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lostfracturess · 10 days

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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.

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.

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?

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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

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infamous-if · 4 months

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Happy 1 year anniversary to this blog!

It was yesterday...though I do find it fitting that I've been focused on writing so much that I forgot lmao

When I first had the idea for Infamous, I didn't work on it right away. The concept was cool, yeah, but was it enough for interactive fiction? A medium I never even tried before?

I let it marinate in my head for a while wondering if it would be a good story or not. I listened to a lot of music, made a lot of idea boards and outlined routes but told myself I wasn't actually writing it. Just playing in a new literary sandbox with no strings! I was very close to not publishing my idea because it felt like it wasn't a story that I could handle. And it was daunting. I've published stories before, but they were completed novels that I could just forget about it and move on from once I was done. This was a commitment! I kept asking myself if I was even a good enough writer for the plans I had haha

But it didn't stop bothering me and I was getting irritable over my own brain creating this whole world without my permission. So I posted the intro post on a whim just to see what would happen! Turns out, I'm really happy I did!

One year later and there's been a whole community of people who have enriched the story and elevated it to a place that I wouldn't have been able to do it on my own. The amazing fanfics, the head canons, fan art and the suggestions, it's been really nice to work on this with the support and encouragement I've gotten. I think the best parts of the story so far have come from the collective, not me, and knowing that there are people who watched me serve my ideas on a platter like "here. take it pls." and accepted it is really nice. I'm grateful :)

thank you guys for reading the story and being kind to me and my ideas and having so many discussions over these characters that were once just in my mind, alone with me to tend to them. and to the if authors who have been here much longer, thank you for welcoming me with open arms. thank you to the group of if authors in particular who took me under their wing and gave me advice on how to handle things and how to move forward. you didn't have to come into my dm's and give me guidance or help me, but you did anyway and im eternally grateful!

I'm excited for 2024 to be the year that we really dive into the story. I still can't believe we're only 2 chapters in. it feels much longer, doesn't it? lololol

thanks!! <3

#one year anniversary #Amy yapping

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zerosuitsammie · 3 months

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If I can take a moment to share my experience as a trans woman on the internet

My experience is by no means unique, it's just one experience in the plethora of trans feminine experiences and not unique to only tumblr. Though, I'll mostly talk about what I've experienced here. In the light of recent events, the reaction of "the ceo," and the comments he contributed regarding dog pile harassment; I simply wish to share my experiences that I have had to juxtapose the dynamic of his statements against a lived experience.

This account started as a way to document my social transition and eventually my journey with HRT. Tumblr had always had a large lgbtqia+ community. The queer people here inspired me and gave me hope. What I didn't know, but soon learned, is that there were people here who hated me for being trans. Being early in my transition I was a prime target. TERF groups would plan raids on my account. What this entailed was: rebloging my selfies into circles that would say the most vile things about me, threaten to kill, tell me I was ugly, tell me that everyone I knew thought I was a joke, I was a monster, my family hated me, that I should kill myself, they'd download and edit my photos into caricatures or depictions of violence. They would fill my ask box with hundreds of asks detailing how they'd kill me, call me slurs, describe the ways that I should kill myself, and pretty much everything else I mentioned above with the reblogs. Their words were carefully curated to try and break me, break my spirit, break my will to live. I tried reporting it. But it was impossible to keep up with, and like many others I saw no real response. Eventually I learned that I had to block all of them. 100's of blogs, eventually 1000's of blogs. My block list these days is incredibly extensive. I had to wade through their blogs, traverse sickening hate speech and imagery to eliminate entire circles of people harassing me. I became jaded to the hate speech, hardened to it. But mind you, I shouldn't have had to expose myself to all of this just to be at peace here amongst my community. I received no help, I was left to my own devices to protect myself. The people who hurt me never saw consequences. It was painful, it was unfair, and no one else should have to put the hours upon hours of effort and exposure to hate in to protect themselves like I did. But again my experience is not unique.

I have had to repeat this process of preemptive blocking periodically once a new circle discovers me. Blocking them all before they can start the process of hate all over again. A process of hate that seems to be hitting my community with rapidly increasing fervor as of late.

I've seen others experience far worse than me. The TERF circles will hunt down their personal information and doxx them. Expose their home address, telephone numbers, names of their family members. I can't begin to imagine the terror my queer siblings must feel when someone tells then that they want to murder them all while showing them that they know where you live. This is not a new thing, not a rare tactic, it happens. And we've all seen the news stories of trans people being murdered by people who planned it and were vocal about it.

I know this is depressing. And it doesn't reflect all of my experiences. I've had wonderful experiences here, met amazing people, made close friends, found inspiration, found hope. I found a community.

And it's my community, and I never want to let it go.

I do have fear that making this statement will get me banned. But, I wanted to say it. I wanted it to exist in the world so that everyone who doesn't know our experiences has a chance to understand and with luck empathize.

I'll part on these words and hope for the best both for myself and for every member of the community.

#transgender #transisbeautiful #trans #trans is beautiful #this is what trans looks like #okay to rebagel #trigger warning: transphobia #potentially triggering #trigger warning #trigger warning: description of harassment #trigger warning: description of violent harassment #trigger warning: description of suicide bating harassment #stay hopeful #stay strong #trans community #queer community #lgbtq community #spread love in the community and build each other up

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bi-writes · 5 months

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i didn't have an amazing christmas this year so i projected this onto bestfriend!roommate!simon and im sorry about it but im also not sorry about it but i tried to end it nice

more bestfriend!roommate!simon (part 6/?)

cw: mature language and content, mentions of past trauma, mentions of unrequited love and lack of family, mentions of death and loneliness, allusions to violence

you waited for the ringing of the call to stop. you were seated on the couch, the laptop propped up in your lap as you stared at the screen hopefully. your heart skipped a beat when the ringing stopped, a circling loading screen popping up until a grainy video came through.

simon was seated in the dark; you guessed that he was hunkered down in his room, seated on his bunk. he had his skull mask on; the plate sewn onto a balaclava, eye-black hiding most of him in the void of the terrible quality video, and you tried not to notice the mysterious drops of something against the white of his mask.

"hey, simon," you greeted him, giving him a gentle smile. simon ran a gloved hand over his head, nodding.

"''ello, luv. i know the time is bad, if...if you want to head to bed, 's alright with me."

you scoffed, "you know that's not happening. i don't care what time it is here...i always want to talk to you."

he grunted lowly, looking away for a moment at something out of your view before looking back. you moved to go sit by the window, keeping the laptop propped up as you looked outside. you could see the soft lights lighting up the neighborhood; twinkling lights, mostly in red and green, sparkling between the soft snowfall that had began to fall against the pavement.

there was something so peaceful about the moment. you could see the wind pushing the snow at an angle as it fell, starting to add a fresh blanket of white to everything. if you squinted, you could see two people in the apartment across the street, trying to build a small bike in the early hours of the morning. one of them held papers, instructions you guessed, and the other held a screwdriver and was trying to fit the two back wheels onto a base.

"how are you?" you asked suddenly, looking back down at the laptop. "you look like shit."

simon laughed dryly, "you can't even see me."

"i know you," you laughed with him. "and i know that even through the shitty camera, you're worse for wear."

he hummed, looking down for a moment.

"i've had better days," was all he offered, and you swallowed hard, trying to look at him better.

"i miss you, simon."

you said it easily. you did miss him. he was so far away; you didn't know where he was, but you knew it was far. and he did not say when he would be coming back; you suspected he didn't even know himself when he would be.

"i miss you, too, luv."

you looked out the window again. you looked at the couple again, watching one of them take a few bites of some cookies that were laid out while the other had a few hearty gulps of the milk in the glass beside them. your eyes watered a little. their house looked...full. stockings hung over a dwindling fireplace, christmas tree lights giving the room a soft yellow glow, a mountain of presents gathered under a full tree of ornaments.

there was nothing in your apartment. no lights, no tree. you never liked to keep one; you had no one to buy presents for. and simon--this day only brought the wrong kind of feelings to the surface. feelings of torture, of unexpected discovery, of death and the stench of it which couldn't be covered by lighting evergreen candles or baking sugar cookies.

so much of the day surrounded family--of which you didn't have. no one to visit, no one to bring the wine while you cooked the ham, no one to hand you a gift and no one for you to give one to either. you had learned a long time that it was best not to dwell, but it was hard. it was hard when you looked across the street and saw people that had so much more of something. something that you desperately wanted, but couldn't be bought.

when you looked back down at the laptop, simon could see the tears in your eyes clear as day. your eyes were so glossy and wet, and he swallowed hard as he looked at your face, illuminated by the twinkling lights that were bright outside.

"sorry--" you whispered, reaching up and wiping your cheeks with the sleeves of your sweater. "sorry, i don't know why...i don't know what's wrong with me." you laughed it off, but simon could hear the pain in your voice. something aching and scratchy, something hollow.

"did...did you get what i sent?"

you looked up at him, frowning a little.

"sent? like...a package?"

"oh, christ, luv, don't tell me you haven't left the flat all day?"

you opened your mouth to respond, but you closed it, smiling shyly.

"just...go check outside. i can see it bloody snowing, go get it before it gets ruined."

you got up from your seat, going outside momentarily. when you came back inside, you had a wet box in your hands, and you set it down on the table as you when to go get something to cut the tape off. when you had opened the box, there was a smaller one inside, a nicely wrapped burgundy box that fit in your lap. you took a seat in front of the camera again, seeing simon's messy handwriting on the top of the box.

happy december 25th.

you laughed reading it, looking up at the camera after you reading the message.

"just another day, right?" he asked. you had new tears now, but they weren't sad. your heart was beating fast, making you take shaky, fast breaths, and you tried to smile, but it was hard.

"j-just another day," you whispered back to him. you took the top off the box, taking the tissue paper out to reveal a little plushie inside. it was a black teddy bear, but this one was unique. someone had fashioned a little skull mask of it out of felt, messily sewn fabric fit over the bear's face with the beady black eyes peeking out from the eyeholes--just like simon's. you picked up the bear, letting the box fall to the floor, and you tipped your head back as you tried to keep your tears inside. "simon--"

you and simon had never really gotten the chance to just be kids. to just be. to just enjoy and to receive something that didn't serve a purpose or a function, something unnecessary and trivial--something considered extra. because possessions were luxury, and you can't remember the last luxurious thing you had ever gotten.

"i know," he said lowly. "fuck, i--"

he pushed his own laptop down, and the camera tilted so you could only see his lower half. you watched him lose a bit of control, more tears coming down your face as you held your breath. simon cleared his throat loudly, ringing his hands together nervously before he picked the camera back up to his face.

"i'm getting the next fuckin' plane out of here, y'hear me?"

you brought the bear to your chest, hugging it gently before nodding. you wondered if this was why he had gotten you something like this--something to hold onto when he was gone. something to remind. something that would make you remember in the simon-shaped void you seemed to dwell in all too often.

"okay."

you had spent many december 25ths without him. you had spent many december 25ths right here, on a lonely windowsill, watching through the windows of lives that you wished you were living. this loneliness was not new--but now the loneliness was shared, and it hurt to share it.

you fell asleep there, watching glittering lights between the snowfall and holding the bear to your heart. the laptop went dark after awhile, and you slept there by the windowsill, wondering if anyone looked in and wanted to live this life instead.

the empty, quiet life of nothingness and bad dreams.

but it was something warm that woke you. a familiar hand, cradling the back of your head, whispering against your hair.

his breath was shaky. sucking in with difficulty, and then breathing out in rough stutters. your eyes opened slowly, your cheek squished against his tactical vest. you realized that he must've just gotten home--he was still head-to-toe in his gear, and you were staring up into the skull plate.

"simon--!"

you wrapped your arms tight around his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. you gasped as you held him close, and it took everything in you not to burst into tears. your heart fluttered at the thought that he must've left as soon as he told you last night--determined to get back to you.

when you pulled back, simon rested his forehead against yours. you nuzzled your face against his, soft breaths as you grounded yourself in the realization that he's here, he's with me, he's alive.

"just another day," simon murmured, gripping your head with both hands. you swallowed hard, opening your eyes and meeting his own. you swear you saw something sad in them, something emotional, tears of some kind, but he blinked it away before you could look too long. "but i...had to come home."

your nodded reaching up and putting your hands over his on your face.

"i love you, simon."

if he had paid enough attention, he would've heard what those words truly meant. that you didn't just love him, you love him. not want, need, not a preference, but a requirement. undeniable, endless, raw, soul-sucking love--the kind that tore up your insides and spit them out without remorse.

but how can you really love someone like me?

simon tangled his gloved hands into your hair now, tugging gently.

"i love you more."

how can you love someone who's already dead?

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty

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kingcrow01 · 5 months

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DC x Marvel Fic Recs

@jas-per11 @letthedeadghostrest

Hello! I saw your post, and I've been meaning to rec some DC x Marvel fics anyways, so I'll do that here. I don't know what you've read, so I'll start with

Peter Parker / DC Series:

The Dark Matter Multiverse Series by @mysterycyclone

Dark Matter is the blueprint for most Peter Parker / DC fics, and it's also fucking fantastic. If you're reading a crossover and don't understand why, without explanation, Peter is talking to ghosts? Why he by default ends up living in a firehouse? Read Dark Matter.

Spider and Bat Friends Series by @emmacortana

So far, 12 well written and hilarious works from my all-time favorite author, Miss emmacortana. This, coming from someone with over 1,500 bookmarks. She's that good.

Bitsy and The Bats Series Series by @wibbwoby

Haven't read this one in a while, so I don't have much to say, but Rated T for Traumatized is an absolute classic.

Pizzaverse Series by Irisen

A heavier read, wherein Peter tries to keep his job, make rent, and has a lot of unfortunate run-ins with Gotham's rogues.

Peter & The BatBoys (Doctor AU) Series by @thepoppypress

Peter is the Wayne family's doctor. He has a... chaotic time. I've only read Part 1, but I am still including this here because it's a series.

Peter Parker needs a hug (From the BatFamily) Series by @true-blue-fool

Shorter fics about Peter bonding with the Batfamily. Part 3 is especially cute.

Spider and Bats Series by @superklutzkent

Peter Parker whump, featuring the Batfam. All of the whump.

Let's take a break and look at some DC x Marvel fics that DON'T feature Peter:

Steve Rogers: Man out of Time and Place Series by RavenclawAngel

After Civil War, Steve gets exiled to DCs earth and builds a new team.

from the nucleus flight Series by @blackkatmagic

Khonshu whisks (Comic) Moon Knight away to DC. Very well written and passionate. If it's not your thing, don't let the Bruce Wayne/Marc Spector tag dissuade you from reading; since it's unfinished, the ship hasn't happened yet, and it's too good of a fic to miss out on.

The Devil's in Gotham (Remastered) by @prince-link13

Matt Murdock moves to Gotham and befriends Jason Todd, his neighbor. Bruce Wayne/Matt Murdock

Marvel/DC Crossovers Series by @bamboozled-and-alone

What it says on the tin. My favorite, part 2, is Matt Murdock taking care of Damian Wayne.

Echolocation Series by Firecat23

Matt Murdock and the bats; though, part 6 does have Team Red, meaning Peter.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming:

Peter Parker slash fics:

Cassandra Cain/Peter Parker

Along Came a Spider Series by @rags-n-bones

Quiet Respite by @faeriekit

I'm not too far in this one yet, but it's Faeriekit, so it's bound to be good.

Peter Parker/Tim Drake, affectionately called redspider

a shining spider web by Selador

Needling by LaughingFreak

How dimension travel can lead to love. Series by Psychic_Queen05

My current Favorite Ongoing Peter Parker / DC Crossovers:

The Ones Burnt by This_is_lovin

After the events of No Way Home, Dr. Strange's magic sends Peter to Gotham. He wakes up in another boy's body, and has to deal with the consequences. Part one just ended with a bang, you all should be there for part two, it's gonna be awesome.

Arachnomaly by @songue85

The (Comic) Amazing Spider-Man, being neighborly in Gotham. Plus some sick art from the author.

time flies by (bye) by WHYISEVERYNAMETAKEN

Two difficult years after No Way Home, Peter ends up in Gotham, but with a whole lot of introspection. One chapter left; you better be there.

All of the rest, that didn't fit in the prior categories:

Unforeseen Consequences by @mysterycyclone

Gotta Get to Rock Bottom! by @emmacortana

Read the initial notes first.

Set Naked on Your Kingdom by sassydandelion

Peter's Gotham Debut by BlankGeode, Leeavy

This Was Home by @emmacortana

The Peter Parker Theory by nicfics

and even though we are strange and exquisitely scarred by Wingfeather6913

What happens in New York by @violent138

A Long Way From Home (And No Way Back) by Vivia_wants_boba

Ignorance is Death by No_idea_what_Im_doing_lmaooo

One Dead Spider by Miellonek

If you do check out any of these fics, always leave a comment. Authors love those, it’s like catnip to them.

#dc #marvel #dc x marvel #fic rec #spiderman #spider man #peter parker #ao3

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lyneylover · 10 months

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Yandere! Lyney royalty Au♡

Synopsis: lyney is a street magician that you seen 3 weeks before your birthday. After your dad sees you mesmerized by his magic show he decides to buy lyney and his siblings to be your personal magicians. Little did your dad know that this would be the biggest mistake he ever made.

Word count: 569

So picture this!

Originally lyney was just a street performer with his twin sister and sometimes his little brother as well.

But that all changed as soon as you came to one of his magic shows.

You were amazed by his tricks and enjoyed watching them. Genuinely having a good time watching his show.

It wasn't everyday that the princess of the l/n family actually seemed extremely impressed by magicians. Many have tried but failed since you were always able to tell what illusion they used.

But there was something about lyney and his sister lynette's magic that made you hypnotized.

By the time the show was officially over you seemed disappointed.

Noticing your disappointment your dad has the brilliant idea to buy the 3 magicians for your upcoming birthday as a surprise.

After that magic show everything seemed so boring but 3 weeks later you got the biggest surprise of your life.

The day of your 18th birthday arrived.

Like any other birthday you had there were lots of gifts.

But something was different this time. This time your dad presented you with something you'd never expect.

There stood the three magicians.

Standing right in front of you was lyney, lynette, and freminet.

In that moment you were frozen and bubbling with excitement. You quickly ran over to your dad hugging him and thanking.

But little did you know that lyney was smitten by you.

The second he saw you at his magic show he felt you stole his heart away. The twinkle in your eyes when he made something disappear and reappear or how he drew the exact same card that a person showed the crowd.

Usually lyney wouldn't let anyone buy him and his siblings so when your dad asked him he was going to say no but then realized that the same man he was going to decline was your father.

Lyney uses this as a way to get closer to you knowing that he's only a mere magician and you're a princess. So he automatically yes not wanting to leave his siblings he told the king that he would only go if he bought all three of them for $100 a piece.

When lyney saw you he felt giddy inside. He was mesmerized by your beautiful features your pretty eyes, your soft looking hair, your plump lips everything about you made him blush.

This didn't go unnoticed by Lynette and freminet though.

After a month of being your personal magician he finally tells his siblings about his feelings for you hoping that they would help him with the master plan he thought up.

When Lynette and freminet finally agree lyney is ecstatic.

A week later they put Lyney's plan in motion.

At dinner lynette slips something in everyone's drink that'll make them tired.

When everyone is finally asleep lyney sneaks into your room covering your mouth before waiting for freminet to appear.

When freminet gets there they all quietly bring you to the escape carriage they had prepared earlier.

They all quickly run back inside to trash your room and their rooms to make it look like a kidnapping. With the money they had gotten from the king they took you far across fontaine where he would never find you.

The next day the king was furious. He thought someone kidnapped his magicians and his precious only daughter.

The king looked for them for months but not a trace of them was ever found.

Lyney could finally be with the love of his life.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Sorry I haven't been posting I've had writers block but I'm finally back on track! And I'm currently completing my first hotaru haganezuka request but I thought I would post my little brainrot for you guys<3 Also should i post a part two with yan! personal detective Heizou looking for reader?

#akanes bakery #bakery #brainrot #yandere lyney #lyney #lyney x reader #lyney x y/n #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin au #Akane's genshin royalty Au #yandere genshin x reader #yandere lyney x reader #genshin x reader

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luna-lovegreat · 4 months

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So... Warriors

It is obvious by now he's not ok. He's irritable and tense.

I've had thoughts and ideas on this for awhile, so I think now's a good time to speak them. Very important detail at the end.

There are some really big and some small things adding to his stress

The drama with the sword. Wild went against the agreed plan, and lashed out in anger fear for twilights injury. From things Jojo said, Wars is mad about it for a while.

I have said this in other posts, but based on things Jojo has said and some details, I do not think Wild likes wars. He has not really gotten close to him, which adds on to the negativity between them

But Wars... is a captain. This journey is different, and he's doing amazing at setting aside expectations of how to work with rank. But that is still a clear stressor- to him that was unacceptable in battle

^this is one big thing we watched go wrong and has clearly been upsetting since

Another thing is

Wars has been taking on too much. We've seen him break up a fight at the inn, comfort Time (time!), and tell him he'd take care of the others.

Twice he said "let them", and "let him be"-making others have space they needed. He asked Four what was wrong and followed up with helping with smithing.

^^These are all small things. None of these are huge- practically tiny tasks. But they add up- all the attention to others feeling but not his own

... and

Wars has not smiled. Yes, he smiled, but it was not his smile. Since Twilight went injured to the inn, there has only been smiles in a way expected, but not much beyond when he found out his friend wasn't dead. (And when he helped Four at the blacksmiths)

In the updates, I have seen others saying how cool/pretty he looked. Which he did! But emotion wise, I only thought he looked angry. Even when teasing Twilight...

^Not his smile

But here's the biggest thing that I believe is bothering him...

I've wanted to point this out for awhile. The thing is, Wars was really hurt when he found out Twilight didn't tell him about Wolfie

It's small details. A few sentences and facial expressions. But they add up over the chapter, and I don't think he felt trusted or trusting when he found out

He tried to find out who else knew

And why he was one who didn't

*read the blurred words:

"No one said anything to me, I'm just left out of the loop. Who else knows? Just us?"

Wolfie being secret wasn't necessarily about trust, but wars took it personally. He really didn't understand or want to accept that Twilight would have told some of the others but not him...

Wars is distinctly closer to the ones his age, who the younger ones often turn to. And as someone who's been through war, who bonds closest with those he feels he works with best?

Twilight having a major secret he didn't share with Wars, but did with others,

Felt like a knife to the (back?) chest.

And it hurt him

Look at his face when saying "we couldn't do a thing for him". He's looking away, directly after asking four and wild if they knew. I don't think he felt trusted. Or trusting. From thinking someone wasn't who he thought he was, and maybe was closer to others...

^^this is what I think is perhaps the biggest stressor- yet most unnoticeable

Wars never spoke to anyone about his feelings. He pushed it aside and went and helped.

This is ok. Between people so close, anything can be worked out. This is very revealing of how much Wars cares about twilight and the others

As far as Warriors pushing aside his needs and focusing on others... it's hard.

But I can confidently say this: Warriors would never want to not help all he could, when the others needed him

Here's this screenshot that makes me laugh (and somehow sky is just chill with this?)

Wars: oh my god my friend just came back from a wolf what the Hylia who can I even trust I'm having an invisible crisis

Sky: oh yay the sword helped he's back :)

Twilight: I'm fine *currently dying*

Wars is stressed right now. He's taken on too much, he's probably still mad at Champion, and... he feels betrayed (god wars should never have to feel betrayed) and untrusted

Like literally everyone ever others, wars deals with his hurt. Sometimes he can't deal with it alone, and sometimes he can. It will all work out, and I love how much he loves his brothers.

But nothing, I repeat nothing

Will be ok

IF HE DOESNT START WEARING THE DAMN SCARF SOON CMON WE HAVENT SEEN IT IN LIKE TEN UPDATES

PUT ON YOUR EMOTIONAL SUPPORT SCARF CMON MAN

Ok I'm calm <3

Art and comic by Jojo @linkeduniverse :D

#petition to bring the scarf back 2024 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #no hate towards any for accepting Wars help #they were all overextended. now for recovery #my fanfic authors know what I'm talking about with trust and betrayal #he's not ok #I cannot make a post only exploring the dark sides of relationships #with love strong enough to hurt- how is there not beauty to be found there?#I only like the scarf to want it back. but. I have given up. have at it wars simps #Lu wars #I feel like some of my wording was too harsh- perhaps from just discussing an uncomfortable topic #but if I have said anything offensive let me know I want to learn :D

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luveline · 1 year

Note

Would KILL (not you) for a bit of Hotch rn.

Like just started dating, all new and neat. Shy reader at home while Hotch is at work and is having a lonesome girls night, face mask, pizza, dancing, the whole thing. Hotch then pays an impromptu visit. Pls and Thankyou

Love you you’re amazing 💕

thank you for your request! hotch x shy!reader ♡

You're tucked up on the couch trying not to get face mask in your pizza, or cheese in your face mask, when the doorbell rings. You drop your slice back into the box, eyes widened of their own accord. There's no way you can answer the door, not when your hair's sweaty from your latest karaoke dance routine, you're in your ratty pyjamas with a hole in the collar, and your face is blue. It's not happening.

You turn the volume down on your TV, sink down on the couch, and pray whoever it is didn't hear you laughing at your own Freddie Mercury impression. That would put you in an early grave, you'd die from embarrassment alone.

There's a heavy rap at the door. Your phone starts ringing on vibrate beside you. You slide off of the pillows and onto the floor, grabbing your phone and answering with as much grace as you can.

"Hello?" you ask.

"Hey, are you home?" Hotch's voice comes thick and steady through the speaker, and you swear you can hear a hint of amusement you'd rather have missed.

"Is that you, at the door?" you ask, knowing it is, and knowing this is the worst day of your life.

"Is that alright? I brought wine. I tried to call, but it wasn't going through, and you said I could come by whenever, now that we're–"

"Yeah," you say, getting to your feet. You're breathless suddenly, because you're very attractive boyfriend is at the door, and he's only been your boyfriend for a week —though he'd 'courted' you for far longer— and seeing him is a delight no matter how flustered he can get you. "It's alright, of course it's alright, um, uh, just– Aaron, I'm not very presentable."

"Could I be the judge?"

You look down at your fluffy socks. "Yes, I suppose so."

You go to the front door and open it. There's an abject moroseness to your actions, like defeat. This is where Aaron realises he's made a mistake, and he breaks up with you, and it breaks your heart forever. He really is handsome.

"Oh," Aaron says, standing on the short stone step outside of your house with a bottle of wine in hand.

"Sorry," you say, cringing.

"You're blue."

"Yes. I'm blue."

Aaron tilts his head slightly to one side, and his resting stern face lightens. "You look cute."

It's like being winded. He might as well have slapped you flat in the chest with the front of his wrist. "Thank you," you say, hoping that the floor will miraculously collapse beneath you and the earth will swallow you whole.

"Can I come in?" he asks, head still tilted. "I've missed you so much."

"You have?"

He laughs like this is extremely funny as you step back to make room for him inside. The bottle of win gets put on the sideboard that houses your shoes, and before you know it you have arms wrapped around you. Aaron gives perfect hugs; they aren't too tight, and they aren't too loose. His cheek rubs against your temple.

"You'll get blue on you," you say, trying to push him away.

And when he pulls back, you're right. Blue face mask has transferred from you to him, wet on his chin but quickly drying. You try to scrub it off of him with your thumb but the colour spreads around and makes an even bigger mess.

"Oh, sugar, I'm sorry," you say, your hands all over his face.

"You missed a spot," he says.

"Aaron, I've missed lots of spots."

"A particular spot, right..." He holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger and leans in for a long, chaste kiss. "There," he says, pulling away.

He has face mask on his cupids bow and the tip of his nose. You blink, dazzled, and prompt a laugh from your unsually smiley boyfriend.

"Cute," he says again, with an air of finality. "Want to order in?"

"I already got pizza."

"Oh, good. I thought with all the singing you might’ve been too busy."

If your face wasn't blue you'd drop it into your hands and weep. Aaron twines your fingers together, leading you into the living room for more pizza, blue chin and all.

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scoonsalicious · 3 months

Text

Unwanted, Chapter 1: Unarmed, Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: (For this part only) Following the events of CA:CW, Tony Stark has offered Steve Rogers an olive branch of sorts to bring The Avengers back together. You, CTO of Stark Industries and head of Innovation & Technology for the Avengers' Initiative, have your doubts, as you're not quite ready to forgive Captain America for ripping your family apart just yet. Steve had one condition, however, when agreeing to return to the team, one that's going to turn your life upside down and inside out: If he's coming back to join The Avengers, he's bringing his best friend, Bucky Barnes, with him.

Warnings: (For this part only) Language (obviously), minor mention of alcohol, I'm obviously on Team Tony during the CW; don't come for me, awful jokes, minor use of (Y/N). As always, if I missed any, please let me know.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Here's a little preview of Unwanted. In it's current form, it's standing at about 50k words, with about 25k still in editing, and I'm maybe about half done with writing the entire thing? I'm not going to lie, it starts out cute and fluffy, but it's gonna get real angsty and painful. Dear Reader has unresolved emotional trauma and Bucky doesn't understand the importance of boundaries in 21st century relationships. This piece has been my baby for several months now; I really hope ya'll enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it! Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917

Taglist: (Please let me know if you'd like to be added!) @blackhawkfanatic

"You're sure you're cool with this, Boss?" you asked Tony Stark, for what was probably the ten thousandth time in the last hour. The two of you were sitting by yourselves off in a corner of the common area of the Avengers Tower while the rest of your team congregated around the bar, eagerly anticipating the official return of Captain America to the Avengers. That, by itself, would be enough to warrant a gathering of Earth's mightiest heroes, but what had everyone in attendance talking was the fact that Steve Rogers wouldn't be returning alone.

Your billionaire employer sighed and swirled his glass of Laphroaig, the amber liquid sloshing along the sides of the tumbler. "I don't love it, Pocket, but it was Cap's only condition for coming back into the fold, and since Barton, Wilson, and Maximoff all went off the reservation with him, it seemed a small price to pay to get everyone back under one roof." He took a swig of his whiskey and smacked his lips.

You couldn't help but smile at his use of your nickname. Thor had inadvertently given it to you when you first met the God of Thunder years ago, remarking for everyone to hear that you were so small and tiny, he could tuck you into his pocket and abscond away with you to Asgard. Somehow, it stuck. You'd hated it at first; it had felt dismissive and condescending, which of course meant that it soon became the only thing the members of your team called you, but the more they used in their daily lives, the more you actually came to love it. It was a brand new, unique identity that came to embody the person you’d become, and the past you’d worked so hard to put behind you. You were more likely to answer to 'Pocket,' now, than you were your legal name, and you were grateful for it.

"Besides," Tony continued with a shrug, "if letting the Barnes thing go means we get the band back together, I'm willing to be the bigger person about it."

You stared at him, impressed. "Well look at you. When did you get so emotionally evolved?"

"Since Pepper told me I needed to start seeing a therapist or she’d leave me once and for all," he admitted to you with a cheeky wink; you both knew that, though Tony drove his partner, Pepper Potts, absolutely insane sometimes, she loved him far too much to ever walk away from him for good. That didn’t stop the threats, though. Lord knows he tried her patience. In your opinion, the woman was a saint.

Your eyes widened at the revelation and you let out a low whistle of appreciation. "You're going to therapy? Wow. Tony, That's amazing. I'm proud of you."

"Oh please," Tony scoffed, "I have much more important things to do than sit on a couch and spill my feelings. Besides, my secrets are too valuable to divulge to an actual human being. I just trained FRIDAY on therapeutic conversational datasets so she can handle all that psychological mumbo jumbo and then I paired that with BARF's augmented reality-- it's seriously the platinum standard in mental healthcare. No awkward silences or judgmental stares, just pure efficiency. You should try it; it’d do you wonders. And the best part? No copays."

You chuckled as you took a sip of your pineapple and Malibu. "Yeah, okay. That completely tracks for you," you told him with a smile. "So, what did Dr. FRIDAY tell you that got you to change your mind about the Barnes situation?"

Furrows appeared between Tony's eyebrows as he took another sip of whiskey to buy time for collecting his thoughts. There was still so much pain in him where Bucky Barnes was concerned. You'd worked for him in some capacity for nearly fifteen years and you'd never seen him as defeated as he'd been when he got off that Quinjet from Siberia. He'd been bloodied, battered and utterly broken, body and soul. Seeing him like that had shattered you, and you never wanted to live through something like that again.

Tony ran you through his experience with his therapeutic innovation, and you had to admit, it was impressive. The system had helped him realize that Bucky Barnes wasn't responsible for the heinous crimes Hydra had brainwashed him into completing, and so his anger over the death of his parents, while justified, had been misdirected.

"Once I processed that, it was a quick jump to realizing we can't be the best version of the Avengers if we only have half the team at home, and it's innocent people who would pay the price for it. So, when I reached out to Cap and he agreed to come back if I agreed to let him bring Barnes with him, well..." Tony trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hand toward the where the rest of the team was waiting.

"So, you and Rogers are just, what? Good then? All water under the bridge?" you asked him, mild irritation clouding your voice.

"Oh, absolutely not." Tony took another sip of whiskey. "I can work with him again, and I'm glad to, but we're not going to be braiding each other's hair anytime soon."

"Good," you said, raising your glass in a mock toast to Tony. "I'm not quite ready to forgive him on your behalf just yet." Tony had essentially saved your life when you first met him, and he’d continued to support and guide your career to heights you could have never imagined. You'd started as a systems analyst and mechanical engineer at Stark Industries fresh out of college, and under Tony’s mentorship, it wasn’t long before you found yourself rising to the position of the company’s Chief Technical Officer, second in command only to Pepper, now that Tony had passed on the reins to her. All this happened long before he'd ever brought you in to work with him on the Avengers Initiative, and now you spent the majority of your time heading up their Technology and Innovation Department, as well.

Any kind of healthy respect you might have had for your boss had died out a long, long time ago, because Tony Stark was Tony Stark, but now he was just Tony-- more like an annoying older brother you loved dearly, whose name just happened to be on your paychecks. You owed him everything and that had earned him your unwavering loyalty. You'd follow him to hell and back again if he asked it of you, though he knew he’d never have to; you’d be paving the path there right alongside him.

The sound of laughter made its way across to you from the other side of the room and you felt warmth at the sound-- everyone, together again and happy. Just a few short months ago, you never would have been able to imagine the scene before you, not after the fight in Berlin and its brutal aftermath. You had thought for sure that this little family you'd found yourself in the middle of had been destroyed beyond repair.

So, you might have had your own reasons to be pissed at Steve Rogers.

"What's Barnes like?" you asked Tony. Having only ever glimpsed him from a distance, or from behind a computer monitor, you'd utilized all the resources at your disposal to dig up as much information on the Winter Soldier as possible, but even your skills hadn't been able to get you what simply didn't exist. "You know I don't like unknown quantities."

Tony seemed to think for a moment. "You mean, aside from being a brainwashed, murderous assassin?"

"Tony," you chastised. You knew that Barnes had spent a good deal of time in Wakanda before coming home to New York, working on having the words that triggered his homicidal alter-ego neutralized. Rogers may not always acted rationally when it came to making decisions about his oldest friend, but you were sure he wouldn’t be bringing Barnes back to the Tower if he posed a serious danger to the rest of you. Right?

"Fine," Tony said, with a typical exaggerated sigh. "Aside from being a former brainwashed, murderous assassin; better?" You rolled your eyes but nodded. "Don't really know, didn't care enough to ask. I'll be happy as long as he doesn't start murdering us all in our sleep. Cap vouches for him, so that counts for something. Maybe not as much as it did once upon a time, but something. But T’Challa seems to think he’s harmless enough now, so that’s good enough for me."

You nodded, taking another sip of your pineapple and Malibu, then leaned back, pensive. "Oh, God," you said after a moment of thought, sitting up in alarm. "You don't think it’s going to be like having an entire extra Rogers around, do you? All '40s morality and emotional repression? Because I am so over having him police my language." It wasn't that you had anything against Captain America as an Avenger, but there was only so much of the Boy Scout act you could take before you started getting nauseous. And okay, fine, you weren't too proud to admit it-- there was a not-so-small part of you that still hadn't forgiven him for what you saw as his blatant betrayal of Tony when he refused to sign the Accords. You'd promised to play nice, though, for the sake of your family, but your personal relationship with The Star-Spangled Man had taken heavy damage since Berlin.

Tony chuckled. "As if you'd ever let Cap's presence keep you from a good profanity. I should put out a swear jar. We could fund that crisis algorithm project of yours off your mouth alone."

"Fuck you, Tony," you uttered with a chuckle, fully aware that he had your number. You never met a four-letter word you didn’t fall immediately in love with.

"And look at that," Tony said with a smirk, "I just made another dollar. Hey FRIDAY, open up a new savings account and deposit a dollar into every time Pocket has a potty mouth."

"On it, Boss," the AI replied cheerfully.

You swore at Tony a few more times for good measure. "I fully intend to financially bleed you dry now, asshole."

"Oh no, I'm shaking in my custom Tom Ford's," Tony mockingly bemoaned, putting his feet, enclosed in the aforementioned ridiculously expensive loafers, up on the coffee table.

Raised voices from the other side of the room caught your attention. You stood up and craned your neck, trying to see what had caused the commotion. "I think they're here, Boss," you said.

"Alright," Tony said, standing up and putting an arm around your shoulder, "big smiles, kiddo. Remember, we're supposed to be happy about this." You suppressed a chuckle as you watched Rogers present Bucky Barnes to the rest of the team. Everyone was welcoming; you wouldn’t have expected any less, but as you watched their body language, the only word that came to mind was guarded. And you completely understood; The Winter Soldier’s reputation had preceded him, after all. There were hugs for Rogers, of course, but no one made any attempt to reach out to his friend.

Despite your overall annoyance with Rogers, you couldn't help but feel some degree of happiness for the giant oaf. When you'd been assigned on a mission with him (which happened fairly frequently, as he was so pathetically abysmal with anything having to do with technology) and ended up having to hole up in a safehouse for an extra couple of days while waiting for extraction, he'd started opening up to you about James Buchanan Barnes, and the reminiscing had made him so happy, you encouraged Steve to tell you everything about this Bucky. After that, the trouble was getting Rogers to stop telling his Bucky stories. If he wasn't sharing tales about growing up with his best friend during the Great Depression and all the absolute mischief they got into, he was sharing war stories of their time together with the Howling Commandos. He'd even shared his grief with you– how painful it had been to watch Barnes fall from that train and the guilt he carried for not being able to save him. He’d confessed to you once that, when he went into the ice, fully prepared to die, there was a part of him that was relieved to be reunited with Barnes in the next life, and waking up some 70 years later to a world where he was still alive but Bucky was still gone had broken his heart all over again. And yet, here they were– together in the next life, after all. If you were a different kind of person, you’d say it was a goddamn miracle.

Because of the way Rogers described his best friend in those old stories, you were expecting Bucky Barnes to come swaggering along next to him, with a cocksure tilt to his head and a panty-dropping smirk playing along his lips, but the man who accompanied Steve was the furthest thing from that.

He shuffled behind Rogers slowly, looking at the floor and avoiding making eye contact with anyone else from the team. His hair hung long and limp, curtaining off his face as though it were a protective barrier. Though, if it was keeping him away from everyone else, or everyone else away from him, you couldn't be sure. He was much thinner than you'd anticipated, especially for a super soldier– though still extremely muscular, giving you the impression that it had been a long time since he'd let himself indulge in anything more than the bare minimum amount of calories he needed for survival. Tilting your head, you tried to steal a glance at his infamous metal arm, the thing of legends that had turned him from a run-of-the-mill assassin into the stuff of waking nightmares.

But the sleeve of his jacket hung limp, only empty space where the appendage should have been.

Curious. He'd come to Tony Stark's home unarmed. Your hand flew to your mouth to try and stop the uncontrollable snicker that broke loose at your own stupid joke. Tony elbowed you gently in the ribs to shut you up, and you hoped you were too far away and the others too distracted by Steve's introductions to notice you, but that thought flew right out the window when Bucky Barnes' head snapped up at the sound, his eyes locking onto yours from across the room.

"Holy shit," you breathed, knowing another dollar would go into Tony's digital swear jar, but damn if the man didn't have the most striking blue eyes you had ever seen. There were dark circles under them, and he looked incredibly tired, yeah, but they were beautiful. You didn't mean to stare, but you found you couldn't look away, either, and so the two of you were locked into some sort of impromptu staring contest. The longer you looked at him, the more you could sense an overwhelming sadness coming from him, as well as a level of wariness at being in a room full of strangers. It was almost overwhelming.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, the spell was broken. Blinking once, Bucky looked away and you felt the tension vanish from between you.

"What was that about?" Tony asked you in a low singsong voice.

"I have no idea," you answered, honestly. There had been so much pain and loneliness in his eyes. You'd seen eyes like that before, when you were younger and looked at your own reflection in the mirror following a scalding shower with your skin scrubbed raw and bloody. You suppressed a shiver.

Finally, Steve managed to disengage himself and Bucky from the other Avengers and began making his way toward you and Tony. Up close, you were struck by how tall Bucky was. He had to be at least a foot taller than you, if not more. And God, he was handsome. Granted, in a kind of heroin-chic sort of way, but still. A couple of good nights' sleep, a few good meals, some light personal grooming, and... well, there was a very good chance you were going to be in trouble once he got his shit together, that was for sure.

"And Buck," Steve was saying, drawing you out of your ogling, "This is our resident computer genius, Pocket (Y/L/N). You ever need help with anything technology-related, she's your girl."

"A bit of an over-simplified version, Rogers," you said, sticking your hand out to shake Bucky’s, "but yeah, that about covers it."

Bucky looked at you, then down at your hand, making no move to take it.

"What the hell kind of name is Pocket?" he asked, voice rough as though he hadn’t been using it a lot. Pulling your hand back, you shot him an annoyed glare.

"I don't know," you oozed back sarcastically. "What the hell kind of name is Bucky?"

"It's his nickname, Pocket," Steve supplied helpfully, though not without a trace of confusion. You gave him an annoyed, pointed look.

"No shit, Rogers." You turned back to Bucky and spoke slowly, as if to a child. "So, what do you think Pocket is, then?"

"Oh," said Bucky, catching on. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Gotcha; m'sorry about that. My manners are rusty from a severe lack of use."

You didn't mean it, but your mouth curved up into a hint of a smile, too. And then, almost as if you couldn't stop yourself from doing it, you found yourself saying "I see you've arrived unarmed."

There was a long, heavy beat of silence as Steve and Tony stared at you, mouths slightly agape, and you wondered if you'd made a critical error. You were just about to punch yourself in the face and claim you had a concussion and therefore couldn't be held responsible for what you said when Bucky burst into laughter.

It was the most beautiful sound you'd ever heard, and it was contagious. Through your own laughter, you risked a glance up at Steve. He was looking back and forth between you and Bucky, an indiscernible look in his eyes, and you couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he'd heard his best friend laugh. Hell, you wondered how long it had been since Bucky Barnes had laughed at all.

"Pocket," Tony groaned, palming his face, "that was truly terrible, even for you."

"I'm sorry," you said, trying to catch your breath through your burst of giggles. "It just slipped out-- I couldn’t help it. You know once these things come into my head, they just bounce around in there until they fall out. I didn't mean it."

Steve smiled at you. "So that's what you were snickering at," he said, amused. Damn that enhanced super soldier hearing. Rogers didn't need to be so nosy with it.

You shrugged. "What can I say? Bad jokes are my superpower. Don't be jealous that all you got was super strength and a six pack, Rogers."

Bucky laughed again, then nudged Steve playfully with his elbow. "I like this one, Stevie," he said. "She's funny."

You weren't sure why, exactly, but something in Bucky's words turned your insides into a warm puddle of goo.

Oh, you were going to be in trouble, indeed.

Next Part ->

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky x you #mcu bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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kurosaaki · 1 year

Text

LOVEGAME — LEON S. KENNEDY

SUMMARY: it’s been 15 years since the Raccoon City outbreak happened, and you wonder why Leon still has his R.P.D. handcuffs if he doesn’t use them at all, so you ask him. And he decides to show you why he still has them.

WARNINGS: smut— soft dom!leon, vaginal sex, bondage (use of handcuffs), roleplay (policeman & bad girl), brat taming, teasing, oral sex, creampie, basically porn without too much plot lol.

WC: 3K

TAGS: @antidesire, @whore-era & esp @rxllingstones <3

A/N: i love leon so much. it was time for me to write him finally. i had re6 leon in my mind while i wrote this. as always, support and reblogs are appreciated! NOT PROOFREAD, so apologies if there’s any mistake.

It all started as a game.

A joke.

A "playful little joke".

"You still have those handcuffs from your rookie days, Leon?"

Leon turned his gaze to where you were. You were not far from him, in fact, you were close to him, only your eyes were glued to his leather belt, where he carried those handcuffs from the R.P.D.

It was easy to tell those were from the R.P.D., as they had a little inscription on them. You wondered why he had them in the first place, given the fact that he didn't really need them in his actual job right now. They could be helpful on some occasions, like for interrogating a subject right at the moment and keeping them still, but...his job wasn't exactly that.

Handcuffs weren't required at all in your job, so...why did he have them?

You still decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. In the end, Leon's a very strategic, intelligent man, and you were sure he had a reason to carry them every day with him.

But you couldn't help asking him directly. It did make you curious.

"Well, yeah" he answers as if the reason was obvious, "You never know when they'll come in handy on a mission, right?"

Maybe he was right, you thought. But something deep inside you told you that it wasn't just as simple as that. There had to be another reason.

"Such an odd question to ask, don't you think?

You chuckled. You knew perfectly well that work was not a reason to have them. The way Leon was trying to hide his cheeky smile was also an indicator that you might be right. Still, you wanted to remain discreet.

There were no secrets between you and Leon. You've been his partner for 2 long years now, mission after mission, you eventually get to know the person you're working with. Even more so now that he was your boyfriend. Secrets had no space in your relationship.

Or so you thought.

"Such an odd reason to have them when our work doesn't require them, don't you think?" you playfully mocked him, copying his words with a sly look on your face.

Touché.

He chuckled, looking at the handcuffs. After all, you weren't dumb and it was obvious. No matter how much he tried to hide it, the truth is that Leon didn't keep those handcuffs out of nostalgia or utility.

"I keep 'em for a reason," he said, glaring at you from across the room.

You could see a wicked grin peek out of his lips as he toyed with the handcuffs. His fingertips wandered over the metal, being too careful to not damage them--and your mind couldn't stay sane at the sight of it. Leon was playing with you. He was practically screaming for you to keep feeding into this conversation.

"And, you know..." he slowly approached you, holding the handcuffs with his fingers "I've been wanting to try these out for a while now," he whispered, his voice low and seductive. "I bet you'd look amazing in them."

Your heart raced as his words sent a shiver down your spine. You tried to stay composed, but it was getting harder and harder to resist him. Leon had always been good at pushing your buttons just right, and now he had you exactly where he wanted you. He cornered you when you were the one starting everything.

"Oh, yeah?" you tilted your head "You want to arrest me, Officer Kennedy? Have I been a bad girl?"

Leon's eyes sparkled with lust at the sound of his name in your innocent tone of voice. If there was one thing Leon always regretted, it was that he never became an official police officer because of the outbreak in Raccoon City 15 years ago.

But maybe that was about to change today thanks to you.

"Oh, you have no idea" he chuckled, his pupils dilatating at the thought of you handcuffed and at his mercy "You've been a very, very bad girl"

You couldn't help but shiver at his words. As much as you tried to resist him, you were completely under his spell. You had never felt this way about anyone before, and the thought of exploring this new side of yourself with Leon was both terrifying and exhilarating.

"I'm sorry I've been a bad girl, Officer Kennedy" you pout, "I promise I didn't mean it"

"Nuh-uh" he shook his head, grinning as he heard you say his name again. "You're not sorry at all"

It was like music to his ears, and your "innocent, clueless girl" facade only drove him crazier. He was feeling his blood rush through his whole body, the sudden sense of power he had over you when playing this "silly game" was taking over you little by little.

Suddenly, his lips were extremely close to your neck, feeling his breath against your skin, noticing how your body became stiff, earning a smile from him.

"You know what I do with bad girls like you?" he says, hearing his deep voice next to your ear right now, "I teach them lessons. I make 'em learn"

You shivered at his words, feeling a mixture of fear and excitement course through you. You knew that Leon could be intense, but you had never seen him like this before. It was like he was a completely different person when he had you under his control.

"What kind of lessons?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Leon chuckled, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Oh, you'll see," he said, his hands trailing down your body, stopping at your waist, "But first, let's see just how well you can follow instructions."

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against yours. "Undress yourself. Then I want you to put your hands behind your back and walk over to the bed," he whispered, sensing a smile from him.

Oh, he was enjoying this.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what was about to happen. But the look in Leon's eyes told you that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

So you did as he said, following his orders. You got rid of your shirt, followed by your jeans and shoes, leaving your bra and panties on. You put your hands behind your back and walked over to the bed. Leon followed close behind, his hands on your hips as he guided you.

You had no idea what Leon had in store for you, but you were eager to find out. With a wicked grin, he raised the handcuffs, and without a warning, he snapped them shut around your wrists, the metal clinking together with a satisfying sound.

"Are they too tight for you, love?" he asked, his hands placed on your hips.

"A little bit..."

"Good" he chuckled, and unlike you thought, he didn't bother to adjust them. "Let's see if you can learn your lesson. Turn around, let me see you"

You felt a rush of excitement as you turned around, trying to avoid his piercing gaze. You could feel his eyes on your whole body, and you shivered at the thought of what was about to happen.

Without a warning, you felt a sharp sting across your ass as Leon brought his hand down hard. You cried out in surprise, but the pain quickly turned to pleasure as he continued to spank you.

"Is that what you want, love?" he asked, his voice rough with desire.You could only nod, too caught up in the moment to form words.

Leon's hand continued to rain down on you, each slap sending waves of pleasure through your body.Finally, he stopped, his hand still resting on your ass.

"You're such a bad girl," he said, his voice deeper now, "You need to learn how to behave. Shouldn't be asking nosy questions..." You could feel his breath against your skin, and you moaned softly as he leaned in and kissed your neck.

You were completely under his spell, unable to resist his touch.As he continued to kiss and touch you, you felt yourself growing more and more aroused. You knew that you were completely at his mercy, and that thought only made you want him more.

Leon pushed you down onto the bed after getting rid of your bra, unclasping it with just one hand. The soft mattress gave beneath you, your eyes glued to him as he leaned down and whispered in your ear.

"Now, I want you to spread your legs for me," he commanded, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses over your neck, and down your breasts until he reached your panties.

Your heart raced as you spread your legs, feeling too exposed and vulnerable in front of him. You always felt this way with Leon, but deep down you had a sense of security when you were in such vulnerable positions like these. He always made you feel protected, but you couldn't help but feel butterflies each time he went down on you.

Leon's hot breath tickled your inner thighs as he leaned in closer, his lips tantalizingly close to your center. You could feel his warm breath against your sensitive skin, and your heart was racing with anticipation.

You closed your eyes, letting out a soft moan as Leon's tongue flicked across your clothed clit. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you feel alive and he knew how to fuel the fire inside you.

Leon left little kisses on your inner thighs, while his thumb made circles on your clit. Although you were not fully aware of it, you were gradually getting more and more wet, soaking your panties as Leon enjoyed this moment, not giving any importance to your aching desire to feel his tongue.

You couldn't help but move your hips forward, trying to satiate your thirst to feel him close to you.

"S'okay pretty, I got you" he whispered, and he immediately grabbed your panties and took them away, throwing them onto the floor.

Leon grabbed your legs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed. He lowered himself down, resting his knees on the floor as he made sure to put your thighs over his shoulders, bringing your pussy closer to his face. His hands gripped your thighs tightly as he took advantage of such position and started to eat you out like you were water in the desert, and he was thirsty.

You swore if you weren't cuffed right now, your hands would be running through his hair, pulling it and caressing it as he ate you out. But the only thing you were physically able to do now was thrust your hips into his tongue, begging for more of him.

He licked and sucked at your clit, his tongue driving you wild with pleasure. You even felt dizzy as his wet muscle worked you up, occasionally stopping licking you and leaving kisses on your clit, just to begin lapping on it again.

It was swaying of pleasure you couldn't resist.

As he worked his magic, you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. Your body was trembling with need, and you could feel your orgasm building deep inside you.

"Are you getting close, baby?" he asked as if the answer wasn't obvious, "You think you deserve to cum, hm?"

"Yes!" you nodded as he kissed your clit, covering his lips with your juices, "Please, I need it!"

You felt him chuckle, and he went back to eating you out again. This time, Leon didn't try to hold back or try to edge you—he was going to make you cum right on the spot. He grabbed your legs again, securing his grip on your thighs to avoid you from closing them. With each drag of his tongue, you were a step closer to the brink of orgasm.

Oh, how you wish you weren't cuffed right now.

"I'm- I'm gonna cum! Oh, fuck!" you whined out in pleasure, biting your lip as hard as you could, clenching your fists furiously in pleasure.

"Do it, baby" he growled, his voice sending you vibrations and making your body shiver "Cum for me"

Finally, you couldn't hold back any longer. Your body convulsed with pleasure as Leon continued to lick and suck at your clit, sending you over the edge into blissful ecstasy.

As you came down from your high, you felt Leon's hands massage your shaking thighs. You tried to calm your breathing while he gave you a "time out". Leon stood up and leaned closer to your weakened body, kissing all over your skin tenderly.

He stopped for a moment when his face came up high enough to look at you. He lingered for a few seconds as he watched your eyes close and open a while later, noticing how your pupils dilated in pleasure. He let out a small laugh and kissed you deeply, only to leave you breathless again.

"Just so you know," he kissed your nose, "I'm not done with you"

When he said that, Leon lifted you off the bed, grabbing your body with his arms to keep you from falling down your shaky legs.

It looked like he wasn't going to give you any rest today.

"Have you learned your lesson, pretty?" he asked you, pressing your body against his due to the grip he had on your waist. Seeing how you couldn't even form a word, he decided to tease you a bit more, "Speak up"

"Y-Yeah" you nodded, not really sure of what his answer was going to be.

"You don't seem very sure of that" he replied, feeling your body tremble against his, "You think it's okay to ask an officer such nosy questions, huh? What do you think was gonna happen if you asked why I had these handcuffs?"

"Fuck, Leon" You couldn't stand not feeling him. You needed to feel him with you as fast as possible, you didn't want to put up with his game anymore, no matter how much you liked it.

"It's Officer Kennedy to you, miss" The smug look in his eyes increases, like he's proud of himself, of the good work he's doing.

He traced his fingers down your arm, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You couldn't help but let out a soft moan, and Leon chuckled in response.

"You like this, don't you?" he said, his lips hovering just inches from yours. "Being under my control..."

Oh, you were completely under his spell. Leon had a way of making you feel alive like no one else could, and you were helpless to resist him. You wouldn't be able to resist him even if you were paid to.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, the kiss sending waves of pleasure through your body. You kissed him back eagerly, losing yourself in the moment. Leon's hands wandered all over your body, pressing you against his hard boner, feeling it through his pants.

For a while, all you could focus on was the feel of his lips on yours and the touch of his hands on your body. You were completely lost in the pleasure he was giving you, and you didn't care about anything else in the world.

But eventually, reality came crashing back in. You remembered that you were still cuffed and that you were at Leon's mercy. You pulled away from the kiss, panting heavily.

"You're not getting out of those cuffs anytime soon" Leon looked at you with a smirk plastered on his face.

"Please, Officer Kennedy," you whined, "Take the handcuffs off, I just- I need to touch you"

He has the same slightly amused smirk on his face when you ask him to take the handcuffs off. He starts to move his hands. They slowly move towards your hands, like he's about to take the handcuffs, but the slight smirk never leaves his face in the slightest. He's like a cat that caught a mouse, and now he's just playing with it and can't really stop. He just keeps looking at it, playing with it, staring straight into its eyes.

"You're in my custody, are you not?" He asks in a calm, confident, mocking tone.

He still has that look on his face. He's still flirting with you, his cocky smirk plastered on his face like he's trying to hide those feelings and just be calm and collected like a good cop.

You were so close from losing your mind.

But you were loving it so much.

"Y-yes, but..."

"I'm not done with you," he says with a stern look on his face, and suddenly his serious cop facade has returned, "Face against the wall"

You swallowed hard. You were used to Leon giving you orders while you were doing it, it didn't bother you how he handled you as he pleased, but...seeing him this serious, into his cop role, was something you would have never really imagined and you even fantasized about knowing what he was capable of now that he had given you such an order.

Your face was now against the wall as he wished.

You heard him unbuckle his belt, too shy to turn around no matter how much you wanted to and watch him do it. You could only imagine how he did it and that only turned you on more.

Leon got rid of his shirt as well, and finally, when he got closer to you, he got rid of his pants and his boxers as well.

You gasped when you felt his hard cock against you. He chuckled, leaving kisses along your back and your shoulders. His fingertips wandered all over your body, bringing his index finger down your spine, stopping where your hands were cuffed, grabbing the handcuffs with his hand now, he positioned himself on your entrance.

"Fuck, you're tight" he groaned, throwing his head back for a moment.

His free hand rested on your waist, and he began to thrust into you. Slowly, savoring every part of you, letting you get used to his length--even if it wasn't your first time with him.

You began to grind your hips against him, letting him know you were ready for more, and he picked up on the signal quickly.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He began thrusting deeper this time, hearing your sweet cries of pleasure each time he reached your spot. He had your body memorized, every single part of you.

He could only concentrate on the swaying of his hips, wet, messy sounds filling the room you both shared. You were careless of being heard by anyone at this point, too blinded by the pleasure of his balls slapping your cunt frenetically.

Even if your body looked so fragile, so tired and so worn out after that first orgasm, the truth is that you only wanted more and more from him. You couldn't care if your legs were about to give out, if your muscles were now sore--it wasn't enough. You needed him.

"Fucking hell, baby" his voice cracked when your walls clenched around him, his sloppy thrusts driving you crazier now "You love this, huh? You like me fucking you from behind, huh? Makes you feel like a naughty girl, right?"

"Fuck, yes!" you screamed in pleasure, closing your eyes to concentrate on just the feeling of his cock deep inside you, "harder, Leon!"

"Is that an order, little one?" he chuckled, his face now close to your ear, bringing your body close to his, pushing the handcuffs towards him, "I'm the one in charge here, remember?"

It didn't take him too long to turn his deep thrusts into irregular, sloppy ones. He couldn't help it: you felt so good clenching around him he couldn't contain himself any longer. Plus, it had been a while since he had some alone time with you, so he was aching to feel you finally.

"Goddamn, baby" he groaned, "Look at how you're moving, you just love this, don't you?"

You could barely talk at that point. The only thought in your mind was him, there was no room for anything that wasn't him.

You kept moving your hips against his so you could help him reach his orgasm at the same time, and he just kept going, drilling your pussy until he started to give in into the pleasure he was feeling.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum" You felt his cock throbbing inside you, as you clenched around him unconciously, as you reached your second orgasm of the night, feeling how he was getting close too, "I'm gonna cum, baby, are you close?"

"Yeah!" you whined out, "Cum in me, Leon, fuck!"

"Such a good girl f'me, fuck!" he leaned his head against your shoulder, his strong arms hugging you from behind as he thrusted again and again.

With sweat covering the both of you now, you felt him reach his orgasm, followed by you seconds after. You whined out his name, as he could only try to recover his breath, mouth opened and eyes shut, resting his head on your back, still hugging you through your orgasm.

He left a shy kiss on your shoulder, while trying to clear his throat to talk to you. His hands were still on your body, this time on your lower stomach, trying to calm you down after that orgasm.

You finally felt your hands free from the grip of those damned handcuffs. Leon kept you from falling by grabbing you again, pulling you towards him and turning to look at you.

"I wanted to try this for so long" he joked. In fact, he was saying the truth, but he laughed at what he just said, "You okay, baby?"

"Yeah, that was...amazing" you tried to recover your breath, feeling how he kissed your forehead, "You really liked to hear that name, huh?"

He chuckled at your words. He kinda realized he had a kink for you calling him Officer Kennedy...and he really liked to act like he was a cop.

"You know...we could do this again if you'd like"

Perhaps your nosiness wasn't so bad after all.

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