton his shirt, the fabric still stained with your coffee from earlier.

You watched as the crisp white fabric slipped from his shoulders, revealing the expanse of his back. Muscles rippled beneath his pale skin, defined lines, and the faintest dusting of freckles across his shoulders.

He tossed the coffee-stained shirt onto a nearby chair, then reached for a clean, dark blue sports shirt, the material stretching tight across his broad shoulders as he pulled it over his head.

He must have noticed your silence. He glanced at you over his shoulder, his arms still raised above his head as he tugged the shirt into place. "Like what you see, first-year?"

You lips twitched into a smile. But the smile faded as quickly as it had come, replaced by a sudden, sickening lurch in your stomach.

Your eyes fell on the faded scars that marked his biceps, trailing onto his shoulders in a mottled pattern. Alarming red. As if he had been scratching at them again. Reopened.

Your heart ached.

"Will you ever tell me why you have those scars?" you asked softly.

He froze, his hands stilling mid-movement. Slowly, he pulled the shirt down, his back still to you, muscles tense beneath the fabric. "Didn't I?"

"Not really."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"You don't have to get clean for me, Satoru," you added. "Not for me, and not for this project. Not when this is the consequence."

Not when it's tearing you apart, you wanted to scream.

He remained silent, then turned and walked over to you. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "I'll wait for you on the basketball court."

With that, he walked out of the office.

Shame clawed at your throat, threatening to choke you. Somehow, in your own pain, you had forgotten his.

You had always prided yourself on being strong, on being able to handle whatever life threw your way. But now, faced with his addiction, you felt utterly weak, as if you were losing yourself — leaving behind a stranger you barely recognized.

And you were afraid. 

God, you were so afraid and terrified of failing him, of not being strong enough to stand by him through this. Shouldn't you be stronger? Shouldn't you be able to handle this without falling apart?

Anger cursed through you — at Satoru for his addiction, at yourself for your weakness, at the unfairness of it all. You closed your eyes, trying to steady yourself, but the thoughts in your head refused to quiet down.

Suddenly, the screen of your phone lit up.

You looked down, your heart sinking as you saw his picture on the home screen. It wasn't an obvious photo, but a candid shot you'd secretly taken of him.

He looked so happy in it. 

Without thinking, you snatched up the phone, your fingers curling tightly around it and hurled it across the room. It collided with the far wall with a sickening crack.

─── ·✧· ───

Brisk autumn air stung your cheeks as you crossed the campus.

The warm glow of the late afternoon sun offered little warmth against the biting chill, a reminder of the impending winter. But even the sharp cold couldn't numb your mind to the image of Satoru's scars. 

They burned in your memory, more vivid than the world around you. 

You could almost feel the raised, angry welts under your fingertips, see the inflamed skin puckering and stretching with each of his movements.

Your mind wandered to the reason why he had them, and the thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn. You swallowed hard, fighting against the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you.

But deep down, you knew.

Perhaps you just didn't want to admit it.

Didn't want to admit that parents could be so cruel.

Your friends came into view, perched on a low stone wall that bordered the campus green. They had claimed the sunniest spot, their legs dangling over the edge as they tilted their faces up to the sky, soaking in the last rays of sunlight before the day faded into night.

"Took you long enough," Maki greeted you.

"Sorry. Got held up."

"Yeah, we know what held you up." She peered at you over the top of her sunglasses. "Or should I say, who."

You ignored her teasing.

Yuta scooted over, making space for you on the wall. You sank down beside him. "Hey there, stranger," he greeted you. "We were starting to think you'd gotten lost in a pile of research papers or something."

"No, I just kinda didn't know where you went."

"Why didn't you call us?" Yuta asked.

You hesitated for a moment. "I think I need a new phone."

Yuta and the others exchanged a glance, but to their credit, they didn't press the issue. Instead, Toge leaned over, holding open a paper bag with a grease-stained bottom. "Here."

You glanced inside the bag and saw a few donuts, the sugary glaze glistening in the fading sunlight. Your stomach growled, reminding you that you hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.

"Thanks, Toge," you said, reaching in and grabbing a donut.

You took a bite. Leaning back on the wall, you tilted your face up towards the sun, savoring the warmth on your skin. You nestled a bit closer to Yuta's shoulder, seeking solace in the familiar presence of your friend. He responded in kind, his body a steady, reassuring weight against yours.

"So," Maki began, her voice cutting through the comfortable silence. She leaned back until she was lying on the wall. "How's Dr. Handsome doing these days?"

Wrong topic.

You sighed, taking another bite of the donut to buy time, the taste now ashen in your mouth. "Miserable as always."

"Well, that's nothing new, is it?" Maki said. "I mean, the guy's always been a bit of a mess, hasn't he?"

You didn't respond to that.

"Anyway," Maki said, sitting up suddenly and spreading a wide grin across her face. "I hear Zenin is throwing a party this weekend to kick off the semester. We going, or what?"

"Zenin?" Toge asked.

"Not me, obviously. We just happen to have the same last name, which is kinda creepy when you think about it."

At the mention of a party, your muscles tensed involuntarily. After all, you hadn't had much luck with parties lately, to say the least.

"I don't know, guys," you said. "I'm not really in the mood for a party right now."

"Oh, come on," Maki insisted. "It'll be fun! We'll dance, we'll drink and we'll make some bad decisions."

Yuta blinked. "Hold on a second. Zenin? Is he some kind of distant cousin of yours or something, Maki?"

"Hell no," Maki scoffed. "He's the creep who drugged her at that party last semester," she said, pointing at you like it was no big deal.

Yuta's jaw dropped. "Wait, what? Why would we go to a party hosted by the guy who tried to drug her?"

Not tried. He did. 

"Because," Maki leaned in, her smile widening, "rumor has it, Dr. Handsome totally wrecked the guy's face. I'm talking Frankenstein-level shit. And I don't know about you, but I want to see that for myself."

You lifted your head, intrigued despite yourself and exchanged a long look with Maki.

"You're coming, aren't you?" Maki asked.

"When is it?"

"Next weekend. Saturday night. And I'm not taking no for an answer, just so you know."

Yuta, however, remained unconvinced. "Are we seriously considering this? Going to the party of the guy who assaulted our friend?"

Maki shrugged. "It'll be fun. And besides, it'll be good for her to get out, have some fun, forget about all this studying crap for a while, take a fucking break."

"It's not about fun," Yuta countered. "It's about basic decency. Why give that asshole the satisfaction of our presence?"

Maki rolled her eyes. "Look, it's a party. We're not going there to make nice with the creep. We're just gonna crash, have some fun, maybe stir up a little trouble. And besides, I doubt Zenin would be stupid enough to try anything twice."

"I'm down," Toge chimed in.

"See?" Maki declared. "Toge's on board."

Yuta shook his head. "I can't believe this."

Toge merely shrugged.

"C'mon, you can't seriously tell me you're not even a little bit curious," she said to Yuta. "Don't you want to see the look on that douchebag's face when he sees her walking in? Oh, and did I mention? It's not just any party. It's a goddamn pool party."

"A pool party?" Yuta repeated. "In October? Are you kidding me?"

Maki shrugged. "The guy's a total creep. Does that surprise you? But hey, apparently money can buy you anything, even summer in the middle of autumn."

You knew this was a stupid idea, terrible idea even.

Going to a party hosted by the guy who'd tried to hurt you, the same asshole Satoru had bled to protect you from — it felt like a middle finger to everything Satoru had done.

How could you even consider this, after everything Satoru had done for you? 

But at the same time, there was this exhausted other part of you that just wanted to let loose for once, to feel like a normal university student, have some fucking fun for once.

And if you were being completely honest with yourself? 

You really, really wanted to see the damage Satoru had done to that prick's face and perhaps — some darker part of you maybe even wanted to twist the knife a bit yourself. Show Naoya he hadn't broken you, that you weren't some fragile thing to be toyed with.

You would deal with the consequences later, would find a way to make it up to Satoru somehow. For now, you needed this — needed to feel in control.

"Fuck it," you said. "I'm in."

─── ·✧· ───

The basketball court was deserted.

The sun, a dying ember in the sky, bled its light through the trees that bordered the court. Autumn had sunk its teeth into the leaves, turning them crimson, gold, and shades of burnt orange. A sudden gust of wind sent a flurry of fallen leaves skittering across the cracked asphalt.

Satoru, shirtless and glistening with sweat, stood at the free-throw line, sinking shot after shot. His muscles flexed and rippled as the fading sunlight danced across his skin, accentuating his sculpted physique.

You paused at the edge of the court, watching him.

And then you noticed his scars once more.

Raw. Red. Weeping.

In places, the skin was torn, weeping pinpricks of fresh blood that beaded on the surface like macabre dew. Rusty streaks traced paths down his arm, bleeding barely wiped away.

He was still in withdrawal, it seemed. 

And the cost was written in red across his skin.

He kept his word, despite the agony it must be causing him. 

You should be happy, right? 

But you weren't.

All you felt was a deep, aching sadness.

You wanted him clean, to get sober. God, how you wanted it. But you knew better than to think it would be easy. Satoru had been an addict for so long, that you weren't sure he could ever truly be free of it.

Not completely.

Not in the way that mattered.

You'd sworn to accept him no matter what.

And you meant it, with every goddamn fiber of your being. But seeing him like this, seeing the evidence of his struggle written in blood on his skin, it was hard not to feel a twinge of doubt — to feel that perhaps your efforts were not enough.

He would do anything for you, that much was clear. 

He'd try to get sober, even if just for a day, even if only to work on this project with you. He'd set himself on fire to keep you warm.

Except, it seemed, when it came to truly facing his fears, to being with you in the way you craved most desperately. In a way, he would have to take care of himself, let go of his self-destruction.

That thought left a bitter taste in your mouth.

It was a cruel irony — he'd bleed for you, but couldn't heal for you. 

Couldn't heal for himself.

The tragedy of it was almost beautiful in its brutality.

He caught sight of you then, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh. Look, who's here," he teased, dribbling the ball between his legs with practiced ease.

"You should probably put a shirt on," you said, your gaze lingering on the expanse of his bare chest, following the beads of sweat trickling down his muscles. "Or are you trying to seduce the students here?"

He stopped dribbling, the ball resting in his hand. "Only one."

You stepped onto the court, the familiar squeak of your sneakers against the worn asphalt the only sound in the quiet court. "And is it working?"

"I don't know. You tell me." Satoru tossed you the ball. "You alright?"

"Why you always ask me that?" you said, catching the ball and starting to dribble. You could feel his gaze on you, like a physical weight pressing down on your skin.

"Because you look like you're about to collapse."

Says the one with fresh wounds carved into his skin.

You didn't answer, your mind racing, gaze fixed on the ball as you started to dribble towards the goal. "So, what was that consultation with Higurama about this morning?"

Satoru tried to steal the ball, his body brushing against yours in a fleeting moment. "Higurama held us a whole damn lecture and everything."

"What about?"

Satoru managed to block your shot, his arms outstretched. "Apparently, we're not supposed to be screwing around with students."

You halted. "For real?"

"Fraid so." He dribbled past you, his movements a blur as he easily sank the shot. "You know," he said, turning to you with a wry grin, "you're supposed to stop me from scoring, right?"

The score was now 0-1.

"Yeah, yeah," you mused.

He tossed you the ball again, the movement almost absentminded as he looked at you. You caught the ball and began to dribble.

"I'm sorry," he said then.

"For what?"

"For what I said to you back then. After I came to your place that night, while I was—" He trailed off, his gaze dropping. Leaves fell from the trees, swirling and tumbling in the breeze before coming to rest around his feet.

You knew what he was referring to. 

Of course you did. How could you forget?

That night, in the very first week of the new semester, when you'd found him standing outside your window, his face pale and drawn, his eyes haunted, the cut on his leg — that you caused, but anyway — bleeding. 

When you'd let him in, and he'd said all those things, those terrible, fucked-up things that had burrowed under your skin.

About how you hated who he was, but still craved him, craved the way he made you feel. 

About how you loved giving up control, loved losing yourself in him.

About the thrill.

About how you were just like him.

His words echoed in your mind. Because maybe, just maybe, he'd been right. Maybe that was why you couldn't stay away, no matter how hard you tried.

"You're apologizing for that now?"

"I know, I'm late."

You blamed it on the withdrawal for now, the reason he was saying such stupid things. 

You dribbled closer to the goal, your focus on the hoop above you. "It's okay, I think you were maybe right." You took your shot, the ball arcing through the air. It swished through the net with a satisfying whoosh.

The score was now 1-1.

"You know you're supposed to stop me from scoring, right?"

You turned to look over your shoulder at Satoru. He stood there, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sport shorts, his gaze piercing as he studied you, the moment stretching out between you like a rubber band pulled taut.

"What?" you asked.

"You're not like me. I shouldn't have said that."

You grabbed the ball, pressing it against your hip as you turned to face him fully. "Why does that concern you so much?"

Satoru's jaw clenched. "Because I don't want to see you become like me."

"Because you think you're that awful?"

He didn't answer.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat feeling like shards of glass. 

"You're stupid," you said quietly. 

You started dribbling again, he sound of it against the asphalt harsh in the stillness of the court, but your eyes were drawn to his arms. He knew you were looking, could feel the weight of your gaze like a physical touch.

"It's not that bad," he said.

"You wouldn't tell me anyway, would you?" you challenged, dribbling closer.

His silence was maddening.

Stupid Satoru.

Always tiptoeing around the subject, always afraid to reveal too much, always so damn cautious. It was like walking on eggshells, never quite knowing which step would be the one to crack the delicate shell.

It made you want to scream.

But you bit your tongue, tasting blood, because you knew better than to push him. Because the scars he bore ran far deeper than the ones that marked his skin.

He was always afraid, always terrified that one wrong step, one careless word, would shatter the fragile stability you'd both worked so hard to maintain. 

But then again, you were both guilty of that, weren't you? 

You sighed. "You still sober?"

Satoru extended his hand, his whole hand shaking. It was worse than you'd ever seen it.

"Yeah, you're sober." You tossed him the ball again. "So, what was your idea with the project?"

Satoru caught the ball easily. "I was thinking about how we address the risk of severe inflammatory responses." He began to dribble, faking a left before pivoting right. "Chances are not exactly small, cytokine release syndrome, neurotoxicity, all that shit."

"What about using corticosteroids to dampen the immune response?" Your feet moved almost by themselves as you intercepted his pass, stealing the ball and heading for the basket.

Satoru chased after you. He managed to block your shot just in time, his hand slamming against the ball. "Steroids might not be enough. We could use tocilizumab or other anti-IL-6 agents, like in CAR-T therapies for blood cancers."

You ran to intercept him. "We could monitor IL-6 levels and administer tocilizumab at the first sign of a spike."

Satoru attempted a layup, but you were there in an instant, your hand slamming against the ball, sending it bouncing off the backboard.

"Fuck, first-year," he said with a grin, "when did you become so damn good at this?"

"Maybe you're just getting old, Professor."

He laughed, before passing the ball back to you. "Or maybe I'm just distracted by you."

You caught the ball. "Lame excuse."

"We should also consider GM-CSF inhibitors to reduce inflammation," Satoru continued.

"Yeah, combining these approaches would be better," you agreed, dribbling down the court. "But what about neurotoxicity?"

Satoru swiped at the ball but missed. You took advantage of his momentary distraction, setting up for a clear shot that arced through the air and swished through the net.

The score was now 2-1.

"We need real-time monitoring of neurological functions," he said, watching your shot. "Frequent, maybe even continuous, neuro exams to catch any signs of toxicity early, before they have a chance to cause permanent damage."

"Yeah, we need a clear intervention plan, something like a safety switch to destroy CAR-T cells if toxicity becomes unmanageable," you added, our voice breathless.

Satoru got the basketball and set up for another shot, his movements fluid despite the tremors in his hands. "Like a gene to destroy them if toxicity becomes unmanageable?"

"Something like that, yeah. Like an inducible caspase-9 suicide gene to selectively eliminate CAR-T cells in severe toxicity," you said, blocking his shot with a quick, decisive movement and grabbing the rebound. "That way, we can protect the patient without harming healthy cells."

"Sounds good," Satoru agreed, trying to steal the ball, his chest pressing against yours. "We could also use less aggressive conditioning before CAR-T infusion to reduce inflammation—"

"—to help the patient tolerate the therapy better," you finished for him, then dribbled quickly and made a shot. "I've considered it."

The score was now 3-1.

Satoru paused, his chest heaving as he caught his breath, and looked at you with an amused expression.

"What?" you asked.

"When did you become so good at basketball?"

"You're in withdrawal. You're slow as fuck."

"Ouch," Satoru said. "But you're right. I'm not exactly at the top of my game at the moment."

He dribbled the rebound ball again, his movements slower than usual, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to keep control. You saw your chance and moved closer. Your hand darting out to steal the basketball, but he was faster.

With a swift motion, he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your bodies colliding with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs. His bare chest pressed against yours, heaving with each heavy breath, the heat of his skin seeping through your thin shirt.

You could feel his heartbeat pounding in sync with your own, as droplets of sweat trickled down from his temple, tracing a path along his sharp jawline. His eyes locked onto yours, before drifting down to your slightly parted lips.

"Satoru?" you whispered.

His gaze flickered back to your eyes. "Come on. Let's go back to the lab. I can't stand this withdrawal any longer." He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips. "And something tells me I'm in for a treat."

─── ·✧· ───

The hum of the ventilation system welcomed you as you entered the lab. The air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the heat and sweat of the basketball court, and you felt your mind beginning to clear as you breathed in the clean scent of the room.

You and Satoru donned your lab coats, the crisp white fabric settling over your sweat-marked clothes. 

Hours melted away, measured not in minutes but in pipette drops and cell cultures. 

You both worked in perfect sync as you prepared the CAR-T cells for the next phase of testing. Your hands were steady and sure as you thawed the cells, counted microscopic lives, and ensured their viability.

Outside, the sky had darkened. 

Blue fading to a deep, inky black as a storm brewed on the horizon. 

Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the lab, throwing everything into stark relief for the briefest of moments, before releasing you back into the warm embrace of the indoor lights. Then, rain began its assault on the windows.

As the night wore on, you could feel the exhaustion of the day catching up with you. Your eyelids grew heavy, nearly causing you to fall asleep at your workstation.

But then, Satoru appeared beside you. He placed his hand on your shoulder, waking you from your slumber. "Come on," he said softly. "Let's go home."

You straightened up, stretching your arms overhead in a vain attempt to work out the tension in your muscles after hours hunched over the lab bench. You glanced out the window. Sheets of rain lashed against the glass, blurring the lights of the campus into smears of color.

"It raining again," you mused.

"Yeah, it is," Satoru agreed. His hand lingering on your shoulder, his fingers gently kneading the stiffness out of your muscles.

You leaned into his touch.

─── ·✧· ───

The university doors swung open with a heavy groan.

It was still pouring.

Rain fell in thick, unforgiving curtains, as if the sky itself were melting, plunging the parking lot into darkness. Only the faint glow of sparse streetlights pierced the watery veil, their light fracturing and shifting across the pavement.

Satoru and you stood at the threshold, momentarily stunned by the relentless deluge.

"You don't happen to have an umbrella somewhere, do you?" you asked.

"Nope."

"So...we just wait it out?"

"My car's parked closer," Satoru said, already shrugging out of his suit jacket. He held it above your heads. "Come on, I'll give you a ride to yours."

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. But the rain showed no signs of stopping, and exhaustion tugged at your bones.

Decision made, you huddled closer to Satoru, grasping the edges of his jacket.  His hand found the small of your back as he guided you towards his car, your footsteps splashing through the puddles.

The rain pounded against your skin, soaking through your clothes within seconds, the fabric clinging to your body like a second skin. Satoru pulled you closer, your bodies pressing together as you made the final dash to the car.

He opened the passenger door for you, and you practically dove inside. Satoru slid into the driver's seat beside you, rain dripping from his hair.

"Quite the rainy autumn we're having, isn't it?" He shook his head like a wet dog, sending droplets of water flying in every direction.

"Stop it!" You held up your hands to shield yourself. "What are you, a dog?"

"For you? Absolutely."

"God, you're impossible." 

"Says the woman who threw her coffee at me earlier." He reached out, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and flicked a stray droplet of water from the tip of your nose. "Need me to towel you off, first-year?"

"In your dreams, Professor," you retorted, swatting at his hand. "And for the record, you totally deserved it."

"You're always so feisty."

"And you're incredibly annoying."

He navigated the car out of the faculty parking lot and towards the student section on the other side of the campus.

It wasn't long until he pulled up next to your car.

Heavy silence fell, broken only by the relentless patter of rain against metal and glass, and the distant, growling promise of thunder. Neither of you made a move to leave. The windshield wipers swished back and forth.

Satoru's arm rested casually on the steering wheel. He turned to face you fully, his gaze lingering on your face with an intensity that made your lungs forget their purpose.

"Thanks for the ride," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the moment.

"Anytime, love." 

Satoru's eyes traced the contours of your face, lingering on the droplets of water that clung to your eyelashes, the way your damp hair framed your face, the soft curve of your lips. The longing in his eyes unmistakable. 

The car suddenly felt too small, too intimate.

Satoru reached out, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb gently traced your jaw, causing you to take a shuddering breath.

"What did we say about you looking at me like that?"

He held your gaze, unflinching, as his thumb ghosted over your lips, parting them with the gentlest of pressures. A slow, lazy smile unfurled across his face. "Can't help it, love. It's the only way I know how to look at you."

"You're stupid." You pulled away from his touch, unable to stand the hammering of your heart in your chest any longer.

Suddenly, the rain outside intensified. Its steady drumming on the roof grew louder, as if someone had upended an ocean above you.

"Shit." Your eyes darted to the windshield, now a cascading waterfall of glass and water, the outside world reduced to a mere blur.

Satoru switched off the engine, the sudden absence of its low hum making the sound of the rain seem even louder. "Let's just wait it out for a bit. Until the rain lets up." He sank deeper into his seat, his long legs stretched out before him.

With a sigh, you also sank deeper into the leather seat.

Silence fell again.

Neither of you moved.

Until, Satoru's hand reached for yours, his fingers interlacing with yours like puzzle pieces falling into place. His thumb tenderly caressed the back of your hand.

"Remember that first night we stayed late in the lab?" he began. "It was way past 3 AM, you fell asleep at your desk and I just... I couldn't take my eyes off you. You looked so peaceful, so damn adorable curled up there." 

He brought your hand to his lips, his warm breath tickling your knuckles as he placed a kiss upon them. 

"I kept thinking how wrong it was to stare at you like that, to feel the things I was feeling. You were my student after all. But when I woke you, and you blinked up at me with those eyes... I swear, I could've lost myself in them forever." He paused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "We talked for a bit, remember?"

"I do," you whispered.

"In that moment, I realized I could talk to you for hours and never get tired of hearing your voice. I've never really felt like this before." His gaze met yours. "That's when I knew you were it for me."

"It?"

"The one I want to spend my life with."

"You knew, even back then?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes never leaving yours. "That was the night I fell in love with you, the night I knew I was totally screwed. Because I promised myself I'd make you mine, no matter what it took or how long I had to wait."

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I don't know. I just felt like you should know."

You searched his face, looking for any clue to explain this sudden vulnerability. Was it the intimacy of the moment? His withdrawal? Or was there something else, something he wasn't telling you?

He glanced down at your intertwined hands, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. But as he did, his hand suddenly twitched, the muscles spasming involuntarily. He pulled back, flexing his fingers with a grimace.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"You should take something. You've been in withdrawal the whole day."

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, his knuckles bleaching white as he clung to it. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself together.

"You're being stupid," you said bluntly. "Come on, didn't you say you deserved a treat for those brilliant research ideas of yours, or something like that?"

He lifted his head, blinking at you. "Brilliant?"

"Mediocre at best."

"Ouch."

"Come on, Satoru. Please. I can't stand seeing you in pain," you said softly.

With a sigh, he reached behind him, fingers slipping into the back pocket of his trousers. He retrieved a small blister pack, the pills rattling softly. He pulled out a single round pill and brought it to his lips.

But then he hesitated. "Wait." His gaze flickered back to you, a smirk forming on his lips. "Open you mouth for me, sweetheart."

"Ha?"

His smirk widened. "C'mon, you know I love the taste of hydromorphone on your tongue."

You pulled away. "You're such an asshole, Satoru."

But he was already closing the gap, his body pressing against yours. "Why so hesitant now? I seem to recall a time when you happily submitted to me doing drugs off your tongue." Slowly, deliberately, he trailed his fingertips along your thigh, leaving trails of heat even through the fabric of your pants.

"In your dreams," you scoffed.

"If you'd prefer, I can lick it off somewhere else." His wandering hand dipped lower, caressing your inner thigh, fingertips trailing dangerously close. "Just tell me where you need it, love. I'm more than happy to oblige."

"Stop it." You squirmed back until you were pressed against the passenger door.

"You know, I love it when you resist. Makes the game so much more exciting." He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Stop it already, you creep," you hissed, raising your foot to press against his firm chest, trying to maintain some distance between your bodies. "We're in the middle of the damn university parking lot."

"Now, don't tell me you've gone all shy on me?" He grasped your ankle, long fingers warm and strong against your skin, and started to trail kisses along your clothed inner thigh, while he pushed your legs apart with his other hand. "It's not like it's raining, sweetheart. No one's gonna see us anyway." 

A strangled gasp escaped your throat as he neared your core, your traitorous body arching into his touch. 

He paused, glancing up at you through white lashes, eyes molten. "So why don't you tell me exactly where you want me to lick it off you, hm? 'Cause my withdrawal's hitting hard and I don't know how much longer I can control myself before I decide where you need my tongue most."

Your heart raced, pulse pounding in your ears as he shifted closer, his head firmly nestled between your parted thighs now. You could feel the scorching heat of his breath against your clothed sex, while his fingers crept higher, caressing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

But you remained stubborn.

"You're impossib—" Your words cut off in a choked moan as he lowered his head, his lips brushing over your clothed heat, his hot breath seeping through the fabric of your pants.

Satoru looked up at you, his eyes dark. "So stubborn, yet so weak," he said, his fingers brushing lightly over your inner thigh. "Your body always betrays you, love. It can't resist me."

You bit your lip, suppressing the urge to wipe that smug look off his face with a well-aimed kick. 

The bastard knew exactly how to push your buttons.

Then your phone buzzed, the sound thankfully cutting through the haze. 

"Wait," you breathed, pushing him away with your foot pressed against his chest. You quickly straightened, reaching for your phone with trembling hands. Glancing at the screen, you saw that Maki had sent you the details for Naoya's upcoming party.

But Satoru showed no signs of retreat. His lips found your thighs again, each kiss a brand against your skin. "What is it?" he murmured.

"Nothing." You tried to focus on your phone, fighting the sensation that threatened to drown your common sense. "Maki just sent me the details for a party this weekend."

Satoru immediately stopped, his head snapping up, his eyes narrowing as he fixed you with a hard stare. "A party? You remember what happened the last time you went out, right?"

You yanked your leg back from him. "It's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Satoru scoffed, his tone sharp. "You got drugged, for fuck's sake."

"That was one time, Satoru."

"And it could happen again, just as easily."

"It's fine, I'll be with my friends. I don't need you to babysit me, Satoru."

Satoru ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. "I'm not trying to babysit you, dammit. I'm trying to keep you safe. You have no idea what could've happened to you that night."

"So what? I'm not a child. I can make my own decisions. And right now, I wanna go to that stupid party at Naoya's."

"Naoya? Are you fucking kidding me?" Satoru's eyes narrowed. "You wanna go to a party thrown by the same fucker who tried to drug you? Have you lost your goddamn mind?"

Something inside you snapped. "Have you lost your mind? Who the hell are you to order me around like this?"

Satoru flinched, confusion clouding his face. "What? Wait, what's going on with you? What's wrong, love?"

"I'm not yours anymore, remember? Or did you conveniently forget that you pushed me away, broke my heart? You have no right to command me, no fucking right to decide."

It was stupid, you knew it. 

Some rational part of your brain screamed at you to stop, but it was drowned out by the roar of your emotions. You were tired, so goddamn tired of him wanting to protect you while he was literally falling apart at the seams.

Perhaps it was more the guilt that spoke out of you, the searing self-loathing that burned like acid in your gut. But in this moment, you couldn't stand the sight of him.

Or perhaps you couldn't stand yourself.

You reached for the door handle, desperate to escape the suffocating confines of the car, to put some distance between you and Satoru. But the door was locked. 

You turned to face him. "Are you for real right now, Satoru? Unlock the fucking door."

"We're not done with this conversation."

"Oh, I think we are."

"Naoya tried to drug you back then, probably tried to fucking rape you. You're aware of this, aren't you?" Satoru's voice was harsh, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought his teeth might shatter.

"And now what?" you exploded, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. "Should I just lock myself away? Never go out, never have any fucking fun, never live a normal goddamn life? I barely sleep, you know that? I'm constantly doing research, going to classes, studying for exams. I don't get to have the typical university experience, the friendships, the stupid parties. And now, the one time I want to feel like a normal fucking student being for once, you want to take that away from me too? Like you haven't already taken everything else?"

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt sick.

It was unfair.

You knew it.

You knew that Satoru only wanted to protect you.

And you hated him for that.

And you hated yourself even more for hating him.

But still, you couldn't stop. Why couldn't you stop them? Why did it feel so sickeningly good to lash out, to hurt him like you were hurting?

Anger.

What that the feeling?

Not really at him. But at yourself.

It was easier to blame him, wasn't it? 

Easier than facing the ugly truth about yourself.

Or so you thought.

Your chest heaved, your heart slamming against your ribcage. "I'm tired, Satoru. I'm so fucking sick and tired of it all."

Satoru only stared at you, his mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with shock and something that looked painfully like understanding.

He was silent.

You lunged forward, reaching across Satoru's lap to unlock the door on his side, needing to escape. Your fingers grazed the lock. But before you could press the button, his hand caught your wrist in a firm grip. You struggled against him, trying to break free. But he held you tight.

"Let me go, Satoru," you demanded. "You can't keep me here, you fucking asshole."

With a swift movement, he pulled you onto his lap, his arms wrapping around your waist like iron bands, holding you firmly against his chest. You gasped, your hands instinctively bracing against his broad shoulders as you found yourself straddling him.

Satoru's hand moved to cradle your face, his touch so strangely tender, all anger vanished from his eyes.

For a moment, the world around you fell away. Only the rain remained, a relentless drumbeat on the car roof, and your hearts racing as thunder rumbled in the distance.

Darkness enveloped you, broken only by flashes of lightning. In those brief moments of illumination, you drowned in each other's gaze before plunging back into blackness.

"I know you're hurting. I know I'm the one who hurt you." His words were a hoarse whisper, each syllable laden with regret. "I know you didn't choose this, but you stay by my side regardless. And I feel like shit about it, because I know it's selfish of me to still want you, after everything I've put you through. I know I have no right to ask for this. But I'm asking anyway. Because I love you. I never stopped loving you, not for a single fucking second."

Your breath hitched, a painful catch in your throat. 

"Stop," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain and the thunder. "Stop saying you love me. I can't—"

He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours. His breath, warm and ragged, mingling with yours in the small space between your lips. His fingers tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head as if you were the most precious thing in the world. 

"I know. I know. But I can't help how I feel, can't fight this fucking pull you have on me, this cursed hold you have over my heart."

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling your defenses crumble like sand castles against a rising tide.

"It's tearing me apart, being without you," he confessed. His brows knitted together, pain etched into every line of his face. "No matter how much time passes, no matter how hard I try to stay away, to move on, my heart will always belong to you. It beats for you, only for you. I'm so fucking lost without you, so empty, so incomplete—"

You crashed your lips against Satoru's, silencing his rambling confession. 

Your heart overruled your head. Against your better judgment, against every instinct screaming at you not to, to protect yourself from the inevitable hurt.

You knew it was a mistake.

You knew that it would end in heartbreak again — like it always did with Satoru. But damn it, you couldn't take it any longer. Not when he said those things.

It was maddening, this contradiction. 

Wanting to flee and needing to stay. Loving him so deeply it hurt and hating him for having such power over you. Being terrified of the pain he could inflict and still knowing, with bone-deep certainty, that you'd weather any storm to be by his side.

No, you couldn't resist him. 

Not now, not ever. 

You were water in his hands, fluid and formless, sometimes losing your own shape in the tidal wave that was Satoru's love. You were rain in his storm, mist in his morning, ice in his winter. But it didn't matter. 

For you would gladly be formless in his hands if it meant being close to him. For he was the moon to your tides, the wind to your waves, the earth that carved your path. He brought motion to your stillness, depth to your shallows.

Because a life without Satoru wasn't really living at all. 

Satoru was caught off guard, his words dying on his tongue as he melted into your embrace, his arms tightening around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn't bear even an inch of space between your bodies.

The kiss was messy, a clash of teeth and tongues. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

"Wait, what—" he tried to say between kisses.

Shut up, you thought to yourself. Shut up, you told your doubts, your fears, your guilt. Just shut up and let me have this. 

Let me have him. Just for tonight. 

Just for now.

"Shut up, Satoru," you breathed against his lips before claiming them again. "Just shut up and fucking kiss me."

He hesitated for a moment, but then surrendered. His lips crashed against yours once more, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. 

Satoru's hands roamed over your back, your sides, your hips, touching you like it might be the last time he could ever feel your skin beneath his fingertips. 

The rain pounded against the car roof, the thunder rumbling in the distance. But hell, neither of you cared about the storm raging outside. There was only Satoru, his body pressed up against yours, his every touch setting you on fire in a way that only he could.

"Thought you were pissed at me?" He asked between sloppy, urgent kisses, his hands roaming over your body.

"When am I not pissed at you, stupid."

You could feel his lips curve into a grin against yours. "Fair point."

You shut him up with another deep kiss, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel every inch of him against you. "Stop talking," you panted against his mouth.

The kiss intensified, turning messy and desperate. 

Satoru's hands found their way under your drenched shirt, his fingertips grazing the bare skin of your back, making you shiver despite the heat. You gasped into the kiss, hips grinding against his, the searing heat between your bodies rising with each passing second.

He fumbled with the buttons of your white shirt, his fingers trembling with urgency like he couldn't get it off you fast enough. When the wet fabric finally fell open, he claimed your mouth again, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with yours. 

His hand inched higher, gliding over your hip, your waist, before cupping your breast through the flimsy lace of your bra.

A moan escaped your lips as you briefly broke the kiss, but he claimed your lips in mere seconds again, silencing the soft tones that fell from your lips. Your hips moved against him on their own, desperate for more of his touch, more of the maddening friction between your bodies.

Satoru's other hand dug into your hip, holding you in place as he rubbed against you, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his slacks. 

He smirked, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before trailing scorching kisses along your jaw and down your neck, his fingers roaming over your bra. You melted into his touch, your head falling back as his mouth traveled lower.

His hands cupped your breasts, caressing the soft skin before his finger shoved the lacy fabric aside. His thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples, making you suck in a sharp breath. 

Satoru's smirk turned wicked as he dipped his head, his heated breath fanning over your skin. "God, you're so beautiful," he rasped.

Without warning, his tongue darted out, swirling around one nipple. You moaned, your fingers clawing at his hair, keeping his head in place. 

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking hard, his teeth scraping your skin, while his other hand stayed locked on your hip, grinding you down onto his hard erection. Your mind reeled, your body melting into him, arching closer to his mouth.

He alternated between your breasts, licking, sucking, nipping at your hard nipples until you were a squirming, panting mess in his lap, your hips rolling against his, chasing any kind of friction you could get.

"Satoru, please," you whined. "Please—" 

He gave your nipple one last long lick before pulling back, his eyes hooded and hazy as they locked with yours. "What do you need, love?" he asked, his voice rough and strained. "Tell me."

"You," you panted, your hands fumbling with his belt, your fingers trembling with urgency. "I need you. Only you. Now. Ever. Always."

"God, what are you doing to me?" He said before crashing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue shoving into your mouth, tangling with yours. His hands joined yours, swiftly undoing his belt and zipper, before his fingers latched onto the fabric of your pants. 

"You attached to these?" he growled against your lips.

"Wha—?" you managed to get out before you heard the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric. 

Your brain couldn't even process that he'd just shredded your pants before he shoved the tattered remains aside and plunged his fingers deep into you in mere seconds. 

You gasped at the sudden stretch, your walls stretching and clenching around his fingers as he buried them to the knuckle inside you.

You arched into his touch, your head thudding back against the steamed-up window. Your eyes squeezed shut, mouth falling open on a silent scream as he he pushed his fingers deeper still.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Satoru groaned against the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning over your sweat-dampened skin. "And so goddamn wet. Fucking soaked for me."

"Shut up."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight, keeping him close. You rolled your hips, grinding down on his fingers, aching for more friction, more of him, just — more.

Satoru claimed your lips once more, his tongue plundering your mouth as if he were trying to devour you whole. His fingers pushed into you to the hilt, so deep you swore you could feel him brushing against your cervix, but he kept them maddeningly still.

Outside, the storm showed no signs of letting up, the howling wind whipping the trees into a frenzy, the rain hammering relentlessly against the car. The windows were completely fogged over. The air thick and humid.

Satoru tore his mouth from yours, a string of saliva still connecting your mouths, his chest heaving. "Fuck, I love you," he rasped. "I fucking love you so much."

"I fucking hate you, Satoru." 

Your head tipped back as his thumb joined the torturous game, circling your clit in maddeningly slow, tight circles that made your thighs tremble.

"No, you don't." His lips trailed messy kisses down the column of your throat. "You love me. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

You bit back a moan as he nipped at your neck, no doubt leaving a mark. "I hate you," you said, even as you rocked your hips shamelessly against his hand, fucking yourself on his fingers that he so cruelly refused to move, trying to get what you needed. "I hate you so fucking much."

"Keep telling yourself that, love." He curled his fingers inside you, pressing against your G-spot in a way that made you cry out. "But your body doesn't lie. You're fucking dripping for me."

Moans clawed their way out of your throat as his fingers rubbed relentlessly against that sensitive spot inside you, his thumb flicking over your clit in time with his strokes. But he still didn't move his fingers in and out, didn't give you the friction you needed to come.

"Satoru, please," you whimpered. "I need... Fuck, I need..."

"Use your words, love. Tell me what you need, and I'll give it to you."

You moaned, your hips twitching, trying to grind down on his maddeningly still fingers. "I need you to fucking move, you dickhead. I need you to make me come."

"Now, was that so hard?" Satoru's lips curved into a wicked grin against your neck. "All you had to do was ask nicely."

And with that, he finally, finally started to move.

His fingers pumped in and out of your clenching heat in a fast and steady rhythm that had your breath hitching. His thumb circled your clit faster, harder, applying just the right amount of pressure.

"God, you're such a fucking dickhead, Satoru," you said, even as you clung to him, your fingers tangled in his white hair as he drove you closer and closer to the edge.

He let out a low, throaty moan, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, guiding your movements as you rode his fingers. "Fuck, I love it when you say that."

"What, that you're a dickhead?"

"No, my name," he panted. "Say it again."

You halted for a moment, your breath catching in your throat.

You gazed deeply into Satoru's eyes, the vibrant blue searing into your very soul even in the shadowy confines of the car. His heavy-lidded stare pinned you in place, his parted lips mere inches from yours, his ragged breaths ghosting over your lips.

"Say it."

"Satoru," you whispered hesitantly.

"Again."

"Satoru," you breathed once more.

"Say it again. I need to hear it." His fingers flexed where they rested on your thigh, tension thrumming through his frame.

"Satoru."

"Again, love. Say the name of the man who's on his knees for you."

"Satoru."

"Say the name of the man who would rip his heart out for you and lay it at your feet." 

"Satoru," you moaned as you felt his fingers thrust deeper into you.

"Again. Say the name of the man who's fucking you so good."

"Satoru," you moaned, his name punched out of you on a sudden hard thrust of his fingers. Your hand shot up, bracing against the roof of the car to steady yourself as he increased the pace, your walls clenching around his fingers. "Satoru, fuck, Satoru—"

He crashed his lips against yours, swallowing your desperate chant of his name. "Oh love, you'll be the fucking death of me," he said against your mouth. "I'm so addicted to you."

He kissed you then, deep and slow and full of desperation. Like he was trying to pour every ounce of his love into the press of his lips against yours. Like he wanted to merge with you, to fuse your hearts together until there was no telling where he ended and you began.

And oh, how you wanted to let him. 

Wanted to surrender yourself completely to this man, this man that was equally your undoing as he was your salvation. This man who looked at you like you were his entire universe, who touched you like you were something sacred, something to be cherished, adored, and fucked dump with every fiber of his being.

Because this man, this beautiful, broken, perfect man, loved you with every shattered piece of his heart. He would gladly bleed himself dry for you.

And you would gladly do the same.

Because Satoru Gojo was your once-in-a-lifetime.

Your soulmate, your other half, your forever.

And you were his.

For always and eternity.

He ducked his head then, latching onto your nipples again, sucking on them. His thumb pressed hard against your clit, rubbing fast, tight circles that had you hurtling towards the edge embarrassingly fast. 

You could feel your orgasm building, your thighs starting to tremble, your walls starting to pulse around his fingers.

"Don't stop." Your head hits the foggy window again. "Fuck, Satoru, don't you dare fucking stop, I'm so close, I'm gonna—"

He doubled his efforts, his fingers curling just right to hit that perfect spot inside you with every deep thrust, his thumb grinding hard against your throbbing clit. "You're doing so fucking good for me, love." His tongue flicked out to swirl around your nipple. "Come all over my fingers. Fucking soak them. Let me feel you."

With one final brutal thrust of his fingers, one last rough swipe of his thumb, you shattered, your body convulsing in his lap. 

Satoru held you close, his lips pressing messy kisses to your breasts as you clenched tightly around his fingers, your release gushing out to coat his hand and drip down his wrist.

"Fuck, you're so goddamn beautiful when you come," Satoru rasped, his fingers still pumping slowly, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible, draining every last bit of bliss from your trembling body.

You shuddered and twitched in his lap as he worked you through your orgasm. Your thighs went weak, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. Your chest heaved fast, heart racing.

Finally, after what felt like a fucking eternity, Satoru gently withdrew his fingers. You let out a pathetic whimper at the loss, feeling strangely empty without him buried inside you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours. You moaned into the kiss, your hands scrabbling under his wet shirt, desperate to touch, to feel, to possess, your fingers roaming over the defined planes of his sweat-slicked chest.

Then, you reached between your bodies, your fingers hastening to free his cock from the confines of his slacks. Satoru hissed through clenched teeth as your hand wrapped around his shaft.

"Fuck." His eyes slammed shut, his brow furrowing as if the sensation of your fingers on him was almost too much to bear. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple.

You stroked him slowly, almost teasingly, your thumb swirling around the swollen, sensitive head, smearing the drops of pre-cum that had gathered at his slit.

Satoru's breath came in harsh, ragged gasps, his hands fisting in your hair, his knuckles turning white with the force of his grip. But you barely registered the sting, too focused on his hard length throbbing in your palm.

He ground out your name, his voice strained, almost pained. "Fuck, don't stop. Your hand feels so good, you feel so good. You're always so perfect for me."

Your fingers tightened around his shaft in response, your pace increasing as you worked him from root to tip and back again, twisting your wrist on the upstroke in the way you knew he loved.

Satoru's head fell back against the headrest, a rough moan ripping from deep in his chest as his eyes rolled back in his skull, his mouth hanging open as he let out a string of loud, unrestrained moans that sent heat straight to your core.

"Fuck, I swear I'm gonna marry you one day, first-year," he groaned, cum leaking out of him on every stroke. "I'm gonna make you mine."

His abs flexed and jumped under your splayed palm as you brushed upwards beneath his dampened shirt, your nails lightly scraping against his heated skin. "You're talking nonsense, Satoru."

"I'm not," he countered. "You have no idea, fuck, the things you do to me, the way you make me feel—"

He trailed off on a moan as your hand slowed its pace, your fingers barely grazing his throbbing length, teasing him with feather-light touches that had him gritting his teeth in frustration. But then, to your surprise, he laughed.

"You're such a fucking tease."

"Oh, am I?" you said.

Your thumb swirled around the swollen, leaking head, gathering the bead of precum that had formed there and spreading it over the silky skin, drawing a harsh hiss from his parted lips. 

Slowly, teasingly, you brought your thumb to your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick the salty-bitter cum of him from your fingertips, your eyes locked on his. 

Then, before he could react, you leaned in to capture his lips in a messy kiss, your tongue delving deep to tangle with his, making him taste himself on you, making him moan into your mouth.

Your hand returned to his cock, your fingers wrapping around his shaft and squeezing lightly, just enough to make him gasp before you began to stroke him, your hand flying over his shaft, your grip tight and perfect.

He let out a choked sound, his head falling back against the headrest once more, his eyes squeezing shut as he fought to keep his composure. His moans grew louder and more desperate with each inch of your hand, until you were sure that if anyone was in the parking lot, they would surely hear it.

But just as you could feel him throbbing and pulsing in your hand, his own hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist in a grip that was almost painful, stopping your movements.

"Wait," he gasped, his breath coming in harsh pants as his chest heaved with the effort of holding back. "Fuck, I love you. I love you so goddamn much it fucking terrifies me sometimes. But right now, I really, really fucking need you to let me fuck you already, before I completely lose my goddamn mind."

You released your grip on his cock, your fingers trailing up his abs, his chest, as you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his.

"Then take me," you whispered. "Make me yours, Satoru."

And he did just that, his hands gripping your hips hard as he lifted you effortlessly, positioning you over his lap, your knees bracketing his hips. You could feel the hard, hot length of him throbbing against your core, separated only by the thin, soaked fabric of your underwear. 

He reached between your bodies, his fingers hooking into the fabric and pulling it aside. Then, he lowered you onto him, inch by inch, savoring the stretch and burn of his thick length as he filled you, completed you, made you whole in a way that nothing else ever could.

Satoru's mouth fell open on a silent scream. His head resting heavily against the headrest as he lowered you deeper and deeper, until he was fully seated inside you, buried to the hilt. 

For a long moment, you simply stayed like that.

His chest heaved, sweat beading on his brow, his skin fevered as he fought to maintain control, to not just lose himself. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, every muscle tight with the effort of keeping still, of not just fucking up into you.

As you made to move, Satoru's hands tightened on your hips, halting your movements again. "Wait." His eyes squeezed shut, his brow furrowing as if he were in agony. "Just... just give me a second, fuck, I can't—I'm gonna come if you move, you feel too fucking good."

He tried to relax beneath you, to calm his racing heart. But the slight shift caused his cock to move inside you, rubbing tortuously against your sensitive walls, making you both moan into each other's mouths.

Satoru's hips twitched helplessly, his body screaming at him to move, to thrust, to claim. 

"God, why do you always feel so fucking incredible?" he groaned, fingers flexing on your hips, his abs clenching and rippling under your palms as he struggled for control. "So tight and wet and perfect around me, like you were made for me, just for me."

"Satoru, please,," you whined, feeling his length throb and pulse inside you. "Fuck me already."

"Just—just give me a minute," he panted, even as his hips started to rock almost involuntarily, grinding into you with shallow, teasing thrusts that had your core turn molten. "I'm so fucking close already, you feel too fucking good."

Despite his words, he slowly started to move his hips, thrusting into you with barely-there movements that had you whimpering against his lips. He was so big, so thick, stretching you to your limits and beyond, filling you so completely that it felt like he was touching every part of you at once.

Satoru's gaze was heavy on you, moans falling from his parted lips. "Fuck, do you have any idea what you do to me? How crazy you make me? I can't fucking think straight when I'm inside you. All I can focus on is how good you feel, how badly I need to make you come on my cock, need to fill you up until you're dripping with my cum."

"Then do it." You braced your hands on his sweat-slicked chest for leverage as you began to move, rising and falling on his thick length, setting a slow, deep pace that had you both gasping and moaning into each other's open mouths. "Stop talking and make me scream your name already."

He didn't need to hear more. 

Satoru met your every movement, his hips surging up to meet yours, his cock hitting all the right spots deep inside you. 

He withdrew almost fully before slamming back in, the thick, heavy weight of him stretching you anew with each drive of his hips, your sweat-slicked bodies sliding against each other.

The world outside the fogged windows faded until there was nothing but this, nothing but him, nothing but the intoxicating slide of his thick cock splitting you open again and again and again.

You clung to the back of Satoru's seat with one hand, fingers digging into the leather. Satoru's hands on your hips, guiding your movements, urging you to take him deeper, harder, faster.

Your lips met again, all teeth and tongue, your moans and gasps and whimpers swallowed up by each other's mouths.

"Fuck, love, fuck," Satoru groaned. "I'm so close, I'm not gonna last much longer—"

You felt him pulsing and throbbing inside you, his cock swelling impossibly, stretching you even fuller. Your body trembled, your walls clenching around his length.

Satoru's hand slipped between your sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed fast circles against it, drawing a choked cry from your lips. 

"Come for me, love," he panted against your mouth. "Wanna feel you come on my cock."

Just as you were about to let go, a shrill ringing filled the car, making you shutter for a second. Satoru's phone, connected to the car's Bluetooth system, lit up the dashboard with an incoming call.

"Ignore it." Satoru's fingers never ceased their madness against your clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Don't you fucking stop now—"

You tried to ignore it. Your hips grinded down onto his, chasing the release that was so close, so tantalizingly close you could almost taste it. 

With one hand still gripping your hip, Satoru fumbled for the button on the steering wheel to decline the call and shut up the damn ringing. But in his haste, his finger slipped, accidentally pressing the accept button instead — just as your orgasm crashed over you.

He quickly clamped his large hand over your mouth, muffling the loud moan that tore from your throat as you shattered in his arms, your body convulsing and shaking.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight—I'm—shit, yes, just like that, I'm gonna—" Satoru babbled incoherently as your walls clamped down around his throbbing cock, squeezing him so tightly that he had no choice but to follow you over the edge. 

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin, biting back his own moans as he spilled himself inside you, his hips shuddering and twitching as he pumped you full of his cum, each contraction of your core drawing another fresh load from him.

You could feel his cum flooding your depths, the feeling of him pulsing and throbbing inside you was almost too much, and for a moment you completely forgot about the caller on the other end of the line.

"Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing right now."

The female voice crackled through the speakers.

Fuck. You knew that voice. 

You knew it all too well.

Slowly, you felt Satoru's hot cum start to leak out of you, trickling down between your trembling thighs to stain the expensive leather seats of his car. 

He started to rock his hips again, lazily stuffing his own cum back into you with shallow thrusts of his still hard cock. Every time he bottomed out, squelchy, wet noises filled the otherwise silent car. You winced at the overstimulation, sinking your teeth into his palm to muffle another desperate whimper.

Shit, there was no way she hadn't heard that.

You wanted to die right then and there.

"God, Satoru, have you no shame?"

"What do you want, mother?" Satoru ground out, not bothering to lift his head from where it was buried in the crook of your neck, his hips still lazily thrusting into you.

"What do I want? You're the one who wants something from us, remember? You really expect us to just hand over that kind of money for your little lawsuit without so much as a visit first? Where are your manners, Satoru?"

"It's my money."

"It's our property, you ungrateful brat. The least you can do is spare us a measly dinner in return. Is that really so much to ask?"

"Why? So you can lecture me again about what a massive disappointment I am to the family? Thanks, but I think I'll pass."

"You're so resentful, Satoru. We just want what's best for you, can't you see that?"

"Oh, you mean the years of emotional abuse and manipulation? Yeah, real thoughtful of you, thanks for that."

"Abuse? Oh, don't be so dramatic. We're asking you to honor your family with a simple dinner, and you act like it's some great burden. The sheer arrogance—"

"You narcissistic bi—"

His mother cut him off, her voice rising sharply. "Need I remind you that you are still relying on our assets for this little legal venture of yours? You'd do well to show a little more respect and gratitude, young man."

Satoru stilled his moments and let out a low growl. Finally, he lifted his head from your neck, staring at the phone on the dashboard like he could incinerate it with his gaze alone. "When?"

"Next weekend would be fine. I trust you can spare us a few hours out of your busy schedule of debauchery and disrespect?"

"Fine," Satoru spat, reaching out to viciously stab the button to end the call before his mother could get another word in. 

Silence filled the car.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Satoru's chest heaved against yours, his heart pounding so hard you could feel it thrumming through your own ribcage. His fingers flexed on your hips, digging into your flesh hard, his whole body practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

You watched as Satoru let his head fall back against the headrest, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see a muscle ticking in his cheek. 

She reached out and gently brushed the damp strands of hair away from his forehead, while he was still buried deep inside you. "You okay?"

"They're the fucking worst."

"Is this about Naoya's lawsuit?"

"Yeah." He let out a heavy sigh, his breath warm and damp against your skin. "The little shit is demanding an absurd amount of money, way more than I have on hand. I had to use my family's funds to cover it, should have known they would want something in return."

"Satoru, you don't have to do this. We can find another way, figure something else out."

"And what? Drag you into a messy court case? No fucking way," he said. "I won't let you go through that. Not if I can help it."

Silence settled over the car again.

"I'm going with you," you said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"You think I'd let you go alone to your parents?"

"You don't have to do that. I can't ask you to—"

"I want to," you insisted. "We're in this together, Satoru, for better or worse."

He took a deep breath, considering.

"You can't stop me anyway, you know it," you added.

He stared at you for second longer, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to peer into your very soul, to gauge the depth and sincerity of your words. 

You could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes, the conflict raging inside him as he wrestled with his instinctive need to protect you and his desperate want to accept the lifeline you were offering.

"You'll hate it," he said.

"More than you?"

"Probably."

"Sounds fun to me."

Then, slowly, a smile began to tug at the corners of his lips.

"I love you," he whispered. "I love you so goddamn much, you know that?"

"I hate you."

Satoru huffed. His hands slid up your back to tangle in your hair, tugging you down until your forehead rested against his as his cum continued to drip out of you, trickling down your inner thighs in sticky, obscene rivulets to stain the seats of his car.

"You've been saying that a lot lately."

"Yeah, because you keep forgetting."

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: soooo, this chapter was quite challenging for me, even though it's about 50 % smut, which I also find difficult to write. this time, it was more about the other things going on in the story. i've been rewriting it for two whole days because i suddenly didn't like the original vibe and made it angsty again. 

i'm not sure if the motives and feelings of the reader character are conveyed well due to these sudden changes i made. anyway, maybe i'm overthinking it a bit.

but thank you so so much for the love and support you've shown for the s&c spin-off remedies and reasons !! my heart is so full knowing that so many of you enjoy diving into suguru's story, with all the heartbreak and hurt. but rest assured, there will be comfort and happiness for him too :'')) 

lastly, thank you so much for reading !! if you enjoyed this chapter, i'd be thrilled if you could reblog it or leave a comment. your support means the world to me :)) i hope you have the most fantastic day and an even better week ahead, whenever you're reading this! :)) <33

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy

@neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced

@heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator 

@erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11

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@mua-for-now @yoghurtbrand @genshingeeksworld @nothisispatrick300

₊˚⊹ pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future, this way it's easier for me to keep track :) my other writing to pass time while waiting for the next chapter: masterlist ₊˚⊹

© lostfracturess. all rights reserved. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my work. thanks for reading and supporting !! ♡

[thealtoduck]

Dally

Jason Todd x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut, anal sex, bottom!Reader, top!Jason, rough sex, unprotected sex, blowjob, fingering, doggy style, porn with plot, size kink, you and Jason are both kinda tipsy, Jason is aftercare king, you and Jason are unkowingly filmed, angst ending…

N/n = Nickname

Summary: You and Jason get tipsy at an event and go back to your place…

(A/n: No. 1 Hoe Anthem)

——

One of the mayoral candidates, Mr Stone, had invited the Gotham Elite for what he called ”a celebration of Gotham’s greatest”. But from what you’d heard his campaign was running low on funds and he wanted to sweet talk all the people with deep pockets.

Whatever the reason may be you were now stuck there amongst the crowd of ”Gotham’s greatest”. You’d preferred to not go but according to your mother it’d be improper to ditch such an event and in her own words ”You have to go cause I don’t want to, I can’t stand that man”.

So you sacrificed yourself to spend the evening at the party… plus Jason had been forced to go along with his family and you promised you’d keep him company.

You watched as Jason entered in the company of his family, he was dressed in a black suit, giving him a dark and luxurious look. He and his family were greeted by Mr Stone.

While Bruce spoke to Mr Stone, Jason looked around the crowd of black suits and evening dresses until his eyes met yours and a soft smile appeared on his face. Once Mr Stone left them to enjoy the party Jason made his way to you.

You were stood in a corner looking at nice sculpture when Jason approached you. ”No tie?” he asked noticing you substituted a tie with a thin sliver chain necklace. ”Never been the biggest fan of ties, Jay, you know that” you stated in a your more upper class tone that tended to come out at these types of events.

”Well, you look great” Jason said grazing his hand against yours slightly. ”You too” you said adjusting his hair slightly. ”I’ll go get us some drinks” Jason said, soon coming back with two glasses of champagne, handing you one.

He then lowered his hand in his pocket bringing out a hip flask, pouring some of the contents in his own glass before offering ”Whiskey?”. Making you let out a small laugh before holding your glass out to him, saying ”If you insist”.

You and Jason mostly kept to yourselves through the party. You listened to Mr Stone’s speech talking about how good his campaign was going but made sure to add that it does take it’s toll on him, his workers and his family. But most of all to his wallet, he had joked making light polite laughs sound out in the room.

You and Jason found a table to relax at, sipping your drinks. The event was quite the bore, the music was dull, the decorations were plain, even the champagne on it’s own felt tasteless. You were lucky Jason had brought the flask.

Soon you and Jason were joined by Mr Stone himself. ”Mr Todd, Mr St. Cloud, enjoying yourselves?” he asked, you put on a polite smile and said ”Of course, it’s quite the event you’ve put together, Mr Stone”.

”Thank you, what a shame your mother couldn’t come” Mr Stone said. ”Yeah, she really wanted to but she wasn’t feeling well, but she wishes you luck with the mayoral campaign” you lied, your mother had said nothing of the sort, you were just being polite.

”You boys are old enough to vote now, right?” Mr Stone mentioned, you and Jason shared a look, you’d both been waiting for the topic to come up. ”Yes, we are” Jason answered and you nodded. ”Well, I hope this party has helped convince you who to vote for” he suggested followed by a lighthearted chuckle.

You did your best to not roll your eyes and said with a smile ”Of course, Mr Stone, you have our support”. ”You bet, Mr Stone” Jason said in a fake cheery tone. Mr Stone then said goodbye leaving you and Jason, your expression immediately turned to disgust as Mr Stone was out of sight.

”I hate him” Jason stated, followed by you saying ”Me too”. ”Let’s get some more champagne and then get out of here” you told him, he nodded in agreement and the two of you went to the drink table. Jason emptied the last of his whiskey in to your glasses and you drank.

Once you’d both finished 2 more glasses each you made your way towards the exit, you called your chauffeur to pick the two of you up. As soon as the two of you came out on sidewalk Jason loosened his tie and you took off your suit jacket.

Soon a familiar car pulled up in front of you and you and Jason climbed in the backseat. ”You wanna come back to my place or do you need a ride elsewhere?” you offered him, Jason smiled. ”Think I’ll join you” he said placing a hand on your thigh.

You leaned in against Jason’s shoulder, as the chauffeur started driving towards your apartment building.

Luckily for you the traffic was good enough for you to be home in a short while, you and Jason stepped out of the car and you thanked your chauffeur before making your way up to your apartment on the top floor.

As you stood in the elevator, Jason’s hand once more grazed against yours, this time your fingers intertwined. When you reached the top floor, you stepped out of the elavator to your door and you unlocked it.

You and Jason entered the penthouse, taking of your shoes. You threw your suit jacket aside and led the way towards the stairs, closely followed by Jason.

You started unbuttoning your shirt as you entered your bedroom, turning to Jason who looked curious where this was going. You threw your button up aside and stepped closer to him, you unbuttoned his suit jacket and pushed it off his shoulders letting it drop to the floor.

You then pushed your lips to Jason’s, while he snaked his arms around your waist as you started to hungrily make out. You then started unbuttoning Jason’s shirt revealing his athletic chest. You started lowering yourself to your knees as you placed kisses down his abs.

Until you were on your knees in front of him, you undid Jason’s belt and pulled down his pants letting them fall to his ankles. Jason had grown hard, his bulge noticable in his tight white briefs. You pulled down his underwear setting his big legth free.

His hard dick pointed to your face. When Jason looked down the sight gave him a sense of satisfaction, you half naked ready to suck his cock. You started taking Jason’s member in to your mouth, teasing the tip with your tongue.

Jason let out a small breath as you started taking more of him in to your warm mouth. You soon started moving your head back and forth on his cock. Jason’s mouth hung open as you went down on him.

”Fuck, you’re perfect” he said holding the sides of your head, using every bit of restraint to not start thrusting in to you. You worked your tougue on his dick, licking up and down his shaft.

When Jason looked down the sight alone could make him spill his load. You with his thick cock stuffed in your mouth, shining with your saliva on it. Before you could make him cum he pulled out of your mouth.

”Your turn, rich boy” Jason said teasingly, you raised an amused eye brow at him.

He then helped you up from the floor. He let his unbuttoned shirt fall to the floor and stepped out of his pants and underwear that were pooled around his ankles. He then undid your belt before pushing you backwards on to your bed.

You spread your arm out on the silk white sheets feeling as if you were laying down on a cloud. Jason then started pulling your pants down your legs. You seductively pulled off your own white briefs before throwing them at Jason, hitting him in the chest.

Now you were left wearing nothing but your silver necklace and a pair of white socks. Jason took a moment to take in the pornographic sight in front of him and then climbed on to the bed and your naked bodies tangled together as you made out lustfully.

Jason’s hand trailed all the way down your back to your butt. He didn’t waste any time bringing his finger between your cheeks and pushing it inside you making you moan while your mouth was pressed to his.

He used his fingers to work you loose and open so you’d be ready to take all off him. Once he was done he pulled out a bottle of lube from you nightstand pouring a generous amount on his huge shaft.

You positioned yourself face down - ass up wanting Jason to take you like a bitch. Jason stood on his knees in front of your awaiting hole as he rubbed the lube along his length. He teased your hole with the thick tip of his cock as you whined in to the sheets impatiently.

And who was Jason to say no to a slut in need of filling.

He started working his in to your tightness as you gasped at the intrusion. He pushed himself deeper and deeper into your warmth feeling you clench around his cock. ”That’s nice” he whispered at the feeling of you tightly around his manhood.

Jason wasn’t a small man, he was hung like a horse. You let out heavy breaths as Jason slowly sunk himself in to you, streching you out even further than he’d done with his fingers. He said praises to you, watching you beneath him as his cock entered you inch by inch.

Once he had sheathed himself inside you he waited for you to adjust to the size of him. You gripped the soft sheets of the bed as you were streched out to accept Jason’s hung cock. ”Fuck” you swore.

Soon you were ready to take all of him. Jason started moving slowly as pushed himself in and out of your tightness. His hands were placed on the globes of your ass squeezing them softly in his strong hands.

You were starting to get the feeling of bliss everytime Jason was fully stuffed inside you, making you moan as he worked your ass perfectly. ”Harder Jay” you said wanting him to take you to ecstasy.

”That’s all I needed to hear, baby” Jason said with an audible smirk as he willfully obliged and sped up his thrusts, rolling his hips like a machine. He put a hand on your back pressing you in to the matress as he took you. The sound of his thrusts starting to sound out through out the room.

You gripped the sheets as Jason thrust deeper in to you, his dick jabbing at your prostate making you let out a delighted scream of pleasure. ”That’s right, N/n, scream for everybody to hear me fucking you” he said cockily.

Jason hadn’t realised until now how much he had been longing to fuck you again after your first one night stand during the party at Wayne Manor.

Jason moved his hand to your hips pulling you to meet his harsh thruts into you. Beads of sweat started forming on his forehead. He wanted you to feel all the pleasures sex could bring.

Jason made you feel as if you were seeing all the stars in the heaven, as his hung cock was shoved deep in your heat. ”So- ugh! Big!” you said through your loud moans. A cocky smile spread on Jason’s lips. He was fucking you so good you could barely talk.

As Jason roughly pounded himself deeply in to you felt yourself getting close to orgasm. ”Jay, I’m gonna cum” you whined as Jason showed no sign of slowing down his rolling thrusts.

Your shot your load and it splashed on to the silk sheets below as Jason continued plowing his cock in to you. ”You’re so fucking good around my cock” Jason said through his rapid breaths as he fully lost control and fucked you like there was no tommorow.

”I’m gonna cum” he soon told you.

”Fill me, Jay” you begged and that was all it took for Jason to plant himself deep in you ass and let his cock explode inside you, filling you with his warm sticky seed. He breathed heavily as he let all of his orgasm spill inside you.

Once he was done he slowly pulled out of you leaving your hole gaping from his cock. His seed soon started pouring out of you, running from your used warmth down your legs. Jason looked proudly at the mess he had made of you before he walked to the bathroom.

Coming back with a wet towel and started cleaning his seed off of your body. Once he was done he threw the towel aside on the floor. You turned around and laid down on your back. Jason sat down by your side and stroked your thigh, asking sweetly ”Can I get you anything? N/n”.

”Could you get my night shirt from the closet?” you asked and Jason immediately stood up looking through your closet until he brought out a glossy white silk night shirt. ”Why is everything you own white silk?” he questioned amused as he helped you put it on.

”Why not?” you simply asked back. You took off your necklace putting it on your bedside table. You and Jason both laid down side by side on your bed. Jason was on his back and you laid your head resting against his pec.

”You were amazing” Jason said placing a kiss on your head. ”You too” you said stroking his abs lovingly.

You both soon drifted off too sleep…

——

2 days later…

You sat with your laptop on your couch checking your emails. Some adds, some social stuff, nothing too intresting. You took a sip of your coffee and as you swallowed a new mail appeared on the screen.

The sender was not listed.

You opened the mail and read ”We have something you might not want to reach the media, Mr St. Cloud” which was all it said. Then you noticed there was a video attached to the mail. You pressed the file and it loaded until a video started playing.

Your eyes widend the video showed a boy getting plowed roughly by his by another guy, but you soon realised this was your bedroom. ”Harder, Jay” your voice came from the video making you gasp in shock. Then came Jason’s voice ”That’s all I needed to hear, baby”.

Someone had hidden a camera in your room filming you and Jason that night. You slammed your laptop shut and rushed upstairs in to your room. Judging by the angle of the video the video had been taken from your bedside table.

You were confused you only had your alarm clock and a bottle of water on the table… Then you noticed it, on the side of the alarm clock was a black spot - no, not a spot a small round camera lens.

You picked up the alarm clock taking a closer look at it to it to make sure. Definetely a lens. Enraged you threw the alarm clock in to the ground making it smash on impact. You stormed out of the room bringing out your phone knowing who you needed to call.

”Hey St. Cloud” Jason answered a flirty tone in his voice.

You could only find one phrase to tell him ”Jay… we’re completely fucked”.

[llamagoddessofficial]

📚 pretty please?

I shan't give too many details about this one, because I am pretty dedicated to writing it at this point - but Farmtale Sans is on the cards. Here's a teeny extract from the first chapter I've written out.

---

You sat down at the kitchen table. The chairs smelt of wood varnish. You had no idea what you were going to do for food, the last store you recalled passing on the way here felt like hours ago. You had no heating, no lights. No gas. Almost definitely no hot water. 

You felt like just laying down on the floor and crying forever. 

A knock on the front door. 

You jumped out of your fucking skin. Someone was at the door? Suddenly, a bunch of horrible thoughts started racing through your head. Did you get the wrong house? Was the will wrong? Did the key just happen to fit? Is this someone’s home, and you just came in, kicked their carpet and sat at their table? You scrabbled over to the door, rattling the handle and eventually shoving it open. 

... A massive, lanky skeleton monster stood before you. 

“HELLO THERE!” He spoke extremely cheerfully, but in a volume that made you startle. He was wearing dark blue overalls, heavy black rubber boots, and an orange gingham-patterned top. “WHY, IT’S LOVELY TO FINALLY MEET YOU! I’M PAPYRUS, YOUR NEW NEIGHBOUR!”

He stuck out a huge hand, covered by a garden glove. 

You stood there for a moment, dumbfounded, blinking up at the skeleton. He was... how did he get here so fast? Eventually you snapped yourself out of your rude gawking and took his hand, shaking cautiously.

“... Neighbour?” you managed to say. But there weren’t any houses around for what felt like miles...?

He nodded enthusiastically. “MY BROTHER AND I OWN THE FARM JUST OUTSIDE OF THE TOWN. WE’RE A HALF HOUR DRIVE AWAY.”

You paused. “You came out all that way, just to greet me?”

He seemed confused, for a moment, but quickly smiled again, even breaking into chuckles. “OH! YOU MUST BE FROM THE CITY, RIGHT? NYEHEHEH, YOU MUST THINK HALF AN HOUR IS A LONG DRIVE! NYEHEHEHE!”

... What a strange feeling. You’d never before met someone who could laugh right at you, yet not feel malicious at all. He still made you feel like he was laughing with you. Papyrus’ smile reached his eyes (eyesockets?) so much that he had smile lines in the bone.

You smiled yourself, a little. “Y-yeah, I guess I do think that’s a long way. I’m (y/n). How did you know I’d arrived?”

“TORIEL HAS BEEN LOOKING AFTER THIS HOUSE FOR A FEW YEARS. WHEN I HEARD IT WAS FINALLY GOING TO BE PUT TO USE, I STARTED DRIVING PAST EVERY DAY, TO BE CERTAIN THAT AS SOON AS OUR NEW NEIGHBOUR MOVED IN I’D BE ABLE TO GREET THEM LIKE A PROPER NEIGHBOUR SHOULD.” He spoke so fast, but so confidently. “I’M SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MEET YOU BEFORE I REACHED ONE HUNDRED VISITS!”

You couldn’t help it. You laughed. “Th... thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“ANYWAY. NOW THAT I’VE INTRODUCED MYSELF, I MUST INSIST YOU JOIN US FOR DINNER!”

What? “Huh?”

“OF COURSE!” He nodded again, as if agreeing with himself. “IT IS NOT ONLY THE POLITE THING TO DO, BUT I HIGHLY DOUBT YOU HAVE IMMEDIATE DINNER PLANS THAT ARE HEALTHY OR NUTRITIOUS CONSIDERING YOUR LONG TRIP! I MUST INSIST THAT YOUR FIRST MEAL IN YOUR NEW COMMUNITY IS A GOOD ONE!”

... You could’ve cried. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be as nightmarish as you thought.

“I’d love to. But I’ve really got to unpack everything first, and clean this old place out. We could exchange phone numbers?”

“I’LL HELP YOU UNPACK!”

You stared incredulously at the monster before you. Was he real? “I-I,”

“I’LL CALL MY BROTHER. I CAN’T GUARANTEE HE’LL BE HERE BEFORE WE’RE FINISHED, THOUGH, HE’S SUCH A SLOWPOKE.”

[caustinen]

Omg I’m actually so in love with your Hollywood au 😭😭 do you have any headcanons for them? Like how they started dating, or what they do on a daily basis, general domestic things!!

Hi!! Sorry I took so long to reply but your ask sent me SPIRALLING — this whole au was such a random quick thing and I never expected it to go anywhere, but thinking of a response to this I got so into it I might actually manage to write something!

Just the first meeting hc got so ridiculously long that I’ll respond to the domestic hc’s (I HAVE SO MANY) on a separate post and tag you! Thank you for the inspiration luv 💘

HOLLYWOOD AU! First meeting:

Their first impressions are not very good… John hasn’t made it big yet but he’s definitely getting some attention so he decides to relocate to Hollywood and find a good PR-team around himself despite having always thought that the marketing/branding side of his profession is capitalistic nonsense — and while he has changed his attitude to the exctent of ”if you can’t beat them join them”, he’d still expect all the suits to be cold business men who don’t care about the art of it all.

Gale on the other hand expects all actor clients to be self-obsessed nepo pricks; he’s been climbing in the industry steadily for years and enjoys the challenge of bringing the best versions of people out and finding them their best options (he takes pride in being very good at what he does) but since initially he ended up in the industry through his love for film, he’s also often annoyed by the up-and-coming stars who only care for the fame.

Loud, relaxed and seemingly no-care-in-the-world John fits this prejudice perfectly, as does John’s expectation for an uptight, borderline rude PR-executive in a suit — at the end of the meeting he chooses a much more laid-back seeming guy called Brady to represent him, and Gale is relieved he’s not stuck with him, he really is, despite the teasing, annoying smile of that bastard refusing to leave his mind for the rest of the day.

Their second meeting is somehow WORSE, in a week or so a meeting runs long so Brady invites John to after-work drinks. Gale looks so different out of his suit (now in a white t-shirt and black pants that hug his waist tightly, hair mussled and curlier after a long day of running his hands through it) that Bucky is absolutely blinded for a second and goes to introduce himself flirtily. Gale stares at him for a bit before informing him they met last week and while John is able to laugh it off with the others, this doesn’t exactly help with Gale’s image of him (why can’t i get that smirk off my mind when he couldn’t even bother to note me??)

It doesn’t help that Bucky gets very drunk and keeps seeking his company, not caring he’s only receiving grunts as reply to his stories told draped over the blonde’s shoulders as Gale sips on his non-alcoholic beer (he also shares the Buck story and starts calling him Buck like in the show), and whatever progress John might’ve done to make him almost smile a couple of times is undone immediately as he flirts with everyone else just as much when he leaves Gale’s side, cementing him in Gale’s mind as a playboy who’s gotten a bit too into his own head with his modest success lately and decides to forget all about him.

After that they run each other a couple of times at the office and social gatherings, and things are civil enough, they chat briefly each time but there’s some strange tension between them that makes Gale uneasy and John confused and a bit frustrated because he usually gets along with everyone but this man just seems to be immune to his usual charm; he can’t understand why the man is seems so cold and barely ever speaks up, that sweet smile he rarely sees him show others is completely wasted on him in his opinion.

They only properly meet again at a premier of John’s new movie a couple of months down the road, the first one under Gale’s firm, and end up in the backroom between the red carpet and John walking into the theater post-film (Brady is busy with organizing everything) and it’s TENSE, they’ve never been in a room by just the two of them and John is obviously nervous wreck which makes him antsy and Gale isn’t making any effort to make small-talk to ease his nerves (he’s not a natural at that okay, and esp with John he doesn’t know what to say)

Only when John is basically doubled over on the couch groaning into his hands as the film approaches its end Gale is forced to interfere. ”Why are you so upset?” ”They’re gonna hate it.” Gale is thrown off, never expecting to see this vulerable side underneath all that loud confidence. ”They’re not gonna hate it.” John scoffs. ”And how would you know?” Gale frowns, annoyed. ”Listen, it’s not Casablanca but you had to know that walking into the project, and you give it enough life to keep the tension up ’till the end. This is your best work since Thorpe Abbotts so just sit back and relax.”

John stares at him, mouth open, despair forgotten for a while. ”You know my work?” he asks, blindsighted, and Gale blushes and turns away. ”Maybe. I go to most films they show in my local theatre so don’t make too much of it.” John doesn’t have time to digest the words properly before he’s ushered to take the applause of the crowd, but it stays with him.

Things shift after that. John starts to pay attention to what Gale says, and realizes while he might speak rarely, when he does it’s always meaningful and thought-out. When Brady wants to make him do some new audition tapes he asks him to bring some of his collegues for second opinions, and he’s satisfied to see Gale roll up to the little studio they’ve rented one afternoon.

Wanting to impress Gale apparently works wonders because he feels like he reaches a new level with scene they’re working with, and the feedback reflects this. Even Gale gives him an approving nod, which somehow sends butterflies down his insides.

He turns his show-off when they go for drinks as a group next time to actually have a conversation with the blonde, and it turns out Gale is OBSESSED with old hollywood — whenever things were bad in his childhood home (often) he’d hide himself into the world of fiction of all kinds, and he’s seen an obscene number of films and loves learning trivia about it too, film star biographies are his favorite genre of books. He used to go to his little local movie theatre so much he was eventually offered a job there and could help with picking the movies, but his brief dreams of being an actor were never realized as he knew he needed a less pecarious job to give himself the stability his childhood home didn’t offer.

Learning these pieces of information draws John even more facinated with him, and Gale seems to be laughing at more and more of his jokes too. Once Gale lets his guard down he has also started to see John underneath the bravado, and makes mental notes to check out the books he recommends and he might even lightly flirt back these days, secretly enjoying the those dark, observant eyes fixed on him and squeezing into a surprised smile.

All in all, it’s been going better for a while until a faithful day, when they’re doing another auditiong tape. Bucky’s been rejected from a film he really wanted earlier that day, and his previous film has gotten some lukrwarm reviews upon getting into streaming services, so he’s in a shitty mood, and the unimpressed faces Gale keeps making annoy him to no end.

They call it a day and they agree to meet at a bar closeby to start the weekend and get everyone’s spirits up. The beer only serves to make Bucky more upset tho, espescially when he sees Gale hitting it up with someone who walks up to him, laughing at his stuff and looking relaxed in a way he never quite does with him. A bit drunk and a lot angry he follows him to the bathroom, Gale noticing him as he walks in with the same swing of the door. He turns around and greets him, the smile from talking to that whatever dude still lingering on his lips being John’s final straw.

”Oh, so you can be happy? Thought it was fucking impossible to achieve.” Gale’s smile immediately drops and his posture shifts, arms crossing over his chest. ”What are you talking about?” ”You’re always making those faces no matter what I do. You’ll ruin your pretty face with all that frowning.” ”What on earth are you-” ”When I try to talk with you. Or when I do a scene and you’re supposed to help but you just keep looking at me like I’m an idiot. I don’r get it.”

Gale starts to get upset too now, something John has never seen before, his calmness finally breaking. ”What do you want me to say?!” ”I don’t know, be fucking supportive for once?!” ”I am being supportive by being honest! Do you think that was the best you can do?” It surprises John, but he’s already too worked up to back down. ”Well what if it is?” They’ve gotten closer to each other in the empty men’s room, and Gale’s hands are no longer crossed, he’s pointing at John’s chest and staring him down. ”You have so much goddman potential, John Egan, and it’s killing me to see you waste it like that. Reach for something bigger. Get more complex charachters, more nunaced scripts. If it takes you hating me to hear that then so be it.” John scoffs despite the blush trying to creep to his cheeks. ”Well since you know fucking everything maybe you should help me find those roles.” ”I’m not your agent, or your publicist, or your mom, or your boyfriend, I don’t see how it’s any of my-” They’re practically yelling at each other, and without thinking John takes the wrist of Gale’s hand poking his chest to his and pushes it down so they’re chest to chest, noses almost touching, so close they’ve gotten. ”Maybe you could just help me out if you didn’t hate me so much.” John isn’t yelling anymore, and all of Gale’s nerves are on fire, he can feel John’s breath on his cheeks, his own pulse pounding in his chest. ”I don’t hate-” And that’s as far as he gets before John crashes their lips together, the small movement inevidable as the sun coming up each morning.

Gale makes a muffled sound into the kiss and goes to grab his shirt, pulling him closer as John reaches to cup the back of his head. The kiss is just as messy and teethy and perfect as the months of growing tension between them has promised. Gale wants to climb him and bite him and drag him down the floor, his own desire punching air out of him as John stumbles until his back hits the wall, his big hand protecting his head from the hard impact. They are lost in it until their lips are swollen and bruised and they’re both more than half-hard after being pressed so tightly together, and Gale bites his abused lips to silence a moan trying to escape him as John dips down to suck and lick on his sweaty neck, his own hand tangling in his curls and pulling and feeling victorious as John makes a choked sound. He pulls until their eyes meet again, and he’s sure his own pupils are as big as John’s as they stare at each other for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breath like they just ran a marathon. ”You drive me fucking insane,” Gale grits at him, and John laughs a short sound. ”I drive you insane?! You’re the one prancing around… Being all, you know, intelligent and sexy with your James Dean features and Paul Newman eyes.” Gale stares at him for a little bit, mouth open, before pulling him into another kiss.

They go back to Gale’s eventually (Gale comes back to himself enough to realize he does not want to be caught with all his collegues on the other side of the bathroom wall) and they make out for a while more, little less heated but just as passionate, but when it’s getting more intense again John has a moment of clarity and pulls away. He’s drunk and tired and overwhelmed and he doesn’t want this to be just a hook-up. Gale understands but asks John to stay the night anyway and he ends up sleeping on his coach that night. It’s a bit awkward in the morning because neither of them really knows what to say and John’s just about to leave, thinking this was a mistake after all, when Gale suggest they’d watch a movie, and the nervous hope in his face grips John’s heart enough to realize there’s no walking away from what he’s started to feel for this man. They watch a film, and another, and by the third the funny commentary both of them make has shifted into the movie playing in the background as they make out, Gale in John’s lap, and it feels right.

John ends up staying the whole weekend, they just watch films and make dinner together and get to know each other. John is scared he’ll overstay his welcome but Gale makes it feel natural, and the exciting newness of it all is addicting, and perhaps exactly because they’ve had to overcome so many of their own prejudices about the other everything feels more vibrant and exciting. Seeing Gale relaxed and smiely and silly and nervous as he rolls his eyes at him when he sings along to the radio as they cook makes his heart miss a beat. He’s completely prepared to not go further than kissing for now but after a delicious, footsie heavy dinner on Sunday evening at Gale’s kitchen they finally end up in bed, and it feels just right that their first time together is slow and searching and absolutely perfect, and they get the final confirmation that their chemistry seems to be working out pretty fucking well.

After that weekend, John never accepts a role without running it by Gale first (they often read them together naked in bed on the weekends, making each other giggle while dramatically imaging the scenes while leaning into each other amongst the fluffy pillows), and within a year he’s a rising star and his name is on everyone’s lips, but he’s only got one pair of lips in mind.

It isn’t just smooth sailing after that either, navigating a relationship and his career and the publicy, but as slow as their love might have started it’s all the more steady for it, and it never stops growing.

SORRY THIS GOT SO INTENSE!!! Literally all of this came to me as I thought how to respond to your ask so thank you for being a major motivation 🖤

[cottonlemonade]

First off CONGRATULATIONSSS omg youre stories are so good and you deserve it(btw you're request system is sooo creative I love it.)

And Can I order a cup of milk with a matcha roll off of menu A or B please? And can I sit next to bokuto!

Tutoring Him

word count: 589 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: Bokuto x implied chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy, tutoring crush Bokuto

____________________________________________

Bokuto slumped over onto the open book and groaned. He was tired of studying before it even started. Why did he have to hit the books when he could be practicing his spikes right now?

“I see you’re trying out the osmosis technique of studying?”

He shot up, a loose page from his notebook stuck to his forehead.

“Y/n-chan!”, he said in surprise.

“Akaashi-kun asked me to step in for him today. He had an errand to run.”

Bokuto made a mental note to buy his friend an armload of new manga. His chest felt all bubbly when you sat down across from him in the empty classroom.

“So.”, you began and with a cool flick of your wrist opened your textbook to a diagram of cell anatomy, “Let’s start with the basics of the cell structure. What do you know about the nucleus?”

“It’s… in the middle?”

You looked at the picture. “I mean… you’re not wrong.”, you said fairly, then moved your finger a little pointing to something else, “What about cytoplasm?”

“It’s the stuff that keeps everything in place?”

“Hm… again, not… entirely wrong, I guess, but I’m sensing a pattern.”, you laughed and the sound made Bokuto’s heart flutter.

“Alright, one more try. What about the mitochondria?”

Oh, this one he knew!

“It’s the powerhouse of the cell!”, he exclaimed excitedly but his face got a little more color when he saw your frown, “That one has to be right, though. Kuroo taught me!”

“So uhm, I don’t know who this Kuroo is but I think you should spend some time apart. At least until after the exams.” You patted his shoulder.

Next, you had him open his notes for an exercise and were impressed and terrified how he managed to even read them between all the doodles. Most revolved around volleyball of course, some were just random swirls or shapes. When he got to the pages about genetics however, he confidently turned his folder towards you so you could check if his notes were correct before starting to work but a moment later he practically threw himself over the pages to cover them.

Although, too late. You had already seen the elaborately decorated heart next to the table of Mendel’s law with yours and his name. It was even colored.

“Uhm, Bokuto-san?”

“No?”, he mumbled feebly as his hair seemed to deflate.

“Do you… are you- I mean… do you like me?”

“I wouldn’t call it like…”

“Oh?”

“More like… super crazy in love?”

“Oh!”

When he looked up and saw you blush, his confidence returned immediately.

“Do you like me, too? - Argh, I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to win the next tournament and confess to you with the medal and- but if you like me, too, please let me be your boyfriend, y/n-chan!”

You were so perplexed that the only thing you could say was, “Are you sure?”

He nodded vehemently, practically hovering out of his seat in anticipation of your reply.

“Yes, Bokuto-san, I’d love that.”

He jumped up and cheered, feeling as if he’d just won a championship. Next thing you knew he lifted you out of the chair and pulled you into a bone crushing hug, your feet dangling off the ground.

“Oh my gosh, Bokuto, put me down before you hurt yourself!”, you squeaked but he only squished you further, melting into the softness of your body. “Not yet.”, he mumbled into the crook of your neck, “I’ll be the best boyfriend, you’ll see!”

____________________________________________

a/n: and he was, in fact, the best boyfriend turned husband. I love him so much! Thank you for the cute request and your kind words 🫶🏻 I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟

[potato-lord-but-not]

hi! I love your art and I actually started listening to Malevolent because I saw your fanart and I love it so far!

anyways I wanted to tell you that I saw your John and Arthur art and it actually made me double take and do some research on myself because the way John and Arthur interact and stuff with each other and the people around them really stuck with me. Like I have a headmate of sorts but I never looked into DID or anything as a possibility because I just didn’t.. feel like that was what we have going on? Like my head mate never fully fronts and he doesn’t feel 100% seperate as a person from me so I just didn’t think it was a possibility. But I was listening to Malevolent and I saw your art of Oscar kissing John’s hand and just… that’s exactly what it’s like!! That’s exactly how my head mate and I are!! Like sometimes he like.. partially fronts?? Where he can move one of my hands and I have the other and stuff. And just the way Arthur and John are like their own people but they share different parts of the same body.. that’s it that’s literally it!! I’ve never seen a visual representation of it before and as precisely as that before and it’s very cool to see!! I also appreciate Oscar actually treating them as their own people who have control of their respective limbs and stuff and with respect and just being normal and not making a huge deal about it?? So thank you for that :] anyways thanks to your gay people art (which is very tender and sweet and I absolutely adore them) I am doing research and I think I might have OSDD so thank you for that :] 👍

NOT at all where I expected this ask to go but like !!! ok girlies good for you !! I hope you get that all figured out, I’m glad my art and malevolent made you come to some helpfully realizations <3

[lordprettyflackotara]

WhoGoesThere? || Eyeless Jack || Part two

tw: the tiniest bit of blood

Jack hadn’t seen you for a few days.

He tried to casually stalk the area you two had met, hoping you’d come back. Sometimes he’d even sleep in the trees, hoping that you’d wake him up. Yet that hadn’t happened, until tonight.

He could smell the liquor from a mile away, a mixture of your scent flooding his nostrils. He inhaled deeply, his ears twitching as he focused on the sounds of the forest. He could hear it. Your heartbeat. It sounded oddly slowed, but your blood sounded like it was working harder than usual to pump through your heart.

Jack ran towards it, not caring about how far away he was straying from his usual path. The deeper he sprinted away from Slender’s forest, the less protection he’d have. But he could hear you. He could smell you. The liquor. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Jack feared the worst as he sprinted in your direction. Were you hurt and attending to a wound? He didn’t doubt your ability to heal yourself, but Jack had years of practice on the proxies. Who were literal people to practice on. He reached a different part of the forest, one he hadn’t been to before. The sun had freshly set, the moon just coming into view in the sky. His gaze landed on you, your small figure leaning against a tree for support. Jack rushed over to you, helping you stand upright.

“Hey? Are you alright?” He asked, his words rushed. Your mascara was smudged, your eyes glazed with a fresh layer of tears, and in your hand sat a bottle of vodka. “Jack..? What are you doing here?” You slurred. Jack curiously looked behind you, noticing what he assumed to be your college dorm was less than fifty feet away. Your small black dress was riding up your thighs, revealing cuts that covered your left hand and upper legs. “What happened to you?” He questioned. You practically fell onto him when you tried to stand up on your own. He grabbed you, his large hand cupping your waist. He ignored how flustered it made him feel, looking over his shoulder.

“Those fuckers made me drop my pink vodka. Now i’m left with this cheap shit,” You say bitterly. Jack noticed a few of the partiers were looking into the woods. Jack couldn’t risk being seen, nor could he risk you returning to a party in your condition. He hoped the shadows of the trees and nightfall had concealed him enough. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Jack said calmly. You turned around, flipping off the party still in full swing. “Yeah! You hear that fuckers?! Jacks a real man!” You yelled. Jack could feel heat rushing to his cheeks. You were stumbling as he attempted to help you. He sighed, picking you up bridal style instead. You squirmed at first, the bottle of alcohol slipping out of your grasp.

“Hey! Thats mine!” You fussed. Your squirming didn’t affect Jacks grip on you at all. He continued to walk into the forest, concluding that bottle was the very last thing you needed. “We’ll come back for it later. We need to get you cleaned up,” He said softly. You drunkenly crossed your arms, sighing. “I’m gonna be a doctor I can take care of myself,” You muttered. Jack would’ve rolled his eyes if he had them. He continued to take you deeper into the woods, knowing the journey was going to be long. He needed to make it into Slender’s forest, a safe cabin planted right along the border.

It was designed as protection from The Rake, but was mostly used current day for creeps who needed somewhere to crash without questions. “Where are you taking me?” You murmured. Jack was thankful for his acute hearing, your words running together as you spoke. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere where you can’t trip over your own two feet,” Jack explained. You stuck out your legs, pointing at your heels. “I’ll have you know that these are Ralph Lauren heels! They’re worth every trip I take,” You argued. You were feeling groggy, your drunkenness weighing on your shoulders. “I stole them from my roommate, since I know you’re wondering how I could afford them,” You explained. That was in fact, not what Jack was thinking at all, but he decided not to intervene with your train of thought.

“Do you enjoy partaking in substances?” Jack asked. He stepped over an overgrown root of a tree, careful to not disturb you. “Doesnt every college student?” You said, your tone argumentative. Your eyebrows raised as you looked up at your masked friend. “How old are you anyways?” You questioned. Jack tried to not tense, swallowing as he trudged forward. The correct answer was unknown. Physically Jack had stopped aging at twenty five. The better question was, how long had Jack been twenty five? He had lost count of the years, the cycle of his routine repeating mercilessly without intervention. That was of course, until he met you.

“Isn’t it rude to ask someone their age?” Jack mused. He had heard that before, when Ben decided to ask Jane how old she was. “That only works on women bozo. As long as you aren’t like fifty this is fine,” You mumbled. Jack was puzzled. Something he thought he knew about human culture was wrong. Huh. He had a lot to learn from you. “I’m not fifty,” Jack chuckled. He wasn’t physically, anyways. He was the oldest of the creeps he had met. And they weren’t even demons. Only Slenderman was older than him. Jack sighed in relief as the cabin came into sight. “Good. I have daddy issues but not that bad,” You grumbled.

Jack couldn’t help but wonder about you and your life. Intoxication made you more honest and talkative. Maybe beyond a certain point of appropriateness, considering he had met you less than a week ago. But you didn’t care about any social construct of what you could or couldn’t discuss early on in a friendship. Jack liked that. He kicked open the old cabin door, noting the amount of dust. He brought you over to the kitchen counter, setting you down on the cool marble. “Where are you going?” You asked, confused. Jack made sure you could sit upfront before taking a step back. “I’m just grabbing a first aid kit,” He replied. He knew exactly where it was, having planted it there himself.

He was back in a flash, kneeling in front of you. He tried his hardest to ignore how short your dress was. “I could do this myself you know,” You protested weakly. Jack shook his head, forcing himself to look at the little cuts that stained your otherwise perfect skin. Jack didn’t know which was harder, ignoring the fresh blood that was prickling from your wounds or the fact your cunt was inches away from his face. Even with his mask on he could smell how delicious your scent was. Especially your blood. He grabbed a rubbing alcohol wipe, tearing the package open. “This may sting. You may want to grab onto something,” Jack advised cautiously. He was surprised when you leaned forward, putting your hand on his shoulder.

You grabbed a handful of his hoodie, your eyes screwed shut as if you feared the worst. He knew it was best to avert your attention from his work as he patched you up. “So, did you know anyone at that party?” He asked. He wiped the small cuts, a hiss escaping your lips. Jack held your leg still, wiping off the dirt and grim as well. “Sort of. I only went because of Ryan. He’s this fourth year psychics major,” You admitted. Jack set the dirty wipe aside, grabbing a clean one. “What’s Ryan to you?” Jack asked curiously. You flinched as Jack wiped your other leg, noticing a piece of glass peaking out of your skin. “A cute guy,” You answered honestly.

Cautiously Jack set the wipe aside, grabbing the tweezers. He had to word his next questions carefully, his blunt way of talking going to make you uneasy. “How is your pursuit going?” He asked. He firmly held your leg into place, grabbing the edge of the glass. He knew if he warned you that you’d freak out, especially with the alcohol clouding your senses. Instead he yanked it out steadily but quickly, causing you to yelp. “Fuck! What the fuck!” You screeched. Jack was sure The Rake might’ve been able to hear you with how loud your scream was. He set the piece of glass aside, bringing a damp towel to your now oozing wound.

“I’m sorry. You had glass stuck in there,” Jack apologized. You took deep breaths, your vision getting spotty. Jack could see the paleness in your face, your lips turning white along with it. He brought his hand to yours, giving it a squeeze. “Hey. Stay with me. How’s the pursuit of Ryan?” Jack asked, trying to keep you conscious. You swallowed, your mouth dry. “Terrible. It’s nerve racking every time I like a guy,” You admitted. Jack applied pressure to your wound, trying to ignore the smell of metal invading his nostrils. “Whys that?” He asked. He went to remove his hand, your small one pawing at his to stay in place.

“Because i’m a virgin,” You confessed. Jack was sure if it were possible he was blushing. The mere confession made him flustered, his eye sockets widening. “Don’t make it so obvious you’re judging me,” You grumbled. Jack cleared his throat, pulling his hand away and removing the damp towel. “Not judging, just surprised,” He admitted. You peeled open your eyes, looking down at him. You wished you could see his facial expression under his mask. “Whys that?” You asked. Jack could hear your heart slowing down. You weren’t losing too much blood, but you were definitely minutes away from being unconscious. “Here let’s get you laid down,” Jack suggested. He picked you up, laying you down on the kitchen floor. He pulled down your dress, adamant to not let his lust curve his intentions of taking care of you.

“Answer me. Why are you surprised?” You asked. Jack grabbed a few bandages, putting the first one on. “Because you’re absolutely beautiful. Any guy who doesn’t see that is blind,” Jack answered honestly. You felt your face flush pink, your eyes looking around the cabin to avoid looking at him. It was then you sat up, your vision getting spotty again. “I have an idea!” You announced. Jack went to guide you to lay down, his hands on your shoulders. You grabbed his wrist, giving him a big smile. “I really think you should lay down,” Jack insisted. You shook your head. “Wait wait. Hear me out. Why don’t I have sex with you?” You asked. Jacks heart skipped a beat, heat rushing to his cock.

He tried to ignore it, swallowing and focusing on the thumping of your heart. “Why me?” He asked. You felt yourself getting nervous, your eyes avoiding his gaze. “It saves me from losing my v card to some bozo. Besides, i’m sure you can teach me all sorts of things, right?” You asked, tilting your head to the side. Jack had an attractive aura, as odd as that sounded. His voice was deep and his hands were aesthetically pleasing. He carried you like you were as light as a feather. It only made you wonder how he could throw you around in the bedroom. “You’re drunk,” Jack said simply. He couldn’t believe you wanted that. Wanted him.

“Jackkkk i’m serious,” You protested. Jack wrapped your final wound, before picking you up once more. “So am I. If you remember this conversation we’ll discuss it tomorrow,” Jack said. He was trying his hardest to remain composed as he laid you down on the bed. He unzipped your heels, sliding them off of you and allowing them to fall to the floor. He helped you under the blanket, trying his hardest to ignore your dress riding up your thighs again. He went to stand and leave, turning his back to you. Your meek voice stopped him dead in his tracks, “Where are you going? Please don’t go.”

Jack felt pity, swallowing as he turned around. He grabbed a dusty old rocking chair, pulling up to the side of your bed. “It’s okay. Close your eyes. I’ll be here in the morning,” Jack said. You then allowed your head to fall against the foreign pillow, your eyes fluttering shut. Jack didn’t know what to make of you. Your life. Your confession. Your request. He didn’t know what to do with you. Yet you pulled at his heart strings, ones he didn’t even know existed. He shifted in his seat, watching you peacefully drift off to unconsciousness. Once he was sure your heart beat had slowed enough, he slid off his mask. He inhaled the cool night air deeply, the oxygen flowing much better through his system when his mask was lifted.

Jack inhaled deeply once more, making himself comfortable in his chair. He knew he’d be there for a while.

[heartofjasmina]

oh man oh boy I came running! and then I sat in your inbox thinking for literally a few minutes trying to decide, but I think I wanna go with a classic for this one

👹 and Kirishima please and thank you!

Oh a classic indeed!! Nice to see you in my inbox!

You were a princess stuck in a tower, dragon guarding it and all. But you'd long since given up on a prince coming to rescue you. Most of the princes you knew before your imprisonment were timid and soft spoken, not one of them would have the guts to save you from the fiersome red dragon who wrapped itself around your tower.

Instead you spoke with the dragon, telling it all about you as you passed the time. What you never expected was the dragon to shapeshift before your eyes, turning into a massive redheaded man who's body was thick with muscle. He struggled to speak more than a few words, mostly echoing you as you asked what he was. But he just cocked his head to the side and looked at you with the same slitted eyes your dragon had.

"You're, you're my dragon aren't you?" He nodded happily, a rumble echoing from deep within his chest.

"Yours." He spoke in his low husky voice, coming close to you and wrapping his strong arms around you.

His body was so warm against yours, and you were so lonely, you could't help but lean up to kiss his lips. He blinked and copied you, kissing you back eagerly as you taught him how to be careful with his massive teeth.

You ended up teaching him many things, including how to fuck you properly without overwhelming you with his strength or his girth. But you'd never felt so complete as when your dragon's hot body surrounded you and you were full of his cock. And he kept you locked in his arms for hours. Fucking you over and over until your hole overlfowed with his seed.

"Mate. Have young." He would grumble every single time, like the only thought in his head was getting you pregnant. (It was.) But you didn't mind, you just wanted to continue living your life with your love, your dragon.

[granddaughterofdemeter]

I'll pull you back to, what you need initially

pt.2

MASTERLIST

you never do choose the right guys...

[cheater+ex!jj maybank x fem!reader x toxic!rafe cameron]

warnings: rude kooks, mentions of alcohol, and, in general, bad coping

summary: midsummers [s1 e05]

It’s been two months since you last saw JJ, and tonight is the night your best friend expects you to be ready. 

Midsummers.

You may have been part of a middle-class family, but Kiara’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Carrera, still liked you enough to buy you dresses even if you told them you didn’t need them. They liked you because you were respectable and kind, though you also hung out with the Pogues, you never took part in any insane stuff. 

Save for Pogue parties, getting beat up by Kooks, and sneaking away for nights at an end, of course. But they didn’t need to know that.

You became her friend during her Kook year, and you stuck together through thick and thin ever since you were the only one who didn’t abandon her, and that’s why you weren’t close with the boys until you started dating JJ last year. It was wild to spend time with them, and you desperately wished to hang out with them like you did before you broke up with your ex-boyfriend. 

But after hearing the stories of him drinking and smoking all his troubles away, you didn’t want to possibly trigger another side of him willing to do more than that to forget about you like you wished you had the guts to do.

“[___], come on, I don’t want to be forced to spend more time there with my parents because I ‘arrived late’.” Kie groaned, rolling her eyes while you touched up your make-up. You snorted, laughing as you raced against the clock to get there in time for the torturous party made up of ‘vipers dressed in human clothing,’ according to your best friend. 

When you got there, your silky, baby-blue dress was stepped on by a tall, blonde, boy. 

“Oh, shit, I didn’t see you there, I’m really sorry.”

Considering how Kooks were, you wouldn’t be surprised if Topper did see you, but he just didn’t care. 

Kiara sneered before helping you up to your feet. You swayed before balancing on your 3-inch heels and stood tall to face him, who was taller by at least 4 inches. You smiled up at him before hugging Kie’s arm close to your hip and turning away. Both of you could hear their laughter but you did nothing but walk far away from them.

“[___], why would you just let him do that?” She hissed, glaring behind the two of you. You shrugged and leaned toward the bar to order two Cokes, because you both were under 21 and around creepy old men, before responding. 

“That’s what boys like him want, Kie, why would I give him that satisfaction?”

She grinned at you, clinking your glasses together before she sighed. “I know, but I just want to see that devastation on their faces sometimes, you know?” You giggled with her until you spotted a certain blonde-haired boy you weren’t happy to see at the moment.

JJ lightened up when he saw you after passing the note to Sarah but right before he could jump toward you, he was stopped by your savior, Rafe Cameron.

Feeling thankful for the man who made your life hell when you followed Kiara back to Kildare High wasn’t something you’d expected tonight, but you also didn’t want to see your ex try to prove something to you that you never believed in.

But Rafe still terrified you. Especially when he looked up and met your gaze.

The thing was that he had tried to talk to you more than a week ago when you were getting beer for your friends. Your other average friends who wouldn’t have anything to do with a man like Rafe, which is why you were increasingly frightened by his hand on your shoulder.

But he also only had one question when talking to you. A small conversation about who you were hanging out with, as in ‘where’s your dirty pogue boyfriend, [___]?’, a small, proud, smirk hanging off his face when you told him that the two of you broke up until Kiara came along for beers for the rest of the Pogues that you refused to hang out with because of JJ.

“Jesus, Cameron, can’t you see that [___] is incredibly uncomfortable talking to you? Be kind for once, she’s done nothing to you!” Kie snarled, satisfied once he released you and you could finally leave to your friends.

But that was almost two weeks ago, and you wouldn’t even expect him to remember that you had talked. Well, you desperately hoped, because, with his striking blue eyes almost identical to JJ’s save for the threatening glint focused on you and only you, you were worried that there was more to his attention on you than you might’ve thought.

banner creator posted on my pinned

[kit-williams]

Yandere 40K Guilliman is very interesting to me.

Because he’s just trying to find someone sane, someone who doesn’t fall into a religious fervour whenever they see him. Someone who can use common sense, an ability nearly 90% of the imperium seems to have lost.

But when he finds that person, someone who doesn’t immediately start sucking up to him in his presence, who will actually call him by his name, ‘Roboute’…..

Well then they’re his.

There going to be his reprieve, how he takes out all his anger and stress that’s accumulated from seeing the sorry state that the Imperium has become. He’ll release all that pent up aggression by fucking his new paramour unconscious. By taking brief breaks between his endless meetings with them in his lap, taking whatever liberties he wants with them.

There no other course of action. He is the Lord Commander of the Imperium, and if what he needs to handle the problems of the Imperium and lead them to victory is to have this one person stay by his side, then that’s what he’ll get.

It won’t be all bad, his paramour will be treated to an unpredcented life of luxury, all they have to do is ignore the fact they now solely belong to Guilliman and that there is no changing that fact of their new reality.

This is EXACTLY what I was hinting at with mentioning about 40k yandere Guilliman. His playfulness is still in there he wants to woo you like he normally would he's unhappy with how he has to get you by his side but he NEEDS an outlet! He needs someone to fixate on because he's running himself ragged.

He was in hell. As he was trapped in his armor most of the time... stuck with insane people all around him! Anyone who dared have some semblance of a spine around him were far too important for him to sink his teeth into. He was stuck... he was lonely... he was tired...

And then you came along. You were in awe but you kept it in check... you listened to him and unlike the fear and confusion at his more atheistic sentiments you hardly reacted simply replying "You're the God Emperor's son of course you don't worship him. Besides you know better than me." You were being humble and normally this would rouse such a playful response from him like a large cat playing with its meal. But he had no time for this.

You flitted in and out of his life and eventually his mind thinks of you often. Thinking over the words you say to him... thinking over the way you smile at him... the way you laugh; sometimes you even laugh completely unflatteringly much to your embarrassment. You accidentally seal your fate when you see him outside of his armor of Fate and the joy in your eyes as you gasp with delight, "Roboute! You're out of your armor." It was the first time since being allowed to call him Roboute that you used it.

You damned yourself by having your eyes sparkle seeing him out of armor... looking at him like a man...

You whimpered into his mouth as you try to wriggle free suddenly feeling the weight of his focus on you. Those blue eyes of his looking at everything like a mad man. He keeps apologizing as his face rubs against yours... rubs into your skin... you've seen this face a few times when he's pushed to his limit and you try to calm him down... you're crying by now... he keeps apologizing.

He needs this he tells you... he begs to a piece of comfort between your legs... perhaps if you knew what was to follow you wouldn't have been fooled by his just plea for feeling like a man. You might not have agreed to treat him as you have been... perhaps if you rejected his offer you'd still be free... you doubt so... you weren't anyone highly important that should you go missing things would collapse without you.

You're certain if anyone knew about you... they would simply thank you for your service to the Imperium.

@bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

@thevoidscreams @barn-anon @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @squishyowl @ms--lobotomy

@nekotaetae @sleepyfan-blog

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

2 + 1 = 3

Maya is six and will be placed in foster care soon, much to Katya's fear and pain, but Natasha has other ideas.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 1.4k • Warnings: none •A/N: thank you for this idea @drama2005 ! I can't believe I never wrote this scene before. Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

2019

Katya crashed into Natasha's body with a sigh, nearly knocking a pan out of her hand in the process. Technically, she didn't have ''shifts'' at the orphanage, but ever since Thanos was defeated and half the world was blipped back, it was chaos. 

In the midst of that chaos, she—and the rest of her staff—was trying to get the orphaned kids back with their blipped-back parents or family as fast as she could, before the government could come up with some law that prevented it, or made it more difficult. 

It meant lots of paperwork, lots of research, and lots of calling around, all while caring for the kids and trying to keep their environment as stable as possible. Most of them were confused, lost, and didn't know what was going on and what was going to happen. Some had trouble eating, others had trouble sleeping. A lot of tears were shed on a daily basis. Katya tried to be there for them as best she could.

''Another four kids were picked up today by family,'' she mumbled as Natasha set the pan down and wrapped her slumped body into a tight hug.

The redhead hummed, slowly caressing her oily, dark hair. The physical affection was getting more frequent and started to feel like the time before Thanos again. It made her incredibly happy. ''Isn't that a good thing?''

Katya sighed again, reluctantly peeling her face from Natasha's shoulder. ''Yeah, but…'' Dark eyebags stuck out from her pale face like blood in snow, her eyelids heavy like they were being pulled down by strings, but funnily enough, Natasha worried less about her now than a month ago. 

''But what?'' She asked softly, her hands on Katya's cheeks, lightly caressing her cheekbones with her thumbs.

''I don't know.'' Katya looked away from her, around the plainfully plain kitchen and the even plainer living room. They'd only moved into their lake house three weeks ago. ''I spent the last five years with them, I'm kind of sad to see them go, even if I'm really happy for them to be back where they belong.''

''What about—''

''She isn't getting picked up, Nat,'' Katya sharply cut her off, the frustration that she felt accidentally slipping out. The hopes she had for a happy ending for her favorite kid were getting more crushed by the day. ''She doesn't have anyone coming back for her. Her parents are dead-dead, not blipped, and the family we tried to contact doesn't want anything to do with her.'' Her jaw tensed. ''Makes me want to track them down, and—''

''Hey, hey.'' This time, Natasha cut her off before she could get angry, gently turning her head back towards her. ''She'll be okay.''

''No, she won't. She's fragile and sensitive, and she's going to end up in foster care, where there's creeps who take advantage of a sweet girl like her—'' Katya caught herself this time, taking a deep breath in and out until the deep crease on her forehead disappeared. She just felt so powerless. Pitifully, she buried her face in Natasha's shoulder again. ''I'm scared and sad for her.''

''I know, I know.'' Natasha rubbed her back, barely hearing what her wife said. Her mind was reeling with thoughts it had before, or maybe it were dreams. Anyhow, they were worthless back then, wrongly timed, but now… She took a deep breath and took the leap. ''Why doesn't she come and live with us?''

Katya didn't react like she thought she would. The brunette didn't move a muscle, mumbling into Natasha's shirt. ''I thought of it, but… I didn't think you'd want that.''

''Honey, it's been the two of us for five years now. This place could use some life.''

Carefully, Katya picked her head up, as if she was scared she was being pranked. ''Really?''

''Yes.'' Natasha smiled carefully, seeing the hope flare up in her wife's eyes. ''We have two empty bedrooms upstairs. One could be hers.''

Katya fully perked up, her mind going crazy with plans and ideas. ''Until we can find a good family for her. It'll give us time to vet check them.''

Ah. That's why she didn't react surprised before. She thought that Natasha meant the girl would only be staying temporarily. She never thought that she would suggest adopting. 

Weird excitement caused Natasha to contain a smile as she prepared to give Katya the biggest shock of her life. ''Actually, I was talking about a permanent stay.''

Katya froze, her eyes widening. It was nearly comical how it took her a few seconds to process. ''Per— You mean adopting her.''

''We've always talked about kids. We know her, she knows us, it feels right.'' Natasha seemingly spoke very casually about it, but her heart raced in her chest. ''Don't tell me you haven't thought about it.''

''Not thoroughly,'' Katya answered slowly, wide-eyed. ''It flashed across my mind, but I didn't think you'd want it this fast. Not after…'' Natasha nudged her chin up when she saw that Katya was mentally drifting to a bad place. The brunette shook her head, breathing out hard. ''Everything is just back on track. We are just starting to come together again.''

''True, but I doubt the adoption process is that fast. We probably still have a month or two to get used to the idea.'' 

She had completely knocked Katya into a state of disorientation and disbelief. The woman was just staring at her, lips slightly parted, as she tried to comprehend the entirety of what she was implying. Usually, Katya was the dreamer, and Natasha the realist. So this was by far the most unexpected thing Katya had ever expected to come out of her wife's mouth.

''Really?''

Natasha nodded, running her hands down Katya's arms until she could hold her hands tightly, giving them a reassuring squeeze. ''I've wanted nothing more than a family with you my whole life. You know my silent dream of being a mom. Maya's—''

''Perfect,'' Katya breathed, starting to get on board with this crazy dream.

Natasha nodded again. Maya was perfect, damaged and all. ''She came onto our path for a reason, Kat.''

''I thought you weren't superstitious,'' Katya teased. Natasha half-heartedly rolled her eyes.

''Well, after the twists and turns our lives have taken, and the place we ended up, how can I not be? I got everything I wanted. Peace, a home, you.'' She let go of one of Katya's hands to pull her closer by her hip. A light blush spread across the brunette's cheeks. ''There's only one thing missing, and I feel like it's her.''

Katya could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to take that leap of happiness with Natasha, but cautiousness slipped into her system after everything that happened. ''Can we even adopt? With our past, it's not exactly the best background to raise a kid.''

''Well, we did save the world… twice. And the universe… once, so who better to raise a kid than that?'' Natasha shrugged with a smirk. ''Besides, if Tony Stark, of all people, can raise a half decent kid like Morgan, then surely we can too.''

Katya snorted, untangling her hand from Natasha's to drape her arms over her shoulders. Their fronts were pressed together, creating an intimate bubble filled with pure bliss. ''It's a big responsibility,'' she muttered, staring deeply into those warm, familiar green eyes.

''And nothing we can't handle together.''

Natasha's confidence was contagious. Katya's heart beat with hope. ''You're serious?''

''Dead serious,'' Natasha promised, pulling her hips closer. Motherhood was the last thing she would ever think lightly about. ''Do you want this too?''

Katya breathed out a disbelieving laugh, shaking her head slowly. ''More than I want to kiss you, and I really want to kiss you right now.''

Natasha smiled joyfully. ''Then I'm in if you're in.''

Her answer came in the form of a lovesick look that meant a thousand words. The love poured out of Katya's eyes as she stared at her wife in excited disbelief. They were doing this. They were finally going to have that family they always dreamed of. 

The road may have been long, and incredibly, incredibly difficult at times, but this was where they were always meant to end up. Together, safely, as a family. Fate had a weird way of working out exactly like it was supposed to.

''I love you,'' Katya whispered, affection dripping from every syllable so heavily that Natasha felt her knees weaken.

''I love you too.''

[hanrinz]

ᰔ. — your boyfriend, rin itoshi worries too much about you. a party can never stop him anyway. f reader.

“c’mere, sit down.”

your boyfriend, rin said as he tugged your hands gently as he led you to a bench. grabbing you by your shoulders to let you sit. dropping on his knees, dirtying his expensive pants that he had recently bought yesterday.

reo had invited the both of you to his party, something about a celebration of sorts for their recent victory.

though your boyfriend didn’t want to attend, with it being a pain for interrupting his time with you—his words not yours—a little convincing on your part did the job anyway.

the party was great and all, well you had expected it anyways. reo does have the knack for these kind of things, knowing he’s been doing this for as long as he can remember.

as the night goes on, you meet familiar faces, namely your boyfriend's teammates, who seemed to be overjoyed. you really had a great time, and you're pretty much sure rin did too.

(even if he was pretty much stuck by your side and if he was ever apart from you, his hands always seem to find it’s way to any expanse of your skin.) but soon enough the party just drained the life out of you. your dress sticking uncomfortably on your skin, the music just blasting in your ears, a headache pounding in your head.

and you really, really tried to stay for a little more—just out of courtesy, but rin noticed.

he always does.

finally, he thinks to himself.

a reason to bail out, he’s sure these losers can understand if the two of you leave early, he just can’t wait to come home and just have the night together all to yourselves.

and so he did, he gently dragged you towards the dooor out of reo’s house, taking your purse and phone as he whispered lowly in your ears.

“we’re leaving.”

“already? but what about reo?”

“he wouldn’t mind,” he interjects as he walks slowly beside you, your hand still laced with his. trudging as you try to navigate your way despite the alcohol taking its effect into your vision. as you open the door, the cold air of the night greets you, and it was rather nice.

you can finally breathe.

the still quietness of the city had quelled the storm in you, the dark lonely city offers its comfort to you. and you really like times like this, just this moment of the two of you alone with each other. hand in hand, aimlessly walking in the dead of the night. you turn to the man beside you, a small tired smile creeping up its way in your face.

now that you think of it, you don’t mind escaping everything if you could always have a moment like this with him.

“thank you for accompanying me tonight.” thank you for agreeing to you to come even though he doesn’t want to—is what translates to rin’s dictionary that was made for you.

rin looks at you briefly and looks away just as fast before responding.

“you don’t need to thank me, it’s nothing.”

noticing the tip of his ears all flare up as the color of a rose, you suppress the laugh in your chest as he plays it off as something as ‘nothing’. your boyfriend is totally like a cat who hates showing affection, sometimes you just want to kiss him.

you would’ve run or just go wild in the street just from the millions butterflies that flutter in your stomach if not for the incessant pain in your feet—your heels are killing you. it has been two hours since it’s been bothering you, trying to ignore it the whole time you were in the party.

not being able to keep up with his long strides despite his slow pace.

it’s definitely because of his long legs.

rin noticed once again, as always. which led you to this present moment of him kneeling down for you. his hands working on unclasping the straps of your heels, taking it in his hands as he stood back into his height.

he stares for a moment, tilting his head a little, that kind of reminds you like a cat.

suddenly, putting your phone in his pockets, taking off his jacket and tying it around your waist. taking you by surprise, but you let him do it anyways. turning around, his back facing you as he kneels once again.

this was a rather unusual gesture from your boyfriend, is he offering you a piggyback ride? you wonder what has gotten into him.

might as well savour this opportunity, don’t you think?

you got on his back, his hands coming around your thighs and his jacket acting as protection on your lower body. rin was warm, always been so cuddly and huggable. you lean into him, with a small smile hanging on your face.

“thank you, rin.”

he scoffs at that, “i told you, its nothing,” yet the heat that reaches the tip of his ears never gone away.

“i know,” you whispered. “but still, i had fun today and i really wanted to go out with you. you didn’t have to do all of this for me.”

you were met with silence, but you dont take any offense in it. because it’s just him—its just rin itoshi, it’s just the man you know of for years and have come to love.

“...we can always go out if you’d like,” he pauses. “and i did it, because i want to. don’t you ever forget that, idiot.”

you laughed at him once more.

“okay.” you promised, with a wide grin forming on your face, that rin can imagine even if he can’t see you from his back and it feels good.

everything was good when he’s with you.

◞♡ likes & reblogs are highly appreciated! i miss rin like crazy guys this draft is like from march last year lmfao

[thefoxtherapist]

Hello! I hope you are doing well <3

This is a different experience for me as I don’t really request much.. let me know if this is disrespectful or not! but I was hoping to request Jiyan x male/gn reader (i have no preference) angst?

Jiyan has so much angst potential, especially in his story/companion quest! My idea was centered around the reader death (long before this plot) with Jiyan who is still coping about their death. During the retroact rain tacet discords are mimicking their s/o calling out to him like they are still alive. They poke and prod at his vulnerability, with Jiyan having this inner turmoil of how to overcome this.

Thank you for your time! Whether that be indulging in my thoughts or for just reading this request, I appreciate it <3 Take care!

Hi thank you! I'm okay ^^ I hope you are well.

This isn't disrespectful at all don't worry! You did great for a new requester :)

This was quite a sad concept poor Jiyan, giving him hugs.

I hope you still like this even though it doesn't 100% follow the request! Sorry about that, sometimes writing has its own mind without my input..

Jiyan’s grip tightened on his lance after Geshu Lin’s phantom disappeared from sight. No longer haunted by his previous General, he took a deep breath. He turned inwards to the building, he had things to prepare for the coming battle. He had an army to lead and a city to protect. He couldn’t hesitate now.

And yet that was exactly what he did.

Golden eyes moved to the left as he heard a familiar voice. His breath caught in his throat and his heart twisted in an uncomfortable manner. No. He couldn’t listen, he couldn’t falter. Jiyan looked forward, head held high. 

He walked forward, ignoring the voice he sorely missed. 

Every action he took, accompanied by that familiar voice, that missed pitch, the yearning frequency. It was all a trick. Jiyan knew that, he was aware, he wasn’t stupid. Geshu Lin had been difficult to deal with, but he stuck to his knowledge.

But it was different this time, and the General knew that.

You were dead.

Every breath he took was accompanied by the pained beating of his heart. His head swam. Grief. His mother was always so insistent on his grief. That it was something he needed to face, needed to conquer, cope with. But Jiyan always brushed it off. There was no time was his excuse. But he knew better. He knew better, he just cared too much.

He stepped away, finding a barren spot where he could be alone with his thoughts. Jiyan crossed his arms over his chest as he looked out from the small hill he stood on. Clawed fingers of his gauntlet dug into his opposing arm as your voice once more infiltrated his ears, his mind.

The old General wasn’t the only loss three years prior and it was a guilt that Jiyan struggled with. 

Jinzhou was a battlefield.

The Resonator looked up, watching as the rain fell upwards. His face still wet as the rain caressed his skin as it floated upwards above him. He uncrossed his arms, lifting his hand to follow the path of the rain. 

He’d been a medic back then, but your life was not one he could save.

The General’s hand closed in a tight fist, arm dropping back down to his side. Even with the antidote against the rain, he could still hear you calling out to him after all these years. But he was left with a lingering fear that if he turned around he’d be faced with the tacet discords that similarly used Geshu Lin against him.

Geshu Lin had obtained an infamous reputation for his choice to stand strong, blamed for the loss of their soldiers.

And you.

Jiyan’s eyebrows furrowed as he closed his eyes, unable to take the soft whimpers of his name, you hadn’t even cried for help, you simply told him to push on, to leave you behind. Was that how he knew the phantom behind him was nothing more than a mimic? Perhaps. Or your phantom was influenced by his own regret.

Huanglong did not know of the sacrifice you made to send him forward. 

“You’ll come back for me, Jiyan. You always do.”

He turned his head away, chewing the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood on his tongue. No positive outcomes that day could ever wash away the reality of it all. He’d lost a lover, he’d lost a friend. One forgotten, one cast as a villain. 

“Jiyan.. My love? Is it really that bad? Oh don’t look at me like that!”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’ll be okay, really!”

Jiyan opened his eyes.

All he had done was retreat.

[villainofmyownstory]

Day Zero chapter 7

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pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x plus size fem!reader

summary: When you enter a dark building, you don't expect that you will face an enemy you haven't seen for a long time. One of them.

tags: AFAB reader, plus size reader, dog german shepherd, zombies/monsters, blood, gory

author's note: Finally! I'm back with a new chapter, I hope someone is still waiting for the next parts ^^ because I'm going to keep writing it anyway. Thank you for your comments, likes and reblogs. It means a lot to me.

And English is not my first language, so probably many things are poorly described and the vocabulary is very simple. If you see any mistakes - let me know!

💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

Chapter 7: The one with the Jaws

Day 738

You moved nervously in your seat, looking out of the car window towards the building that Ghost and Riley had entered some time ago. Time passed slowly, you seemed to have sat locked in the car for a good few hours. However, the still high-hanging sun made, if not reaffirmed, the belief that you hadn't spent much time waiting for the return of the two, now, closest living beings to you. You don't know yourself anymore who you were more worried about. Biting your lip nervously and still plucking at the already ragged fabric of your gloves, you continue to stare into the dark entrance of the building. You still can't see any light or movement in it. Nothing. Darkness. Ghost has told you to sit in the car. Of course, on the one hand, you perfectly understand his behaviour towards you. Seeing how insecurely you hold your gun, generally how clumsy you are and practically know nothing. And most importantly, he still simply didn't trust you - because he didn't know you. You understood this and sat there, stuck in the car, even simply for your own safety, but perhaps more so to make Ghost's job easier. At least he didn't have to stay busy and watch out for you. He could concentrate on keeping an eye on Riley and, more importantly, dealing with whatever was lurking ahead of you in the dark corridors of this building. But on the other hand, you felt frustrated because you felt that you were no longer who you used to be. You've re-learned how to live in these bizarre conditions, and you want to feel that you can be of some use, that your presence here is somehow important. Needed.

But at some point, it is a kind of relief that you don't have to worry about another day, about yourself. That you don't have to fall asleep praying for at least one quiet night and passing at least one hour, not waking up suddenly for any reason, any slightest unknown sound.

Now, the thought comes to you that you are already worried about yourself. Somehow, after all you've been through, all that has happened to you over the past months. You finally feel the sense and desire to somehow take care of and surround someone else with care. With that, you catch yourself staring at an empty open door, not just worried, just about your dog. But for someone who was just as much alive as you were.

Well, you're sure the dog will do just fine. Whatever he had to deal with there in that dark space. Whatever could stand hostile , against Riley. It certainly won't come out defensively in a clash with your dog. You've seen it, from the day you saw him, after those two years, there at the tower . Not only has he grown, he has matured because of his age. But he was simply well-trained. This was not only your small contribution because since he came to your house you took great care of his development and training.

But the dog's behavior around Ghost, how obediently it obeyed commands, how faithfully it guarded you and the man, how docilely it wandered past your or the man's leg, and with what aggression and persistence it tried to reach whatever was in the basement. This only reinforced your belief that the dog was being properly looked after. Ironically, the only winner in this new reality, in this new world, is Riley. Well cared for, fed, trained.

And most importantly, surrounded by respect and -

love.

With each passing minute, you slowly pull and tug harder and more vigorously at the already badly damaged glove material. Your lower lip is bitten so hard that it begins to bleed. Finally you admit to yourself that all this nervousness is due to such a trivial reason.

You are worried about that damn drunk.

About the man who wanted to kill you without even exchanging a word with you. But ultimately you are worried about Ghost. About the one who, despite everything, welcomed you into his home and let you stay.

Shaking your head, you try to get rid of these thoughts. It's so stupid. To worry about someone who probably, if he saw your cold, emotionless and lifeless body. He wouldn't even spend a second thinking about who you were. Without any thought or pity for you. He probably wouldn't even look. He would just move on, as was his habit. Somewhere to a designated destination, a defined place.

Or maybe it was just a façade, maybe somewhere under that bizarre mask was a real, feeling person. Silly you, you hoped so. But that's what you shouldn't bother with, and most importantly, that's not what's most important in all this.

Survival. That's what matters.

Survival instinct. Primal, natural, just plain animalistic.

So as you slam the door behind you and try to bravely and vigorously walk to the building, you repeat one thought in your head. Your continued survival depends on this man, you must hold on to him. You can't let him die. Or worse, turn into one of them. With this thought, of simply surviving, you marched to the entrance of the building.

Because if Ghost were no longer there, any hope for any future was virtually nil. Rather, the pool of dumb luck you've had for the past two years has definitely run out. You won't be able to survive another dark and cold winter alone. You won't even be able to survive another month alone.

That's what you were sure of. You were never a strong and courageous person. And living in constant fear, with your heart rate perpetually racing, with adrenaline constantly high was not something you were used to. You didn't feel the motivation, the will to survive, the fight for each new day. Quite the opposite. All this, each successive sleepless night, the constant search for food, medicine, safe shelter made you feel immense resignation, chronic fatigue and, above all, a sense of the meaninglessness of your existence. Because it's hard to call life what you've been doing these past 24 months. Vegetation. Like a little calf left without its mother. No idea how to survive, how to live.

Holding a pistol in one hand, taken from the glove compartment of the car, and holding a small hand-held flashlight in the other. Slowly, being careful with every step you take, you enter the building. As soon as you cross the threshold, you are overwhelmed by darkness. It's not good. Shivers run through your body. Step by step you try to walk silently into the depths of the narrow corridor. On each side, left as well as right, there are doors.

Although it's daytime you can only see the places you illuminate with your flashlight, and in places through gaps in the door or some open doors, single rays of sunlight reach you. The building is also silent. It's definitely not good.

It's too quiet.

You can't hear the barking of a dog or the quick and heavy footsteps of a man. You slowly and steadily check each room, but only those to which an open or half-open door leads. There aren't many on the first floor. The rooms you check are usually empty, or there are isolated objects like a chair, a cabinet or a desk. Everything is covered in a thick layer of dust and usually carelessly placed somewhere in disarray in the room.

Apparently, the building stood empty long before Day Zero. Maybe that's not so bad after all. Placing your feet carefully on the dusty and dirty floor, advancing to the last open door on this floor you finally hear something. Stopping at the ajar door and holding your breath, you try to focus on the sounds reaching you.

Adrenaline and a rapid heartbeat make it difficult to hear exactly what is happening in the distance.

But you can definitely hear something.

Like the shifting of something on the ground, the steady and long clatter of something heavy on a dirty floor. As if someone was pulling something, moving something. Maybe some furniture was moved, or maybe it was-

What if someone gets hurt? Directing the small light of your flashlight at your feet, you walk towards the narrow stairs at the end of the hall. What if you wait too long in the car and something terrible happens?

As you hurry every two steps, you don't worry about them hearing you. Your ears are ringing more and more often. Your increased pace, not only caused by your sudden mounting fear but also by the effort of climbing the stairs at a fast pace, causes you to hear nothing but your own tired body for a moment. You stop for a moment between floors. Listening. If you hear this rustling, it means someone is there. There definitely has to be someone here. Alive.

What if someone attacks and Ghost gets hurt or the dog needs help? There is such a possibility. No. You hope not. It definitely couldn't be Riley. You quickly push away that terrible thought and climb the stairs again, skipping some steps to get higher faster. You finally reach the penultimate floor, and here the sound finally becomes louder, more audible.

Now you can hear it clearly.

Trying to calm down a bit and control your tiredness, you stop on the last step, trying to breathe through your nose, but your poor state causes the exhaled air to come out of your mouth, much too loudly. Despite your sincere intentions, you cannot remain unnoticed. The shuffling stops suddenly. As with breathing, the air remains in your lungs and your slightly parted mouth closes quickly. You hesitantly direct the light of your flashlight towards the corridor and-

It's been months since you last saw one of them. And that was from quite a distance. Long months allowing you to erase that monstrous image in your mind. At least wipe out a little of the horror that was your daily life in the first weeks. With each passing day, the number of infected - or perhaps already-dead, multiplied with each sunset. More and more.

Their screams, the inhuman sounds they made of themselves, it was something that not only caused a nervous shaking of your whole body. And so simply did not let you fall asleep, did not allow you to close your eyes at least for a few minutes.

Terror, mixed with fear. That was your everyday life then.

After that day, when you decided to end this agony, your miserable life - and what you failed.

Their horrifying screams stopped. At least for you.

And even today, you remember the first time you met them. The first contact with those things. It was something so terrifying, inhuman and unreal. That it stuck in your memory, permanently blurred in your brain, and the image stayed in your mind, probably accompanying you and will always be there. That recollection lasted with you, even though you tried so hard to forget it. Pretend it was a nightmare or a scene from a movie.

Day 10

You

It was one of the first days when you were left completely alone at home. No TV, no internet, and not even a phone. You couldn't communicate with anyone or get any information - everything stopped working. Suddenly, in one day. And the chaos outside only intensified, increasing with each passing day. You were so panicked and paralyzed with fear that for the first few days you didn't even leave the house, didn't even look out the window.

Until one late afternoon, when it seemed that the commotion outside the window was slowly calming down. When the sun had already hidden behind the horizon, and you were preparing to take up shelter again in the basement, in one quiet and seemingly safe place. Unexpectedly, you heard someone's familiar voice in the distance, somewhere in the yard behind the house. Distorted, not quite human. But nevertheless still recognizable and familiar.

It was Rose. It had to be her.

She called out to you, you clearly heard your name. Without waiting a moment, you dashed to the back door by the kitchen. With no hesitation, you turned the locks and grabbed the handle. You quickly opened the old wooden door.

Immediately after opening the door and crossing the threshold, you regretted your decision. On the terrace steps, stood Rose. Or something that tried to imitate her. In stained, dirty and frayed clothes stood a pale, hunched figure. In her hair, there was no sign of her signature-amulet, a red pin with a rose, from which she took her nickname. The lush, long and dark hair on her head was gone. She was almost bald, her pale skull surrounded by a thin light shell, her skin almost translucent, through which, a web of dark veins could be seen. Twisted, in a strange way, the figure slowly walked towards you. It clumsily took steps, and a low, penetrating screech could be heard through its open mouth, from which a bizarre, dark liquid flowed.  Long, bright claws protruded from behind cracked, scarred lips. Which with each passing second seemed to extend even further. As if sensing your silhouette, they became bigger, sharper.

Maybe it was just an illusion, maybe the monster in front of you just opened its jaw even wider. A strange grimace merged with a murky liquid - resembling old, dirty blood. Dark maroon drops ran down his angular jaw, staining the light-colored cloth and dripping onto the wooden floorboards of the terrace. Frozen with terror, you stand motionless, not knowing what the hell to do. How to act properly. Run away, attack, scream, cry.

Anything. Something.

Millions of thoughts run through your head. No action seems logical or wise. With no time for further deliberation, when seemingly Rose has already approached you at arm's length.  Stumbling over the threshold of the door, you retreat a few steps into the depths of the house. Holding the door, you try not to fall over and close it.  Cutting yourself off this way and being as far as possible from the strange figure in front of you. The monster is already close to the threshold, shouting louder, the sound rumbling in your ears, reaching so deep that you wince at the unimaginable pain the horrible high-pitched sound causes.

You feel as if something is tearing apart your eardrums, as if it is trying to reach the farthest recesses of your brain, slowly tearing it apart. With a last effort to suppress the pain, at least for a moment, you try to slam the door.

Rose, however, is quick enough to push its head between the door and the doorframe, driving its sharp teeth into you. The dark liquid splashes not only around her, but single drops fall on you as well.

You push the door with your whole body to prevent it from opening wider and the strange figure from entering the depths of your home. Which until now seemed to be the only safe place. With one leg you block the door so that it doesn't move towards you and let Rose in. With the other leg, you lean against the wooden floor to stop the incredible force with which the monster is trying to force its entry into the house.

For some reason, there is a brief moment when Rose stops attacking, and at that exact second, with all your strength and power, you push the door in its direction, trying to close it. The monster's neck lands between the door and the doorframe, so you cut off its air supply. Rose stops screaming and after a few moments you feel its resistance weakening. However, seeing the monstrous figure in front of you, it is with what fury, madness in hungry eyes she looked at you. And she definitely wanted to attack and bite you - and thus probably kill you. Your anger grew.

Seeing that the inhuman figure has lost consciousness and is hanging inertly by the door. You fall into a fury unknown to you since that moment. You start opening and closing the door. The figure falls helplessly between a small space on the ground. And you, with unimaginable and unfamiliar fury and force, close and open the door so that the monster's neck and head are struck by the wooden door and, bouncing off it, hit the edge of the door frame.

Full of anger, you scream louder and louder, feeling a burning pain in your throat. Blood mixes with a strange jelly-like liquid. Forming a bizarre mixture at your feet. Hearing a loud crunch and already feeling less resistance, you nevertheless continue to bang the door against the lying figure with vigorous power.

Finally you stop and, sobbing, sit down on the floor. Terrified, you wipe your face and, seeing the terrifying image in front of you, you crawl backwards into the farthest corner of the room. To be as far away as possible. Not to smell the horrible stench emitted by the inert body. To be as far away as possible and not see the pool of blood mixed with a viscous gelatinous liquid, infected pieces of brain and shreds of skull bones. You cower against the wall covering your eyes, trying to hold back loud sobs and fear.

That day you killed for the very first time. Unfortunately, it was not the last time. It was just the beginning.

Day 738

With your shaking hand you direct the stream of light from a small flashlight to the direction you thought strange sounds were coming from just a moment ago. Now, hearing nothing but your own breathing and heartbeat, you wonder if this sound was not a creation of your imagination.

Unfortunately, it wasn't.

A pale, bony figure lurking behind one of the doors, now irritated by the small light from the flashlight, moves toward you. It rushes at you with a wide-open mouth in which long bright fangs shimmer, stained with the dark liquid you already know. You don't have a chance to do anything, it's happening so fast that you don't even think of pulling the trigger of the gun you hold in your hand.

The monster with high force hits you and causes you to fall on your back on the half-floor. The force of the impact is so great that all the air escapes from your lungs. Despite the loss of breath and the monstrous bou in the back of your body. Perhaps due to adrenaline triggered by fear, you try to fight back. With your hands you try to push the undead away. You hit it with your hands trying to at least push its distorted face away from you. You curl up on the floor, tilting your head from side to side. As you fall, a gun falls out of your hands and a flashlight, which also illuminates some stairs, dropped a few feet away from you.

Just so it doesn't bite you. If only its fangs dig into your skin, you're dead. It'll be end of you.

The monster opens its mouth wide, exposing fangs that have clearly been dipped into a living thing more than once. They're filthy, with pinkish bits of flesh visible in between. The dark substance lands on you. The undead spits blood at you and whatever the brown liquid coming out of it is. The stinky sticky substance is practically everywhere. On your cheeks, forehead, in your hair, on the fresh clothes you wore this morning. Writhing under this murderous form, you try to catch at least one breath of clean air, you try to move your legs to throw off your opponent.

All in vain.

You feel that you have less and less strength and soon you won't be able to push that overly contorted, monstrous face away. At one time it must have been a human being. But now, aside from its general physical features, it did not resemble a man, at least not a living one. It definitely hadn't been one for a long time. In torn clothes, without hair, with dark eye holes in place of eyes, with long and sharp fangs. With pale white, almost transparent skin, from under which dark veins could easily be seen. With each passing day, the thing that infected the human body transformed it more and more into a strange creature that only seemingly resembled a human. It looked as if the evolution of these creatures, instead of taking hundreds of years, had accelerated many times over. It was even difficult to recognize whether it was once a young man or an older woman. Maybe a teenager.

You can already feel your hands failing, losing energy and strength with each passing second. By the time the monster's face was close to your cheek, its breath could be clearly felt on your skin, and the penetrating odor prevented you from taking another much-needed breath. You stretch out your neck and tilt your head as much as you can to catch it, trying to make sure the figure above you doesn't bite you.

You close your eyes and pray in your mind to whomever, whatever god, that if at this moment, you'll end your life.  That it would at least take place quickly and relatively painlessly. You expect this bite to really hurt, maybe more than-.

To your surprise and confusion. You feel a thump, a push. A jerk and a sudden relief. The pressure of the body is no longer over you, your hands do not resist, you can move your legs freely.

You slowly turn your face away and carefully open your clenched eyelids. Somewhere nearby you hear muffled gasps and stifled squeaks. Ragging, tugging, tearing at fabric, some banging. However, the flashlight lies too far away to reach out and grab it. The building is too dark to see anything, whatever is happening further than a step away from you. Momentarily, all sounds stop. All you hear is your own heartbeat and rapid breathing, gasping. Not just your own.

Now that there's no adrenaline in your body, you slowly start to feel more and more pain in your body from falling down the stairs and hitting the ground. However, you don't have time to pick yourself up, to think about what hurts the most, if any bone was broken, and most importantly, if at some point the monster didn't bite you.

Before you have time to make any move to try to get up from the cold floor. Once again you feel the pressure on your body. However, this time it is softer. More human-

"Don't move."

It's Ghost.

"Are you broken?"

Asking this question, you feel him gently checking if your limbs are broken. Although you are still in shock you feel how efficiently and yet gently he touches first one hand then the other, gently squeezes and moves your arm, elbow checking if the joints are in place too. When you feel a gentle pressure on your right thigh you grimace gently, but try not to show any discomfort. When your legs are checked by him you feel him change positions and another sentence comes from his mouth.

"Now I'm going to touch your upper body, check your ribs and hips, okay?"

Without thinking, you nod.

Ghost grunts.

"Lucky me to have night vision. But don't pretend to be tough, kid, that fall must have cost you a lot. Tell me if something hurts you. I'll help you."

"O-okay, I'll tell you."

Fortunately, you don't feel any pain in your chest or hips. As Ghost checks your pupils and asks if you felt a bite and asks a few more questions about your wellbeing you feel yourself shaking with terror. The involuntary trembling of your arms, as well as the rest of your body, is out of control. Tears appear in your eyes.

"It's okay. Whoa, it's alright. I'll get you out of here and we'll go home. Hang in there a little longer. You did a good job."

Hearing these words you want to say something back but you're unable to, every sound trapped in your throat. All you can do is once again shake your head pathetically in confirmation. Ghost lifts you off the ground, doing it very gently and slowly. As if he is afraid that by any careless movement, you will break into millions of pieces. Despite your weight, he lifts you easily off the ground and without a word starts to walk down the stairs.

You sink your face into the hard material of his tactical gear, trying to control a sob. To your surprise, despite having you in his arms, the man walks with a quick and steady stride.

And extremely quietly. The rhythm you hear is a slightly accelerated pulse. His.

When he finally reaches the ground floor, he stops for a moment. Now that the corridor is lit up thanks to the open exit door, you notice Riley stopping by Ghost's leg. This puts you at ease. They both look fine and healthy.

"How are you feeling?"

Ghost's voice snaps you out of your reverie. He's different than before. Like he's more concerned, more nervous. Something is not quite right. Before you have time to answer anything, the man is almost running towards the exit of the building. Once you are outside, you squint your eyes, even though the events inside seemed to go on forever, it must have been a relatively short time, an hour at maximum, since you crossed the threshold and entered the darkness. It is very warm and bright outside, and the sun is still high in the sky. You involuntarily close your eyelids, the daylight makes you ache.

Ghost runs to the car at a very fast pace, and when he opens the car door he practically throws you into the passenger seat. He shouts to the dog, giving him a brief command to get into the back and, without waiting for the dog to react, he quickly makes his way to the car, getting behind the wheel.

Finally, as the car starts and pulls away, you open your eyes. Your eyesight has finally become adjusted to the day's prevailing brightness. Still, tears and something else prevent your eyes from fully and sharply observing the world around you. You feel that something wrong is happening. Something is definitely not right. So you try to find some clean cloth to wipe your misty eyes. Correct your vision to look at the man next to you in peace and figure out what's going on. Why he is acting so nervously and hurriedly.

But before you do, the answer to your questions you simply see.

You are covered in dirty brown blood.

Despite the blurry and blurry image from your tears, you look at the dark stains on your skin of your forearms and on the gray fabric of your clothes. In a panic, you start wiping your soiled skin against the fabric of your clothes trying to clean what has already dried on your body.

"Hey hey, take it easy, don't move. Try not to spread it, so it doesn't get into your eyes or into some wound on your skin."

Ghost grabs your arm with one hand and holds you down.

"Everything is fine as long as you're not hurt and nothing bites you - it's fine. Just stay calm. At home you will change and clean yourself up."

The rest of the way back you don't exchange a single word. You feel that Ghost looks at you every now and then but you don't have the courage to raise your head and look at the man sitting next to you. You stare at your hands placed on your knees which you clench nervously.

You try not to panic even more. However, you no longer know if you have been infected and the faster heartbeat, the slight nervous twitching and trembling of your limbs or jaw, are not due to the fact that you are already in transition. Or was it simply panic, fear and fatigue of the body after the horror you encountered in the building.

The way from the car to the house, and then how you found yourself in the bathroom, washed and changed into fresh new clothes. It was all like a blur. It's like you're not doing it yourself. Throughout this process, you are accompanied by Ghost's calm, subdued voice. It's how he reassures you, reiterates that everything is fine and that you should be careful to just wash the dried blood away and try not to smear it into your eyes or somehow into your mouth. Even when you are locked in the bathroom and slowly rinsing off the remnants of your recent struggle for life, the man's voice can still be heard from behind the closed door.

It's because of him that you don't panic even more. You don't do something stupid. Just calmly, like a robot that performs the actions programmed to it. You just simply do it.

As you now sit in the kitchen and warm food lands on a plate in front of you and hot tea steams in a mug next to you, you slowly return to reality. Beside your meal you notice a few pills.

Finally you lift your gaze and look at Ghost, who is leaning against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest and watching you closely.

"Thank you."

This is the only thing you can think of at this point. Grabbing a spoon you scoop up a large portion of food and without waiting for any response from the man you begin to eat, at the same time you take the pills left next to it.

The meal goes on in silence, Riley sits next to Ghost and, as if copying his behavior, with his head slightly bowed, does not take his eyes off you. It's as if they are both waiting to see if you are about to fall to the floor in pain, screaming loudly and eventually turning into one of them. Nothing like that happens so far. However, this thought, doesn't allow you to calmly finish your meal. What if your heart is about to stop beating, what if the poison was already slowly in your bloodstream and is systematically turning your blood cells into sticky dead brown clots. What if-

"Come on, it's time to rest. It's been a long and fucked up day."

Ghost walks slowly toward the hallway expectantly looking at you. Drinking the last sip of tea, you get up from your chair and move slowly toward your room.

And so the three of you, you, Ghost and Riley find yourselves in a small space, your cramped and small bedroom.

"Lie down and try to sleep-" 

Ghost interrupts his speech, because Riley nudges him in the leg with his head, clearly signaling to him that he's not the only one here.

"You little bastard." 

Patting Riley on the back, the man finishes his interrupted comment

"Of course, me and Riley will be here all night. We'll be watching to see if anything bad happens to you. Are you okay with that?"

"'Y-yes, I think so."

You answer and slowly lie down on the bed, as soon as your head touches the pillow you feel your eyes slowly closing.

"You really have nothing to worry about, if you were to transform it would have happened long ago, it never takes that much time."

Ghost's voice gets quieter and softer, everything seems to slow down. Your breathing becomes more steady. Your eyelids are heavy that you no longer have the strength to open them. Besides, the bed is so soft and comfortable that you don't even want to change it. With your last effort, before sleep has completely overtaken you, you add barely audibly.

"I know, it should be painful. It hurt so damn much back then. Now it feels good. I just- I was just scared. I didn't want to die yet."

You don't hear Ghost's answer anymore, as you fall into a deep sleep.

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[danddymaro]

Having each other | Daryl Dixon x Reader

During S9

angsty(?)

Word Count: 1347

Having Eachother

It amazed him how much you smiled, how much of you suggested the idea that nothing in the world was going to break down that front. 

Even as the farm went to hell, and everything in it that had once seemed lively was rendered to waste, you kept that same upward perk. 

Against all odds and his initial frustration too, you were a true trooper, dedicated to holding onto that one bit of you, you swore no one could ever take from you.

'It's all I have,' You said quietly as you looked up into the starless sky, refusing to let a single tear fall.

Even when he could see your eyes tear up, brim with would-be tears, you somehow managed to blink them away just in time, smiling right after, almost triumphantly.

-It was admirable, really.

After everything that had occurred, every bit of heartbreak you suffered through, you managed to show off the expression. Even if it sometimes twitched with opposition, wanting to fall into the same gloomy state as everything else around tended to, you managed to salvage it.

You smiled, and he figured that it was out of some stupid luck he'd gotten stuck with you during the escape.

That had to be it,

' - some sort of cursed luck, ' he mused bitterly as you two walked through the noon, trying to find a safe place to rest.

he quietly looked back, his eyes leading back to you, who seemed rather chirpy as you gazed up at the sky, upholding that dammed smile.

 

And you had the nerve to wave your fingers up as little birds ventured towards the same path you guys seemed to, almost as though you were convinced your bloodied hand was anything to fall for.

It happened too many times to count, and you told him the same thing over and over ;

"We'll get through this," you said while smiling down at him as he sat on the broken porch of the abandoned house. 

During his own miserable episodes, he envied you, silently cursing at your naïveté until he finally understood that it was your own strength, your own resistance to the world's evil.

He'd never been one to try and understand the complexity of other people, especially not when he hadn't been one to interact with many before.

He had always been on the move with Merle, so there hadn't been a reason to try and understand anyone else.

To a person like him, you'd been strange at first, a mystery he couldn't properly understand at first glance.

'You should try it sometime,' you suggested with a shrug, mildly considering it after your sanguinity usually ended in some form of accomplishment.

-And he began to smile, his version of a smile at least which was usually just some dickish joke accompanied by a short grin.

Even if it was just a quick motion, you seemed to catch on and appreciated it, praising him for being able to show something other than frustration.

"You have a pretty smile,"  you said as you stopped in your tracks, taking a moment to look at him before you offered him one of your own and kept moving. 

" I like it..." 

The moment had been so quick, and he stood stunned as you walked past him, trailing behind Carl with an old box full of dust-coated supplies that consisted of old cans of soup.

Tongue-tied was just what Daryl felt, especially the second time you strolled by.

Luckily, he'd always been a quiet guy, so it wasn't so strange to anyone else. 

"Give it here," he said while motioning you close, taking the last of the supplies in his arms. 

You didn't fight him on it. soon after, rolling your neck as you thanked him. 

"-Tough day huh?" he said while observing you, and you let out a little sigh, "Yeah...but I'm just happy to be home," you answered honestly, walking with him. 

And your lips were stretched into a soft smile as you looked up at the tame clouds above.

"Glad you're here..." he said while looking straight, finding it hard to look at you, no matter how pretty you were.

.

.

.

He tried to look away, to keep his eyes on Carol, focusing on his closest confidant to offer her some sort of comfort during the moment because he knew she needed it too. 

-More than he did.

He tried to be strong, holding down his voice, keeping it from wavering.

But his heart ached, slowly splitting by its delicate strings as he closed his eyes, shutting them tight as he brought the long-haired woman close to him, embracing her.

He offered her somewhere to hide, to look away from her son as he stared beyond them, out into nothing, avoiding the true sight that hovered over them.

-All while sad eyes glanced down at him.

It was a focus he could feel directed at him no matter how hard he tried to think of everything else but that damning sense. 

.

.

.

The lovely curve of your lips that always formed when you smiled was gone as your mouth moved, the sluggish movement hindered by a limp jaw.

Garbled sounds escaped as you spoke in a language he couldn't understand, and hoped never to no matter how much he'd dwelled in your every conversation and clung to your every word before.

Dull, melancholic orbs stared down at him, holding despair gathered from your last moments, as well as every other you always managed to overcome.

Dried tears trailed down your cheeks, leftover from your final moments he tried not to picture.

It was then that it occurred to him that he'd never seen you cry, witnessing nothing other than misty eyes in the past.

Against all else, he couldn't even feel the mourning he should.

He felt something far from sadness or mourning.

Instead, he thought of the Whispers as they tore that smile from you and forced your tears.

He Could hardly think of every beautiful moment he lived with you without imagining them ambushing you and our friends- your family. - his family. 

He'd give anything to forget those few seconds he recognized your unfamiliar expression because now, that beautiful memory of you smiling became infected with just that.

-and only that.

Yet, as much as he wanted to break down, he resisted.

Instead, he upheld the falling woman as she was weakened down to her knees, sobbing as she clung to him throughout her collapse.

"What are you looking at?" you asked with a grin, the way your eyes twinkled causing him to laugh because that playfulness of yours was sometimes a bit too contagious.

He shook his head as he huffed, "nothin'..." he said lowly, though he snuck a peek at you. 

"You just got a pretty smile," he reminded you, and no matter how many times he repeated the line, you always seemed to grow a little flustered. 

And somehow, it managed to make that expression he complimented turn into something more precious.

Unwittingly, you looked at him, your face warm with giddiness as your smile was broken into a grin from which little giggles escaped out of.

As you slowly quieted down, you inched closer to him during your little walk, and as your hand lightly brushed his, you tested the waters.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him begin to smile, as his fingers made little attempts to capture yours.

It took a few teasing attempts before you managed to hook one, giving him the push he needed to, to just hold your hand entirely.

"We'll get through this..."

Things had gotten tough lately, but you were sure of it,

"Because we have each other," you added as you gave his hand a little squeeze.

"Right?"

As he looked down, away from the sky, and away from you, he smiled.

It was full of bitterness as he swallowed down that miserable familiar taste of having nothing.

And to think, He'd really believed you.