#thank you for taking the time to share this <3

[janaispunk]

just close your eyes

chapter 3 • series masterlist

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: An injured Joel and Ellie stumble into your home in the middle of the night. Against your better judgement, you decide to help them.

word count: ~2.2k

tags/warnings: post outbreak, slow burn, found family, age gap (sorry not sorry), able-bodied reader, angst, reader has a sad sad backstory and ptsd, hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual smut, vague description of an injury, implied death of a character, the angst is ANGSTING in this one

a/n: once again, i can't thank that jackson joel pedro photo enough for the inspiration that it's brought me. i hurt my own feelings with this chapter, and truth be told, it's gonna get worse from here.

follow @janaispunknotifs for fic updates and find my full masterlist here :)

dividers as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics 🤍

Over the following days, something of a routine forms between the three of you. 

Joel spends most of his time resting, asleep more often than not, the shape of him on your couch a picture that you grow familiar with. But as his fever goes down and the skin around his injury is less red than when you first laid eyes on it, you allow yourself the tentative hope that you might have been able to actually save him. 

You’re becoming less skittish around him, getting used to his rather gruff demeanor, slowly realizing that what Ellie said was indeed true, it’s not about you. You come to think he just doesn’t like needing and accepting help.

Ellie follows you around like a puppy, eager to soak up every scrap of knowledge that you can share with her. It’s not much, you think, mostly cooking, the task of turning supplies into various meals, given the limited resources that you have in this world. You like having her around, the almost constant stream of chatter and questions never annoying you.

It fills your usual silence, helps keeping you grounded in the present. Most of the time.

Now that you have company, it becomes painfully obvious to you how much time you spend in your head, just sitting and staring straight ahead, lost in your thoughts, oblivious to the time passing. You have taken to having a book open in your lap, to make it seem like you’re reading, but you find yourself looking down at the page without seeing it, not sure when you last turned it. 

It’s not what they would have wanted, you keep telling yourself, trying to shake yourself out of it. Well, it’s not like anything happened the way we wanted, the bitter voice in your head answers.

If Ellie or Joel notice, they don’t ask about it. You hear their voices in the night sometimes, both of them sleeping in your parents’ bedroom now, since the couch was starting to hurt Joel’s back. 

You don’t lock your door anymore, leaving it ajar, just like them. The thought of someone else being down here with you is soothing you, the fear of them being a possible threat basically nonexistent at this point. Instead, a different kind of fear sets in. 

They haven’t talked about where they are going, but you know that they’re not gonna stay forever. Once Joel is completely healed, and winter has given way to spring, they’ll most likely be off again, leaving you on your own again. You don’t want to grow attached, but it’s difficult not to, while being with other constantly. 

You and Joel are taking longer to warm up to each other than you and Ellie have, but you’ve gotten used to having him around you. It’s a quiet, but trustworthy, reassuring thing, his presence in your space. Now that he’s healing, he’s someone who you trust to take responsibility, to take care of things if needed. You’re not sure how you know, but you’re certain that he is.

One evening, Ellie finds the DVD collection that’s stashed away in the cabinet under the small TV in the corner of the room. You hadn’t watched anything in forever, not sure if it’s even still working, but her enthusiasm makes it impossible to turn her down. 

Even Joel pipes up at the prospect of a movie night, crouching down next to her to sift through the DVDs. They’re both drawn to the shitty action movies – usually not your preferred taste, but you find the corners of your mouth lifting when they both turn around simultaneously, looking for your approval of their choice. 

Joel pushes himself back up with a grunt, pressing the button on the TV and making it spring to life without issue. You settle deeper into the couch cushions, pulling a knitted blanket over yourself as you watch the opening credits play. 

It’s so comfortable, so normal, and you want to get lost in the feeling in a way that makes your heart ache. Ellie sits down beside you to share the blanket while Joel stretches his legs out on the other couch. A smile is tugging at his lips when he catches you looking at him, but it can’t hide the wariness in his eyes, mirroring your own. It’s the feeling of things being too good to be true, the fear of nothing good ever lasting, of the world crashing down around you again, that always accompanies you, and without asking, you know that he feels it too. You cast your eyes back to the screen, trying hard not to get yourself lost in the fear, but to enjoy the moments of peace while they last. 

Ellie loves the movie, her eyes wide at every action-packed sequence, gasping at every explosion. At one of the more absurd scenes, you can’t contain the burst of laughter that bubbles up your throat. You’re unexpectedly joined by the deeper rumble of Joel’s, a sound that you haven’t heard before. 

You glance at him, to find his eyes already on you, an emotion in them that you can’t place. Neither of you say a word, both quietly returning your eyes to the TV. 

When you’re lying in bed later that night, you still feel the smile on your face. 

While your closeness with Ellie came quickly, almost taking you by storm, it’s a quiet, slowly growing thing with Joel. 

It begins with him lingering in the kitchen when you’re preparing the morning coffee, asking you questions about the place, about keeping supplies, electricity, the safety measures. He helps you with cooking, grumbling about giving something back when you protest. 

He’s gruff, no comparison to Ellie’s lively chatter and endless questions, and it makes you nervous at first. But you get used to him, his more quiet demeanor, his dry humor. You can tell that he’s trying hard not to scare you again, avoiding sudden movements or getting loud, and while you appreciate it, you also can’t help but wonder how broken you must seem from the outside. 

He doesn’t ask prying questions about your past, how you’ve come to live here all alone, though you have to imagine that he’s curious. You don’t ask him about his either, even if you do wonder how he and Ellie ended up together. It’s a quiet mutual understanding and you’re grateful for it. 

You have to believe that he had his fair share of loss in his own life, that the both of them had; an inescapable reality at this point in the world’s history.

It’s like a silent camaraderie when he catches your eye as Ellie is reading out puns to the both of you once more, rolls his eyes in a way that still holds so much love for the girl next to you, but that fills you with the urge to giggle. It stops you in your tracks the first time it happens, the sensation so unfamiliar to you that you can’t place it for a second. 

When you smile at him, the corners of his mouth rise ever so slightly as well, before he huffs an exaggerated sigh at the joke that you just heard. It riles Ellie up, just like he wanted to, you suspect. But you block out her bickering at him, busy with your own thoughts. One thought in particular, one that you haven’t had about anyone since you were a teenager. 

Joel is kind of pretty when he smiles.

The both of them have also taken to working their way through the bookshelf that’s taking up most of one of the walls. It’s mostly guidebooks on hunting, gardening, self defense, anything that your father deemed possibly useful. Over time, you had added books from your old bedroom, the one upstairs, that you had hastily carried down the stairs, hoping for the familiar words to give you a sense of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal anymore. 

Joel sometimes talks to you about them, asking your opinion on which ones to read, discussing their contents with you. Over time, you realize that he does it when you’re zoning out, pulling you back into reality with the drawl of his low voice next to you. You’re thankful for it, not used to being cared for like this, but also mortified that as it seems, he does notice when you’re too deep inside your head.

It’s one of those afternoons, you’re just about to start preparing dinner, when Ellie asks if you have more books somewhere, about something cool. “Like what?” you reply, an easy smile on your face. 

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “like comics, maybe? Ohh, or something about space?” 

It takes a moment before the words register, before they form a picture in your mind, the memory of exactly what she’s asking for. You stop in your tracks, frozen on your way to the kitchen. Your toes dig into the carpet beneath your bare feet. A faint trembling starts in your hands and slowly spreads through your body. 

Ellie says your name, an edge in her voice. You’re not sure what your face looks like. 

Your wide eyes find hers, looking up at you from where she was spread out on the floor, her hair splaying out over the scratchy rug, one of your books held over her head. You had joked about how that position couldn’t be comfortable a few minutes ago. 

You see Joel from the corner of your eye, slowly raising to his feet from the couch cushions. It feels like you can’t breathe, like you’re sucking in air but it doesn’t reach your lungs. 

A large, warm hand lands on your shoulder, making you jump. Joel rubs soothing circles over your back, your name a low rumble on his lips. 

“It’s– it’s not a problem if not,” Ellie murmurs, sitting up slowly, her eyes flicking between you and Joel, uncertainty written over her features. 

You force a shuddering breath in, using the sensation of Joel’s hand splayed over your back to ground yourself. Nodding your head, you will your voice to travel up your throat. 

“Yeah no, I– just a second.” 

Joel repeats your name, more questioning this time, but you ignore it, feet carrying you into the bathroom where you quickly shut the door behind you. Skin stretching over your knuckles, you stand over the sink, gripping its edges to stay upright. 

It’s what he would have wanted. He would have been so happy to share them. It’s true, you know what. 

You’re not sure what’s worse. Going in there yourself, crossing the threshold of a room that you haven’t entered in years, haven’t even opened the door to, or letting someone else do it, let them disturb the memory of a reality that you’ve tried to preserve in there. Too painful to touch, but too important to let go of. 

Steeling yourself, you return to the living area. Ellie and Joel are sitting close to each other, both of their heads flying up at the door opening. It’s obvious that they have been talking about you. You bite your lip. 

Ellie rises to her feet slowly, takes a tentative step toward you. “Listen, it’s not that important really–” She sounds like she’s talking to a skittish animal. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice not to betray you. With a deep breath, you cross the room to the door beside yours. One of two that you keep firmly closed. 

It creaks on its hinges when you open it slowly, your hand shaking on the handle. You try not to look around, to keep your eyes closed to the truth that nothing changed in here, and yet everything changed. It’s stuffy, stagnant air that’s been untouched for too long, but it smells like him. Like he’s still here with you. 

You don’t see the unmade bed, still carrying the trace of the last time he got up, the stuffed lion beside the pillow. Don’t see the half finished drawings on the desk, or the mess of action figures in the corner. You grab the stack of comics from the nightstand, ignoring the way your vision blurs at the edges. Move on to the shelf, smaller than the one in the living room, blindly picking out random books. 

When you step out of the bedroom, quickly pulling the door shut behind you again, neither Joel or Ellie have moved. You can’t meet either one’s gaze, don’t want to see the expression in their eyes.

Ellie takes the stack of books from your outstretched hands, murmuring a thanks, and you sense that there are more words on the tip of her tongue. Questions, apologies, you don’t know and you don’t want to. 

Turning on your heels, you escape into your own room, closing the door as quickly as you can before you collapse on your bed. Tears flood your eyes in time with the memories flooding your head, threatening to pull you under and drown you under their waves. 

You hear their muffled voices through the door, but neither of them comes to disturb you. You’re thankful for it, not needing anyone to witness you in this state. Eventually, you drift off into sleep, your mind gladly giving way to unconsciousness.

The following night is the first time that Joel has to shake you awake from a nightmare.

thank you for reading 🤍 if you liked this, please consider reblogging, leaving a comment or sending an ask, it truly makes my day every single time!

#pedro pascal #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #pedrostories #janas fics #fic: safe and sound

[its-avalon-08]

ADORE UR ANGST! Can you do a lando norris x y/n where lando is upset with y/n because she wasnt listening when he was ranting about something that happened. He feels annoyed. Y/N doesnt know why he's upset but then she realises. she tries to apoligise

can i just say i love it when y/n messes up, because writing reader groveling is my guilty pleasure <3 thanks anon

look up from your fucking phone (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - alot of fighting, y/n is being annoying, angst, fluffy ending

Lando slammed the apartment door shut, the echo bouncing off the bare walls of their new place in Monaco. He threw his helmet on the couch, the familiar orange a stark contrast to the simmering red of his mood.

"Y/N, did you see that?!" he yelled, stomping towards the kitchen.

Y/N was hunched over the counter, phone glued to her ear, a frown etched on her face. "Ugh, why won't this load?..." she trailed off, finally noticing Lando's stormy entrance.

"Didn't you see what Yuki pulled out there?!" Lando practically exploded. "That dive bomb into Turn 12? I could've been wiped out!"

Y/N finally peeled her phone away from her ear. "Yeah, I saw it. Sounds scary," she said, her voice flat. She scrolled through her phone again, a picture of a cupcake taking center screen.

Lando's anger intensified. "Scary? Y/N, it was reckless! He could've ruined both our races!" He gestured wildly with his gloved hands. "And all he gets is a five-second penalty? That's a joke!"

Y/N sighed, a sound of exasperation that sent a fresh wave of irritation through Lando. "Look, I'm sure you'll bounce back. Maybe get some revenge on him next race?" She offered a tight smile, her eyes still glued to the phone.

Lando felt a knot tighten in his chest. "That's it? No 'are you okay?' No 'that was a dirty move?'" His voice dropped to a low growl. "Don't you even care?"

Y/N finally looked up, startled. "Of course I care, Lando! I just... I had a really stressful day too, okay?" She gestured vaguely at the phone. "Work stuff."

The knot in Lando's chest unraveled, replaced by a hollow ache. "Right," he muttered, his voice devoid of its usual spark. "Work stuff is always more important than your boyfriend getting wrecked on the track, apparently."

Y/N's eyes widened. "Hey, that's not fair! I wouldn't say that." She reached out a hand, but Lando flinched away.

"Just forget it," he said, his voice tight. "I need a shower."

He stormed past her, the slam of the bathroom door echoing through the apartment. Y/N stared after him, the phone clattering to the counter with a forgotten thud. The file which had now loaded mocked her from the screen.

Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She'd been so caught up in her own problems, she hadn't realized Lando was having a terrible day. Shame washed over her as she remembered his frustrated yells, his need for support.

She jumped up, rushing to the bathroom door. "Lando, wait!" she called out, her voice laced with panic. "I'm so sorry, I was just..."

Silence.

She tried the knob, but it wouldn't budge. He must've locked it. Lando, who never locked the bathroom door. A cold dread filled her.

He was mad. Really mad. And it was all her fault.

The silence stretched on for what felt like hours. Dinner, usually a time for shared laughter and stories, was a tense affair. Y/N cooked Lando's favorite pasta dish, but it sat untouched on the table, growing cold beside her untouched plate. Every time she stole a glance at the bathroom door, a knot tightened in her stomach.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she cleared her throat. "Lando," she began tentatively, "I know you're upset, and I just wanted to say again that I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been on the phone. I was just..."

The clatter of the bathroom door slamming shut cut her off. Lando stormed into the living room, his face a mask of fury.

"Just what?" he spat out, his voice raw with emotion. "Just another bad day at work for you? Don't you get it, Y/N? Today was a nightmare! Yuki nearly took me out, the car felt off the entire race, and to top it all off, the media keeps hounding me about missing out on the podium."

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "And you," he pointed a finger at her, his voice cracking, "you weren't even there for me. You were too busy with your stupid phone to even see how much I was fucking hurting."

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Lando, I-"

He cut her off again, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that ripped at her heartstrings. "No, Y/N! You don't get to talk now. I had the worst fucking day of my life, and your sorry does. not. fix. that. You listening to me, maybe even caring, might have. But you weren't there. And frankly, right now, I don't even know if you care at all."

He stormed past her, grabbing his helmet from the couch. "I'm going for a drive. Don't wait up." The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment, leaving Y/N standing alone in the cold, sterile silence. Tears streamed down her face, a silent apology echoing in the empty room. She had messed up, badly. And now, she had to find a way to fix it, even if it meant facing Lando's anger and rebuilding the trust she had so carelessly shattered.

Lando's car tore down the familiar winding roads, the roar of the engine a poor substitute for the roar of frustration in his chest. Tears, hot and angry, blurred his vision as he navigated the steep climb towards his favorite spot - the very same hill where he'd asked Y/N to be his girlfriend.

"Stupid phone. Stupid fucking Yuki. Stupid me," he muttered under his breath, slamming the car into park with more force than necessary. He stormed out, the cool night air doing little to quell the fire burning inside him.

He reached the familiar crest of the hill, the city lights twinkling like scattered diamonds below. It was supposed to be a place of peace, a place where he could clear his head. But tonight, it was a stark reminder of everything he'd lost.

"Why couldn't you have listened to me Y/N," he growled, the words catching in his throat. He sat down on the familiar patch of grass, burying his head in his hands. A choked sob escaped his lips, the sound harsh and raw in the quiet night.

Suddenly, a soft voice broke through his despair. "Lando?"

He looked up, startled, to see Y/N standing hesitantly before him. She was holding a basket overflowing with snacks, drinks, and a familiar fluffy blanket. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face etched with worry and regret.

"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice hoarse. His anger hadn't quite subsided, but it was overshadowed by a wave of surprise.

"I followed you," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She set the basket down beside him cautiously, the woven handles creaking softly. "I know you needed some space, but I couldn't just stay there. I had to try and fix this."

Lando hesitated, then gestured towards the spot beside him. Y/N sat down, her gaze fixed on the glittering cityscape. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, Y/N reached out, placing a hand tentatively on his arm.

"Lando, I'm so, so sorry. There's no excuse for my behavior today. You were having a terrible day, and I completely ignored you. It was selfish and insensitive, and I hurt you. And for that, I am truly sorry."

Lando flinched, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and longing. "I just... I needed you, Y/N. Today was one of those days when everything felt like it was going wrong. And all I wanted was for you to be there for me, to listen, to just be you."

Y/N's hand tightened on his arm. "I understand now. And believe me, I was there in spirit. Every time you yelled, every time you slammed the door, it broke my heart a little more. But I was so caught up in my own problems, I didn't even see how much you were hurting."

She squeezed his arm gently. "Please, Lando. Let me try to make it up to you. Let's stay here, talk, share some snacks." She gestured towards the basket with a small, hopeful smile. "Maybe then we can face tomorrow together."

Lando looked from her hopeful face to the inviting spread in the basket. A flicker of his old smile played on his lips. He sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Alright, Y/N. Snacks and talking it out sound pretty good right now."

As they settled under the blanket, the city lights twinkling around them, they began to talk. Lando poured out his frustrations about the race, Yuki, and the media. Y/N listened intently, offering words of encouragement and understanding. They reminisced about better races, laughed at silly inside jokes, and slowly, the rift between them began to heal.

The drive home was filled with a comfortable silence, a silent promise to communicate better in the future. As Lando pulled into their driveway, he turned to Y/N, a genuine smile warming his face.

"Thanks for coming after me, Y/N." He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against hers. "I love you."

Y/N smiled back, her heart overflowing with relief. "I love you too, Lando. And next time, I'm chucking the phone into the bin."

#lando norris #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x y/n #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #ln4 x female reader #formula 1 x female reader #formula 1 x y/n #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 imagine #formula one #y/n #mclaren

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 12

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 15.7 k

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

ღ author's note hey u pretty people !! hope you're all doing amazing and having the absolute best day. we're back with more drama, messy feelings, and all that good stuff. also, i've updated the trigger warnings (nothing too heavy, promise), but just a heads up that we'll be dealing with some family drama and grief in this one. as always, can't wait to hear what you guys think & thanks for reading and for your amazing support (art by yamada_souko) <3

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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You're a slut.

The words hammered in your skull, matching the aneurysm's grotesque pulse in front of you. Another scalpel slipped into Suguru's waiting hand. Your hands moved mechanically, muscle memory guiding them more than conscious thought.

Normally, that aneurysm would thrill you, excite you, make your pulse quicken. Now, it felt oddly muted. Irrelevant compared to your spiraling thoughts.

You hate him.

You should hate him.

With every fiber of your being, you should despise him.

He pushed you away, again and again, even after that night — after you spilled your heart at his feet. He chose the pills, the numbing haze, the false comfort, the self-serving lies — his fear.

In the end he chose his addiction over fighting against it alongside you. His addiction had won out over the fragile connection you shared — had won over you. 

And that was a bitter pill to swallow.

He made his choice.

And you made yours — to get space, give him space, give it all some space — time — whatever this damn situation needed, you tried to give it, even though it felt like carving out pieces of yourself.

You didn't know it anymore, simply didn't know what was right anymore.

It had been weeks, but the memory of finding him, barely breathing on his bathroom floor, lingered as a physical ache within you. That image refused to fade. 

It was a wound time couldn't heal, a brutal reminder of his choice, of your own, of the love that had become a war you weren't sure you could win.

You weren't sure of anything anymore.

But one thing way painfully clear. Whatever you did, it was all just really a futile, desperate attempt to patch the gaping hole he'd ripped in your heart.

But how could you?

How could you stay away, act indifferent, when every second burned without him?

He's probably high right now, swallowing a pill, grading papers like the perfect professor, so damn good at pretending he has it together while crumbling beneath the surface.

Back to his routine of fake control.

But he has no control.

None.

Forget him. You shouldn't think that. It has to be possible, right? Somehow, forgetting someone must be possible, right? Erasing the memory of him from your veins, from every damn breath you take?

Because if not — how could you possibly go on?

Cruel memories flayed you open. His hand against your cheek, the touch so gentle it made something inside you crumble, even after he literally insulted you in the worst ways possible while fucking you.

But still, the way he'd look at you after — there was a flicker of something desperate and broken burning in his eyes, before he slammed that damn false smile back into place. Your heart clenched at the very thought of it, a fist squeezing something vital and already dead.

But the truth is, you didn't really hate him. No, not really.

Because how could you?

How could you hate him for trying to fix things the only way he knew how?

No.

Not really.

He was a coward, too scared to face his fears, too weak to choose fighting alongside you over the fleeting comfort of his addiction.

No, it was not hatred.

Understanding him made it worse. It twisted the knife deeper, making the hatred you clung to feel empty, useless, leaving only the bitter sting of disappointment.

Somehow, knowing someone's damage made them less a monster, more a tragedy.

Unfair, isn't it?

Because hating him would be easier.

"You okay?" Suguru's voice broke through your haze.

"I'm fine." Zoning out while someone's life hung in the balance was a new low, even for you. You met his gaze. "Sorry."

The stark reality of the situation slammed back into focus. The aneurysm, a grotesque bulge on the screen, pulsed tauntingly. Suguru's skilled hands steadied the fragile tissue around it.

"Want to continue?"

You blinked, unsure if he was joking. "You want me to clip it?"

"It's a gift."

"Gift? From who?"

Suguru arched an eyebrow, a silent answer. Of course. This was Satoru's doing. It was his way, wasn't it? Speaking of unconventional presents. 

But he undoubtedly knew you.

Before you could fully process, Suguru added. "And because I trust you. I wouldn't offer if I didn't."

Your gaze was drawn back to the aneurysm. "Okay," you said, the decision settling with surprising ease.

You slid into place in front of the surgical microscope. Suguru moved just behind you to monitor your movements. You took a deep breath, the instruments feeling strangely cold and foreign in your hands.

"Focus," Suguru's low voice rumbled close beside you. "You've got this."

Somehow, with the clip in your hand, the delicate aneurism between your hands, you wondered if Satoru was right — if you loved the thrill of it all — if him and you were the same. 

If that maddening fascination bound you together.

Because as you stared down at the aneurysm, you couldn't deny it — the rush, the adrenaline surge that came from defying death, the intoxicating high of existing on the razor's edge, it was all there, coursing through your veins. 

Were you reckless? 

Satoru's accusation echoed in your mind.

Yet, with each precise maneuver, the thrill intensified. There was a sick satisfaction in holding that much power, in the knowledge that one wrong move and this fragile existence could be snuffed out in an instant.

Here, in the sterile confines of the operating room, adrenaline replaced oxygen. 

And it was undeniably addictive.

Too bad it wasn't enough for Satoru.

"Suguru," you began, your words barely a whisper as you meticulously guided the clip, "do you ever think I'm...reckless?"

"Should I be worried that you're pondering this while inches deep in someone's brain?"

"Forget it," you muttered. "Just a fleeting thought."

With a satisfying click, the clip snapped shut.

─── ·✧· ───

The water was unusual frigid against your skin.

Suguru scrubbed his hands beside you, the methodical rasp of skin on skin a familiar sound a in the echoing washroom. Finally, he spoke. "I'm proud of you."

"Huh?" You turned to him.

"How far you've come. Really, you're doing a great job. With the surgery, the research—you have a great future ahead of you."

He meant it kindly, you knew. But his words made your stomach churn. A bright, promising future was the last thing on your mind. Surviving the next hour, the next day, that was your only focus. You mustered a weak smile in response and adverted your gaze.

"How are you doing? Really?"

You couldn't meet his gaze. "Holding up. Somehow."

He observed you. You could feel his concerned gaze on your skin without having to turn your head.

"New semester treating you okay?"

"Bit stressful," you admitted. "I have to retake a few exams." 

"Listen, if you need any help—"

"Thank you, Suguru," you cut him off, turning the faucet with a harsh click off. "But unless you're offering to take my tests for me, I'm afraid this is on me." 

You turned and reached for a towel, desperately needing to put something, anything, between you and his pitying gaze.

He paused, then shut off his own water with a sigh. "I'm sorry things turned out like this for you," he said, and you hated the sincerity in his voice. "But it's for the best, for him and for you. We did what we had to."

We?

"Wait, what do you mean?"

Suguru reached for a towel. "Hm?"

"What do you mean with, 'we'?"

He froze mid-movement, jaw tightening.

Your stomach twisted. Something in his silence, in the way he wouldn't meet your gaze—

Your hands braced against the sink, knuckles white against the cold porcelain. "What did you and Satoru talk about that night? The night before the hearing? I know he was with you."

"It's nothing important. He was confused, and I helped him clear his head."

"What does that mean? What did you say to him?"

Suguru's silence was the loudest answer, the pity in his eyes a searing poison. With a sickening clarity, it all fell into place — Satoru's sudden surrender, the way he'd looked at you in the hearing, empty and broken.

"Tell me what the fuck you said to him!"

"Isn't it obvious?" he said, the cruelty finally unveiled. "I told him to end this. That it would destroy you, and that he should take responsibility for once!"

The ground tilted.

He'd convinced Satoru to let you go.

He'd single-handedly shattered the fragile trust you'd clawed back with Satoru, the possibility of fighting this together — gone. All it took was Suguru to destroy it all.

Betrayal burned in your throat.

Satoru may have wielded the knife, but Suguru had guided his hand.

"You had no right," you choked out. "You had no fucking right to do that!"

"No right?" Suguru's voice rose to match yours. "And watch you both go down? Satoru was a ticking time bomb! It was better this way—better him destroyed than you dragged down with him."

"I had him, Suguru!" you shouted. "I almost had him trusting me enough, trusting us enough, to let me help him, damn it!"

"You're delusional. He can't change. You know that. It would always have ended like this."

"My god, I can't believe your audacity!" You spat the words, raw and dripping with fury. It masked the deeper ache, the knowledge that he wasn't entirely wrong. "You ruined everything!"

Suguru's jaw tightened. He moved closer, his imposing presence forcing you back a pace. "You know how many times I've seen this play out? The promises to change? I've seen it too often. He won't get better, and I won't let him drag you under with him. Not you."

Your retreat ended abruptly, your back hitting the cool porcelain of the sink. He remained close, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. His hand reached out, a single fingertip tracing your jawline in a gesture at odds with the harshness of his words.

"This is for the best," he insisted, his voice rough. "You're young, brilliant. This—relationship with Satoru, it would have ruined you."

"Don't you dare," you hissed, slapping his hand away. "You have no right to decide what's best for me."

"Yes, I do. Because I was the one who got you here in the first place, it was my doing, and I—" he trailed off, his voice softening. "I don't want to see you hurt."

"Why are you saying this now?"

"You know damn well why."

His words hung in the air, suffocating, sour.

Months of shared research, of seeing Suguru as a mentor, then a friend—

Suguru destroying your fragile connection with Satoru felt like an unforgivable violation. You knew it wasn't just him. But the pain of it all was too much, clouding your thoughts.

You slowly shook your head, unwilling to accept what he just said, unwilling to even comprehend the implications.

"No," you forced the word out. "You can't—"

"Yeah, I know. You don't have to tell me that."

Then, a sharp beep shattered the suffocating tension. Suguru swore under his breath, retrieving his pager. His face went taut as he read the message.

"What is it?"

"Yaga," he said. "Wants to see us. Now."

He met your gaze, dread coiling in your gut. This couldn't be good.

"Why?"

"I...I don't know. But we should go. Come on."

─── ·✧· ───

"You want me to redo a study that was completely pointless?" 

Your question rang through the oppressive silence of Yaga's office. Suguru sat beside you, but his presence offered no comfort against Yaga's piercing gaze.

Your fingers clawed into the paper files in front of you. 

Useless words, wasted effort. 

You didn't need to reread them. They were your own words, your own data after all. Your own carefully crafted research project. But it led nowhere. Insignificant results. Pointless.

The pain that these papers in your hand causes was sharper than any scalpel, a wound no surgery could mend. Because this research was fueled by grief. Grief for your father, lost to the cruel, invasive brain tumor that now mocked you from the pages. 

But it was this very research that had gotten you here. 

It caught Suguru's attention, led to his mentorship, and through him — to Satoru. How perverse that your most agonizing vulnerability had opened this door, led you to a love that felt as cursed as your research.

Cruel.

Being forced to revisit this failure, now of all times — it felt like a cruel joke. Your life, it seemed, was a master of cruelty, stripping you bare then pouring acid on the raw wounds.

"Yes," Yaga's voice was devoid of any empathy.

"The results were inconclusive. A dead end," you said.

Yaga sighed. "Your research held promise, Dr. Geto never failed to remind me. Now, you have better resources, better support. You can refine it, perfect it."

You glanced at Suguru. The flicker of regret in his eyes was another betrayal you cataloged for later. Facing Yaga again, you tightened your grip on the file until your knuckles ached. You slammed it shut, fighting the urge to tear it to shreds.

"That's not the point. My CAR-T-Therapy research was theoretical, a mathematical model that was inherently flawed. All the best equipment in the world won't change that. It's a black hole."

Yaga leaned forward. "Listen, we have a—generous donor. I think you met her at the conference? She took quite a liking to you." He paused. "Her husband recently succumbed to this very type of tumor."

My god.

Cold sweat broke out on your skin. You remembered the woman's worried face at the conference, her desperate hope when she learned of your past work. It had felt like a punch to the gut even then, reopening the wound of your own loss. 

Now, her raw grief had been weaponized, a pawn in Yaga's game of securing funding.

A bitter laugh threatened to escape your lips. Research meant nothing to these people. You were but a tool, a means to an end, another cog in their merciless machine. You wanted to scream, to expose their hypocrisy, to rip apart the facade of noble intentions that veiled their greed.

But what would it change? 

Would it expose their callousness, their blatant abuse of a grieving woman? 

No, they held the power.

Maybe Suguru and Satoru weren't so wrong, after all — research, even here, was just another business at its core, tainted by ambition and the pursuit of profit. It made you sick.

"You want to use me to exploit a grieving woman just to line your pockets?"

Yaga leaned back, momentarily taken aback by your bluntness. An arrogant rebuttal was undoubtedly forming on his lips, when the door crashed open.

Satoru stormed in, his fury barely contained. "What the hell is going on here?"

Yaga's expression hardened. "Dr. Gojo, what a...surprise. Here I thought you might have finally bothered to read your emails."

Satoru moved swiftly to stand beside you, his hand settling on the back of your chair. "Cut the bullshit, Yaga," he spat. "This is a new low, even for you. Forcing a student, exploiting a grieving widow—have you no shame?"

"Dr. Gojo, your dramatics are exhausting. Do you understand the costs your actions have inflicted on this institution? A shred of gratitude, a willingness to shoulder some responsibility, might be a welcome change."

"Responsibility? You want to talk about responsibility? You're exploiting a woman in the depths of grief, using one of my students as a bargaining chip." He leaned forward, eyes blazing. "What the hell happened to you, Yaga?"

Yaga mirrored his stance, the tension between them a storm about to break. "Happened to me? Dr. Gojo, have you considered the consequences of your reckless behavior? You're the one spiraling, and frankly, it's becoming unbearable."

Suguru, sensing the impending explosion, stepped between them with forced calm. "Director Yaga, please. She's a student, her focus should be on her studies."

"Of course, which is why you and Dr. Gojo will provide your expertise. Your old lab is free to use, funds are secured, equipment at your disposal. You have free rein."

Satoru laughed. "Free rein? Or free rein to do as you please? Despicable, Yaga. Truly despicable." He paused, the rage in his voice barely contained. "And wasn't I suspended? Investigations and all that? But I suppose principles go out the window when money enters the picture."

"You have no right to dictate what happens here, Gojo," Yaga snapped, the veneer of civility slipping. "You answer to me. This research holds immense potential, not just for the university, but for the field itself. You will do it. End of discussion."

"Potential? Or is that just fancy code for fattening your wallet, Yaga?"

Yaga's lips thinned. "Don't play dumb, Gojo. You, of all people, know exactly how the game is played."

"Don't. Do. This." Satoru leaned in, his voice a dangerous quiet. "Involve her in your schemes, and I swear—Leave her out of this. Suguru and I can do the damned research, but let her focus on her studies."

"You're in no position to bargain. I can make things incredibly difficult for you, Gojo. Throw away all that potential, all that talent...it would be a shame, wouldn't it? But I am more than willing to do so if you prove uncooperative."

"Director, Dr. Gojo has a point. This research will be a massive distraction. Her studies should be her priority," Suguru stepped in.

"Yes," Yaga drawled. "I heard about her recent...setbacks." He opened his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. "A failed practical exam, a theoretical test barely passed. And this isn't the first time, is it?"

His gaze fixed on you over his glasses as he turned the screen, revealing your student record, the failing grades glowing a damning red. "Tell me, which subject would you like to miraculously pass? A click of my fingers, and it's done."

The room imploded. 

Satoru's grip on the chair threatened to split the wood. "You blackmailing piece of shit!"

"Blackmail?" Yaga said. "No, blackmail would be threatening to cut her scholarship, endangering her entire future here...which, thankfully, our generous donor would be more than happy to preserve."

Suguru shot to his feet, a rare crack in his composure. "Yaga, this is beyond the pale! This blatant manipulation—"

But the words were already forming in your mouth, driven by a bone-deep weariness. "I'll do it," you declared, the words surprisingly firm. "I'll work on the research."

The room fell silent, every eye fixed on you. 

It felt awful to give in, but with everything going on, it was just too much — giving in was easier for now.

There were other battles to save your strength for. And the battlefield of Satoru's furrowed brow and those piercing blue eyes that bore into you was a battlefield that already took all your strength.

Someone needed to be practical here, and that wouldn't be him.

"Someone finally sees reason," Yaga said, breaking the silence. "You start this week."

This week?

"No," Satoru interjected. "That is not up for debate. We start next week."

Surprise flickered across Yaga's face, quickly replaced by irritation. Even Suguru seemed taken aback by Satoru's sudden defiance.

"This week," Yaga repeated.

"Next week. Or I walk out that door and you can find yourself a new star surgeon."

He wouldn't. He couldn't possibly—could he?

Satoru couldn't know about your father's death day — the reason why starting this week was unthinkable. You didn't tell him. But why, then, was he so vehemently pushing back?

"Dr. Gojo, you are exceedingly close to losing my goodwill," Yaga ground out. "Fine. Next week."

"And if we find nothing? Months, years, wasted on a dead-end?" Suguru asked.

"You'll continue as long as the funding lasts."

"Of course," Satoru spat.

"Well, look at the bright side, Dr. Gojo. I just approved that fancy new CT scanner for the ER. Isn't that what you've been whining about?" Yaga's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Finally found some spare change in the budget, did we?"

"You fucking bastard," Satoru hissed.

"Everyone has to play their role, Gojo."

The air in the room turned to lead. 

You couldn't breathe. The walls of Yaga's office seemed to close in, suffocating. It had been the right decision, perhaps the only one — a tactical retreat. But why the hell was it so hard to breathe then?

It was just too much. 

Too many battles, too many impossible choices. 

Your father's memory, a constant ache turned into a weapon used against you. Yaga's insatiable ambition crushing you. And Satoru—

But worst of all was the gnawing, unyielding guilt underneath it all — that by returning to this research, you were betraying your own principles, the memory of the very person who had inspired you to pursue this path in the first place.

Your vision became blurry. 

You desperately needed to escape. "If you'll excuse me," you managed. With that, you turned and fled Yaga's office, barely registering the startled faces of the men left behind.

─── ·✧· ───

You needed air, distance, anything to clear your head.

The hallway became a suffocating tunnel. Students and staff blurred past, mere obstacles in your path. Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"Wait!" Satoru's voice, his footsteps echoing behind you .

Bursting out into the courtyard, you gasped for air. Rain a harsh slap against your skin. Blurred shapes of green and gray whipped past as you ran. You didn't care where you were going, just that you were getting away. 

Away from Yaga, away from the project, away from the crushing weight of it all.

Satoru called your name. Barely heard him. Legs burning, lungs screaming, but you pushed, ran. You wouldn't stop. Couldn't. Didn't want to see him — not now.

Somehow, you found yourself in an unfamiliar part of campus, and then — a wall. Looming, brutal. A dead end.

Sobs tore from your throat. You were cornered.

This is where it all led, isn't it?

Failure. 

Betrayal. 

And the sickening knowledge that you were complicit in your own downfall.

And with Satoru's relentless pursuit, the final, crushing blow would soon fall. His concern, his pity, would be the last straw, shattering what little remained of your composure.

"Please—" His voice was close now. 

Your eyes slammed shut, but it did nothing to drown out his voice, the panic. Rain plastered your hair to your face, soaking you to the skin.

Satoru paused, a few feet away.

"Just leave me alone, Satoru. Please, I can't—can't—" The words dissolved into another ragged sob.

"I know, but I'm here." He took a step closer, and panic flared within you.

Your world narrowed. The panic attack was inevitable. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, each inhale a struggle against the invisible constrictor squeezing the life out of you. Your icy fingers trembled, useless and numb.

No. 

No.

No.

No. 

This couldn't happen. 

Not here, not now. 

Yet, your body betrayed you.

Without conscious thought, you simply sunk down onto the rain-soaked concrete. Your hand pressed against your chest, a desperate attempt to quell the frantic thudding of your heart, a frantic plea for it to slow, to obey.

Satoru crouched before you, the rain dripping from his white hair. Then the weight of his warm jacket settled over your shoulders as you choked on another breath.

"I...I just need..." Your voice cracked. "Need to sit. Can we just...just sit for a second?"

"Yes. Of course. Whatever you need."

He didn't touch you, didn't offer empty promises. He simply held the jacket over your head like a shelter, shielding you as best he could against the downpour. His own white shirt clung to him, soaked through.

His gaze, those impossibly blue eyes, never wavered. You felt exposed, like your every broken piece was on agonizing display for him to witness. It was unbearable.

You hated it.

Hated him for seeing you like this. 

Hated that he refused to look away. 

Suddenly, his hand covered yours, gently pressing it flat against the hard plane of his chest. You inhaled sharply, but then felt the calm rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

"Focus on me," he whispered. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

You struggled to pull air into your burning lungs. His steady breathing, the gentle rise and fall of his chest under the drenched shirt, became a desperate focus.

Slowly, with each ragged breath, the crushing weight of panic slowly began to ease. Your racing heart slowed, though your body still trembled. You weren't sure how long you sat there, just you and Satoru, in the downpour. 

As the tears subsided, as the world finally stopped spinning, you felt the faintest flicker of something akin to calm. Not the absence of pain, but the strange feeling of calm, of home — something you always felt with him.

Bittersweet resignation to the absurdity of it all washed over you. 

All his attempts to distance himself, to push you away — and here you were, thrown together once again by forces far beyond your control. You hadn't sought this, hadn't chased after him. Yet, life it seemed, had a cruel sense of humor.

Work together, fall apart, suffer, repeat.

A bitter laugh escaped you.

His gaze was on you, wary, perhaps gauging whether the weight of it all had pushed you beyond the brink of sanity, whether you'd been broken beyond repair — whether he was the one responsible for all this.

"Pointless, wasn't it?" 

"What?"

"All that effort of yours. Pushing me away, only to end up here. Back to square one. Stuck on this damned project, pretending we don't want to fuck each other on the lab table."

His brow furrowed. "Are you losing your mind?"

You tilted your head, considering the question. "Tell me, was it easier? Loosing me, breaking my heart, than facing whatever it is that terrifies you about being with me?"

Silence fell.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "I thought it would be, but now, I'm not so sure anymore."

Your breath hitched, the first inhale that didn't feel like a shard of glass cutting into your lungs. "We can do this, right?"

"We can try, if you want to" he said, his voice thick. "Suguru and I—we can handle most of it—"

"No. I mean, we can do this. Together. Work side by side, like professionals."

"We have to try." He swallowed, a muscle in his jaw working. "If you want me to...I can stay behind the scenes. Crunch data, Suguru can lead in the field—"

"No. No shortcuts. We do this together, all of us. You, me, Suguru."

"But you don't have to. You're a student. This mess...it's not yours to clean up."

"You think I can't handle it?"

Hypocritical, maybe, after your breakdown, but you didn't want his protection, not in this way. You wanted to fight your own battles, for better or worse. Stubborn pride — a desperate denial of how the grief, the unrelenting struggle, chipped away at you.

Perhaps he saw that, saw the fragility behind your brittle facade. Yet, his concern felt like a form of surrender — an acknowledgment that you were both fighting losing battles.

Satoru sighed, his hand raking through his soaked hair. "No, damn it, that's not it. I just—hate the idea of you having to—"

"And you always get to decide for me, right?" 

His reaction was immediate. Hands cupped your face, forcing you to meet his gaze, the touch surprisingly gentle. "You infuriating, stubborn woman. Stop trying to play the goddamn martyr. For once, just let me help you."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it?" 

His grip tightened, a flicker of anger replacing the worry. "This isn't the same. You're not me. Sukuna's fucked-up game, Yaga's ambitions, this whole mess—none of it is yours to bear."

"You're right, we're not the same, no," you snapped. "I don't run when things get hard."

"God, you're so full of it! Your precious ego won't let you admit you need anyone, even someone who actually cares about you."

"My ego? Don't you think it's a little hypocritical to pretend you care after pushing me away?"

"You stupid woman." His anger faltered. "I'll always care, always look after you. Because I can't stand it—I can't watch you hurt. I—" 

He trailed off, the confession choked back. Slowly, tentatively, his thumb traced a line across your cheek.

"Let me protect you," he whispered. "Please, just let me keep you from the worst of it."

"And what about you? Who looks after you?"

He held your gaze, the intensity holding you captive. 

You'd seen glimpses of this before — flashes of protective fury or moments of vulnerability. But never like this. Never so raw, unguarded. He looked at you as if you held the key to his survival, as if your very existence was both his lifeline and his undoing.

Love. 

It was the word you choked back, the emotion you refused to give voice to. Yet, it hung heavy in the rain-drenched air. It blazed in his eyes, a confession too raw to be contained.

His touch lingered, then retreated. 

He stared at you, the rain making it impossible to tell if the glistening sheen on his face was water or something other.

"You have to stop looking at me like that," you whispered.

"I know," he said, burying his face against his shoulder for a moment. "Just because we can't be together...It doesn't mean I've stopped loving you."

You took a deep inhale, your heart a clenched fist in your chest. 

"You know, in those four weeks—," you began. "I wondered if it was worth it, the pain, the hurt, for those sweet moments of being with you, or if it would've been better to never meet you at all."

"And did you find an answer?"

"I don't know," you admitted. "Part of me wished you'd just call me, say it was all a cruel joke." 

"I wanted to but—"

"I know," you cut him off. 

He didn't need to say it. 

You didn't want to force the confession from him, didn't want to break something inside him you couldn't bear to see shatter, didn't want to see him crumble under the weight of his choices. 

There was no need for him to voice the regret, the guilt. 

You knew it, saw it in his eyes.

"I know," you repeated softly.

He was suffering too, you knew that. But a wounded part of you needed him to feel the pain, to feel the burn of it, to understand the depth of the wound he'd inflicted.

"It's okay," you said. "But I can't pretend I don't sometimes wonder how you could do this to me. Why you took it so far. You knew it would end like this, that you weren't strong enough, you knew, didn't you? And still, you let me confess...all while knowing you couldn't commit."

"I—," he started but you weren't done.

"I'm not finished," you said, a hand raised to silence him. "I wanted to scream, to rage, to make you feel my pain. But I kept quiet, kept my distance. Because I knew you weren't ready to face this. And I won't force you to."

Silence fell, broken only by the relentless rain.

"I didn't deserve this, Satoru," you forced yourself to say. "You know it."

There was no accusation, no plea for explanation. Just a simple truth, a raw wound laid bare in the unforgiving rain. 

"I know."

"I don't know if I can forgive you yet, Satoru. I don't think I'm strong enough right now."

He reached out, gently brushing a wet strand of hair from your face. "It's okay," he said. "I'll wait. Forever, if I have to."

"And I'll wait for you," you echoed. "Until you're ready."

You took a deep breath. In this rain-soaked moment it seemed, all that remained were raw truths and a shared pain that bound you together even as it tore you apart. 

You searched his face. "How are you? How have you been?"

"I...managed." 

Convincing as always.

You could see the toll this had taken on him, the shadows in his eyes, the tension in his jaw. Satoru, in his stubborn pride, would rather break than admit vulnerability.

Perhaps you weren't so different after all.

You tilted your head. "And how's that working for you?"

His gaze drifted to the ground.

With a sigh you slowly, hesitantly, reached for his hand. 

His hand was cold against yours, damp from the persistent rain. You traced the faint scars on the back of his hand, the ones you'd stitched. His fingers twitched, then hesitantly found yours, intertwining with a desperate vulnerability that startled you. 

It was familiar, his touch, his skin, yet undeniably foreign at the same time.

He looked up, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes. And so, beneath the relentless rain, you simply sat.

Words felt unnecessary. 

There was no need for declarations, no need to dissect what had gone so horribly wrong. The truth was in the shared breath, the tremble of your intertwined fingers, the unspoken ache that you both shared.

You knew, with a certainty that transcended logic, that your souls were intertwined in a way that refused to be undone. Yet, that same knowledge brought a crushing weight, a reminder impossibility, the painful chasm you couldn't seem to bridge.

Too bad love wasn't enough. 

"I love you," he finally whispered. "As long as I breathe, I'll love you."

"I hate you," you said.

He sighed, with a hint of a defeated smile. "Come on," he said, gently pulling you to your feet. "Let's go home."

─── ·✧· ───

Grief isn't pretty.

It's not elegant tears and soft whispers.

Sometimes it's a relentless ache, a gnawing emptiness throbbing beneath the thin veneer of forced normalcy. 

You threw yourself into work, anything to outrun your thoughts.

You barely slept, barely ate. You wrote, then erased, then wrote some more.

Endless cups of coffee and the frantic tapping of your fingers on the keyboard replaced sleep. Your apartment became a prison, phone buzzing with unanswered calls, dishes piling up, the world outside your window a meaningless blur.

You existed on a ragged edge, refusing to let your mind wander. Every sting of grief, every echoing memory was ruthlessly shoved down, buried under data, statistics, intricate theories. 

It wasn't just research anymore. It was a shield against pain.

You reread old papers, your eyes scanning pages until the words blurred, searching for some missed detail, some hidden clue that would unlock a breakthrough — anything to justify this madness.

You couldn't stop, needed to function. 

Because what else was left of you if you didn't anymore?

So you worked. Because to stop is to surrender, to stop is to face the truth — that without this work, all that remained was the ruin of what you once were.

Days melted into nights.

You massaged your temples, the headache now a constant companion.

The laptop screen blurred, diagrams and data swirling. Your mind felt like a tightly wound coil, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

You looked over to the window. The world outside, bathed in the soft glow of early morning, seemed like a foreign land. You hadn't been out in days.

You needed fresh air.

You slipped on shoes and crept downstairs. On the landing, your gaze fell upon Mrs. Tanaka, your elderly neighbor. Her hands fumbled with a tangle of keys, her fingers trembling slightly.

You knew Mrs. Tanaka, knew her kind smile, knew the early signs of her dementia.

"Need help, Mrs. Tanaka?" you asked.

She turned, her eyes widening in recognition. "Oh dear. I seem to have misplaced my keys again. Silly me."

"Here." You knelt beside her, retrieving the spare key from its familiar hiding spot under the potted plant. "Is this it?"

"You're an angel, dear," she said, her hands finally steady enough to work the lock. She paused, peering at your drawn face. "You look exhausted, dear. Are you getting enough rest?"

"Oh, I'm fine," you lied, forcing a smile. "Just a long night of studying."

Mrs. Tanaka's nod was slow, her gaze lingering. But she said nothing further, just patted your arm gently before disappearing inside her apartment.

Your walk around the block was a blur, legs moving on autopilot. 

The energy drink in your hand was a pathetic substitute for real sleep. Back in your apartment, the silence was deafening.

You lay on your bed, staring at the ceiling. 

Think. 

Think. 

Think.

And suddenly — there it was, a flicker of an idea, a twist on existing theory so audacious it bordered on madness.

It wasn't a cure, not yet. But it was... a start.

Adrenaline surged through you, chasing away the exhaustion. You barely noticed the tremors in your hands as you scrambled for a fresh notebook. Diagrams sprawled across the pages, messy yet precise, a frantic attempt to capture the idea before it slipped away.

Your hand ached from scribbling, your mind throbbed. But the fire was back, a destructive force perhaps, but a force that fueled you nonetheless. 

Finally, as the first rays of dawn painted the sky, you had it. Not a cure, not yet. But a starting point. It was messy, audacious, and riddled with uncertainties. But it was something.

You reached for your phone.

[8:27 AM] You: Can we meet later? Lab. After classes. I think I have something.

─── ·✧· ───

You clutched your steaming cup of coffee like a lifeline.

Shivers ran down your body as a gust of autumn wind cut through your thin sweater, carrying with it the scent of damp leaves and the promise of winter's impending cold.

The late afternoon sun offered little warmth as it filtered through the branches of the oak trees that shaded the outdoor seating area of the cafeteria. Students bustled past, their bright faces and carefree chatter unbearable.

"You awake?" Maki's voice cut through the haze that had settled over you. 

You blinked, suddenly aware of the concerned looks on your friends' faces.

"You look like absolute hell," Maki continued. "Seriously, have you slept at all this week?"

"I'm fine."

"Don't even start with that. We know you, and you look like you're about to lose it."

You took a long sip of your coffee, somehow, defending yourself seemed like too much effort.

"She's right, you know," Yuta chimed in, his voice gentler than Maki's but no less concerned. "This research they're piling on you, on top of everything else... it's too much. Even we're struggling with the new semester, and we don't have half the stuff you're dealing with."

"Yeah," you sighed. "Tell me about it."

The looks exchanged between your friends were anything but reassuring. They knew you, knew your stubborn streak, but they also saw the toll this was taking on you. The shadows under your eyes, the tremor in your hands — they couldn't be ignored.

"It's not right," Maki said. "They're basically blackmailing you with your scholarship. That's messed up, even for this university."

"I know, it's messed up. But what am I supposed to do? Fighting it will just make things worse."

"But you have to!" Maki insisted, her voice rising. "Yaga's using you! You're just a student. We should report him, expose this whole thing."

"Maki, it's okay," you sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Nothing about this is 'okay'," she retorted. "You look like you're about to have a breakdown. You can't keep this up forever."

You slumped back in your chair. "It's complicated."

They were right, of course. You couldn't keep going like this. It was unsustainable, a house of cards ready to collapse at the slightest breeze. But what other choice did you have? The alternatives seemed even worse.

"We just—we worry about you," Yuta said. "Maybe we can help with the workload? Notes from class, study sessions—"

"Yeah," Toge chimed in. "Notes."

You offered a faint smile. "That would be great, thank you."

But Maki, as always, was less concerned with comforting and more with the injustice of it all. "I still can't believe you're stuck working with Gojo again. I mean, who does he think he is?"

You winced, wishing she hadn't brought up Satoru. Your head pounded, a migraine threatening to form. You rubbed your temples, but Maki's gaze was relentless. You knew what was coming next.

"Don't even ask," you pleaded, but it was too late.

"Have you talked to him? Like, really talked?"

You sighed, burying your face in your hands. "Maki, please—"

"Girl, he dragged you in front of an ethics committee, broke your heart, and now he's acting like nothing happened. Why are you still protecting him?"

"I can't tell you why," you said, your voice muffled. "Just trust me on this."

You couldn't really tell them, could you?

You couldn't tell them that your professor, a world-renowned neurosurgeon, was an opioid addict. That you'd fallen for him, hard. That the research project had gone sideways, not because of your actions, but because of something else that eventually led to a twisted game played by one of his former friends. And that Satoru, in his fear and self-loathing, had pushed you away, convinced he was doing you a favor.

Yeah, that wasn't exactly coffee-break conversation.

Maki raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with your non-answer.

"He's...afraid," you said. "But he's trying."

"Trying what, exactly?" Maki scoffed. "To break your heart again? How long are you going to wait for him to get his shit together? How many times are you going to let him hurt you before you realize he might not change?"

Her words, harsh but undeniably true, cut deep. You knew the risks, the potential for heartbreak. But you also knew that love wasn't always rational, that sometimes the heart held on to hope long after logic had abandoned it.

You met Maki's gaze, a silent plea for understanding in your eyes. She was trying to protect you, and as much as it stung, you couldn't fault her for that.

"I think what Maki's trying to say," Yuta interjected, "is that we're worried about you. And this situation with Dr. Gojo doesn't help. He's your professor. If anyone finds out about your history, you're fucked."

"There's nothing to find out. It's over."

"Over? So you talked to him? Ended things?" Maki pressed.

"Ended is a bit strong."

"You really want me to go over there and end it for you?"

You wanted to argue, to defend the fragile hope that still flickered within you, but the words wouldn't come. You were simply exhausted.

Just then, your phone, lying forgotten on the table, lit up with a notification. 

[12:37 PM] Satoru: We're in the lab. Take your time, we'll wait for you until your class is over.

Maki raised an eyebrow. "Speaking of the devil?"

You gathered your things, a sudden urgency replacing the weariness. "I have to go," you said, looking to Yuta with a silent plea. He understood immediately.

"Don't worry," he said, a smile on his lips. "I'll take notes for you. Don't want you falling behind on top of everything else."

"Thanks, Yuta, I owe you one." 

But as you turned to leave, Maki crossed her arms, a stern expression on her face. 

"Don't be mad at me," you pleaded, sensing another lecture coming on. "I've got this under control, I promise."

"Sure you do. Just like you had that whole thing with Gojo under control?" She paused, her voice softening slightly. "We're just worried about you. Don't shut us out."

The weight of their concern settled heavily in your chest, a guilt that twisted like a knife in your gut. 

You wanted to tell them, to let them know the fucked-up mess of emotions and impossible situation you were in, but the words stuck in your throat.

You couldn't tell them.

You simply couldn't tell them.

Not when it meant risking his secret, his reputation, his entire career.

Not when you still cared, foolishly, stubbornly cared.

─── ·✧· ───

You pushed open the door to the lab.

It had been weeks since you'd last stepped foot in this space, weeks since you'd worked with Suguru and Satoru here. Somehow it's the same, the same lab, the same white coat, the same machinery, the same smell of antiseptic in the air, but the project was different.

No, it was not the same.

You slipped into your white lab coat and dropped your bag in the corner.

Satoru and Suguru were already immersed, standing in front of a whiteboard. Satoru, stretched out in a chair with a mug of coffee precariously balanced on a nearby stool, was gesturing wildly while Suguru scribbled.

You walked over to them. Satoru's head snapped around as he heard your footsteps, nearly spilling his coffee on the floor.

"What are you doing here?" Satoru asked. "Don't you have a lecture right now?"

"Yuta's covering for me. It's fine."

He stared at you for another moment, his brow creasing as he assessed your weary features. "That's not how this research will work. You won't jeopardize your studies for this."

"Last time I checked this was my research. Remember?"

Satoru merely scoffed, tilting his head to assess you with those impossibly blue eyes. You tucked your trembling hands behind your back, hiding the caffeine-fueled tremors from his observant gaze.

"You look exhausted," Suguru observed. "Are you sure you're up for this?"

"I'm fine," you lied, though they probably wouldn't be fooled. Exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, and the effort to maintain your composure was becoming unbearable. 

They glanced at each other for a second, sharing a worried look.

It felt like a jagged saw against raw nerves. You wanted to prove them wrong, to prove you could handle this — handle all of it. This fight wasn't your choice, but it was yours now. And you wouldn't crumble beneath its weight.

"Look, I have an idea." You walked towards the whiteboard and relieving Suguru of the marker. With a few harsh strokes, you erased their notes.

It was shit anyway.

"My original approach was too theoretical—too cautious," you began. The marker flew across the whiteboard, outlining your new strategy. "I wanted to use CAR-T therapy to treat brain tumors like blood diseases, but that's not enough. What if we combine CAR-T with targeted antibodies?"

Suguru took a seat beside Satoru, his gaze following yours as you scrawled out diagrams and equations. "Antibodies...what kind?"

"T-cell engagers," you replied. "We can engineer them to bridge the gap between the CAR-T cells and the tumor."

Satoru shifted in his seat. "Such things never been tested before."

"That's why we'll be the first," you countered, keeping your back to them and focusing on the whiteboard. "We'll modify the CAR-T cells to specifically target the glioblastoma's antigen fingerprint. But we need to combine them with T-cell engagers, designed to simultaneously bind the EGFR protein. This way we can maximize tumor cell destruction."

You spun around, the marker poised in your hand. "And we'll inject them directly into the brain."

They both starred at you, as if you went insane.

"That's," Suguru paused, searching for the right word, "—bold."

"More like insane," Satoru countered. "When was the last time you actually slept?"

"Ha?" Your gaze flickered between them. "Tell me this doesn't make sense."

Suguru leaned back, fingers drumming against the armrest. "It does. Theoretically, it might even work."

Satoru, however, remained unconvinced. "Combining CAR-T with antibodies? Direct brain injection? We don't have preclinical data, not even hypothetical models to support something this radical."

Your pulse hammered against your skull. Your idea was a shot in the dark — that was undeniable. But in your gut, you knew, this could work.

"So?" you challenged. "Isn't that what groundbreaking research is about? Taking risks, pushing boundaries?" You gestured to the whiteboard. "This—this is worth the risk."

Suguru stood up from his chair. He paced the lab, your idea stirring an excitement in him that matched your own. He stole the marker from your hand and began scribbling.

"She's right," he began. "Direct injection cuts through the blood-brain barrier issue. And targeted antibodies...that opens up possibilities we haven't even considered."

"The potential for cytokine release syndrome—," Suguru mused aloud. "If the T-cells overreact, we could trigger a inflammatory response."

"We can manage that," you countered. "Steroids, anti-IL-6...strict monitoring protocols." 

You knew the risks, perhaps even better than they did. And they were monstrous, undeniable. But those risks paled in comparison to the potential.

Suguru continued scrawling notes. "And what about the target itself? EGFRvIII is notoriously heterogeneous. We need robust evidence that our antibodies won't miss their mark—"

"Is it just me, or am I the only sane person in this room right now?" Satoru, who had been quietly observing the exchange, finally snapped. "We're not talking about hypothetical models here. We're talking about messing with someone's brain. Someone's life."

You glared at him. "I'm well aware of the risks, Satoru."

"Aware and reckless aren't the same thing," Satoru shot back. 

"Coming from you, that's rich."

Satoru run a hand through his hair. "Look, you've barely slept for a week, and now you're proposing—what, supercharged T-cells?" He gestured wildly towards the whiteboard. "Have you both lost your goddamn minds?"

"This could work, Satoru. Or are you too much of a coward to even try?" 

His eyes narrowed. "Ha?"

You leaned into him, your hands on the arms of his chair, caging him in. "Tell me, do these supercharged T-cells unnerve you? Make you uncomfortable with yourself?" Your lips were mere inches from his as you whispered, "Too bad you can't fuck them into submission, right?"

He stiffened, the muscles in his jaw clenching. He understood your taunt, the challenge clear in his eyes, the anger and — maybe something other as well.

Suguru, who had been watching the exchange with an expression that bordered on annoyance, suddenly stopped mid-thought. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his expression hardening as he glanced at the screen.

"Damn it." He answered the call. "Alright, I'm on my way," he said finally, ending the call with a curt nod. He turned to you. "We'll pick this up later. There's a situation at the hospital. Get some rest. You look like hell."

Ouch.

Before you could say anything, he was already striding towards the door, his white coat flapping behind him. 

With Suguru gone, a heavy silence descended upon the room. 

Satoru remained seated, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you. It felt like an assessment, not just of your audacious proposal, but of you — standing there, the weight of sleepless nights visible in the dark circles beneath your eyes.

"So—," he began. "When was the last time you actually slept? Like, really slept?"

You rubbed your aching temples. "I'm fine." 

You didn't know how many times you'd said that before today. But each time it was a lie. The exhaustion now throbbed behind your eyes, the beginnings of a relentless migraine.

Satoru stood. "Yeah, right." He crossed the distance between you in a few strides, his towering height suddenly oppressive. 

"Listen, we can argue about this crazy plan of yours later. Right now, you look like you're about to collapse." He reached out, gently cupping your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "Don't lie to me. I know you're not fine."

"This idea is good, Satoru," you insisted. "It could actually work."

"I don't give a damn about theoretical breakthroughs right now," he said. "Stubborn, reckless idiot. I care about you. And right now, you're pushing yourself way past your limits."

"I don't need your concern, Satoru. Right now, I need your brain to help me with this."

His lips quirked into a half-smile. "Oh, where did all that anger at me go?"

"Screw anger. I'm being a genius now."

"You're not a genius right now, more like a madman."

"That's what it takes," you muttered, the defiance fading as your voice softened. "This research...it's personal." 

He studied you closely, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "I get that. But you can't save anyone if you fall apart in the process."

"I won't fall apart."

"Yes, you will. I've known you long enough to know that."

Part of you longed to surrender, to let him take the weight you carried, even for a moment. But pride, a fierce, protective instinct, urged you to resist. You couldn't afford to rely on him, not anymore. You had to fight your own battles, win or lose.

"Let us help. Just a little. Share the burden."

"I'm—"

"Don't," he cut you off. "Don't say you're fine. Not when I can feel you trembling."

"I'm... okay," you said instead.

His gaze held yours, unwavering and painfully perceptive. 

His breath brushed against your lips, making your knees weak in an instant.

The world narrowed to the mesmerizing blue of his eyes. He leaned in, your bodies mere inches apart. His hands snaked around your waist, pulling you against him. Each inhale brought the subtle scent of sandalwood and something uniquely him.

"Satoru, what are you—"

He smirked. "Just testing out a hypothesis."

His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes. You leaned into him, unable to resist his pull, cursing your treacherous body in the very same second.

"What hypothesis?"

He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over yours before tracing a searing path down the side of your throat. A soft moan escaped your lips as his tongue flicked out, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.

"Ah," he whispered against your skin, "that would be telling."

Before you could react, his hands slipped beneath your legs, lifting you effortlessly. Your arms instinctively found their way around his neck. He carried you effortlessly toward the lone chair before his desk.

"What are you doing?"

"Research," he declared, a playful lilt to his voice. 

He lowered himself into the chair, his hands never leaving your body, guiding you onto his lap as if you belonged there. His warmth enveloped you.

"Time to delve into your reckless methods, wouldn't you agree?"

Your legs were lifted, draped over his thighs as he pulled you closer. He reached for his laptop, his fingers dancing across the keyboard.

"Satoru, I—"

"Shhh." His fingers grazed your cheek, then slipped into your hair, stroking the back of your head in a soothing rhythm. "Just rest for a moment. I'll handle this for now."

"But I—"

His grip tightened, a gentle but firm reminder that your protests were futile. "If you don't sleep now, I swear, I'll slip a sedative into your next coffee, love." 

You grumbled something unintelligible, but the fight had drained from you. The exhaustion was too overwhelming, his warmth too tempting. 

You surrendered to the moment, your body relaxing against his. As your eyelids fluttered closed, the world narrowed to the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his breath against your hair, and the undeniable truth that despite the chaos — you were exactly where you were meant to be.

But even as your eyelids grew heavy, your researcher's mind kept churning.

"EGFRvIII..." you mumbled, the words barely audible against his chest. "Heterogeneity...off-target effects..."

He chuckled, his chest vibrating against your cheek. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, Doctor. I might be a bit more experienced in this field than you, you know."

"But cytokine storm markers...cross-reactivity...you forget them often..."

"Bossy even in your sleep, huh?" His fingers continued to run through your hair as he spoke. "Don't worry that pretty little head. Just...sleep. I've got you."

And with that promise, he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart lulling you into a deep, desperately needed slumber. The last thing your conscious mind recognized was a kiss placed on the top of your head.

─── ·✧· ───

Ten years. 

Ten years since the sterile hospital room, the rhythmic beeps of the monitor dissolving into a horrifying silence. 

Ten years since the brain tumor had devoured your father, the man you looked up to, the man you admired more than anyone. 

Who would have thought that ten years later you'd be doing research on that very brain tumor again.

What a cruel joke.

Today, all you craved was to burrow yourself under the covers and let the world fade away. University, research, responsibilities — they all felt trivial, meaningless.

You were hungry, stomach growling. 

You didn't want to eat.

Dragging yourself out of bed was a herculean effort. Even the simple act of brushing your teeth felt monumental, exhaustion seeping into your bones like a poison.

The familiar ache intensified. You missed him. Missed his booming laugh, his gentle teasing, the unwavering belief in his eyes that you could achieve anything. 

He would have understood this desperate research, this burning need to find a cure — not just for others, but for a chance to rewrite the ending to your own story.

Maybe throwing yourself into this research was a desperate way for you to feel close to him again, maybe it was a futile attempt to get over it, end the suffering, end the what if's.

Coffee, black and bitter, was the only thing you could stomach. Just as you were about to take a sip, your phone buzzed.

[10:12 AM] Satoru: You with friends today?

You stared at the screen. Why would he ask that? But as quickly as the thought came, you dismissed it. No, not today. You really didn't need another emotional mess on this day.

You ignored the message.

With a sigh, you tossed the phone aside and buried yourself under the comforting weight of your blankets. You just wanted to sleep. Sleep and forget. Pretend for a moment that the world wasn't crumbling around you.

Afternoon passed in a haze of restless slumber and tearful awakenings. 

Another buzz — a call this time. 

Satoru.

Your finger hovered over the decline button. Why was he calling? Was there an emergency? Even if there was, you wouldn't be much help today anyway. 

Ignoring the call, you shut your phone off completely. He can handle whatever is going on on his own. He's a grown man after all.

The silence returned, thick and heavy.

Curled up tight, you drifted into a restless sleep again.

You awoke with a start, disoriented and unsure of how much time had passed. You blinked against the dim light, the rhythmic thumping at the door a harsh intrusion. Ignoring it, you burrowed deeper under the covers. 

Maybe, just maybe, whoever it was would go away and leave you alone. But the knocking persisted. With a frustrated groan, you dragged yourself out of bed. Throwing the door open, you were met with the last person you expected to see.

"What are you doing here?" you asked.

Satoru leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His white dress shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up. Dark navy tie around his neck. His brows were furrowed, the usual playful smirk replaced by a worried expression.

"You weren't answering your phone."

"And?"

"I'm concerned about you."

"No need."  

You reached for the doorknob to shut the door. But his hand shot out, stopping the door. His gaze locked with yours, those impossibly blue eyes piercing into you.

"You didn't tell anyone, did you?" he asked softly.

"Tell anyone what?"

"That today...it's the day of your father's death."

You felt an icy grip tighten around your heart. How did he know? You hadn't told anyone, not wanting the pitying looks or empty platitudes, least of all from him.

"Yeah," he said.  "That's what I thought."

His gaze held you captive, draining the fight from you. It wasn't anger, nor pity, but something like concern, and something more — something you told him not to look at you like that again.

You stepped aside and shuffled towards the kitchen to get yourself another cup of coffee. "How did you even know?" you asked, pouring yourself another cup.

"Google."

You turned, coffee sloshing in your mug. "Seriously? You Googled my father's death day?"

He didn't answer to that.

Instead, he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering. "Thought you'd be with friends today. Maki's fiercely protective, she wouldn't leave your side on a day like this. So when I saw her and the rest of the group on campus, I figured you hadn't told anyone."

"Yeah, because I wanted to be alone. Besides, shouldn't you be at university right now?"

"Called in sick once I realized you weren't with them."

"You really trying to get yourself fired, don't you?"

He closed the distance between you, the small kitchen suddenly feeling crowded with his presence. His eyes swept across your face, taking in the exhaustion etched around your eyes, the weariness in your posture.

"Have you eaten anything today besides coffee?"

"How much hydromorphone have you taken today?"

"Don't distract from the subject."

You crossed your arms. "I just changed the subject."

He ran a hand through his unruly white hair. "Alright, stubborn one. Let's get you some real food."

"I don't need you to babysit me, Satoru."

"Yeah, I know you don't. But you can't stop me, can you? So, move it." He gestured towards the door, his gaze unwavering. "Or I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out myself."

The threat, delivered with a hint of a smirk, was not entirely a joke. You knew him well enough to know that. He was dead serious, and you were too exhausted to fight him, to resist the gentle command in his voice. 

And maybe, just maybe, a part of you didn't want to fight him, was thankful for his support.

"Fine," you grumbled. "But I'm paying."

"We'll see about that, first-year."

─── ·✧· ───

You didn't pay for it.

He'd already taken care of the bill before you could even reach for your wallet. 

Silence fell between you as you navigated the bustling streets in his car, your stomach full. He smoothly merged from the parking lot onto the main road.

You were halfway through your energy drink, the sugary sweetness suddenly feeling heavy in your stomach. "Wait... where are we going?"

Glancing out the window, you saw a road sign indicating the highway. It pointed towards the direction of your hometown, a place you hadn't set foot in for nearly a year. Your stomach suddenly turned.

"You..." you stammered. "Why?"

His eyes briefly met yours, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. "Don't you want to visit him?"

His words hung in the air, a simple question — should have been a simple question.

But a wave of nausea roiled in your stomach. Guilt for neglecting the place that held so many memories, fear of confronting the raw grief that still lingered, a deep-seated yearning to reconnect with a past you'd desperately tried to outrun.

"I don't know." You slumped back in the seat. "I don't think I can."

Silence stretched between you.

Then, his hand found yours, fingers interlacing with your own. "I'm here with you. Every step of the way."

You hated him.

Hated that he wouldn't force you, wouldn't pressure you. Hated that he would simply be there, as he always seemed to be. Even when you didn't ask, even when you didn't want him to.

You wanted to curse him for his audacity, for somehow knowing what you needed now, for understanding you better than you understood yourself. But a part of you was grateful. 

The truth was, you didn't have the strength to face this alone. And deep down, you knew this visit was long overdue.

Your fingers fumbled with the edge of your sleeve. "You planned this all along, didn't you?" You glanced over at him.

His lips curved into a slight smile. "Get some rest," he replied, eyes returning to the road. "We've got a long drive ahead of us."

The highway stretched before you, an endless ribbon of asphalt disappearing into the horizon. You leaned back, exhaustion pulling you under. The warmth of his hand lingered, a comforting weight on your thigh. 

Lately, it seemed, you could find peaceful sleep only in his presence.

─── ·✧· ───

Hours dissolved into miles, the familiar cityscape giving way to rolling hills and quaint towns. The pain in your chest was still there, but with Satoru by your side, it was lighter, less heavy, less suffocating.

But as the car pulled into the all-too-familiar cemetery parking lot, the dread you'd been suppressing clawed its way back. Satoru cut the engine, the sudden silence deafening, broken only by the mournful creak of the windshield wipers against the lingering drizzle.

Satoru got out of the car and rounded it to opened the door for you, his hand lingering on the window frame. You got out of the car only to find yourself trapped, his body not moving an inch. 

"You okay?" 

"I'm fine." You ducked beneath his arm, breaking the hold of his gaze, and stepped onto the rain-softened ground.

The desolate expanse of the graveyard stretched before you, a sea of gray and brown punctuated by the stark white headstones that stood like silent sentinels. Without a word, you walked the familiar path, each step a heavy weight dragging you down. 

The wind howled. It whipped through the trees, skeletal branches clawing at the sky. Each gust of icy air tore at your hair, biting at your exposed skin until you finally stood before his grave.

Satoru remained a few paces back.

You hadn't been here since the funeral, avoided it at all costs. And now you were here, standing in front of his grave. Somehow, you didn't even remember the reason you avoided this for so long.

Maybe seeing his grave made it all too real, too painful.

But now you were here.

And it became real, and it was painful.

"You want me to leave you alone?" Satoru asked.

"No." With a silent plea, you reached out your hand. "Please, stay with me."

His response was immediate. In a few quick strides, he closed the distance between you, his hand enveloping yours in a warmth that chased away some of the icy dread. "Where else would I go?" he mused, his fingers intertwining with yours.

You swallowed back a sob, unable to form words. 

Time lost all meaning as you stood there, hand in hand, the world narrowing to the headstone before you. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the sun sinking lower, painting the graveyard in fiery hues of orange and red.

But the silence became unbearable. 

Memories flooded you, each one a bittersweet wound, a yearning for the past that wouldn't be silenced. You couldn't stand still anymore. Your fingers tightened around Satoru's.

"I asked my father to read me his neurology books as a child," you finally spoke, your voice a fragile whisper. "While other kids were reading about princesses and fairy tales, I wanted to understand what my father did, wanted to understand his work."

You took a shaky breath. "He loved this. Surgeries, research, saving lives... it was his whole being, and somehow, it became mine too. I remember knowing how to clip an aneurysm before I could do the Pythagoras theorem."

"When I was old enough, he took me to the hospital. Showed me everything. I was probably there more than I was at school." Your voice trembled, the dam threatening to break. "I loved it. I loved it so much."

"Sounds like he was a great man," Satoru offered quietly.

"They tried everything," you continued. "Chemo, radiation... poison, burning him from the inside out. But the tumor was too aggressive, too progressed." Your voice trembled, your fingers turning to ice in his grasp. "Surgery was his last option."

Satoru moved closer, his grip tightening.

"We didn't want him to, we wanted him to try radiation a little longer, stay with us a little longer," you confessed, the words spilling out in a rush. "But he chose surgery anyway, went into surgery without telling us."

Suddenly the memories came back, how weak and fragile your father already was from all the procedures. How the doctors still suggested surgery. It was risky. It was stupid. But your father still wanted it. Even after you begged him not to do it. 

But what could you do?

You were a high school student at the time. 

Young and dumb.

You know now, that it was his only chance. You understand now, why he wanted to try anyway, even though he knew the risks.

"He didn't make it," you finally choked out, tears welling up in your eyes. "He died on the table. Alone. I never even got to say goodbye."

Suddenly, Satoru's arms enveloped you, strong and warm against the chilling evening air. He pulled you close, one hand on your back, the other pressing your head against his chest.

"It's okay," he said quietly. "I'm here, and I'll always be here."

You bit your lip. You wouldn't cry. Wouldn't let the grief consume you. Not here, not now. But Satoru's arms tightened around your trembling form as your tears nevertheless dampened his shirt.

You didn't know how long you remained like this, but his grip on you never faltered for a second, he didn't back away for a second. Even as twilight descended, casting long shadows across the headstones.

He held you until your tears dried, he held you until your tight grip on his shirt eased, until your heart felt less like a stone in your chest.

"We should probably find a place to stay," Satoru finally spoke, his voice gentle, hesitant. "It's getting late, we can drive home tomorrow—"

You pulled away, just enough to meet his gaze. Your voice was surprisingly steady despite the tear-streaked tracks on your face. "I know where we can stay."

─── ·✧· ───

"She's a little...different," you warned Satoru after ringing the doorbell.

The porch creaked beneath your weight. Your eyes swept across the worn wooden planks, the once vibrant yellow paint on the siding faded to a sickly pallor, the rusty mailbox overflowing with unopened letters. Rose bushes wild and overgrown.

You averted your gaze, a lump forming in your throat.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You've mentioned that. Like, a hundred times."

"Just so you're prepared."

"I'm a doctor, remember? Crazy doesn't faze me."

"Just wait," you muttered, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. "And, uh, whatever you do, don't mention my father."

His eyes widened slightly, the playful smile disappearing. But before he could respond, the front door flew open. Your mother appeared in the doorway. Surprise, then unadulterated joy, flashed across her face as her gaze fell upon you.

"Oh my baby girl!" she exclaimed, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. "You've grown so tall! My, how long has it been? All the way from Tokyo? Are you alright? Why didn't you call?"

Her questions tumbled out in a torrent, the words tripping over each other as she finally noticed the tall, white-haired man standing behind you. "And who is this?"

"Mom," you managed, your voice muffled against her shoulder. "It's good to see you too..." You gently extricated yourself from her embrace. "This is Satoru...he's a...," you turned around to glanced at him, "friend."

Satoru raised an eyebrow at the label.

Your mother's eyes raked over him. He, in turn, flashed her a smile so bright, so disarming, it almost made your skin crawl. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Wow, he really could play the perfect son-in-law when he wanted to.

You suppressed a sigh, knowing your mother was already half-smitten. Before she could unleash another barrage of questions, you quickly interjected, "We're just passing through, and need a place to stay the night."

"Of course, of course!" Your mother's enthusiasm returned in a flurry. "Come in, come in! You must be starving. I'll whip up some tea, and there's apple pie..." She chattered on, ushering you both into the familiar warmth of your childhood home.

─── ·✧· ───

Before you could blink, your mother had you both in colorful floral aprons, protest was futile. Satoru's awkwardly tied over his shirt, the apron way too tight for him. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, the crisp white fabric bunching around his elbows.

The awful smell of lavender, tinged with something sweet, hung in the air.

How you hated that smell.

Your mother bustled around the kitchen, flinging open cupboards, clattering utensils, and assigning tasks. You found yourself shoulder-to-shoulder with Satoru at the counter, a mountain of carrots and a too-small cutting board the only barrier between you.

You glanced at him and mouthed a silent 'sorry'.

Satoru leaned in, a wry grin playing on his lips. "Think I finally figured out where you got your stubborn streak."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Before he could answer, your mother stood between you, a wooden spoon clutched in her hand like a weapon. "So, Satoru, tell me, where did you meet my lovely daughter?"

The question nearly made you drop the knife.

"We met in the operating room," he began, while cutting carrots. "I was performing a quite complicated operation and was a bit stuck, and your daughter over here helped me out."

"Oh, you're a surgeon?"

"Neurosurgeon, yes," Satoru replied. "But apparently, I'm not as clever as your daughter. She's got quite the mind on her."

Your mother let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing in the cramped kitchen. "That's my girl," she exclaimed, patting your arm with a flour-covered hand. "Always the smartest one in the room."

Then, she reached out to pinch your cheek. "Mom!" You swatted her hand away. "Stop it!"

"She's astoundingly intelligent," Satoru added, his eyes flickering to you with an admiration that lingered a beat too long. You rubbed your cheek, a blush warming your face. "Couldn't ask for a better research partner."

You shot him a warning glance, and he finally tore his eyes away, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

"You work together?" your mother asked, her curiosity piqued as she turned around to tasted something from the simmering pot.

"We're involved in the same research project—" Satoru began, but you cut him off.

"It's nothing special," you interrupted, desperately trying to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. "Just some boring data analysis. Nothing exciting."

Satoru glanced at you. You shook your head subtly, hoping he'd catch the unspoken plea.

The rest of the meal preparation was a blur of nervous glances and sharp elbow jabs.

Your mother asked more and more personal questions, making you want to crawl under the table and disappear. You dodged, deflected, and offered vague answers. Satoru, on the other hand, seemed to have no problem to reveal every fucking inappropriate detail of your shared past.

You could practically feel the bruises forming on his shins. By the time the food was ready, you were ready to throttle him.

He must absolutely hate you, you thought, shooting him a death glare as you sat down at the table. But even your anger couldn't fully mask the warmth that spread through you at the sight of his charming smile, the way he seemed to effortlessly charm your mother with his stories.

You'd hoped the interrogation was over, but as soon as the first bite was taken, your mother launched into a fresh round of inquiries.

"Made some good friends in Tokyo, have you?"

"Yeah," you mumbled around a mouthful of casserole. "They're great. Don't worry."

"Oh, thank goodness!" Your mother clasped her hands together. "You were always a bit of a loner, you know. I was so worried you'd be all by yourself in that big city."

The backhanded compliment made you roll your eyes. Some things never change.

Before you could reply, she continued, "But you've even found yourself a boyfriend! That's wonderful!"

You choked on your food. "Mom, no, that's not..." you coughed, fighting for composure, "He's just a friend."

"Ouch," Satoru muttered under his breath, a smirk playing on his lips as he took another bite.

You shot him a glare, the unspoken 'shut up' hanging heavy in the air.

"So, you two are working on that neuroprosthetics project together, then?" your mother continued.

You were mid-bite, unable to answer before Satoru piped up, "We were. But we're working on something else now."

"Oh? What happened to the neuroprosthetics?"

You swallowed, forcing the words out. "It was...shelved. For now."

"Why?"

Damn it. Her relentless questioning was grating against your already frayed nerves. You avoided her look, tracing the worn pattern of the tablecloth with your fingers.

"Some complications," you lied. "We're waiting on funding."

You couldn't really tell her the truth after all, could you?

"So, what are you working on now, then?" Your mother wouldn't let it go, her voice a relentless drill boring into your skull.

"It's nothing, really. Boring stuff," you dismissed it, desperate to steer the conversation away from dangerous waters.

"Ah, but I want to know!" 

"It's...medical research."

"That's what I thought! But what kind? It must be important if you're working with a seasoned surgeon." She beamed at him. "Tell me, I'm dying to know!"

Your gaze flickered to Satoru, a silent plea for him to remain quiet. He simply watched the exchange with a carefully neutral expression, probably unsure of what's going on.

The knot in your stomach tightened. You knew she wouldn't let it go. "It's... brain tumor research," you finally admitted.

The kitchen fell silent.

Your mother's forced smile vanished, a mask you knew all too well finally fell. Her eyes hardened into shards of ice.

"So," she finally hissed. "It's back to that foolish research, is it?"

It hurt — after all this time it still hurt so awfully.

"It's not foolish," you retorted, your own anger flaring in response. "It's important. It could save lives."

But your words fell on deaf ears. She slammed her hands on the table, the force of it rattling the plates. Her face twisted with a grief-stricken rage as she rose, towering over you. "Why? Why are you so obsessed with this?"

The words pierced you like a thousand tiny needles. It was the unspoken accusation that had haunted you since his death — that your relentless pursuit was somehow an act of betrayal, a denial of his death.

But she was worse.

"Because he's dead, Mom!" you screamed. "He's gone! And he's never coming back!"

The words hung heavy in the air, a brutal reality she desperately tried to outrun. Your mother's face crumpled, the carefully constructed mask of normalcy finally shattering. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles white against the worn tabletop.

"Dead?" she whispered. "You know that's not true. He's...he's just...away. You're lying. You're a liar!"

The accusation, so childlike in its desperation, was a punch to the gut. You wanted to scream, to shake her out of this self-imposed delusion. But the words died in your throat.

What was the point?

It was useless. She hadn't changed a bit.

This was the same wall of denial you'd run up against so many times before, a fortress built to keep the pain at bay. But you were done banging your head against it.

"I'm going to bed," you choked out, the words barely audible. You turned and fled, each step a retreat from the battlefield you had lost long ago.

The familiar smell of her cooking, now made you want to throw up.

─── ·✧· ───

Each step creaked as you climbed the familiar stairs, the once vibrant floral carpet now muted and worn beneath your feet.

Nothing had changed.

Your childhood bedroom, untouched since you'd left. Your mother hadn't changed a thing. Same striped bedspread. Dusty neurology textbooks still lined the shelves. Moonlight filtered through the threadbare curtains, casting elongated shadows across the walls.

It was all achingly familiar, yet utterly foreign.

You collapsed onto the bed and starred up at the cracks in the aging ceiling. That goddamn lavender smell all around you. Your mother seemed to have sprayed the air freshener everywhere — some habit she had developed after your father's death.

She wanted the house to smell good for his return.

Your head began to throb.

Then, a soft knock at the door. "Can I come in?" Satoru's voice broke the silence.

You mumbled a weak assent. He entered, closing the door softly behind him.

"Could you calm her down a little?"

"I did my best," he said. "She's sleeping now."

"I told you she's different."

He walked over to you. "She's in denial, probably a prolonged grief disorder. Is she in therapy?"

"She won't go." You rolled onto your side, your back to him. "I've tried."

Wordlessly, Satoru slipped onto the bed beside you, his warmth enveloping you as he nestled against your back. His arms encircled you, pulling you close until your back was pressed against his chest. His hand found your hair, fingers threading through the strands.

You didn't resist.

You knew you were crossing lines again, lines that should remain clear. But in that moment, the exhaustion, the heartache, the years of repressed grief — it all became too much.

You just wanted to be near him, damn the consequences.

So you surrendered, your body relaxing against his. You could feel his breathing, the steady beat of his heart against your shoulder. Slowly, the tension eased from your shoulders, replaced by a weariness you could no longer fight.

"My mother lost it after his death," you whispered. "She shut down completely. Wouldn't leave the house, wouldn't eat... wouldn't even speak. I had to take care of everything, the house, the bills, keep her from falling apart. It got better, eventually. But those first few months were a living nightmare."

"I know she lost her husband." Your voice caught in your throat. "But I lost my father. I was grieving too."

Satoru listened, his fingers gently stroking your hair as you continued.

"I couldn't take it anymore. It was hell." You swallowed against the burn of tears. "I was so relieved when Suguru offered me a way out, a chance to transfer to Tokyo, to leave it all behind, move far away, away from here. I never looked back, never came back. I left her alone. I couldn't anymore. I hate this place."

It was humiliating — a shameful admission of weakness you'd never dared to voice aloud. But now it escaped your lips, you simply couldn't hold it in any longer.

You never wanted him to see this side of you, the weak, helpless girl who'd run from her responsibilities, the broken girl you tried to bury beneath layers of ambition and scientific accomplishment.

"Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

Satoru's hand stilled in your hair. "No," he whispered. "You were a child, forced to grow up too fast, forced to take on too much responsibility. Walking away from that doesn't make you a bad person, it makes you human."

"But why does it feel so wrong? I should have been there, I should have—"

"Sometimes the kindest thing we can do for ourselves is to walk away from the things that hurt us," he interrupted gently. "You were protecting yourself. That doesn't make you bad, it makes you brave."

"I'm not so sure."

He pulled you closer, his face buried in the crook of your neck. "Nothing you do, nothing you could ever do, would make me think less of you," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "No matter what you've done, I'll always love you. You can't scare me."

How could he say that now? 

How could he offer this unwavering love while dismissing your own?

Did he think you were so weak, so easily scared by his mess?

How could he not believe you, when you'd sworn the very same words to him?

It was a painful irony, a hypocrisy that made your stomach churn. He was so convinced you would abandon him, so afraid of your judgment, but couldn't he see?

You wouldn't leave him. You couldn't.

He didn't need to be perfect. He didn't need to be whole. He just needed to be himself. You loved him, flaws and all, and you were willing to fight for him, even if it meant fighting against your own better judgment.

The unfairness of it all made you want to scream. But all you could do was remain close to him, the warmth of his body a painful reminder of the love that could have been, the trust that had been shattered.

"I hate you," you whispered. "I hate how easy this is for you, how you can be so damn controlled even when you're high. It should be harder for you, shouldn't be me that falls apart."

"I've been doing this a bit longer than you, love," he murmured against your hair.

"Doing what?"

"Life."

You scoffed.

"It used to be hard," he admitted. "But it got easier over time. Now, I guess I'm just...a better person on drugs than off them."

"You really think that?"

"You see the proof, don't you?"

"So, you won't ever stop, will you?"

The silence that followed was an answer in itself. You shifted in his embrace, the darkness making his features hard to read. Even so, you could sense the defensiveness in his posture, feel the faint tremor in his hands.

"I'm afraid, Satoru."

"Of what, love?"

"That you'll kill yourself with the pills, and that I'll have to watch, unable to do anything about it."

He shook his head. "That won't happen."

"Don't fool yourself, you're not stronger than your body."

In a swift motion, he shifted, hovering over you. His hands on both side of your head. The moonlight cast stark shadows across his face, his eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath away.

"That won't happen," he repeated with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. "Because how could I ever leave you? You're the last thing I want to see before sleep, the person I crave to wake up beside, the person I want to spend the rest of my life with."

He leaned closer, the warmth of his breath ghosting across your lips. "How could I leave, when you're the one who showed me I could still feel? Who gave me something I'm terrified to lose?"

Your breath caught in your throat. His words were cruel — reminder of what you'd lost, of the future he'd carelessly shattered — cruel reminder of the love he had no right to claim. It left a bitter taste on your tongue.

"You ended this," you whispered. "You ended us."

"I know." He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as if the weight of his confession was too much to bear. "But I'm still yours. You still have all of me."

"That's not fair."

"I know." His hands found your waist, his touch searing through your thin shirt. "I know I'm being selfish. But I can't—fuck, I can't stay away from you."

"You're just scared to be alone."

"No." His hands tightened around your waist, pulling you impossibly close until you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your own. "It's not that. It's—" He paused, struggling to find the words. "I swear, if I could, I'd melt you into my veins, let you run through my bloodline forever."

"Satoru, I—"

"No." His lips hovered inches from yours, his mouth slightly open, a desperate plea in his eyes. "Don't—don't say anything. Not yet."

He tilted your chin upwards, his gaze searing into yours. His brow furrowed, a tense line between those striking blue eyes.

"You're carved into me. Heart, soul, every damn part of me I can't even begin to understand." His thumb brushed your lower lip. "I'm tethered to you, and I don't know how to cut the cord."

His lips hovered, a hair's breadth away from yours. His gaze flickered to your lips as he leaned impossibly close. 

You ached into him, the warmth of his body pressed against yours. Weeks of forced distance, the pain of his choices, the impossible future — it all faded as you closed your eyes, surrendering to him — like you always surrendered to him.

But just as your lips were about to touch, something crossed your mind.

Tethered.

"Tethered!" You shoved him away with a sudden surge of adrenaline. Mind racing, you scrambled out of bed. You tore open drawers and rummaged through your childhood bedside table. "Where's a pen? marker?"

Satoru, momentarily stunned, watched with a furrowed brow. "What's going on?"

Then you found a marker. "No time to explain," you declared, already uncapping the marker. You walked towards the wall opposite the bed, a blank canvas of white paint. Satoru watched as you draw with the marker on the wall without a second thought.

With a flourish, you started sketching a series of diagrams, lines connecting and branching out, notes scrawled in messy handwriting beside them.

Finally, you stepped back, chest heaving. "Okay," you began, "with glioblastoma, the big problem is, how do we keep those CAR-T cells and antibodies glued to the tumor, right? How do we stop them from wandering off and screwing up the whole show?"

Satoru's eyes followed your every move, his brow still furrowed. "Yeah."

"We need a delivery system," you continued, the words tumbling out faster than you could write them. "Something that keeps those cells localized, focused on the tumor, like a...a guided missile." You stabbed the marker at the wall, emphasizing your point. "Otherwise, the treatment won't be effective. It'll just dissipate, a waste of time."

He leaned back against the headboard, rubbing his chin. "Some kind of molecular anchor, maybe?"

"Not exactly. But you're on the right track. Think smaller. Nanoparticles."

Satoru raised a questioning eyebrow. "Nano-what now?"

You grinned. "Microscopic carriers, basically. Biocompatible ones, of course. Imagine we wrap those CAR-T cells and antibodies in these little packages, and engineer them to stick to the tumor like glue."

"So they stay put, right where they need to be?"

"Exactly." You nodded. "They deliver their payload directly to the tumor, then break down harmlessly. No more stray cells wreaking havoc on healthy tissue."

"But won't the body eventually get rid of them? Immune system, natural breakdown, that kind of thing?"

"Absolutely. That's why we use biodegradable polymers for the encapsulation. They'll dissolve over time, minimizing any long-term risks. But it's—," You paused, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. "We have to figure out the exact release rate—enough time to kill the tumor, but not so long that they cause other problems."

Satoru's gaze swept across the diagrams on the wall. Then, he pushed himself off the bed and walked towards you. You held your breath as he studied your handwriting.

"So?" you asked. "What do you think?"

"Stubborn, reckless, absolutely brilliant." His azure blue eyes met yours, a slow smile spreading across his face. "You stubborn, reckless, absolutely brilliant woman."

Before you could react, he swept you off your feet, a surprised gasp escaping your lips as he spun you around. "Satoru!" you protested, clutching your legs around his waist, laughter bubbling up.

He stopped abruptly, holding you aloft, your bodies mere inches apart. His hands warm against your hips, your fingers threaded through his hair. Your heart hammered in your chest. But as you stared into his impossibly blue eyes, you found yourself unable to look away.

His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips, then back again. "Damn it, you drive me insane."

"We have a lot of work to do."

"We always do. But this—this is different. We're going to do this. We're going to make it work."

"Are we still talking about research?"

"Of course, love," he replied, leaning closer, his lips mere millimeters from yours.

Time seemed to slow, the space between you burned. You could feel the warmth of his breath, smell his intoxicating cologne. You wanted this, wanted him with a desperation that clawed at your very soul.

But just as your lips were about to touch, he pulled back, abruptly setting you on your feet, shattering the moment like glass.

"We should get some sleep," he said. "Long drive tomorrow."

You nodded, your throat suddenly tight. 

Maybe it was better this way. Maybe it was for the best that he hadn't kissed you. Because deep down, you knew that if he had, you wouldn't have been able to stop. 

"Yeah. We should sleep," you finally said. "You'll be sleeping on the floor, just so you know."

"Ha?"

"You think I'm letting you sleep in my bed after that?" You crossed your arms. "You can't be trusted, professor. There's a futon in the closet."

"You're kidding, right?"

─── ·✧· ───

You woke with a groan.

Rolling over, the familiar striped print of your childhood bedspread met your gaze. Sunlight filtered through the dusty curtains, casting the room in a hazy glow. Beside you, the futon was empty, the faint scent of Satoru the only evidence that he had been there at all.

Why hadn't he woken you?

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you reached up to touch your lips. The faint ghost of his kiss still lingered on your skin. A headache threatened to rise as you hastily dismissed the memory.

Not this again.

The house creaked and groaned as you made your way downstairs. Halfway down, you froze.

There, in the sun-drenched kitchen, stood Satoru. Leaning casually against the counter, his unruly white hair seemingly catching every ray of sunlight, he looked startlingly at home. Your mother stood beside him, a genuine smile on her face as they talked.

Seeing him here, in this familiar space, in this casual domestic setting with your mother, sent a strange feeling of warmth through you. Your lips twitched upwards as you caught a glimpse of your mother's laughter, a sound that had been far too rare in recent years.

Then, as if sensing your gaze, Satoru's gaze snapped to you, his eyes brightening.

"Well, there she is!" your mother exclaimed. "Satoru was just giving me an update on your research. Sounds like you're onto something really interesting!"

Your brow furrowed. What was she talking about? She couldn't be talking about the brain tumor project. She'd rather chew glass than willingly delve back into that nightmare.

You were rooted to the stairs, exhausted and confused.

Satoru crossed the distance between you, that familiar lazy grin playing on his lips. He held out a hand. "Ready?"

"Yes," you said and reached for it. His fingers closed around yours. "Let's go back."

─── ·✧· ───

Birdsong filled the crisp autumn air.

Morning light filtered through the gnarled branches, casting dappled shadows across the porch. The chipped paint on the railing, the faded welcome mat — you never pictured yourself missing this place, your hometown, your childhood home. It was too intertwined with loss, too full of ghosts, to really miss it.

Yet, today, saying goodbye was somehow hard.

"Thank you." You gave your mother a tight hug. Her embrace was warm, reassuring, but you felt her tremble slightly. "For everything."

"Come back and visit soon, okay? And call me when you're back in Tokyo. Promise?"

"I will," you lied.

Your mother squeezed you with surprising strength. Then, with a low voice she whispered, "I think...I'll try therapy."

Stunned, you pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Why now? After years of denial? Your gaze flickered past her to find Satoru leaning against the porch railing, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. Could he — Was he behind this?

Before you could form the question, your mother turned to him. "And you! You take good care of her, you hear?"

"I will, but I also wanted to ask you something." Satoru pushed off the railing and walked over. He took your mother's hand in his, the gesture strangely formal. Then, in a move that left you momentarily stunned, he bowed slightly and placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand.

His blue eyes met hers as he asked, "May I have your permission...to marry your daughter?"

Haaaaa?

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: hmmm friends, i can't with soft, desperate satoru. was literally melting while writing this. but i hope this chapter gives you all a little more hope for a happy ending, haha. i know some of you were doubting after the last one (which, btw, wasn't even the lowest point yet, just sayin'). but we'll get there, promise !! Just a whole lotta chaos and hurt to get through first.

also, please don't ask me about any of the medical stuff in this chapter. i have no idea what's going on, lol. loosely based it on this study (DOI: 10.1056/NEJMoa2314390), but seriously, i don't understand any of it. just ignore anything that doesn't make sense — it's all for the sake of the plot ahaha.

also was hesitant to share too much of yn's backstory since this is technically an x reader story, but you guys wanted to know more, so i went for it. i'm so glad i did !! i think it makes her character more well-rounded and shows her vulnerabilities. 

and omg, satoru being supportive no matter what? trying to make things right? i'm a sucker for that. and of course, he had to meet his future mother-in-law sometime, right? hehe. but don't worry, we'll also dive into satoru's past and how it shaped him in future chapters.

one last thing note on suguru: this won't turn into a love triangle. reader's heart belongs to satoru, and while suguru's feelings will be there, it'll be more of an undercurrent than a major plot point. so, no worries there !!

and lastly, thank you so much for reading. your support means the world. seriously, you make this whole writing thing so much fun !! so thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ask for !! <3

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

#symptoms and causes #gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo fanfic #gojo x y/n #gojo fanfic #gojo fanfiction #jjk x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo angst #gojo angst #jjk angst

[rustedhearts]

i can't quit you, baby (70s!steve harrington x fem!reader)

summary: steve doesn't like the thought of you spending time with another man while he's gone. but doesn't steve know?—he's the only man for you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

✶ rolly's roller wheels ✶ blurbs ✶ the only living boy in indiana

tags: smoking but in such a sexy way, jealous steve, fluff, smut-ish at the end, just something short and sweet. ignore that it changes tense like halfway through, I simply cannot edit right now.

for thea ⭐️ thought 70s!steve deserved a little love. hope you enjoy! thank you for supporting me <3

wc: 1,204

august 1978

The windows are open when Steve gets home, letting in sticky summer air and blaring horns from the street below. Your new apartment was two stories above a busy Indianapolis street, and with that came all the city noises that you still struggled to sleep through four months post-move. And without sleep, you became restless.

Without Steve, you became restless. And a combination of both—after busy work days for Steve that kept him from dinner and bed—you were absolutely insatiable.

"Sweetheart?" Steve calls, dropping his keys on the coffee table on his way to the kitchen. "Where are you—oof!"

You throw yourself into his arms, knocking him off kilter until he braces himself on the wall. He envelops you once he registers the assault, chuckling into your neck.

"Hey, honey. Missed me?"

You sigh contently, rubbing your cheek on his cologne-and-sweat-scented chest. "Mhmmm."

"Well gimme a kiss then, sugar."

You giggled on your journey toward his mouth, kissing it with eager tongue and a little whine. You're barely five seconds in before Steve furrows his brows and pulls away, nudging you back by the waist. Eyes fluttering open, you frown at him and try to tug him close.

"Why do you taste like that?"

You laugh again. "What?"

Steve narrows his eyes. "Whose cigarettes have you been smoking? Huh? They're not mine."

Cheeks warm, you wriggle out of Steve's grasp and pluck the rag you were dusting with from the counter. "What? I haven't been—"

"C'mere. C'mere, sweetheart, who've you been smokin' with?"

Steve follows you, and you giggle through the scampering cat-and-mouse chase around the living room.

"Steve, I haven't—no, no!"

He catches you when you attempt to leap over the coffee table, one strong arm anchored around your waist. He pulls you down, sweeping you to his side and spinning you around until you're giggling and batting at his hands.

Steve decides to spare you and sets you on your feet, waiting until you've caught your breath and your cheeks stop hurting before tugging you close by the chin. He kisses you again, firmer and with writhing tongue.

When he pops away, he shakes his head and huffs. "I fuckin' knew it—Camels. Whose fuckin' Camels have you been smokin'?"

"What?" You place your fingers on your lips again. "How can you even tell that?"

Steve wags a finger in your face. "I know my smokes, honey, and you're avoiding the question."

Sighing, you retrieve the rag from where it fell on the floor and take it to the end table to dust under the magazines.

"I was hanging out with Dalton earlier. We had a smoke on the roof."

Steve's hands find his hips, eyes following your ministrations throughout the room. "Oh, you 'hung out?' You just hung out with some dude while I was at work?"

“Not some ‘dude,’” you argue, eyes rolling into the lamp shade that you readjust. “He’s one of the only neighbors that’s introduced himself, and that’s actually been nice.”

Steve tips his chin down, eyes slanting to a glare. “Yeah, because he wants to get in your pants.”

“I resent that, Steve Harrington—and why would you think sharing a cigarette with him would mean anything?”

Your boyfriend mutters under his breath, and when you turn with a quirked and accusative brow, he grumbles and turns on his heel. He stomps into the kitchen, where you hear the rattle of the refrigerator and the hiss of a beer can opening soon after.

“I don’t like that you’re here hangin’ out with random guys while I’m gone,” he calls through the wall.

“Excuse me, what year are we living in? We didn’t move to the city so I could be the little woman, Steve—“

“I never said that!”

Your bare feet pad into the room, where it’s your turn to pop your hand on your hip and glare at him.

“It was implied.”

Sometimes, it was hard to remember the days when Steve was just your best friend. The best friend that teased and ridiculed you, and the best friend you teased and ridiculed back. Until moments like this when it all came flooding back. When you fixed him with an attitude and a fiery stare akin only to when he forgot to pick you up from school in the snow, or said something stupid and out of line when you were eighteen years old.

You were grown now, but he didn’t seem any smarter.

Steve’s tongue clicks on the roof of his mouth, sweetened with his first sip of Miller Lite. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply that, sweetheart. I just…—it just makes me….—I just feel—“

“Jealous?”

Steve lifts his hand in an empty gesture. It smacks down onto his thigh when he drops it, shoulders shrugging shortly after.

“Yeah! Yeah, maybe I am.”

Your glare coils into a cocky smirk, teeth digging into your lip. You drop your hand from your hip and step his way.

"Aw, Stevie," you coo, words dripping with mockery. "How cute—"

"Psh," he scoffs, head turning when you come to brace it with your hands. "Yeah, yeah."

"You're jealous of the neighbor? That's sweet, Steve, really."

He tips his head back to the ceiling and shakes it. "Jesus, you're not gonna let this go."

You take the new position as an invitation to press your mouth against his neck. He swallows under your touch, fingers curling tighter around the countertop behind him. Your teeth scrape the soft and musky flesh of his throat, giggling when he shivers. You press a firm, open-mouthed kiss to his jaw, under his ear, down the column of his throat, over his collarbone at the top of a tight navy t-shirt. He's so full and muscular these days, and you can't help but run your hands over the broadness of his pecs.

Steve's hands fall to your ass, sliding into the back pocket of your jeans. You squeak, squished up against his front when he tugs you in.

"Only want you smoking my cigarettes," Steve demands, voice hoarse with arousal.

You guide your mouth back up to his ear, kissing the shell of it delicately. "Okay, honey."

"Promise?"

You pull back enough to meet his eye, and flash him a smile. "Promise. Now, you gonna show me how jealous you are, or what?"

Steve chuckles, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. "Go grab my smokes for me first. By the door, hmm? Wanna see how pretty your lips look wrapped around one."

You pause. It's your turn to swallow, cheeks warm as you stumble back. Steve's grin is salacious and sideways, head tipping to nudge the other way.

"Go on, baby."

Steve steals the Winston from your mouth just as you're climbing into his lap, deciding you look prettier without it. But before the smoke can leave your mouth, he grabs a fistful of your hair at the back of your head and seals his lips over yours. He steals it from your lungs, sitting back against the headboard with a grin when you whimper.

"Tastes much better than Camels," he muses.

And watching Steve leisurely smoke a Winston is all the encouragement you need to keep bouncing in his lap.

#rolly! #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #70s!steve harrington #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you

[justlemmeadoreyou]

3. protectively watchful (restaurant owner!harry x chef!reader)

(part 1 here) | (part 2 here)

summary: you take up on the mantorship offer, but it creates more tensions and turmoil within you than were before. an incident in the kitchen makes harry go into protective mode, and you can't help but get turned on by this man more and more.

words: 4.8k

warnings: sexual tension (like A LOT), inappropriate behaviour, protective!harry.

***

"You wanted to see me, Chef?"

You gave a light knock on the open door of Harry's office, trying to sound polite and professional. It had been a few weeks since you had that talk with Harry about keeping things strictly business between you two. During that time, he had been a perfect mentor - giving you advice and guidance without any flirting or suggestive comments.

His coaching had really helped improve your cooking skills as you soaked up all his knowledge and experience. You were grateful to have a normal working relationship again, focused solely on culinary training. And yet...you couldn't ignore the faint lingering tension between you, that subtle underlying charge.

Harry looked up from the notebooks on his desk, his eyes crinkling in a warm smile when he saw you. "Ah, there you are. Come on in, have a seat."

You sat down in one of the chairs across from him as Harry neatened up the loose papers into a stack. Up close, you couldn't help noticing how well-fitted his black button-down shirt was, or how his tousled hair looked very touchable.  

Firmly reminding yourself this was just a professional meeting, you averted your eyes politely until Harry cleared his throat.

"So as you know, the big Martin gala fundraiser is coming up in a few weeks," he began, shuffling through some folders. "It's one of the biggest events of the year for underprivileged culinary education programs. I'll be preparing the featured dish for their live auction, and I'd love for you to assist me on it."

Your eyes went wide with surprise at this prestigious opportunity. The Martin gala was a hugely famous event in Chicago's culinary scene, attracting all the wealthiest and most notable diners. For an up-and-coming chef to collaborate on the centerpiece dish was an amazing honor and chance to get exposure.

"Wow, yes of course!" you replied enthusiastically. "I would be absolutely honored, Chef. Thank you for this incredible opportunity."  

Harry's dimples deepened as he smiled approvingly. "Don't thank me yet. We'll be under a huge spotlight to deliver an amazing showstopper dish. I expect you to rise to the challenge."

You quickly nodded. "You can count on me to give it my absolute best effort. I'm ready to do whatever work is needed."

"Excellent," Harry said in a slightly lower, huskier tone. "That's exactly what I like to hear."  

For a moment, his voice had a heated quality that hinted at other situations where your eagerness might be welcome. You ignored the shiver it sent through you, reminding yourself this was strictly business now between you two.

Harry seemed to realize he was skirting the line, as he abruptly straightened up and all hints of flirtation disappeared as he switched fully into mentor mode. "Right, well let me walk you through my basic vision so far..."

You leaned forward attentively as he outlined preliminary ideas for a highly ambitious and avant-garde dish blending molecular gastronomy techniques with classic French cuisine fundamentals. It was wildly cutting-edge, even for a showpiece event like the Martin gala. But the more details Harry provided, the more that same thrill of adrenaline rushed through you whenever presented with a new culinary challenge to conquer.

For the next hour, the two of you bounced ideas back and forth in that unique creative flow state that chefs share. Harry's presence was magnetic, but you refused to get distracted by more physical aspects - like the stretch of his biceps against his crisp sleeves, the hint of toned abs beneath his open collar, or the raspy timbre of his voice dipping into that lower register as he passionately discussed certain techniques.  

And oh, his damn tattoos.

No, you sternly told yourself as the conversation began wrapping up. Those days of getting flustered around him were over. Harry had made it clear where you stood, and you fully accepted those boundaries. Anything else was just self-torture.

"...but of course, those are just preliminary thoughts," Harry was saying as he collected the scattered folders into a neat pile. "We'll have plenty of time to refine the details over the next couple weeks."  

You nodded, filing away the mental notes you'd taken during the discussion. "Absolutely, Chef. Just let me know whatever you need for prep or testing different ideas to get a head start."

"Will do." With an air of finality, Harry gathered up the pile and rose from his seat. You quickly stood up as well, not wanting him to loom over you in the enclosed space. For a beat, you both hovered awkwardly, the air seeming to thicken between you.  

"Well then," Harry said, making no move to step past you towards the door. "I'd say this calls for a drink to celebrate our new collaboration, wouldn't you agree?"

Before you could reply, he turned and went to a small antique cabinet tucked in an alcove you hadn't noticed before. With a practiced hand, Harry selected a heavy glass decanter and two tumblers, placing them on the cabinet and expertly twisting off the stopper.

"Let's go with Lagavulin," he mused aloud, carefully pouring two generous glasses of the amber scotch whisky. "A good Scottish whisky seems appropriate for the occasion."  

"I really shouldn't, Chef," you said reflexively, already picturing your lightweight self getting sloppy and unprofessional after even a single drink.

But Harry just chuckled softly. "Loosen up a little. It's a celebration, after all."

He emphasized this by bringing one of the heavy tumblers over and pressing the cool glass into your hand. You frowned down at the coppery liquid, worrying your lower lip uncertainly. But before you could protest further, Harry gently clinked his glass against yours in a silent toast before taking a sizable sip.

The whisky's smoky, peaty aroma seemed to wrap around you intimately. Despite your hesitation, you couldn't help giving an appreciative inhale before taking a small, tentative sip yourself. Bold, layered flavors of vanilla, caramel, and charred oak underscored by an earthy smokiness burst over your tongue. You let out a soft sigh of indulgent pleasure at the decadent taste.

"Good, isn't it?" Harry's gravelly voice made you start slightly. He was watching you with amusement, whisky glass dangling casually from those large, handsome fingers. "It really hits you in the back of the throat, makes you slow down and savor it fully."

You suddenly realized the suggestive implication behind his phrasing and felt a flush of heat bloom across your face and chest. Harry watched the play of emotions flickering over your features with relish before taking another indulgent sip. This time, you noticed the way his full lips pursed delicately to drink, the tiny furrow of concentration between his brows as he savored the flavor before swallowing.

Unconsciously, your eyes tracked the mesmerizing flex of his throat as he swallowed, the hint of stubble grazing along his chiseled jawline. A twinge low in your abdomen accompanied the thought of feeling that scratchy burn of beard between your thighs, that talented mouth working magic elsewhere on your body.

Mortified, you shut down that wayward trail of thought through sheer willpower. Your cheeks grew even hotter as you realized Harry had caught you staring, his own gaze darkly amused.  

"Easy there," he murmured huskily, stepping a bit deeper into your personal space. "This dish is a marathon, not a sprint. Best to learn to savor every indulgent morsel along the way."

With a pointed look and arched brow, Harry raised his whisky to those plump lips once more, holding your gaze as he placed the rim against that full lower lip and let out an obscenely gratifying groan of pure delight.

Moments after, the tension had subsided, but the flush and blush that had creeped up your cheeks wasn’t going away anytime soon–you were sure of that.

***

You tried to push aside the lingering thoughts about the “Celebration” that were now implaed into your mind, and the way tiny droplets of the drink remained on his lips till he licked them off with his tongue–

You wanted that tongue to be yours.

Shaking your head, you focused on prepping the ingredients for the evening service. The dinner rush would be starting soon and you needed to have everything ready. As you worked, you were vaguely aware of the dining room filling up with patrons being seated. The sounds and aromas of the bustling kitchen surrounded you in a familiar, comforting way.

You were so engrossed in your tasks that you didn't notice the man approach until he cleared his throat loudly. Looking up, you saw a smartly-dressed diner smiling at you in a way that made you instinctively uncomfortable.

"Well, hello there," he said in a syrupy tone. "I was just admiring the delicious-looking fare over here." He raked an obvious look up and down your body. "The menu selections have my mouth watering already."

You stiffened, recognizing the overly familiar leer. This wasn't the first time you'd dealt with an obnoxious patron hitting on you. Keeping your expression neutral, you replied in a polite but firm tone. "I'm afraid you'll need to return to the dining room, sir. The kitchen is off-limits to guests."

Rather than taking the hint, the man leaned nonchalantly against your prep station. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I was just hoping you could suggest something...special for me to sample tonight." He punctuated this with an exaggerated wink.

Suppressing a grimace, you turned away to continue your work, hoping he would give up and leave. No such luck. The lech sidled closer until he was nearly pressed against you. "What do you say? I'd love for a tasty little thing like you to--" 

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave the kitchen area immediately." Harry's firm baritone cut across the man's words like a whip crack.  

You looked up in relief to see your boss standing with arms crossed, jaw clenched as he glared at the offending patron. Even from several feet away, you could sense the potent force of his displeasure rolling off him in waves.

The diner seemed to shrink slightly under Harry's censorious scowl. "Oh, uh, my apologies. I was just trying to get some personal recommendations--"

"The kitchen is off-limits and you're making my staff uncomfortable," Harry interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "I won't ask again. Return to your table or you'll be asked to leave the premises."

Looking sufficiently cowed, the lech swiftly retreated with some mumbled apologies. You exhaled slowly, trying to dispel the anxiety brought on by the unpleasant encounter. Harry stepped closer, his expression softening as he looked you over with concern.

"You okay? That asshole didn't go too far, did he?"

You managed a faint smile, oddly touched by the protective edge in his voice. "I'm fine, Chef. Just another boorish customer thinking the uniform is a dinner invitation."  

His jaw tightened again as he scowled in the direction the man had gone. "That type of behavior is completely unacceptable. You let me know right away if anyone hassles you like that again, understand?"

Nodding, you found yourself blinking rapidly against the unexpected prickle of grateful tears at having Harry firmly in your corner, despite the complicated dynamics between you lately.  

For a long moment, he watched you carefully as if gauging your equilibrium. Then Harry surprised you by reaching out and briefly squeezing your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. The warmth of his large hand seeped through your uniform, leaving a tingly imprint even after he pulled away.

"I've got your back, [Y/N]. You focus on doing your job and let me deal with any assholes who get out of line."

The gruff tenderness in his words made your heart do a traitorous little flip in your chest. You nodded again, not trusting your voice enough to respond properly.

With one final pointed look, Harry turned and headed back out to his front-of-house duties.  As you watched his broad-shouldered form disappear through the swinging doors of the kitchen, you felt a complicated tangle of gratitude, protectiveness, affection...and yes, a lingering undercurrent of attraction that you couldn't seem to fully extinguish despite your best efforts.

You spent the rest of the dinner service determinedly pushing aside any lingering thoughts about Harry or the earlier incident. Focusing fully on your work was the only way to get through these confusing emotions that had you all over the place..

The rhythm of prepping, plating, and coordinating with the other line cooks settled into a familiar, reassuring routine. The constant flurry of chopping, sautéing, and barked orders provided a sort of meditative escape from your muddled headspace.

By the time the last diner had been served and the kitchen was winding down for the night, you felt pleasantly drained in that satisfying way that comes from a job well done. As you began breaking down your station for cleaning, Harry emerged from his office looking satisfied.

"Excellent work tonight, everyone," he called out in that effortlessly commanding tone. "Front-of-house said the new salmon dish was a huge hit. We'll definitely want to keep that one on the seasonal menu." 

A chorus of tired but pleased murmurs went around the kitchen at the praise. Harry's eyes found yours amidst the small crowd, holding your gaze a beat longer than strictly necessary before moving on to the other cooks. You tried not to read too much into it.

With the nightly pep talk concluded, Harry rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white chef's coat, joining everyone in the evening breakdown and cleaning duties. You watched surreptitiously as he expertly broke down one of the grill stations, muscles in his broad forearms flexing enticingly with each efficient movement.  

Get a grip, you scolded yourself, quickly refocusing on scrubbing down your own prep area. This was exactly the kind of distracted, unprofessional behavior you were trying to avoid lately around Harry.

Despite your best efforts, however, you couldn't fully ignore him moving about the kitchen, checking in with each station to oversee their sanitation. At one point, he paused to examine some utensils that hadn't been properly cleaned, tsking in displeasure before batting them aside to be re-scrubbed.  

"That's never going to meet inspection," he chided the sheepish-looking young line cook in his trademark gruff tone. "Do it again, and do it properly this time. We're not running a greasy spoon here."  

As much as his uncompromising attitude could be intimidating, you also found it oddly...thrilling to witness Harry taking charge so authoritatively. Not to mention the visual of those powerful hands deftly at work was sending your thoughts in an unprofessional direction yet again.

Sternly redirecting your focus, you turned your back to give the area behind the grill station a thorough scrubbing. You were so engrossed that you nearly jumped out of your skin when Harry's low voice sounded directly in your ear.

"Everything looking good over here?" 

You whirled around to find him looming directly behind you, near enough that you could smell the spicy notes of his subtle cologne mingling with the lingering kitchen aromas clinging to him. Up this close, you couldn't help noticing how the top buttons of his coat had come undone at some point, offering a teasing glimpse of the toned chest beneath.

Trying not to stare, you quickly averted your eyes as you nodded. "Y-yes, Chef. All clean on this side."

"Hmm." His assessing gaze slowly raked over your work before returning to your flushed face. The tiniest of smirks played about his lips as if he could read the direction of your thoughts.  

"Well, then. Carry on," was all he said before turning and strolling unhurriedly back towards his office, burgundy cargo pants slung enticingly low on those lean hips.

You let out a shaky breath, mentally cursing how easily flustered you still became around this man, no matter how much you tried to enforce boundaries. Resolutely, you refocused on finishing your cleaning tasks, determined to get out of there before any more distracted lapses in professionalism.

By the time the kitchen had been scoured from top to bottom, you were one of the last few staffers remaining. Wearily peeling off your apron, you were just reaching for your bag when Harry reappeared, looking unhurried and relaxed now that the nightly duties were done.

"Heading out?" he asked as you approached, one thick eyebrow raised questioningly.

You stifled a yawn with the back of your hand. "Yeah, I'm beat. Gonna try and get some extra sleep before the morning prep shift tomorrow."

He made a noncommittal sound, falling into step beside you as you headed for the employee exit out back. For a few moments, you walked in silence, oddly aware of the warmth radiating off his body this close to yours.

When he finally spoke, it wasn't at all what you expected. "You did good with that asshole customer earlier."

Your steps faltered slightly at the praise before quickly recovering. "Oh...uh, thanks, Chef. You really didn't need to step in like that."

"The hell I didn't," he countered gruffly. There was an edge to his tone that made the tiny hairs at your nape prickle. "No one treats my staff like piece of meat, especially not in my own goddamn kitchen."

Harry shook his head in disgust at the very idea, causing a lock of mahogany hair to fall rakishly across his furrowed brow in a way that really shouldn't have been as distracting as it was.

Swallowing hard, you refocused on the matter at hand. "I've dealt with guys like that before. Just comes with the territory sometimes, y'know?"

"That doesn't make it acceptable," he insisted, mouth setting into a grim line. You found yourself unable to look away from the sharp angles of his frowning profile, chiseled jaw ticking faintly with irritation, that he tried to mask.

He fixed you with those intense pale eyes, all traces of humor gone. "No one - and I mean no one - gets to treat any of you with disrespect while I'm in charge around here. I won't stand for that shit under my roof."

The ferocity in his tone sent an involuntary shiver rippling through you, though from wariness or...something else entirely, you couldn't say. All you knew was the low, authoritative resonance of Harry's voice carried an unmistakable air of command that raised goosebumps along your arms.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the fact you were walking in such close proximity out of public view. Or hell, maybe it was just the sheer presence of this man who could flip between stern taskmaster and something rawer, more carnal in the blink of an eye.

Whatever it was, you felt that subtle spark between you ignite and suddenly, you desperately needed to be alone to process the yearning that flickered to life low in your belly. Before you could consider the impulse further, you were blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.

"Well, thanks again for that. And for the whole mentorship thing too. I, uh...I actually have some errands to run, so I'll just catch you tomorrow morning, 'kay?" 

You didn't even give Harry a chance to respond before ducking through the exit, muscles taut with confused tension. As the cool night enveloped you, you drew a deep, shuddering breath in an effort to steady yourself.

Whatever weird atmospheric flux had momentarily enveloped you back there was too dangerous, too distracting from the tenuous balance you and Harry had only just reestablished. No, it was better to put some space between you before things got muddied again.

With a fierceness born of sheer force of will, you wrestled your turbulent, wandering thoughts back under control. You were a professional, with goals to work towards. Getting pulled into Harry's electrifying orbit again would only derail you.

Still, as you hurried to your car, his shape-shifting countenance kept flashing unbidden across your memory - the dazzling smile, the brooding intensity, the simmering promise of authority barely restrained. All of it provided an infuriatingly potent combination that had your body humming with repressed longing despite yourself.

This was going to take more effort than you'd anticipated.

***

The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of grueling practice runs and preparation for the Martin gala. You and Harry spent nearly every waking hour in the kitchen, iterating endlessly on his showpiece dish concept.

With the prestigious event date rapidly approaching, any lingering awkwardness or tension between you had been shifted firmly into the background. The shared urgency of perfecting this culinary masterpiece became an all-consuming focus that left little room for anything else.

Still, that didn't stop you from noticing...things.

Like how the sleeves of Harry's whites had an endearing tendency to get shoved up his forearms in a way that displayed those tanned, sinewy muscles to distracting effect as he worked. You definitely didn't linger over the sight of his strong hands deftly wielding a knife, making precise, practiced cuts. And you absolutely did not imagine those dexterous fingers trailing across your skin instead of the cutting board.  

At least, that's what you sternly told yourself in an ongoing effort to maintain focus.

For his part, Harry was all business during these preparation sessions - issuing clipped instructions, evaluating ingredients with a critical eye, pushing both of you relentlessly to get every component just right. Only rarely did you catch hints of something more underneath that professional veneer.

Like the time you were bent over a burner, carefully spooning out the orbs of flavored olive oil onto the waiting plate. Harry stepped up behind you to examine your work, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. As he leaned in closer to inspect the delicate orbs, his low murmur caressed the fine hairs at your nape in a way that made you shiver.

"That's it...go nice and slow with a deft touch," he rumbled in that raspy timbre that never failed to send tingles shooting straight to your core.

Heart pounding, you risked a sidelong glance to find his pale eyes already locked on yours, glittering with an intensity that contrasted sharply with his deceptively neutral expression. A charged moment stretched between you as that underlying spark you'd been determinedly ignoring flared, sudden and molten. 

Just when you thought you might spontaneously combust, Harry blinked and cleared his throat brusquely. "Carry on, then," he instructed in his normal crisp tone before turning away to focus on another component. 

You stood motionless for several heartbeats, fingers clenched around the spoon, skin flushed and tingling in equal measures of arousal and disbelief. Did that really just happen or had the endless hours in the kitchen started affecting your mind?

Too skittish to ponder it further, you dove back into your tasks with even more single-minded focus, the uneasy moment shelved and locked away tight. No matter what fleeting tension arose in isolated pockets, you couldn't afford to unpack it right now - not with the enormity of what was at stake.

The days ticked down in a relentless march until finally, you and Harry stood in the solitude of his spartan office the night before the big event, taking a breather from your marathon final prep session.

An ungodly number of mise en place containers filled every available surface, each holding fussed-over components of the highly elaborate and conceptual dish that would make its debut tomorrow. Harry had pushed you both to your physical and creative limits, drilling the execution repeatedly until he was satisfied you could plate it flawlessly under the anticipated scrutiny.

Now, having quality-checked and prepped every last possible element, there was nothing further to do except rest up and bring your sharpest mental game tomorrow. Harry seemed to deflate slightly as the backdrop of mounting pressure decreased for the first time in weeks.

Propping his hip against the desk with studied nonchalance, he quirked one eyebrow in a sidelong glance. "You ready for this?"

Despite your weariness, you felt that familiar thrill of adrenaline stir at those simple words - as well as a contradictory quiver of nerves. This event was a make-or-break opportunity of the highest magnitude, especially for someone like you just starting out. Either you nailed your responsibilities tomorrow, or it all came crashing down in front of Chicago's most elite gourmands.

Shoving aside the sudden flutters of doubt, you met Harry's inscrutable gaze head-on, straightening your spine. "You know I am. We've put in the work, and this dish is gonna blow them all away."

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of his sculpted mouth as he studied you appraisingly. "That's what I like to hear. Just remember - all the technique practice in the world won't mean a thing if you panic out there."

The subtle warning made you bristle defensively, never one to back down from a challenge. "I'm not going to panic," you scoffed. "I eat massive amounts of public pressure like this for breakfast."

Harry's eyes danced with amusement, and not for the first time, it struck you how effortlessly he could switch between imposing and playful. "Is that so?" he drawled easily. "In that case, would you care to make things a bit more interesting?"

Before you could respond, Harry kicked off from the desk in one sinuous motion to prowl closer. Despite your weariness, you felt your heart rate kick up several notches as he invaded your personal space, long body coiled with a loose, predatory grace.

"Let's say we raise the stakes a little," he proposed in a tone of studied nonchalance that was completely belied by the heated glint in his eyes boring into yours. "If you can prove you've got the chops to keep a cool head under fire tomorrow, I'll take you out afterwards to celebrate. Just you and me, anywhere you want to go."

Your mouth went instantly dry at the implications behind his offer. Were those...the unmistakable undertones of flirtation coloring his invitation? After the weeks of him keeping things strictly professional between you, the sudden shift was dizzying - and left you dangerously intrigued.

"And what if I choke?" you heard yourself countering recklessly before you could reconsider. "What do you get out of it then?"

His answering smile was pure blistering sin. "Oh, sweetheart. If that happens...I get to take you out too - but somewhere a bit more private."

Harry paused to let the suggestive proposition linger, backing it up with a slow, heated raking of his pale eyes over your body that left zero doubt as to his implication. Heat bloomed furiously across your cheeks as forbidden images flooded your mind unbidden - flashes of tangled limbs, straining muscle, sweaty exertion of a far different sort...

Then, just like that, the provoking spell was broken. Rocking back on his heels, Harry shrugged one broad shoulder in an easy, dismissive gesture. "But that's not going to happen, is it? You've got all the skills, you've put in the time - no reason to buckle tomorrow."

He threw one final weighted glance in your direction before pivoting on his heel towards the door. "Get some rest. I'll see you at the venue early to do our final walkthrough before we get this show on the road."

And with that parting comment, Harry strode casually out, leaving you rooted there in dumbfounded silence. What the hell had just happened? One moment, you'd merely been steeling yourselves for tomorrow's high stakes challenge - and then suddenly he was issuing some bizarrely flirtatious...proposition.

Or was that really what it was? As you stood there chasing replays of his words, his tone, his body language - the whole previous interaction kept taking on a slinkier, more salacious cast. Like maybe your presence of mind was slipping already, causing you to read into things that weren't really there.

No...no, you decided as you hefted your bag, determined to put it all out of your head for now. Harry was just his usual aggravating self, trying to rile you by dangling some imagined reward or punishment to keep you on your toes before the big event. This whole...suggestive semiflirtation thing was just the product of your own exhausted mind playing tricks.  

Firmly shoving aside all unsettling thoughts, you focused on the immediate challenge awaiting tomorrow. You would plate Harry's showpiece dish to absolute perfection, prove yourself under the brightest lights, and decisively seize this career-making opportunity. 

Everything else could be dealt with later.

♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡~~~♡

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[ilwonuu]

saw u need some ideas and i thought you can considerate this one

so reader and jaemin went to a vacation and they having a great time and when it's night jaemin asks the reader to swim in the pool with him until reader realizes that was her needy boyfriend that tries so hard to fuck her in the pool (in a sweet kind of way). so there they are trying their best to not make any sound bcs there are people in the same lodge as them

i hope you get the point bcs i dont trust my brain these days hahah thank you for the writings you have made all this time, i appreciate it so much!

oh my gosh,,, thank u for requesting i literally got way too invested jn this idea help,,, thank you for reading my work anon i hope you enjoy this<3 jaemin will be the death of me

𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍

⇝ 𝗇𝖺 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇

✵ 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀- 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉， 𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅！𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝖿𝖾𝗆！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋， 𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗍𝖽𝗈𝗆！𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝗌𝗎𝖻！𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

✵ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌- 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍， 𝗌𝖾𝗆𝗂 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝖾𝗑 （𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗉𝗎𝖻𝗅𝗂𝖼 𝗉𝗈𝗈𝗅 𝗐 𝗇𝗈 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽）， 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒， 𝖫𝖮𝖳𝖲 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 （𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽 ）， 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀， 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 （𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝖽𝖺𝗇𝖼𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝖾𝗅𝖾𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇）， 𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 （𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌， 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝗒） （𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆）， 𝗎𝗇𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗌𝖾𝗑 （𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍）， 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗉𝗂𝖾， 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝖺 𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄，𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌， 𝖽𝗂𝗋𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄 （𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝖡𝖸𝖤）， 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗄， 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗅， 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗆 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗌 𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗎 𝗂𝗍，，， 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝗂𝗀 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗆， 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇<𝟥 ， 𝗅𝗆𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾！！

✵ 𝖺／𝗇- 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝖾． 𝗂 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖺𝗅𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌，，， 𝗂 𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗋𝖾𝖼 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗍． 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍． 𝗌𝗈 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗃𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗂𝗇 𝗃 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗉𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗉𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗆𝗌 （𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗃𝗆 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾） 𝖫𝖬𝖥𝖠𝖮 𝖳𝖧𝖨𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 𝖨𝖲 𝖲𝖮 𝖫𝖮𝖬𝖦 𝖡𝖸𝖤 （𝗂 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝖿 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗎𝗉）

you and jaemin were enjoying the comfort of your lodge that you guys are staying at. the two of you have wanted to stay in this type of lodge before. it was especially nice and expensive. you told jaemin that . it was comfortable and the one you found was pretty nice. they provided dinner, which you and jaemin enjoyed very much.

you were having a really great time with your boyfriend. you were seated on the bed the two of you will be sharing for the next couple of nights. you were drinking some wine as you thought you should get comfortable for the night. jaemin showed he had other plans.

“want to go to the pool? a little night swim?” he takes a sip of your wine mindlessly with a smile.

“i completely forgot about the pool! of course let’s go-” you say playfully as you change into your bathing suit. jaemin pretends not to be addicted to the way you look. he has every inch of you memorized. he tries his hardest to focus on his own bathing suit. he gets changes around the same time as you.

“you ready princess?” he wraps his hands around your waist. you laugh at him with a nod. his hands are so gentle on your waist. his smile is so cute as he holds you.

“mhm jaem let’s go!!” you smiles as you two are hand in hand making your way to the pool.

“i’m been waiting to go swimming with you! i wish i had my goggles.” you were genuinely upset you didn’t have your goggles. your boyfriend just giggled at you. you smile at him. he squeeze your hand playfully. you two almost get lost because you decided to follow your boyfriends directions. his hand is tight around yours as you two finally make it to the pool. jaemin looks like he’s up to something. as he always does.

“we have the pool all to ourselves. would you look at that?” he smirks at you as he takes his shirt off. you just roll your eyes at him.

“i get to be all alone with you princess.” he smiles at you before stripping his excess clothing. jaemin’s swim shorts had small cats on them which made you smile. you took off your cover up clothing as well as you finally grabbed jaemins hand.

“you better be nice-“ he puts his hands up as the two of you get into the pool.

“i promise to be nice princess. come here.” jaemin can’t really keep his hands to himself. his hands are roaming all over your body. he grabs your waist with a smile.

“are you having a good time baby?” he asks you with a slight smirk. he kisses your cheek before you answer.

“i am jaem- it’s so pretty here. and i’m with you baby.” ” he nods looking around at the pool.

“i’m glad baby- yea it is. you’re prettier though princess.” he smiles at you with slight pecks against your neck. he smirks as you subconsciously move your head more for him. but you are quick to remember the reality of where you are.

“jaem- did you bring me out here to fuck me?” he pulls from your neck with a cute smirk.

“i can’t help it princess. when i saw the bathing suit you bought i needed to touch you in it. you will look so beautiful if i fuck you in it too.” you blush at his words trying to look away from him.

“jaemin what if someone hears? i mean i would love you to- but what if they hear us.” you look around the pool. still no one to be found.

“we just gotta be quiet then.” jaemin’s smirk has only gotten bigger. your feel his fingers rub against your clothed clit. he teases you slowly as he watches you focus more and more on his fingers.

“princess you gonna cum from this? i know you can.” he holds your waist as he rubs your clit.

“j-jaem- more!” you try to grind against his fingers the grip on your waist prevents you from doing so.

“princess be patient. so greedy for my cock.” his voice has a teasing tone as he watches you get closer to coming.

“you coming baby? my pretty girl. show me that pretty face when you cum.” his hand moves at a quick pace as he feels your legs quiver against him. jaemin has you close against the pool wall as he stands in front of you. you can feel his bulge poking at you as you finally cum. your bathing suit bottoms completely ruined.

“such a good girl. don’t you think you deserve a reward?” he smirks as he grabs your face to kiss him. you match his rough kissing as you watch him pull his dick out

“mm i think you deserve all the rewards princess. being so good for me. think you can keep quiet baby?” you feel your boyfriend hands gently against your lower body. he moves a little bit as he pulls your bathing suit bottoms to the side. he holds your leg up as he pushes in.

you cover your mouth to mask the moan that was threatening to escape. jaemin bottoms out with a innocent smile. your mouth is hanging open at how deep he is. jaemin’s size was nothing new to you but every time he surprises you. he kisses your head gently as he gently roams your body with his hands.

“can i move princess?” you nod shamelessly at him as you start to grind into him. he starts thrusting in to match you. jaemin groans deeply when the both of you move with each other. he leans in to kiss you softly. his tongue slowly sliding into your mouth after you lost the short battle for dominance.

jaemin’s tongue felt so good again yours. you reached out for a grip on his shoulder as he continued to make out with you. you pulled out of the kiss to let o a moan. he was fucking you at the perfect pace. his breath was heavy as he held eye contact with you.

“princess you gotta be quiet.” he reminds you with a smirk. he reaches for your chest pulling one of your tits out to take into his mouth. he sucks on the nipple roughly.

“j-jaem- please- just like that.” your grip against your boyfriend getting tighter as his cock hits the perfect spot over and over.

“shh i’m giving it to you right now. what else could you want sweetheart. you’re s-so tight baby. you take it so well princess.” you try to hide your face a little. jaemin’s stare did get a little intense. but he got pouting when you looked away.

“eyes on me baby please. you’re so beautiful don’t hide baby. s-so fucking good.” he was mumbling to you through breaths. you could tell he was close by the way he his voice sounded. he was so whiny. his hips weren’t moving in the same pace either.

the thrusts we’re getting weaker. you did your best at masking the sounds that slip. jaemin lets all of his grunt and breathy moans out. you throw your head back in pleasure as you cum. your eyes roll back in your head. you didn’t have enough time to warn jaemin.

“jaem-“ you moan quietly as you feel his dick twitch inside you. “here’s your reward p-princess — ah f-fuck.” he holds deep eye contact as he cum deep inside of you. his mouth falling open as he fucks you through both your highs.

“you’re so perfect princess. fuck that was amazing.” he kisses your cheek with a smile as he fixes your bathing suit.

“it was jaem- felt so good.” he fixes his own before turning his attention back to you.

“yeah baby it was perfect. always is with you. let’s go back upstairs for round 2?” he says with a innocent smile. how is he still fucking hard?

“but jaem we didn’t even swim?”

#jaemin #na jaemin #nct jaemin #jaemin fluff #jaemin drabbles #jaemin smut #nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct smut #nct u #nct dream #jaemin fic #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #divider by plutism #dividers by plutism

[gracieheartspedro]

About You

how to help gaza

pairing: colin bridgerton x f!reader, brief benedict bridgerton x reader action

description: finally ready to get off the marriage mart, your family arranges a marriage to a bridgerton. but not the one you have always desired.

word count: 2.4k words

author’s note: hiiii folks. this is part one so more coming soon. I wrote it in an hour after I watched pt1 of season 3. I only edited it a couple times. plus there’s a lack of colin content on this website. so i’m here, filling the void ❤️

You had waited for this night your whole life. The night you would be proposed to. 

Your mother had ensured you wore your finest gown, a soft purple dress with beautiful sparkles and embellishments. She even gifted you a necklace your grandmother had worn the night of her engagement. 

It was a huge moment for everyone involved. But you could not help but feel a pit in your stomach. You wanted to call them nerves, but it was more so you knew you were making a mistake. 

When you arrive at Lady Danbury’s estate, you and your parents step out of a horse-drawn carriage and into a beautifully decorated ball. The candles lined the entrance, and red and white roses encapsulated the entire space. 

You did the typical introductions and curtsies. You thanked Lady Danbury for throwing such a captivating event for your special moment. She smiled and told you that it had to be mesmerizing for such anticipation. You felt light-headed thinking of all the eyes that would be on you tonight. 

You found your way to the ballroom, where ladies and gentlemen alike were already dancing. You find your way around the room, instantly finding a group of ladies you had made acquaintance with before. The four of you chat and they all share that they cannot wait to watch the Bridgerton boy propose to you in front of the masses. 

It makes you sick to your stomach. 

You excuse yourself to find some lemonade on one of the many tables. You would prefer some champagne, but alcohol does not make it right for you. It does not allow any clarity. So, you stand alone, trying to collect your thoughts and not freak out too much before anything happens. 

“There’s my gem.”

His voice is deeper when it’s right in one of your ringlet curls. It also doesn’t help that he’s saying it for your ears only, making the comment even more sensual. 

Colin Bridgerton was terrible at being just your friend. He was always too close to you, always searching you out in a crowd, and constantly waiting around for you at social events. 

He had been doing it for years before he disappeared on a world tour. You knew your time on the marriage mart was over when your mother and father, a Duke and Duchess, pulled aside Violet Bridgerton and begged her to pawn one of her sons off onto you. And while she would have easily convinced Colin, he was in Italy learning about The Pantheon and had stated he had no intentions marrying. 

So, Benedict would have to do.

You turn to face the taller gentleman, ensuring your posture was fixed to that of a Lady. 

“Mister Bridgerton, what do I owe the pleasure?” You falter to formalities, rather than your normal banter with him. You knew people would be watching you like a hawk, as tonight was the night Benedict was going to try to secure a proposal. 

“I have not seen you in a year and suddenly you speaking to me as if I am a stranger,” His voice is confident, but his eyes read the same insecure boy you remember. 

You let out a sly chuckle, “Well, we practically are at this point, are we not? You are the Ton’s most eligible bachelor as soon as you returned from your tour  and I feel like the man gracing me with his presence is not the man I once knew.”

He seems taken aback by your comments, his face dropping a bit. 

“I’ve been hearing whispers amongst the Ton that you’re getting a proposal,” He halts, taking a sip of the lemonade slid between his fingers, “From my brother?”

You hear the jealousy laced in his voice, but you try your best not to call him out on it. You turn around, still shoulder-to-shoulder with the man. “One can only hope, Mister Bridgerton. It would only be my pleasure to join the family.”

“As Benedict’s missus?”

You want to scream at him, but your trained politeness is engrained deep within every fiber of your being. 

“Well, I have you know, that it was arranged by your Mama and my parents. It is simply a way to join our families. You know my Mama and yours have always taken to one another. I did not know you would have such an issue with it.”

Before he can say more, you spot Benedict across the ballroom chatting with Eloise and Francesca. He meets your eyes and gives you a curt nod and smirk. You nod back, knowing that he would approach you once the conversation concludes. You had this whole act down to a science. 

Because that’s what it was for you. An act. A way to make your parents get off your back. It was no love match, it was only practical. Benedict was a gentleman, into the arts, comfortable with moving away from the city. He was everything you needed, just not what you wanted. 

“I leave for a bit of time and suddenly my own brother is courting my best friend,” Colin groans, shifting in his spot. You return your gaze back to him, trying to understand why tonight had to be the night that he fought for you. The term best friend had a bite to it, as well. While you were a lady, you had already shared a kiss with a few boys, including Colin. While you two were underage and not able to make such distinct decisions on marriage, you knew that the feelings you had for him were shared. 

What was so frustrating was that he could never actually confess such feelings. You could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way, but the words never slipped his lips. He only shot flirtations at you and then there was no action as a follow-up. It made your mind race and spin. You started to believe that it was not flirtations at all and it was all just teasing.

“I think you are missing out on the key point in your conjecture, Colin,” You lick your lips, moving only a bit closer to him so no one can hear your words, “You left me. I stayed here and pondered what another season would be like without you. And of course, at the very end of such an event, you decide to be cruel.”

“How am I being cruel, Miss? I am simply stating that you are choosing someone I care about for expedience and not for love.”

“You are being cruel by approaching me and acting like you are even half aware of the circumstances you are speaking of.”

He chuckles, trying not to entertain your comments. “I am well aware that you have always wanted a love match. You know that is not what you are getting with Benedict, Gem.”

Your throat tightens because you know he is right. You have dreamed of a love match since you were a precocious child, enduring all the teasing him and Eloise about it. 

And you knew deep down that the love match you wanted was with him. 

The damn nickname he gave you years ago continues to get a rise. You can feel your face get flushed, the heat rising all the way down your neck and chest. 

“Who said I needed a love match, Mister Bridgerton?!”

You never meant to be loud, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize everyone staring your way. You had seriously messed up. 

Colin did not even look away from your completely shell-shocked expression. He was not focused on the glares and whispers, he only cared that the woman he was in love with was about to marry his brother. He could not let that happen. 

The feeling of embarrassment made every part of your body jittery. You decided that the exit seemed like the best option, so you made your way past everyone and ran to the back garden of the Danbury estate. The flowers that lined the railings made the tears in your vision sparkle like fireworks. 

You try your best to suppress the useless waterworks, but the emotions get the best of you. You felt humiliated that you had to explain your motives to a man who hardly knew you anymore. What does he know?

You find a corner to hide in, making sure your face is hidden away from the exit. When you hear footsteps approach, you pray it’s not a Bridgerton. Sadly, you’re disappointed. 

“What did Colin say to you?”

You remove your cream glove, ensuring no tear touches such an expensive fabric. You needed to collect yourself a bit before turning to face Benedict. So you dab your eyes with your fingertips and spin to face him. He looks concerned, his hand reaching for yours. 

“I am so sorry, Lord Bridgerton. He got the better of me and he still knows how best to irritate me,” your eyes well up again with tears, “I do apologize for not being more put together.”

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “Do not apologize. I expected him to be a bit tormented by the whole situation.”

You furrow your brows, quizzically. “What ever do you mean?”

“Well, he told my Mama last season that he did not want to marry because you were courting Lord Jacques. That is why he left early for his travels.”

The revelation makes your heart skip a beat, “Why would him marrying have anything to do with me?”

You try to play dumb so maybe you could get more out of the man, but instead of answering you, he just shakes his head. His focus drops, and as soon as you lose fixation on his actions, you notice Colin loitering around the exit. You drop Benedict’s hand and sidestep to get the man in your line of vision. 

“You have never been good at hide and seek, Mister Bridgerton,” You say with spite, “Step into the light.”

His slow meander only makes you more angry. 

“Now, why is my brother alone with my best friend in the garden? Seems like a scandal waiting to happen.” 

Benedict snickers, “Seems like we were never alone, brother. You appear to be around every waiting corner.”

You cross your arms, annoyed with both men and sick of the mortification. You could not help but appreciate Benedict’s snarky nature, it has always thrown Colin off his game. You clear your throat, bringing their eyes to you. 

“I wish to understand why you lied to me about leaving early last season.” 

Colin’s disposition changes as soon as you say it. Last season, Colin left abruptly and wrote you saying it was because of a learning opportunity in Vienna. You took his word for it, but based on what Benedict had just told you, that was a lie. 

“Pardon m-”

“Colin, why did you lie about leaving the season early?”

“Gem, I really do not know where you got this information.”

“Oh, give me a break, Colin. You told me and Anthony that you did not wish to marry unless a girl like her came around. When you realized she was interested in another, you left.” 

Colin races forward, grabbing onto the man to your left. He tugs his vest coat and brings him inches from his own face. The action rattles you, but you remain composed. 

“I told you that in confidence!”

“And you are making her upset with your mind games! If you had just said what your heart’s truth was, you would be the one celebrated tonight. Instead, you stand by and fume over a woman you can no longer have.”

Colin clenches his teeth, “Who said I can no longer?”

Your stomach flips, unsure of how Colin could be so possessive of you. Benedict seems shocked as well because he nudges the man off of him and glances over at you. You realize that this is Colin’s way of confessing his intentions, but you cannot believe that he has to say it on the night of your engagement.

“You are brazen to concur such a thing.”

Colin finally looks at you, taking note of your shaky voice. “So, you are going to marry him?”

The unsettle in your heart has never gone away ever since you were told about the arrangement. You knew that your heart was telling you to run the other way, but you did not want to let down your family. You had taken kindly to Benedict, promenading almost every other day to get to know one another. 

“I have not been asked yet, so I am not quit-”

Colin steps forward taking your hand, “What if I asked you first? Would you accept me? My hand, I mean?”

Benedict steps forward, touching his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Gem, will you marry me?”

A tear slips past your lashes, your heart just about exploding within your chest. Colin’s eyes are desperate, pleading with you.  You are not sure what to say, every possible word escaping you. 

You realize you are panting, the breath leaving your lips labored in panic. You flick your sights over to Benedict, who is stunned but not trying to get Colin to retract his query. You revert your gaze back to Colin’s deep blue eyes.

“Why now?”

He takes a deep breath, “Because I am absolutely useless with my emotions and I have only humiliated myself when I express them. I did not think you would ever consider my hand and had I known that you thought kindly of me I would have told you the first moment you debuted. But I cowered in silence, hoping the emotions I have felt since I was a child would subside. But I have searched every corner of this world and I did not find one lady that made me feel the same emotions I feel when I even just look your way. I hate that it took me so long to realize that you are the only woman I will ever really… love.”

The confession is exactly what you need to change your mind. Because you felt the exact same way. All this time you have been running from the emotions you felt every moment Colin stared in your direction. You thought them immature and vain. But every time you watched him dance with another, the fire within you would burn. You were sick of loving him from far away. 

“The Ton believes me to be promised to Benedict. The embarrassment he will suffer if I accept your proposal could be deafening-”

“Do not worry about me, Miss,” Benedict says, pacing with his hands on his hips, “I could never fully live with myself coming between two lovers. I only waiting for him to realize what we have all been subjected to the last 3 years.”

Colin smirks at him, “And what’s that?”

“The torture of loving someone and not giving in to temptation.”

#colin bridgerton #bridgerton #colin bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x female reader #colin bridgerton smut #netflix #gracieheartspedro #colin bridgerton one shot #penelope featherington #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton

[cheeseceli]

My first and last

Pairing: Jeong Yunho × Gn!reader

Genre: very very fluff, drabble

Summary: as memories come and go, you are reminded of your first and last love

Warnings: reader wears a dress, that's pretty much it

A/n: I finally wrote something for the literal love of my life (best thing I've ever written)

It felt like it was your first date all over again

When Yunho first said he would like to take you out on an official date one day, you thought you were dreaming. How else in the world would your long term crush invite you out? Yet, the shy smile on his lips and the heat rising to your neck were the proof you needed that all of that was real.

You remember how you spent a whole week trying to find the perfect outfit for the oh so special day. Tonight, you were wearing a similar dress to the original one. You smiled at the fond memory. Even after all the years, you still looked pretty much the same. The lovesick smile was still there, stronger than ever.

He took you to a movie theater, recently opened back in that time. The latest movie of your favourite franchise had been released and he thought it was a good idea to take you there. It was, in fact. That evening was the first of so many where he couldn't stop falling in love. Funnily enough the franchise announced a reboot a few years later, the premiere being tonight, and that one good old movie theater would be hosting it.

Your smile was growing each time you remembered something about your first date with Yunho. That evening was almost perfect. Almost. There were only two flaws. You admit they were very silly, but it bothered you back then as you really wanted everything to be perfect. The first one being that even though your dress was fabulous, you had nothing to match it with, not even a single accessory. The second one, the back of your dress was ridiculously hard to button up.

However, you felt like this time would be totally perfect. The former problem being resolved by the beautiful jewel adorning your left ring finger, one which matched your dress incredibly well. The latter being solved by Yunho himself, who came to your shared bedroom right when you were trying to close the back of your dress.

"Need any help?"

The smile that came next couldn't be contained, not when you saw your lover helping to get you ready. He also looked the same: gorgeous with a golden personality. That's how lucky you could get, to call a man like him this your husband.

"Seonghwa is already with the kids. We can go right now."

You nodded, not averting your sight from his eyes not even by a mere second.

"So" he said, a mischievous smile on his face. He still had the loveful gaze even after so many years of looking at you "would you like to go out with me? I heard there might be a new movie you'd like."

Masterlist | you'll probably like: paper rings

Thank you for reading <33

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans

Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

#celi drabbles #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez soft thoughts #ateez soft hours #ateez fic #ateez drabble #ateez #ateez yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho #yunho fluff #yunho soft hours #yunho soft thoughts #yunho drabble #yunho imagine #yunho scenarios #yunho fic

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Your writing is my holy grail and i wanted to request, if it's not a bother, a nsfw alphabet for art 🙏🏼

Aww thanks bud!! Not a bother at all :)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This man is cuddly and sweet—kissing your forehead, murmuring how much he loves you, how good you are to him. He won't let you up for a couple of minutes if it's alright with you. He wants to come down together.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His hands are his favorite body part on himself. He knows how strong, sure, and steady they are. This man is so touchy as well—he loves reaching out sliding his hand over any part of you that he can reach.

I feel like Art can really be captivated by someone's eyes. He's big on eye contact. It can be intimidating at first, but once you're used to it, it's sweet. If the two of you are in a crowd, separated, he'll give you little looks to make sure you're alright, and give little winks once you nod to confirm.

Also he's an ass man.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Prefers to cum in you. I honestly think he's got a bit of a breeding kink. I think he'd be happy to have 2-3 kids, being a stay at home house husband.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Jerked off into Patrick's jerk-off sock when they were at school together. Definitely didn't tell him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

I'd say Art is moderately experienced. I don't think he's slept with a ton of people, but I think he's the kind of person that gets to know his partner's body and what they like so entirely that he learns a lot along the way.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Spooning. Bodies pressed as close together as they can possibly be, covering your neck and shoulder with hickies, sharing messy kisses, whining against your neck as his hips twitch and he spills into you. He'd be happy to fall asleep like that, too.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Art can be so intense, but he can be teasing, too. If you guys are in the middle of a quickie (more on that later) and you wind up in an awkward position or one of you gets a cramp, he's not going to give you the chance to be embarrassed. He's going to tease you in a way that's playful and kind—anything to get the smile back on your face.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He manscapes, he keeps it neat.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Insanely intimate man. Simpin' ain't easy, but he makes it an Art Form™. This comes back to the amount of eye contact he enjoys, too (depending on the position). He likes to cradle your head, look you in the eyes, and watch you fall apart for him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

I think it's on the rarer side that he gets himself off, but when he does it's because he's so pent up, or frustrated. Maybe he's on a long trip and just hasn't been able to have phone time with you because you have conflicting schedules, and all he has is a few pictures on his phone and the memory of the way your moan for him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Breeding, as I mentioned before. I think he's a switch, but leans subby. He likes to please you, and he doesn't mind if you take the lead. Hell—it turns him on.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Bed. Classic, traditional. Will also happily fuck you in the shower post-match.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

If there's something that you do competitively in any estimation, or if there's something that you're particularly passionate about, seeing that fire and joy in you gets him going.

This man is also weak for you in a sundress.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't think he'd be into kinks that cause his partner serious pain, even if it was consensual.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves getting, but this man is a beast at giving. Will go down on you like you're a five course meal. Will ask you to sit on his face and won't care if he suffocates.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I think typically slow and sensual, but he can be a bit rough when he's frustrated.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

If that's the best y'all can do, then he'll do it, but it's not his go-to.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He will take risks, but it's not his preference. He's in the public eye, he recognizes that. The last thing he needs is some scandal about the two of you having a quickie in public somewhere.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Are you kidding me? Tennis players run like five miles a match on average. This man can last and last and last. Good luck keeping up 😵‍💫

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

I don't think he owns or uses them on himself, but I think he'd be intrigued by yours if you have any. I don't know if he'd use them with you, but when he's getting off, the thought of you using them might really do it for him.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

I think he can be very flirty and teasing, but in more of a romantic way than a sexual way.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Oh, we've all heard the sounds he makes 😏

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

I honestly think he would cum on the spot if you spit in his mouth.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

I think Art's got that good boyfriend dick. Just long and just thick enough.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Medium? I think like he's at a medium.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends. If it's after a match, he's out like a light, but he'll try to stay awake. If it's a regular day, he'll wait for the two of you to get cleaned up and settled.

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 18: Holding Hands

Aeon and Swiss cannot get enough of each other.

Thank you to @forlorn-crows for putting Mushy May together, and thank you to @ghuleh-recs for the dividers! <3

It's the first kind skin on skin contact Aeon's ever had. They fall in line with Cirrus and Swiss at the end of every Ritual, lacing their fingers with theirs as they take their bows.

It's not like they hadn't been touched Up Top before. There have been gentle hands on shoulders and at the small of their back, over clothes but still so kind and so gentle. After what Aeon's been through, it's intoxicating. Aeon, a little skittish still, so used to being alone and unsafe, drinks in every moment of contact they can get.

They squeeze Cirrus and Swiss's hands in front of the screaming crowds, and the skin to skin feels like fire. The first time Aeon experienced it, they'd keened at the feeling of Swiss's hand absolutely engulfing theirs, and their hands aren't exactly small.

It's cold when they part, making their way backstage to change and head back to the bus, just to do it again the next night. As exhausting as touring is, Aeon's not looking forward to the cold when it ends, when they think that the excuse for skin to skin stops.

But it doesn't stop. They fall in with Swiss as the tour progresses, thoroughly enamored with the multi ghoul. He's touchy on the best of days, and some days he's downright clingy. Aeon spends most of their days now absolutely drunk on affection. There is no shortage of Swiss's touch, especially as they spend night after night in their shared hearth, Aeon's own room going empty and bare.

They get knowing looks from the other ghouls. Aether and Dew are the worst offenders.

"Yeah, yeah, yap it up," Swiss teases the two of them as he's snuggled up to Aeon on one of the common room couches. "I'm sure if I asked Zeph or Frit, they'd tell me you two fuckers could not keep your hands off of each other when you got together. Cut us some slack."

Aether laughs, leaning over the back of the couch to run his hand over his locs. "Oh, they'll tell you all sorts of stories."

Aeon chuffs, turning in Swiss's arms like a cat. "Aeth," they whine, playing it up as they blink up at the older quintessence ghoul. "I was alone in the Pit, lemme have this."

Aether sighs, smiling, and moves his hand to card through Aeon's two-toned hair. They preen, still cat-like, as they press into the touch. "I know, pup. Swiss isn't wrong, though. Me and Dewey were no different."

Swiss laughs, and Aeon feels his chest buzz with it from how close they are to each other. "He's a clingy little bastard, bug. Tries so hard to be tough and mean, but he's as touchy as you are," he whispers into the shell of their ear.

"I know," Aeon says. "Shared a bunk with him just as many times as I did you. Aeth knows, we talked a bunch."

"Mhm," Aether hums, still carding through their hair, leaning over the back of the couch. "I'm just saying, the two of you remind me a lot of how things used to be. How they started, where they might go."

Swiss reaches up and pats Aether's hand. "Aw, big guy, you're so sweet."

He cracks a smile, gold fang glinting. "Enjoy your cuddling. I'll leave you to it."

Eventually they get up, having dinner and a movie night with the pack before the ten of them head their separate ways, breaking into their pairs and small groups. Aeon tucks themself against Swiss's side without hesitation.

Aeon's sleep is peaceful, dreams that sort of blur together instead of the vivid, too intense nightmares that plagued them for the first few months of their life Up Top. They still come, sometimes, but fewer and farther between now that they don't sleep alone.

But they wake in the darkness. They can't feel Swiss pressed against them, he must have gotten up or they must have rolled away from each other in the night. Aeon's not sure why they've woken up until they hear heavy, uneven breathing coming from somewhere beside them.

There's a padding, rustling sheets, and the breathing gets more and more uneven, the thumping faster and more frantic, getting closer to them. Aeon reaches out, tries to guess where the next pat will be.

The breathing hitches, and a big hand wraps vice-like around their own. Aeon threads their fingers together, and Swiss pulls them hard into his chest, still breathing heavy as he buries his face in their hair, his other arm secure around their back.

"Hey," Aeon whispers, muffled into his chest. "'M right here."

He laughs quietly, hitching on something wet. "Sorry, buggy, I, uh, you know how it goes, bad dream."

Aeon squeezes his hand tighter, so hard the bones in their hand start to hurt. "'M here, Swiss," they whisper again. "'M not goin' anywhere. Promise 'm not going anywhere. I wanna help."

"This is helping." He noses at their hair, pressing a kiss between their horns, squeezing their hand back with a soft chuckle. "Thank you, buggy."

"After everything you've done for me?" Aeon murmurs, listening to the frantic beat of his heart start to slow. "Any time."

#me? writing sappy swiss/aeon? more likely than you think #dot's writing #mushy may 2024 #swiss ghoul #aeon ghoul #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #swiss/aeon #phantom ghoul

[minecraft-axolotyl]

Gale demi essay when? 👀

WELL SINCE YOU ASKED XD (Seriously thank you <3)

I think Gale Dekarios is Demisexual and here is why:

First things first. The man is devoted. When he loves, he gives his entire heart and soul to his partner. He thrives on a deep connection, and we're all aware of the nerd rizz that drew us to him in the first place.

However, the man is also damn-near OBLIVIOUS when someone starts to flirt with him. It takes a literal mind-reading connection for him to understand that Tav MIGHT like him (because of course picturing kissing him with passion isn't enough to 100% confirm! /s)

"But Gale still has sex with the player" you might ask me. And you are would be correct, but being aspec/demi isn't just about not having sex with someone, it's a lack of attraction until a deep emotional bond is formed. And I do believe Gale forms that bond with Tav before sex happens in act 2.

Some may say that he's just holding back because of the orb, but with the way he seems genuinely surprised that Tav flirts with him at the Tiefling Party, I think he's just using the orb as an excuse to not move things too fast.

Even after the orb is cured, it takes some time (and some water-testing bold flirtations in the shadowlands) to confirm that they're both on the same page before he takes anything further.

When he finally does confess his true feelings to Tav, he doesn't just hit them with an "I love you." No no, that's too vague. He has to give them the full "I'm in love with you." just so they know he means it with his entire orb-filled chest.

He talks about how he wishes they had more time. How "if things were different" he would have taken the time to do things properly, because, as he also says, he cannot change who he is, or how he loves. (let me tell you, as an ace, that line hits HARD)

This is just a side note but if you tell him his kissing is 'out of practice', he says he wishes you two had more time to practice together, and the thoughts of Gale spending time devoted exclusively to kissing his partner, without the pressure or expectations of anything more... You see where I'm going with this (I hope)

Not to mention, even after feelings (and a feelings-cementing kiss) have been exchanged, and he knows Tav feels the same way, he still feels the need to deepen that bond even further before they take things all the way!

He takes them on a magical tour of his home T_T to show them where he came from through what little glimpses into his life he can share. He could just get down to the magical sex part, but he wants Tav to know him in every way.

Physically, emotionally, even spiritually! Gale Dekarios doesn't JUST have sex (unless that is what Tav prefers) he will fuse their souls together in the Weave until they are together as one. (Also, as an ace myself, I think the Weave Sex is fascinating in the fact that there's a way to bond with a partner without using physical bodies. I wish that were real tbh, it sounds very cool!!!)

He knows they don't have the time to act out whatever romantic timeline he had in his head when he first caught feelings (At the very least he hoped to take them on an actual DATE first) but he wants to make damn sure he expresses his love for Tav in the only way he can, with what little time they have left.

Anyway Demi Gale thoughts live in my head rent free, thank you for letting me rant about this on main.

#behold my demi gale essay #gale headcanons #bg3 gale #gale romance #gale x tav #bg3 spoilers #gale dekarios #demisexual #headcanoning aspec characters my beloved #I didn't even proofread this #I saw the ask in my inbox and started typing immediately

[unluckilyimnot]

hiîi, can you write bllk chara tera introducing their gf to the press or the press somehow finding you that the players have a gf

idk if this makes sense but pleaseee write it I love your blog sm <3

The press found out about their relationship - Rin, Sae, Kaiser, Isagi, Karasu

m.list | rules

Note : hii ! Thank you sm for your request! I take some times to go through some of my requests before writing with another media I'm really into rn, sorry some will wait a bit mor

Same as the others ! There wasn't anyone mentioned but don't hesitate to ask for your fav if you want ♡

Rin

He's not fan of it

I guess he adapted to it quickly, you being bring on a lot the first few weeks and things like that

But he's so tensed about it you have to calm him down a lot at first

He's upset all the time You have to remind him that's it's not only a bad things

And that people's reactions has been relatively good, that's already a good point

He's more worried about you obviously but in the end you're the one taking care of him

He feels a bit bad but yeah, he appreciates it a lot

Don't expect a lot of changes tho, he doesn't want his love life all over the internet

Sae

He's annoyed when the press found out, to say the least

He wish it could've stay private and doesn't want people to be after you

He hates the fact that he's ask about it now and has to be even more cold in interview than before

He tries to be unbothered but knowing how it changed your life it's impossible

Behind closed door at first he can spend a lot of time with you so make it up

He's famous so I think people tried to know more about you and invade your personal space

I don't think it necessarily goes wrong on social media, it's just trending a lot for a few days

You have to moderate your account a lot cause there's always hater

He still doesn't talk about you bc you asked him to

but he feel less pressure if some pictures of you two end up in the internet

Kaiser

He's ANGRY

Don't get it wrong, he thought about revealing your relationship a few times and you were still talking about it

But this happening without his consent or yours drive him crazy at first

Yet on camera he's cocky about it, telling he doesn't mind and rumbling about how gorgeous you are

He takes the opportunity as it is and posy about you more on his social media, without hiding you so much

He has his lawer ready to anyone spitting shit at you on social media tho

Don't mess with his s/o, he'll take actions

Isagi

He's lost poor guy

If you cry about it he does his absolute best to comfort you before contacting his agent to see what he can do

Honestly He's use to it but if you're not used to the fame, he's careful so your anxiety don't go crazy

He's sad if that change your life a lot but he does his best to not change a thing in your routine

The good point is that, like Kaiser, he can pray a lot more with you than before and he's really happy about it !!

He likes to share with people I think so it open a lot of doors

Karasu

He acts cool in front of the camera but he's annoyed

It was early in your relationship and he's scared it's gonna fucked it up

You have to be the one comforting him

You're not the type to make promises if you're not sure of yourself, but you assure him that the press and people finding out didn't scared you

You'll stay with him as long as possible, you don't see yourself leaving because of this

He's probably needed this more than he would've admit cause after this, being on camera is easier again

He's not upset anymore if they ask about you since you gave him a green light

He feels even lighter than before, in fact

#blue lock x reader #blue lock headcanons #blue lock fluff #blue lock hc #bllk x reader #bllk headcanons #bllk hcs #bllk fluff #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #rin imagines #sae x reader #sae headcanons #sae hc #sae itoshi x reader #sae itoshi #sae imagines #kaiser x reader #kaiser michael #kaiser hcs #kaiser fluff #isagi x reader #isagi fluff #isagi headcanons #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi #karasu tabito x reader #karasu x reader #karasu headcanons

[vierniki]

enhypen one shot - 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐓 (sfw)

𝙋. fem!reader x player!heeseung ┆ㅤ𝙒. angst in which heeseung is a player, slept with reader but it's said as 'last night' and a 'kiss' ┆ㅤ𝙒𝘾. 648 ┆ㅤ𝘼𝙉. i'm not the best at writing angst [ sob ] i had help with writing this !! shout out to @beat0-0 ! i hope you enjoy this <3

— 𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

ㅤYou approached Heeseung as he stood at his locker, his friends grouped around him. Their heads are thrown back in laughter, caused by something on Heeseung's phone.

ㅤ"Heeseung," You call, stopping a couple of steps away from the group of boys. They looked up from the phone, startled. The sudden attention caused your already nauseating anxiety to spike, but you're determined to see this through. "Can I talk to you?"

ㅤHeeseung shares a look with his friends, the lingering mirth from whatever they'd watched is still in his eyes. "Sure." He shrugs. . . but he doesn't make any move to leave his friends. You're unaware of the way your shoulders cave in but Heeseung follows the movement with his eyes.

ㅤ"I mean alone." You clarify, the anxiety churning in your stomach as you say it. He shouldn't be this intimidating, not after last night, but he is. "I want to talk to you alone."

ㅤ"Okay," He says, his voice compliant. It puts your nerves at ease. You give him a small smile as he gestures for you to lead the way. You're glad he's agreed to talk, you'd noticed that he'd been avoiding you--or maybe not, maybe you were overthinking this, maybe you'd put unnecessary expectations onto him. Even so, you lead him to the empty chemistry lab near Heeseung's locker.

ㅤYour relief shrivels up as you shut the door behind Heeseung. Shit, you didn't think this far. You'd only planned to ask him to talk to you... Fuck.

ㅤHeeseung clears his throat, his hands in his pockets. "What'd you wanna talk about?"

ㅤ"Oh," You mumble, too aware that your hands are shaking. "Um, I had a question." It doesn't escape your knowledge of how lame you sound right now.

ㅤ"A question?" Even Heeseung realizes how stupid that sounds.

ㅤ"Yeah, about. . . um, last night." You look at Heeseung as you say the last part, just in time to see the shift in his eyes. Your heart sinks as he looks away from you, shaking his head. When he looks back, his eyes are cold. It's cutting, the sudden shift. You take a step back, but nothing can put space between you and the arrogance in his eyes.

ㅤ"Last night?" He repeats. Whatever words you had, they shrivel up in your throat, coating your tongue in ash. He laughs, a cutting sound that lacks the mirth he'd shared with his friends. Your shoulders tense at the noise. "Please, Y/n, what did you think that was?"

ㅤYour tongue is glued to the roof of your mouth. Your insides feel like they're being squeezed. What the fuck is happening?

ㅤHeeseung's lips curve in a smirk at your silence. "You think a kiss means I like you?" His question is mocking, the raise of his brows, even more so. "You were gonna ask me what we are, weren't you, Y/n." Your silence is enough of an answer. He takes a step towards you. Another and another. Until he's towering over you, looking down his nose at you.

ㅤ"Don't be so fucking naive, Y/n. I only talked to you 'cause of a bet. And you fell for it." He laughs again, this noise a self-pleased huff. There's a lump stuck in your throat, your eyes stinging with the threat of tears. You don't think you've ever felt like this, like your stomach was opened up and all your organs were scooped out.

ㅤ"I got 200,000 won outta it, so I've got you to thank, don't I?" He brushes your shoulder as he walks past you, to the door. You watch as he turns around, his fingers wrapped around the door's knob. "And, Y/n? You don't mean shit to me so stop acting like a lost puppy."

ㅤThen, he turns the knob and leaves the door ajar behind him. The echoes of his friends' laughter bounce down the empty hallway.

"Y/n. It was just a bet. A tiny little harmless bet."

© vierniki on tumblr, © tamas-love on wattpad

#enhypen #enhypen reactions #enhypen imagines #enha x reader #enhypen ff #enhypen fluff #lee heeseung #lee seung #enhypen fake scenarios #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #enhypen love #enhypen drabble #enhypen heeseung x reader #enhypen heeseung imagine #enhypen heeseung reaction

[iovesia]

hello! Do you take requests? may I ask you to write where Ted, Johnny Utah, Constantine, John Wick and Kevin Lomax take care of Reader who has insomnia. they watching movies or going for a walk at 3 a.m.

🖤

insomniac,⠀౨ৎ⠀keanuverse. cw⠀/⠀reader has insomnia, sorta fluffy, marijuana use.

john constantine's your guy for all my insomniac girlies. he's anyways a night-owl, always up and doing stuff, so it's kinda perfect. he himself is kind of an insomniac, so at least it's comforting to be in the same boat. normally the two of you spend time on the balcony, sharing a cigarette, and just enjoying the silence. maybe it doesn't actually get you to sleep, but the feeling of nicotine in your lungs and his hand stroking your thigh.. it helps.

oh, sweet, ted logan, you'd honestly have to explain to him that insomnia is an actual sleep disorder and not just something you just.. do. he really feels sorry for you, because in his words you're "totally missing out, babe!" (gee thanks, ted). his inner stoner might just offer you a blunt, to help get you somewhat relaxed and more prone to sleep.

kevin lomax is literally useless, sigh.. kidding! kinda— he's always away at work most nights, so chances are he's not gonna even notice your insomnia until a few months go by, and your bags are heavy, and you can barely stay awake in the mornings. he offers to buy you fancy melatonins, or a white noise machine, or some bullshit scents to help you sleep. but he really wants to help you sleep, so he'll buy/try anything and everything.

our special agent, johnny utah's cure includes exercising! it's california, of course he'll be dragging your ass to the beach to get your blood pumping. the water's cool, the beach is empty and it's just you and him, and the waves. he'll literally pick you up and pull you into the water with him; and teaching you to surf or just play fighting. granted, it's not exactly sleeping— you'll be a panting mess by the end of it, you'll want to pass out.

john wick stays awake with you. he's so worried to see you so distressed and uncomfortable. he notices how you spend your nights tossing and turning, or staring at the ceiling and it hurts his heart. it reminds him of nights he'd spend doing the same thing— only for different reasons, of course. he'd make some tea for the both of you, and just hold you close to his chest. john quietly strokes your head as you listen to his heart beating, playing the role of emotional teddy bear for you.

#*⠀keanuverse. #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #john wick x reader #john constantine x reader #johnny utah x reader #kevin lomax x reader #ted logan x reader

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

05/16/2024 Daily OFMD Recap

TLDR; Cast & Crew Sightings: David Jenkins; Rhys Darby; Taika Waititi; Leslie Jones; Con O'Neill; Trends; National Forest Service; Watch Party Reminders; Fan Spotlights; Love Notes; Daily Darby/Tonight's Taika

== David Jenkins ==

As you probably heard, Chaos Dad was really out and about today. He did some polite menacing (regarding Zaslav) Src: Djenkins Twitter

And checked in and sent some love for this artwork of him on Ed's Arm. MerJenks! Great work Lucia! (@ citrussyndicate)

Source: David Jenkin's Twitter

= Rhys Darby =

Rhys and Rosie several days back at the Bag Pipers Ball <3

Source: Heidi Miller's Instagram

== Taika Waititi ==

Taika out and about with some colleagues at Chateau Marmont!

Source: NevakRogers Instagram

Taika and Rita attending Netflix is a Joke Fest

Source: RitaOraHun Instagram

== Leslie Jones ==

Leslie Fucking Jones out on The View!

Source: Leslie Jones Instagram

= Con O'Neill =

Quick sighting of Con!

Source: Nick Hayes Instagram

== National Forest Service ==

Many of you probably remember this post from the National Park Service a while back regarding moonglow, well, our friends at the NPS are back at it again with the Rosie Maple Moth! Which one of you is the sneaky NPS social person, hm? Thank you @ adotzimm!

Source: @ adotzimm's Instagram

== Trends ==

Thank you @ NeverLeftPod for catching these trends!

Source: Never Left Podcast on Twitter

== Watch Party Reminders ==

Series Finale of Wrecked today over on the RDF Server.

Wrecked S3 WP May 13-May 17 - 3:30pm PT / 6:30pm ET / 11:30pm BST! If you need access feel free to dm me here at @gentlebeardsbarngrill or @aspirantabby42 on twitter.

= OFMD Season 1 Watch Party =

Next week May 20-26, RDF will be starting up a rewatch of OFMD season 1 with two episodes a day. Time: 3:30pm PT / 6:30pm ET / 11:30pm BST! If you need access feel free to dm me here at @gentlebeardsbarngrill or @aspirantabby42 on twitter.

== Fan Spotlight ==

= Cast Cards =

Today's cast card is Geoff Dolan, otherwise known as the priest to whom Ed said "I'm the fucking devil". Thanks @melvisik!

Source: @Melvisik's Twitter

= OFMD Colouring Pages =

Thank you @patchworkpiratebear for these new pages! I am going to be sketching.... quite a few things in there.

== MerMay ==

== SpencerDoesArt ==

Our crewmate @ spencerdoesartt on Instagram was kind enough to let me share some of their MerMay Posts-- they've got some pretty cool stuff over there for MerMay, feel free to check the out!

= Snejpowa =

This one really struck me today @snejpowa, it's really gorgeous.

Source: SnejPowa's Tumblr

== Love Notes ==

I really wish I had words today Crew. I feel a lot of the tension going on as I'm sure you do too. Things are tough right now, but even within close knit groups we run into struggles sometimes, it gives us a chance to grow.

I hope we all can take the time to regroup and do what we need to for ourselves to feel safe again, and maybe one day everyone will feel more comfortable again, or maybe not. Whatever happens, do what you need to do crew, take care of yourself. If you need to chat let me know. Somewhat related today is @ thelatestkate's new picture with the cute baby otter. Hope you have a good start to the weekend Crew. Sending love.

Source: TheLatestKat's Tumblr

== Daily Darby / Tonight's Taika ==

Gifs Courtesy of @agaywithcoffee and @aplaceofgreatersafety

#ofmd daily recap #ofmd #our flag means death #rhys darby #taika waititi #leslie jones #david jenkins #chaos dad #pirate daddy #watch parties #con o'neill #fuckdavidzaslav #dontstreamonmax

[franzkafkagf]

I noticed that Aegon's fans are divided into two teams - the first one sees him as a completely heartless, almost psychopath, the other one like in this analysis.

https://www.tumblr.com/very-straight-blog/750648583572881408/it-really-tires-me-how-some-fans-try-to-make-aegon?source=share

What do you think about it and how do you see him?

Basically I've written a few things on him already; here, here and here as well as the many web weavings i have on him hihi <3

I see him as a super nuanced character; he is deeply (and I mean deeply) broken. That's why I love him, there's so much there in terms of characterization, even with the little screentime he had.

He is so desperate to be loved but destined to be hated by everyone around him (thank you tgc for this quote, lives rent-free in my mind forever)

Rhaenyra sees him as a threat (she has this fear that her father will replace her with him, someday)

Alicent deeply loves him but is too hard on him (she genuinely thinks all her sons will die if she doesn't make him king; he needs to be strong. strong for them, strong for her.

Aemond is resentful towards him. Resentful of his weakness. He has everything Aemond ever wanted. Why isn't he happy? He would be happy and grateful (he wouldn't).

Viserys wanted Baelon. He is not Baelon.

Forced to marry his sister, he never wanted this for them (in canon,,,, I'll live in my little helaegon delulu land)

He is the kicked dog of the family. He is the only one we see being physically reprimanded. It happens time and time again, this was a deliberate choice by the writers. All of Alicent's fears and grudges and love (ugly, desperate love, but still love) towards Rhaenyra are loaded onto him -> I wished we saw them interact, they are so alike :(

What does a kicked dog do? He runs back, tail between his legs. He tries so hard but somehow it doesn't work. He feels like a failure, he runs off, avoids the pain. He doesn't want to face his reality. He drinks, he indulges in anything that will make him forget

I did not ask for this. I've done everything you've asked me to, and I try so... I try so hard, but it will never be enough for you or father.

He acts out, engages in super self-destructive behaviour -> remember when the brothel madam said that Aegon doesn't go to nice places? It's like he is punishing himself.

I'll also have to speak about his assault; kind of a baffling writing choice to introduce him as a r*pist but it is in line with his characterization. He is a prince, of course he can take anything he wants, right? It was just harmless fun, right?

This behaviour doesn't stem from cruelty (like it did with Ramsay or Joffrey) it comes from the entitlement he feels. He might be the scapegoat of the family, but he is still a spoiled prince -> I actually love this about his character too. Purely good/purely victimized characters are BORING! He is interesting, there's both evil and good in him, he is so extremely complex I want to SCREAM.

I can see him going on an arc, not repent, but change. Grow into the man who can sway the people of Dragonstone to his side, grow into the role of king. Become the type of man who would rather live in pain than dull his senses with milk of the poppy. HIS ARC WILL BE INSANE!!!!!

I know a lot of fans want him to be less whiny, less pathetic, less grey… but honestly? He is perfect the way he is in the show. I genuinely love how he is written (I would've wished to see some interaction with his kiddos and Rhaenyra, that is all lmao) and I know he will be amazing in season 2.

#aegon ii targaryen #tom glynn carney #house of the dragon #hotd #aegon targaryen #ales.txt #tw sa mention