#ill draw him right some other time

[x49z]

I don't remember what Phillip looks like

[inkats]

Happy new year to the 7 other mysme fans

(no glasses and no gradient map under cut cause i couldn't choose)

[marcmorrigan]

i finished the duel monsters dub for the first time ever last night (!!!) so i figured i oughta lock down my faces for the aibous... what a show, man

[crescentfool]

ohh the joy of videos and streams... i like listening to people talk about things they like/think about it’s very contagious... 🥺

[rogueddie]

"Something is really wrong with Steve," Robin says.

The party look up, startled. They wait for her to continue, but she starts pacing nervously. It immediately sets the kids on edge, glancing at each other uneasy.

"What do you mean?" Dustin eventually speaks up. "Is he... ill?"

"No, no, it's... his parents came home, right?"

"Yeah, we know," Max snorts. "Dustins mom had to ban him from the house because he wouldn't leave."

"He can't avoid them forever," Dustin points out. "I get that it's hard to talk to them when you have to lie all the time but they're, like, paying for all his shit."

"No they aren't!" Robins voice cracks. "They cut him off years ago! Dude, he hates them and now he's writing up a resignation letter so he can go work for his dad."

"Why is that a bad thing?" El asks, eyes a little wide.

"He'd have to train for a few months in New York for one."

"New York?!" All of them burst out. They all try to speak at once, loud and panicked. They're so loud that Hopper bursts out, confused and tired and panicked.

"What the hell is going on?" He snaps.

The kids all look a little guilty. El stands up so he looks at her. "We are worried about Steve."

"What? Jeez, that's what you're yelling about?"

"He's moving away!" Mike snaps. "To New York! For months!"

Hopper frowns at him like he's not making sense. "New York?"

"To work with his dad," Robin adds. "I didn't know if I should talk him out-"

"They're back?" Hopper asks. He's gone still, voice devoid of emotion and dangerously calm. "How long?"

"A month? Maybe more, it-"

"And they're home now? Do you know if Steve is there with them? It's not one of his shifts, is it? That'd make it easier."

"What? No, he's home. Make what easier?"

Hopper ignores the question, grabbing his coat and shoes. "Stay here, I won't be long."

He ignores the questions that grow frantic and panicked when he picks up his gun, stomping out the door at a fast pace. Robin is yelling from the door as he climbs into his car. She's too taken aback to even begin to think of how to answer to avalanche of questions the kids throw at her.

Hopper gets to the Harrington house in record time, having sped just a little to get there. Mrs Harrington is the one who opens the door and looks a little guilty when she sees him.

"Where is he?" Hopper asks.

She steps back, letting him in. "In his room."

Hopper pushes past her, taking the stairs two at a time. Steve is sat at his desk when he enters the room without knocking, head snapping up and looking startled. He looks a little ashamed when he realizes that it's Hopper.

"Hop," Steves voice is strained. He frowns when Hopper ignores him, pulling his closet open. "Uh, Hopper? What are you doing?"

"Taking you home," Hopper mutters. He pulls out the three bags he knows Steve has been keeping hidden, just in case. "Come on, pack up."

"I can't just-"

"Yes you can. Pack. Up."

Steve only hesitates for a moment. He slowly fills up one with his few sentimental things and some things he considers important (his scoops uniform, the drawings from Will). Hopper stuffs the other two with clothes. It doesn't take them long.

"I'll come back for the rest, if you want any of it," Hopper hands Steve his car keys, waving him toward the stairs. "Wait in the car. I'll be a minute."

Steve hesitates at the door, glancing between Hopper and his mom. He leaves though, doesn't say goodbye.

"Right, here's what's going to happen; I'm going to come back for the rest of his things. I've seen that room, I'll know if somethings missing. And that shit is his, don't try to bullshit me." Hopper eyes her with visible distaste. "He's an adult now. You can't take him back and if I hear that either of you've been trying to harass him again, I'll press charges."

She nods, which is enough of an answer for him. He throws the two bags in the back with the third before climbing in the drivers seat. The air is thick with tension as he pulls out the drive, starting the drive back to the cabin.

"Um... could you, uh, drop me off at the trailer park?" Steve asks, quiet and timid in a way that is horribly familiar to Hopper. "I, uh... I need to see Eddie."

Hopper grunts. He grits his teeth to stop himself snapping. It wouldn't be fair on Steve. So he drives him there, quiet and tense.

"Thanks," Steve mumbles.

But Hopper climbs out too, gently grabbing Steves jacket lapels to drag him over to the Munsons trailer. Hopper knocks.

"Oh," Waynes eyebrows raise. He looks Hopper up and down before turning his eyes on Steve, who he gives a soft smile. "Harrington, you doing alright?"

"No," Hopper answers for him. "Could we come in for a moment?"

"Sure?" Wayne shuffles out the way, shutting the door behind them. "Eddie's in his room, if you want me to get him?"

"You want your boy to see?" Hopper asks Steve.

Steve ducks his head, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. He mutters, "he probably will anyway."

"Ok. Do you want him here for this?"

"Here for what?" Eddie asks, hovering in the doorway, worried. "What's happened?"

"Nothing," Steve tries to say. "It's... really, it's nothing."

"Steve," Hopper calmly says. Waits for Steve to look back at him, simply raises an eyebrow. "Where?"

"Hopper, it's fine, really."

"Where?"

Steve tries to stare him down, unsuccessfully. He huffs, annoyed, glancing at Wayne and Eddie who, understandably, look confused.

He slowly takes his jacket off, keeping his eyes on the floor. There's a sharp intake of breath when the dark, almost black, bruises on his arms are revealed. They litter the entirety of both arms, the ones around his left wrist and right bicep standing out the most- the ones shaped like hands.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, walking forward slowly. He's careful, brushing his fingers against his skin. "Oh, baby, who did this?"

"It's fine," Steve tries to insist.

Hopper clears his throat though. "Where else?"

Steve doesn't try to argue this time. He grabs the back of his collar, lifting his top off. His ribs have the worst of his bruises.

"Fuck," Eddie carefully, gently, pulls Steve into a hug. Presses gentle, ever so soft kisses to his neck. His hand is just as gentle when he rubs his back. Steve clings to him, grip looking almost painful, but Eddie doesn't complain.

Hopper turns to Wayne, who is also pointedly looking away so the two can have their moment. "His parents are gonna try to find him. Direct them to me if they try here."

"Don't worry about Steve," Wayne glances at the pair, still wrapped around each other, at the bruises. "Worry about them. If they try to come by here, they'll be leaving in a body bag. I'm sick of assholes treating my kids like this."

Hopper looks over at Eddie, who's pulling back so he can hold Steves face, eyes painfully understanding. He nods at Wayne, pats his shoulder. "I'm getting the rest of his stuff, he's got no reason to go back there. It's my cabin he's coming home to."

"I'll drive him there myself," Wayne glances at the pair, who think they're being subtle and sneaky as they giggle their way towards Eddies room. "Tomorrow."

Hopper chuckles, glancing towards the hall the two disappeared down. "Tomorrow."

[aerynwrites]

Remember

Halsin x gn!Reader

A/N: thank you for the request @sabersandsnipers! I had so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoy! See the request here.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: kissing, love confessions, miscommunication, drunk reader, drunk confessions, morning hangovers/blurry memory, Halsin being a gentleman 🥰

The campfire burns brightly in the night, heating your already heated cheeks.

You all finally came across some good wine, pilfered from a wine cellar in a small abandoned town. Astarion practically melted as he read the labels. Practically glaring at you when you asked him what was so special.

“These are vintage darling. Practically liquid gold compared to the piss we’ve been drinking.”

Your other companions had happily helped tote crates of the stuff back to camp then, excited to finally indulge in the best, for once.

And it is the best. The best you’ve ever had for sure. At least in recent memory.

The wine is rich and decadent, passing your lips without that unpleasant burn the cheap stuff gives. It’s sweet and slides down easily - maybe a little too easily.

It turns your brain to figurative mush, your limbs starting to feel heavy despite the uncontrollable giggles slipping past your lips as Karlach acts out another one of her battle stories.

Your inhibitions have started to slip, especially those tied to your tongue. Because along with your giggles you’re unable to stop your flirtatious rambling to the druid sitting beside you at the fire. He is also taking part in the festivities, albeit more cautiously, only having had a single glass to your…

Well…you don’t know how many.

Another giggle slips past your lips as you lean into the man at your side, watching as Karlach flops down onto the ground in a reenactment of her downing an enemy. Wyll goes to help her up but is also unsteady on his feet and soon joins her in the dirt, both of them howling in laughter.

Halsin lets out a laugh of his own at their antics and you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your numb lips.

“I like your laugh,” you say, turning to look up at Halsin.

The man is taller than you even sitting down, so when he looks down to you, pieces of his hair fall forward into his face.

“My laugh?” He asks, a smile splitting his lips as he most likely finds enjoyment in your inebriated state.

You nod, leaning forward once more to rest your forehead against his chest, abandoning your goblet in favor of wrapping the man in a weak embrace.

“I just like you,” your words are slurred as you slump more into the larger man’s embrace. “And you smell good.”

Halsins chest rumbles with laughter beneath your cheek and it just further adds to the buzzing beneath your skin, even more so when you feel his hands grasp your arms gently.

Yet another thing you notice about him. His hands are calloused, roughened with years of using a weapon and tending the land and communing with nature. But he’s so…gentle. His smile, his words, his laugh, his entire being just screams safety.

It’s what draws you to him no matter how much you try to stay away. Which isn’t very much considering he has slowly started to reciprocate your attraction.

At least…you hope.

“I think it’s high time for you to get some rest,” Halsin says, moving to stand from his seat and guide you to do the same.

“What?” You ask, the world spinning slightly as you get to your feet. “But I’m having fun!”

The words are slurred as Halsin slips an arm around around your waist to steady you, slowly leading you away from the fire. You don’t miss the various whistles and hoots from your other companions as he does so.

Halsin smiles, not that you see it as you focus on putting one foot in front of the other as he leads you.

“I know you were, but it will be an ill-fated day tomorrow if you continue to drink.”

Despite your drunken state you recognize the wisdom in his words.

“You’re probably right, but -“ you pause as you struggle to take in your surroundings before you realize you’re being led away from your tent.

“Wait, my tent is that way,” you emphasize by pointing a staggering finger in the vague direction of your tent, a movement that causes your feet to twist up beneath you.

You would have fallen if it weren’t for the druid at your side stopping to catch you before opting to lift you into his arms instead.

“I know where your tent is located, but my tent is far closer.”

You hum in response, your head lolling backwards, eyes meeting the stars above you.

“I can walk, you know.”

Halsin laughs at this, shifting to support your head as he draws closer to his tent. “Your earlier attempts would disprove that statement.”

You pout your lip at him as he finally ducks into his tent. “You’re mean,” you say plainly.

“I apologize, little one.”

His words hold little apology but you don’t point it out as he finally lowers you to your feet, helping as you try to steady yourself. Only when he pulls away do you finally look up at him, and you take the moment of silence to take in the man before you.

He’s still smiling down at you, all while watching to make sure you keep your feet. His brows furrow slightly with every uneasy shift of your body, his hands tightening where they rest on your hips.

Without thinking you reach up, placing uncoordinated fingers against the scars that run over his brow. He stills at this, eyes widening for a moment before fluttering closed as you trail your fingers down. Your hand cups his cheek now, thumb running over where the scar ends just below his lips.

Lips you want nothing more than to kiss right now.

His eyes open then, as if sensing your questioning stare. You’ve both drifted closer to one another during this silent moment, your chests brushing together as you look up at him.

“Halsin?”

“Yes, my heart?”

Your breath stutters in your chest at the new nickname, and you can smell the faint scent of wine on his breath as he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?”

The words fall into silence, and you can practically feel the tension in the air dissipate as Halsin’s eyes close tightly, a sigh falling from his lips as he steps away from you slightly.

Your drunken mind moves before he speaks, making you stumble over your words.

“Oh that’s - I understand. I shouldn’t have asked, that was - I’m sorry I-“

Before you can ramble any further, Halsin has your face cradled in his hands, green eyes capturing your own.

“You misunderstand,” he tells you, thumbs brushing your cheek bones lightly. “I have wanted to kiss you, to touch you for longer than you can imagine,” he admits, eyes softening. “But I do not wish for our first kiss, our first coming together to be in the midst of a wine induced haze.”

He smiles.

“I want you to remember this, and I’m afraid in this state, you may wake tomorrow with no memory of tonight.” He moves to push a stray piece of hair from your face as one hand settles at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I do not want to lose a moment with you.”

His words ease the anxiety roiling in your belly, and you find it in you to nod. The sentiment increases the heat in your cheeks once again.

Halsin smiles at your ascent, and gently leads you to bed. His bed roll is set up on top of a pile of furs which cradle your body perfectly where you all but flop onto it. Your earlier statement of not being tired is quickly erased as your eyelids begin to shut, sleep tugging at your mind as you settle into the soft bed.

The last thing you remember before slumber takes you is the feeling of warm hands trailing your arms before something soft covers you and one brief thought.

He feels the same.

——————

A pounding headache is what eventually wakes you from your slumber. Your mouth is dry, tongue laying thick in your mouth as you try and fail to swallow and wet your mouth. Your eyelids feel filled with sand as you peel them open, only to be met with darkness. The only light is from the sun seeping into the tent in thin slivers from the slightly parted tent flap.

You notice multiple things at once. First being that you’re not in your tent, but in Halsins. The second being the smattering of blurry memories from last night.

Oh Gods…I basically threw myself at him!

You remember that vaguely, asking to kiss him, and then the rest is…foggy. You remember him turning you down and then not much else afterwards.

Pushing yourself up on shaky arms you try to take in your surroundings, letting out a small sigh when you see Halsin isn’t in the tent with you. You can avoid embarrassment just a little longer, at least.

You quickly grab your shoes that you see at the end of the bedroll and after making sure the coast is clear you make your way across camp in the early morning light to your own tent.

The next few hours pass in a blur if periodic sleep and the eventuality of the camp stirring to life around you. A rude reminder that you can’t avoid a certain druid forever.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Karlach's voice pierces the air as she pokes her head into your tent. “Can you take firewood duty? We’re running low.”

You nod quickly. You might not be able to avoid the inevitable but…maybe a little longer.

————

The woods are quiet, this time of day, morning starting to give way to midday as you wander through the trees, gathering suitable logs for camp.

However, the tranquility of nature gives your mind time to wander back to last night, desperately trying to force memories to light. But no matter how hard you try, nothing new comes to light. Just you embarrassing yourself in front of the man who’s captured your affections.

You sigh, before gasping as the toe of your boot catches on an exposed root, your thoughts distracting you from your surroundings. The wood in your arms teeters precariously and just about falls to the forest floor before you feel two strong hands steady you.

“You look as if you could use some help,” a familiar voice says, and your stomach flips as Halsin comes to stand in front of you, smiling down at you. “Here.”

He reaches out to take the wood from you before you can protest, the pile that nearly filled your arms looking tiny against his larger frame.

You want to become defensive, but stop yourself before you can snap. Your anger is misdirected to him when you’re really upset with yourself.

You give the man a small smile. “Thank you,” you say before gesturing back towards camp. “I think that should be enough for now, we can head back.”

Halsin just nods before moving in step beside you as you both make the short trek back to camp. Neither of you speak at first - you too anxious to bring anything up and Halsin is probably too polite to do the same.

At least you thought.

“You were gone from my tent when I arrive back from a hunt this morning,” he says simply. An observation. Yet it feels like an accusation, or at least a question. But you almost feel like you can hear…disappointment in his words. Hurt.

You don’t look at him, embarrassment blooming in your chest again. You shrug. “I just…figured I’d save us both the awkward embarrassment.”

You’re at the edge of camp now, and you stop next to the dwindling wood pile and start unloading pieces from Halsin arms onto the ground.

“I’m sorry about last night,” you finally say, avoiding his gaze still. “I shouldn’t have drank so much and I definitely shouldn’t have put you on the spot and I just thought that if I left this morning it would save you from having to turn me down again and-“

The last piece of wood falls from your hands as you fumble over your words, but a steadying hand quickly reaches out to grab your own before you can move to pick it up again.

Finally, you turn to look at Halsin, and you’re taken aback to see…amusement twinkling In his eyes, his lips tugging up into a small grin.

“So you do not remember last night?” He asks, head tilting to the side slightly.

You shake your head, frowning. “I mean I don’t - I remember some of it. I remember asking to - to kiss you…” you cringe slightly at the hazy memory. “And then I remember you pulling away and-“

Before you can ramble any further, callused hands cup your cheeks and soft lips capture your own.

A memory comes to you then, as if Halsins touch alone makes it resurface. You remember what you thought was his rejection, then his confession, then his kind words after.

“I want you to remember this.”

He didn’t reject you. He returns your affections, and has for some time now it seems.

You finally kiss him back, your hands falling to his waist and gripping the fabric of his shirt in your hands. He pulls you closer then, lips moving against yours in a way that screams desperation. He’s been holding back for so long, and so have you.

But not anymore.

Yet he pulls away all too soon, leaving you breathless and wide eyed as you look up at him, still gripping onto him as if you’re afraid he’ll disappear if he steps away.

“I don’t think I could have forgotten a kiss like that,” you say, voice soft.

Halsin laughs, a quiet chuckle as his thumb runs soothingly over your cheekbone.

“I will not forget this moment either,” he assures. “But I did not want to risk losing it to the haze of last evening. These things are better enjoyed with a clear mind.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the seriousness of his words. “You’re not wrong in that,” you say, reaching up to trace gentle fingers over the scars on his brow.

Another memory flickers to mind and you smile as you watch Halsins eyes flutter closed, just like they did last night.

“Halsin,” his name is a whisper on your lips.

He smiles, eyes blinking open once more. “Yes, my heart?”

Gods that nickname.

“Can I kiss you?”

He pulls you closer, nose brushing your own. “You never have to ask, little one. My heart is yours.”

And then his lips are on yours again, and you're silently glad he made you wait. Because he was right.

You don’t want to lose a moment with him, either.

[yuutx]

ೀ ׅ ۫ . 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ? (𝒮𝒞𝒜𝑅𝒜𝑀𝒪𝒰𝒞𝐻𝐸)

nerdy! subby! scaramouche x f!reader ﾉ 18+ content. ﾉ nsfw ﾉ modern au / highschool au ﾉ blowjob ﾉ anal fingering ﾉ handjob ﾉ begging ﾉ slight nipple playﾉ public sex (sex in school) ﾉ teasing ﾉ slight degradation ﾉ msub+ fdomﾉ not proofread ! ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

i feel like i havent written a subby work in ages . . eeeee i actually rlly missed it ! alsooo, feel free 2 send sum thirsts / fluff prompts in 'n ill be happi 2 write 'em ! art credits go to @majunju ! ♡ + ↻ are rlly appreciated ! !

It was the third time you had been late this week, the bell signaling the end of class, and you hurried to gather your belongings, hoping you could slip out before anyone noticed. It had become a routine. Sneaking off campus, ditching your friends, ditching your responsibilities, ditching everything, just to have some time alone with him. The teacher droned on, the man's voice fading into the background, the only thing you could focus on was him. You hadn't meant to get attached. He had been a distraction, someone to take the edge off, a quick fuck. He was easy, a pushover, and yet… he was quickly becoming an addiction. His personality, his interests, the way his glasses sat crooked on his nose, the way his lips felt against your own, the way he sounded, the way he looked, the way he begged. Everything about him had become something you couldn't live without. And he was a nerd. A bookworm. A straight A student. You had never expected him to have a sexual side. You had never expected him to be this needy. This clingy. This submissive. He was an enigma.

"Alright. Class dismissed."

The words echoed throughout the classroom, and you snapped to attention, your gaze snapping to him. He was still seated, his head bent, his gaze fixed on the black, hardback notebook in front of him. You could make out the doodles that littered the page, little hearts and stars and random drawings that made no sense, along with a few scribbled out sentences. Ink scattered across the page, covering the surface, his name in the bottom right hand corner, written in a sloppy scrawl. He was hunched over the page, his pen flying across the paper, the scratching sound of the pen filling the silence. The other students filed out of the room, and the teacher followed suit, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving the two of you alone.

He didn't bother looking up, his eyes remaining focused on the paper in front of him, the pen moving furiously, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. What was he working on? It didn't matter. The sight of his tongue peeking out from between his lips was enough to set your body aflame, the memory of his tongue between your thighs sending a wave of arousal through you. It was a miracle you were able to focus during the lesson. His hand stilled, his shoulders tense, and he dropped his pen, his hands coming up to grip the sides of his head, a frustrated groan leaving him.

"Hey, baby." You greeted, a small smirk tugging at the edges of your lips. He stiffened, his hands dropping, and he slowly turned to look at you, his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide. You took the opportunity to make your way over, sliding into the seat beside him, leaning forward, your breath fanning against the side of his neck, your teeth grazing the shell of his ear. "What's got you so worked up?" You questioned, and his gaze darted away, his face reddening even further. You had learned fairly quickly that he was shy, especially when it came to talking about his emotions. He was easy to read, and it was a quality that you absolutely loved. It was a refreshing change of pace. You weren't used to dealing with guys like him. You were used to assholes, narcissists, closed off pricks who thought they could walk all over you. Not him. No, he was a good boy. A sweet, loving, doting, obedient, good boy.

"Nothing." He muttered, averting his gaze, and you frowned, your hand reaching out, fingers hooking under his chin, tilting his head, forcing him to look at you. His eyes darted down, avoiding your gaze, and you huffed.

"Look at me." You ordered, and he obeyed, his eyes flitting up, locking onto your own. Your thumb grazed his bottom lip, and he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands clenching the edge of the table. "What's wrong, baby?" You asked again, your voice softer, and he bit his lip, his gaze dropping again, his head shaking, his eyes screwing shut. You may not be his official girlfriend, but you still cared. It wasn't like you were fucking around with anyone else, and you knew he would never be able to get a girlfriend. He was too sweet, too innocent. But you were okay with that. You didn't want to share him with anyone else. You were content with the fact that he was all yours. And he was happy with the fact that he had you.

"I'm stuck.. With my story." He mumbled, his gaze shifting, his eyes darting around the room, as if looking for a way to escape. "I don't know what to write." He admitted, his voice lowering even further, and you hummed. "I need.. inspiration.. I can't think." He continued, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

"..Inspiration, huh? I think I can help you with that." You teased, and he blinked, his eyebrows furrowing, a frown tugging at his lips. You didn't give him a chance to respond, your hands moving, sliding up the sides of his thighs, slipping underneath his sweater, the tips of your fingers brushing the warm, smooth skin of his stomach, a low, pleased hum leaving you. He gasped, his hands darting up, gripping your wrists, his eyes widening.

"W-what are you doing?" He stammered, and you smirked, leaning forward, your lips brushing against his own, the tip of your tongue poking out, running along his bottom lip. He shivered, his eyes falling shut, his grip on your wrists loosening, a low whine leaving him. "Here?" He questioned, his voice low, a hint of panic lacing his tone.

"Mm, why not? You need some ideas, don't you?" You whispered, and he swallowed, a shaky sigh leaving him, his head nodding, his hands moving from your wrists, his palms resting against the table, fingers curling around the edge, his knuckles turning white. Your hand slid down, the tips of your fingers teasing the waistband of his pants, his cock straining against the fabric, the outline of his erection visible through the tight material. He shuddered, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, his hips lifting, pressing against your hand. You hummed, your fingers hooking around the waistband, tugging it down, his cock springing free, slapping against his stomach. He hissed, his grip on the table tightening, his gaze darting around the room.

"What if someone comes in? What if the teacher comes back?" He fretted, his eyebrows furrowing, his eyes darting towards the door. You chuckled, your hand wrapping around his cock, giving him a firm stroke, a strangled moan leaving him. "Then you better stay quiet, and be a good boy for me." You purred, and he nodded, his chest heaving, his mouth hanging open, a whimper leaving him. Your eyes shifted, your gaze locking onto his face, and you grinned, a soft sigh leaving you. He looked amazing. His eyes were closed, his eyebrows furrowed, a deep flush coloring his cheeks, his mouth hanging open, a trail of drool trickling down the side of his chin. He looked absolutely ruined, and you hadn't even done anything yet. The sight was enough to make you weak in the knees. You were sure he was going to be the death of you. "Awww.. You're already a mess, and I've barely even touched you." You cooed, and he whined in response, his hips jerking, thrusting into your hand.

You clicked your tongue, releasing your hold on him, his hips halting, a whine leaving him, his head falling, his forehead thumping against the table, a pout forming on his face. "Why'd you stop?" He questioned, his voice muffled, his head turning, his cheek pressing against the table, his eyes fluttering open, locking onto your own. He looked positively pathetic, his cock standing proud, throbbing, a bead of precum trickling down the side. "Beg for it." You ordered, your hands coming up, resting on your thighs, your lips curling into a smirk. He blinked, his eyes widening, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips, his head shaking. "No, please.." He pleaded, and you tutted, your hand shooting out, tangling in his hair, pulling his head up, a gasp leaving him. "Beg. Be a good boy, and beg for it. Do you want me to leave? Do you not wanna cum? Hm?" You taunted, and he shook his head, his hands moving, gripping your thighs, his head falling forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He shook his head, a shaky whimper leaving him.

"No! Please! Please, I'll be good. I'll be a good boy. I need it." He begged, his hands sliding up, clutching the front of your shirt, tugging at the fabric. "I-I'm sorry, I'll be a good boy.. I wanna cum.. Please." He cried, and you nodded, your hands reaching out, grabbing his waist, flipping him around, his back hitting the table. He squeaked, his hands darting up, his palms pressing flat against the table. You smirked, your hands pushing his legs apart, and he shuddered, his cock throbbing, another bead of precum oozing out. His glasses were knocked askew, and he blinked, his hands raising, his fingers curling around the arms, his eyes darting around the room. "Wait, my glasses-" He started, and you scoffed, grabbing the hem of his sweater, yanking it up, shoving the fabric in his mouth. His hands came up, and you tutted, grabbing his wrists, pinning them to the table, your lips pressing against his throat. He groaned, his hips lifting, and you shook your head. "Don't move." You hissed, and he nodded, his head dropping back, his eyes fluttering shut.

You grabbed ahold of his garments, tugging his pants and underwear down, tossing the clothes aside, your eyes locking onto his cock. You hummed, your teeth grazing the smooth, flawless skin of his neck, a shiver wracking his frame. "I'm gonna make you feel so good, baby. Just relax, okay?" You whispered, and he nodded, his back arching, his breath hitching. "Mmhm." He moaned, his mouth stuffed full of material, his perky, pink buds on display. Your hands skimmed the insides of his thighs, goosebumps littering his skin, his body quivering beneath your touch. His thighs trembled, and you chuckled, your lips brushing against his pulse point. "You're so sensitive." You commented, and he whimpered, his head turning, his hands curling into fists, his chest heaving. "Relax, baby. I got you." You purred, and he relaxed, his muscles uncoiling, his limbs going limp. You leaned back, taking in the sight, and he whined, his head lolling to the side, his eyes opening, his gaze locking onto yours. Your hand reached out, grasping his cock, his hips twitching, a muffled groan leaving him, his hands flying up, covering his face. You hummed, pumping his shaft, your other hand reaching out, tweaking his nipple, a muffled moan leaving him. You grinned, your teeth grazing his throat, the sound of his soft whimpers echoing throughout the room, filling your ears.

Precum was steadily oozing out of the tip, coating the sides of his cock, and you swiped your thumb across the head, spreading the slick liquid, gathering it on your fingers and poking at the rim of his hole with your digits. He tensed, his breath hitching, and you pressed your finger inside, his muscles clamping around you. You chuckled, the sound muffled against his skin, your teeth scraping his throat, and he sighed, his hands coming up, tangling in your hair, his thighs quivering. "I-I can't-" He started, his voice muffled by the sweater, and you hushed him, pressing a kiss to his pulse point, your tongue darting out, laving the side of his neck. He sighed, his grip on your hair loosening, and you slipped a second finger inside, the muscles tightening around the intrusion, squeezing you. "O-ohh..oh fuck.. fuck-!!" He moaned, his body quivering, a shudder wracking his frame. You curled your fingers, searching for the bundle of nerves, his thighs clamping around your hand, a muffled shout leaving him. "Mmph, oh my- ah, yes, fuck, there, right there!" He cried, and you smirked, brushing against his prostate, a sob leaving him, his eyes rolling back, his head thumping against the table, his back arching.

It seemed that he had forgotten about keeping quiet, his loud, lewd moans and whimpers filling the room, his hips bucking, thrusting into your hand, fucking himself on your fingers. "F-fuck, please- I'm so close, fuck, oh, yes, I'm- I'm gonna-" He gasped, his eyes opening, a low whine leaving him. "Please, please, fuck, please.." He screamed, his cock throbbing, his entire body trembling. "C-can't take i-it an-anymore, please, p-please let me c-cum- I need to- n-need to-!"

Your tongue poked out, dragging across the expanse of his cock, your fingers still continuing their ministrations, entering and leaving plump, swollen, pink hole, his insides clamping around you, his thighs quaking. You grinned, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, your hand moving, grasping the base, your mouth sinking lower, taking him down to the hilt, his tip nudging the back of your throat. His thighs slammed together, a loud, drawn out wail leaving him, his hand shooting up, burying in your hair, pulling you down, forcing you to take him down to the base. You gagged, his cock pulsing, and his mouth opened, his tongue lolling out, drool trickling down the sides of his mouth, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, his entire body going rigid. "G-gonna-!" He whimpered, his hands tightening in your hair, his hips jerking, his back arching, his toes curling, his eyes screwing shut. "I-I-!! Fuck, fuck,, fu-ck-!! Cumming-!" He moaned, his body spasming and convulsing, a true vision of pure bliss displayed before you. A steady, thick, hot stream of cum erupted from his cock, shooting down the back of your throat, and you swallowed around him, your head bobbing, your tongue swirling around his member. He sobbed, his head thrashing from side to side, his cock spasming, his hips thrusting, fucking into your mouth. His orgasm continued, a steady, consistent flow of cum flowing down the back of your throat, his release filling you up, his taste exploding on your tongue.

His grip on your hair loosened, his hands falling away, landing on the table with a loud thud, his arms falling limp. Your mouth left his cock with a wet pop, and your fingers pulled out, leaving him gaping and empty. His eyes opened, and he panted, his chest heaving, his gaze unfocused. His head turned, and his eyes locked onto your own, a low, content moan leaving him. His gaze was half lidded, his eyes filled with nothing but pure, undeniable lust. His hand raised, his arm falling over his eyes, and he groaned.

"I hope that gave you enough inspiration for your little story, sweetheart."

[kimis-gloves]

sour - charles leclerc

word count : 780 - oneshot

hehe a lil charlie smut>:)

warnings: morning sex, dirty talk, petnames, if you squint very hard then angst?? but not rlly, softdom!charles, slight degrading, post/pre shower sex.

as early in the morning as it was, you hear Charles turning on the shower, humming whatever song he has stuck in his head from the never ending party you two went to last night. through your raging headache, you miss the warmth of your boyfriend so you stumble your way into the connecting bathroom, still in his hoodie that you managed to change into at 4:30 in the morning. Charles, already in the shower, washing off the sticky champagne & sweat. Coming p2 in Australia was something to be proud of, but he didnt feel proud. he hoped to do better next time as he hears y/n stumble her way into the bathroom, quickly going for a pee before speaking to charles through the glass doors.

“Good morning charles, ill start us some coffee”

“Thank you my love”

as you head out to make charles his favourite way of coffee, he finishes his shower and steps out to dry himself off and thats when you walk back in, coffees in hand. he looks absolutely amazing like this. hes stood infront of the large window, in nothing but a towel. the water beading off of him and dripping out of his hair. you set down the coffees and make your way towards the drool worthy man thats infront of you. you wrap your arms around his shoulders as you leave soft and wet kisses along his jawline. already being in somewhat of a sour mood, charles doesn’t appreciate your teasing and takes things into his own hands as he quickly grabs you by your hips and bends you over the counter top, almost knocking off the now close to cold coffees.

“Char-“

“A-Ah, no talking cherie, just let me take care of you right now~”

and with that you did. quickly shutting up for him as you let the man take however much control he desired from you. you thank him for any type of touch that he gives you. he goes to quickly pull down your panties, when he realizes you dont even have any on.

“What a dirty girl you are cherie.. no panties and already dripping out of your cunt like this? My my, im not sure what i should do with such a whore like you.”

he aggressively puts a hold into your hair and pulls you up to be face close to charles, breathing rapidly as he whispers,

“dont move, dont make a sound or else you will regret it. listen as i say and you wont have to suffer, am i clear darling?”

“Yes c-Charles” you say with a whine

“Hm, i dont think i was” he mutters, slowly sliding his tip along your slick-coated pussy. you whine again when he quickly smacks the side of your thigh “No noise, slut” he growls before shoving his 2 fingers into your mouth, allowing you to lick and spit on them. pulling them out and away from your mouth he instead inserts them both into your cunt.

fighting back moans, you clench your walls around charles’ fingers, letting him know how much you want to be filled his his cock.

“mon amour you feel so good, i cant wait to fill you with my cum.” he grumbled into your ear as he finally inserts his cock into your aching cunt, he bottoms out with a low hum into your ear. he slowly grinds into your pussy, drawing out lewd sounds from both of you. both you and Charles have given up on trying to keep you quiet as he just gets completely lost into your body. he sets a firm & steady pace, nearly knocking you out as he suddenly slams into you, the noise that leaves both your and his mouth is something that belongs in a porno. he wraps around your torso, one hand grabbing and pinching onto your nipple and the other reaching down to your throbbing clit. the sudden sensation is enough to set you over and soon enough you find yourself cumming all over his cock and fingers, him quickly following after as the tight & wet feeling on his cock is just too good not to cum from.

slowly pulling out of you, he’s planting kisses all over your body. turning the shower back on as he guides you in, making sure the water is the perfect temperature and that you aren’t going to topple over.

“my love, i should probably go remake these coffees” Charles laughs, placing a kiss onto your temple. as you watch Charles put his clothes on and leave the bathroom, coffees in hand, you couldn’t be more thankful to have such a perfect boyfriend like him.

a/n: i hope u enjoyed❤️ this was just something small. likes & reblogs always appreciated ❤️❤️

[inamagicalhallucination]

fic where 18 yrs old dazai meets 14 yrs old atsushi (right after leaving the mafia ig) and w/o thinking takes him with him and they spend the two years on the run together (dazai becuz anytime he tries to abandon the orphan he picked up w/o thought oda flashes into his mind and ultimately he grows to care for him) (atsushi becuz the weird bandage guy pinkie promised he could ride on one of those trains he's seen in books)

anyway

dazai and atsushi dont look alike or have the same name so the ada picks up they arent related by blood real quick

anytime anyone asks how they met, they honestly answer "i/dazai kidnapped him/me" but everyone thinks its a joke

atsushi wins dazai over gradually, like small moments, small moments of kindness shown for dazai, small moments of seeing atsushi's real non-trauma made personality seeping through , he doesn't even realize it until it hits all at once how much he cares for atsushi

atsushi on the other hand was sold because dazai could make him laugh

//

also sskk where atsushi takes his bf to meet his brother and akutagawa and dazai do the spiderman meme

//

also dazai finds out atsushi's ability becuz at some point he comes to their hideout or whatever and a giant tiger is sitting there and before he can even panic it happily jumps at him and boom atsushi

//

in this particular au, dazai lets atsushi doodle anywhere like dazai's bandages and his books becuz its better than having to actually engage with the child and eventually gets atsushi an actual sketchbook and the two spend their time drawing, atsushi's sketches get better dazai's get worse but atsushi sometimes thinks its becuz dazai's silly and scary sketches make him laugh

//

there has to be a scene where someone asks atsushi what he's doing here, after dazai's joined the ada, and atsushi's like "im here w/ my brother" and looks at dazai, sees him poorly flirting w/ kunikida and irritating him and gets so much second hand embarrassment he points at ranpo instead

//

atsushi knows dazai was in the mafia but he thinks double black was just dazai's cringy ship name for his ex boyfriend

//

okay thats all i can think of now ill add more maybe

[lostfracturess]

【 ꜱʏᴍᴘᴛᴏᴍꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴜꜱᴇꜱ 】 ch. 04

x pairing professor!gojo x med student f!reader (medical au)

x 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.

x wc 7.9 k

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

x author's note has anyone asked for a bit of angst? dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

It had been a week since you had your unconventional date with Gojo. You were back in practical class, relieved that it didn't involve drawing blood like the last time. 

Yuta surely was thankful for that.

Doctor Kento was demonstrating how to perform various types of stitches. You paid close attention, even though you knew most of the stitches by heart. When it was time for the students to try, you picked up the needle and thread, grabbed an orange and began to stitch.

You never learned to suture on fruit before, but it must be easier than working on actual human skin, right?

"Bet I can finish my stitches before all of you," Yuta chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as he expertly threaded his needle.

Maki glanced at him. "You're on, Okkotsu. But don't come crying to me when I beat you."

The two worked with newfound speed, their needles weaving through the orange peel. Yuta finished his line first. "See, what did I tell you?" he said with a smile.

Maki leaned closer to inspect his stitching. "Not bad," she admitted. "But check out your spacing here, Yuta. It's a bit off."

Yuta squinted at his work. "Ah, you're right. Gotta work on that."

"And... done!" you said, holding up your perfectly sutured orange.

Yuta turned to look at your work. "Wow, that's some neat stitching. Makes mine look like child's play."

"Impressive," Toge said.

Maki paused her stitching to glance at your handiwork. "Seriously impressive," she commented. "How'd you get so good?"

You smiled. "I had to learn a few things on my own before university," you explained. "And I guess some practice outside of class helped too."

As you finished your set of stitches, doctor Kento came over to inspect your work. His eyebrows raised as he examined the neat line of sutures. "Excellent work," he said. "And I thought you were a failure in practical class, after the mess you made with the blood withdrawal."

Ouch. 

Why was he always so direct. 

You and your friends were fully engaged in the session, focused on perfecting your suturing techniques. Suddenly, the door opened and professor Gojo entered. He moved towards Kento's desk, as if to retrieve something.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, Gojo's gaze found you across the room. His eyes met yours, and a small smile appeared on his lips. You watched him as he walked over to Kento.

Maki leaned closer to you. "Oh, look, Dr. Handsome graces us with his presence," she said. "Isn't it strange how often he shows up around you?"

"Only strange coincidences," you replied, but Maki's raised eyebrow told you she wasn't entirely convinced.

Gojo finished his brief conversation with Kento and made his way over to your group. The others paused, needles in mid-air, as he approached.

"Hello there." His gaze swept over the group and then rested on you. "I see you're all making good progress with your suturing."

Yuta leaned back in his chair. "We're doing our best, professor. But she over here is putting us all to shame," he said, nodding towards you.

Gojo's smile broadened. "Is that so?"

He walked over to you, a bit too close for the classroom setting. He picked up one of your stitched oranges, turning it over in his hands. "Impressive precision."

"But perhaps a bit basic for your skill level," he added, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he picked up another orange from the table. He pulled a chair up to your table, sitting down close enough that his knee brushed against yours under the table.

"Have you ever tried a subcuticular suture?"

"No, I haven't."

Gojo grabbed an unused needle and thread. "Let me show you."

Your friends gathered around, watching as Gojo skillfully maneuvered the needle through the orange peel. "Subcuticular suturing is an intradermal suture that minimizes scarring. You need a steady hand and some patience to do it."

The needle dipped in and out of the orange peel, leaving a nearly invisible line on the surface. "The key is consistent tension," he explained. "Imagine you're weaving, each pass of the needle equidistant to the last, and the thread tension must be just enough to approximate the edges without puckering the tissue."

Once finished, he held up the orange for everyone to see. "See?"

He tossed another orange towards you. Your caught it just in time. "Your turn," he said.

Gojo leaned further towards you, his leg touching yours under the table. Then you felt a hand resting on your thigh. You jumped slightly and immediately kicked him with your foot under the table.

God, Gojo, keep it professional, at least in class.

He received the message and gave you a quick, sly smile that you hoped would go unnoticed by your friends.

With Gojo still watching closely, you began to work on the orange, trying to mirror the technique he had just demonstrated. The stitch was more complex than you were used to. And it didn't help that Gojo was so close. 

"Angle the needle a bit more... that's it. Now, even tension as you pull through," he said. You were acutely aware of every comment, every slight touch as he pointed out adjustments. 

When you finished, Gojo examined your work, his fingers brushing lightly against your hands as he reached for the orange. "Well done," he said. "You're a quick learner. Or perhaps I'm just a good teacher?"

Sure.

At that moment, Kento approached your table, his gaze lingering on the two of you for a brief second. "Taking over my class, Gojo?"

Gojo straightened, turning to face Kento with a relaxed posture. "Not in the slightest, Kento," he replied. "Only sharing a new technique with the students."

"Well, ensure it doesn't become a regular occurrence," he said. "Managing these students is challenging enough. I don't need any additional burdens."

"Understood, Kento," Gojo said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I'll leave the teaching to the experts, then."

He turned his attention back to you and your friends. "Keep practicing, students," he said, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. As Gojo moved to leave the classroom, he cast one last glance in your direction, his smile lingering.

After he left, Maki leaned closer to you, a suspicious look in her eyes. "You know, he looks at you a bit too long to be just your research partner," she observed in a low voice.

Your stomach fluttered. "Does he?"

Maki leaned back, her eyes studying you closely. "Yeah, It's pretty obvious."

You hesitated, searching for the right words. "We've just gotten to know each other better recently. That's all."

"Uh huh," Maki replied. "Just be careful, okay? He's your professor, after all."

The conversation came to an abrupt halt as Kento redirected the class's attention to the front.

─── ·✧· ───

Later that day, the campus was bathed in warm sunlight, the air filled with the chatter and laughter of students enjoying a break between classes. You were sprawled out on a blanket in the grass with your friends, Toge, Maki, and Yuta, basking in the pleasant warmth of the early afternoon sun.

The breeze, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and freshly cut grass, rustled through the leaves of the trees. Birds high above scurried and chirped. The world seemed to slow down for a moment, allowing you all to enjoy this brief respite from the university's hustle.

As you lay there, soaking up the sun, your phone buzzed with a new message. Glancing at the screen, you saw Gojo's name. Your stomach fluttered. You sat up, shielding your phone from the sunlight to read the message.

[3:12 PM] Gojo: Why aren't you here?

[3:12 PM] You: Where?

[3:12 PM] Gojo: With me.

[3:13 PM] You: Just done with class.

[3:13 PM] Gojo: Done with class, but not with me. How about we change that?

[3:14 PM] You: Is that an invitation or a challenge?

[3:14 PM] Gojo: Consider it both. I'm at the cafe, and it's missing your presence.

[3:15 PM] You: How tragic. Perhaps, I could be persuaded to change scenery.

[3:15 PM] Gojo: I'm sure I can provide a few persuasive arguments.

[3:16 PM] You: Such as?

[3:16 PM] Gojo: The best coffee on campus, for starters. And, of course, the pleasure of my company.

[3:17 PM] You: Tempting, professor.

[3:17 PM] Gojo: I aim to convince. Join me, and let's see if I can sway your decision further.

[3:18 PM] You: Give me 5 minutes.

[3:18 PM] Gojo: I'll be waiting, first-year.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. Slipping your phone into your pocket, you turned to your friends. "I've got to step out for a bit."

Maki raised an eyebrow. "Mysterious meeting with a certain professor?"

You laughed it off, feeling the warmth of a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Just a coffee break. Nothing to gossip about," you replied, gathering your things.

As you stood up, Maki gave you a knowing look, but she didn't press further. "See you later then," she said with a smile.

You made your way to the campus cafe. The afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the trees that lined the path, casting dappled shadows on the ground. As you approached, you spotted Gojo waiting outside, casually leaning against a wall. His eyes scanned the crowd until they settled on you.

A smile played on his lips as he pushed off the wall and strolled over to you. "I was starting to think you'd ditched me," he teased, his snow-white hair falling loosely across his forehead.

"Ditching my favorite professor? Never," you quipped back, falling into step beside him. Entering the campus cafe, you both queued up to grab coffees.

"So I'm your favorite, huh?" he said. "I'm flattered."

"Well, you do make things more interesting."

"Is that so?" He leaned in slightly closer. "I'm not just an interesting professor, you know."

"Oh?" you responded, your tone feigning innocence. "Pray, enlighten me, professor Gojo."

His lips curved into a sly smile. "Well, that's a conversation for a different setting."

"Such a tease, professor."

The barista called out for the next order. "An americano for me, and whatever she's having," he said to the woman behind the counter, already reaching into his back pocket for his wallet.

"You know I can pay for myself."

He glanced at you. "I know, but I don't want you to."

After picking up your coffees, Gojo guided you through the campus towards its back garden. "Thought we could use a bit of privacy," he said. "Less chance of running into nosy students or colleagues."

As you followed him, the firm pavement turned into a lush, vibrant green carpet of grass and flowers. The garden was in full bloom, with knee-high blossoms exuding a sweet scent that wafted through the air.

Suddenly, he strayed off the path and into the grass. Without a word, he lay down, almost disappearing among the colorful blossoms. He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, gazing up at the cerulean sky.

"You're really just going to lie down there?"

He looked up at you with a relaxed smile. "Why not? It's a beautiful day. Come, join me."

Hesitantly, you sat down beside him, tucking your legs to the side. The grass was soft and cool beneath you, and the floral scent enveloped you. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the nearby trees, casting playful, dappled shadows across the two of you.

Your gaze flicked around the area, half-expecting someone to appear. "Aren't you worried about someone seeing us?"

He chuckled, his eyes still fixed on the sky. "There's no one around. And even if there was, we're just two people enjoying a beautiful day. Nothing wrong with that."

Yeah, nothing wrong with a young, stupidly attractive professor and one of his students lying on the grass together.

You watched him for a moment.

Gojo wore his usual white button-down shirt, which accentuated his well-built physique, the top few buttons casually undone. Dark designer sunglasses adorned the bridge of his nose. His sleek white hair was tousled by the gentle breeze that caressed the garden.

As he reclined amid the flourishing garden, the shifting patterns of light and shadow played a mesmerizing dance upon his skin. He seemed to savour every ray of sunlight that touched his skin. The corners of his lips curled upward.

"We have a potential case," he began, shifting to a more serious tone. "There's a patient who might be a perfect candidate for the neurotransplant procedure."

You glanced at his bandaged hand. "Are you sure you're ready for that? With your hand still healing?"

He lifted his hand, testing its movement as he flexed his fingers. "It's healing better than expected. It has to be okay," he said. "Besides, Principal Yaga is really breathing down both mine and Geto's necks about it. He wants to see results."

"And you're okay with that?"

"There's no other way."

You pondered for a second.

"The patient's young, only sixteen," he revealed.

"Sixteen? That's so young," you murmured.

"I know, but he's a perfect fit for this surgery. He wants this chance, and we owe it to him to give our best."

Your brows furrowed.

"I know you're worried," he began. "But trust me, we'll take every necessary precaution. And this time, we have the advantage of everything we've learned so far. We're in this together, and I'll be right there by your side every step of the way."

You smiled faintly.

Gojo propped himself up on one elbow to face you. "What happened to your fearless spirit? When we first met, you suggested an approach in surgery that even I hadn't considered. It was bold, a bit crazy even."

"It was a different situation. That patient was dead either way. So it didn't really matter".

He lay back down, gazing up at the sky. "Wow, how pragmatic of you."

"Aren't you scared? That we mess this up?"

"No, not really. I trust you."

You huffed. Yeah, if only you could have his confidence.

"Why does it always seem like you're so carefree?" you asked him.

He let out a soft chuckle. "Me, carefree? Not exactly. It's more that I've stopped giving a fuck about the small stuff. Stick around in research long enough, and you'll learn to do the same."

"Stopped giving a fuck, huh?" you mused, raising an eyebrow. "That's one way to live a careless life, I suppose."

"It's not about being careless. It's about choosing what deserves your energy and what doesn't."

"And what deserves the energy of one of the most famous neurosurgeons?"

His smile deepened. "Challenging surgeries, medical mysteries and, of course," he paused, " intriguing students who keep me on my toes."

Before you could react, Gojo grasped your shoulders in a swift, unexpected move and pushed you back down onto the grass. Suddenly, you were looking up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes holding yours in a captivating gaze. Your heart raced.

"Are you insane? What if someone sees us like this?" Panic tinged your voice as you instinctively tried to push him away, but he remained steadfast.

Gojo's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Would it really be that bad?"

He was surely insane.

Yet, your breath caught in your throat as Gojo's eyes burned into yours. You could see the raw desire in his eyes, mirroring your own.

"You're always so tense, first-year," he teased. "Need someone to help you relax?"

"Gojo, we really shouldn't—," you tried to protest. But your body betrayed you, responding to his closeness. You felt your core heating up.

His lips grazed your earlobe, sending delightful shivers cascading down your spine. "Shouldn't what?" he whispered. "Have a little fun?"

Your heart raced as his lips traced a tantalizing path along your jawline, leaving a trail of heated anticipation in their wake. "Gojo," you breathed out, torn between desire and restraint.

Suddenly, Gojo's hand reached out, grasping your wrists that were still pushing against his chest. He pinned your hands above your head, pressing them into the lush grass. 

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering just above yours. "Tell me to stop," he challenged softly.

You swallowed hard, acutely aware of his presence, his warm breath, and his other hand that found its way between your legs. "Gojo, seriously," you whispered. "We're in public."

Yet you couldn't stop yourself from letting your head fall back. Your back arched into him as his fingers traced a slow path along the inside of your leg. "Thrilling isn't it?" His lips moved ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. "Didn't hear the word 'stop' yet."

Yes. 

Fuck.

Please stop. 

Please be the reasonable one of you two.

Because you surely were not able to.

"Gojo, this is crazy." You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to still the rapid beating of your heart. "We can't... not here."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes still locked with yours. "Then tell me to stop."

You knew you should push him away, end this dangerous game before it went any further. But the desire to give in was overwhelming. His fingers continued their slow, deliberate path, now dangerously close to your core. "I'm waiting, first-year."

His touch ventured higher, feather-light yet electrifying, teasing over your most sensitive spot between your legs. A soft moan broke from your lips. Instantly, his hand clamped over your mouth.

"Shh, sweetheart," he cautioned, his breath hot against your lips. "What if someone hears us? We wouldn't want to get caught, now would we?"

With a sly smirk, Gojo pulled back, granting you a moment to catch your breath. He sat upright. "Seems I can't trust you to keep quiet."

Your heart raced as you watched him, unable to form a coherent response. Gojo had a way of leaving you breathless and wanting more, and you couldn't deny that you were drawn to the dangerous game he was playing.

Eventually, Gojo stood up, casually brushing off grass from his clothes. "Break's over," he said, glancing at his watch. "I've got a lecture in 15 minutes."

He extended a hand toward you, offering to help you up. You took his hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. Standing close, your eyes locked once more, though your gaze briefly dropped, noticing something.

"You can't go lecture like that."

Looking down, Gojo sighed. "Yeah, it always happens with you. Don't worry, I'll just remember your clumsy attempt to draw blood from Okkotsu's arm. That should take care of it."

Oh, how funny.

"By the way, we're starting the surgical practice again tomorrow, right after your last class," he added. "Wear something nice and easy to get rid of."

─── ·✧· ───

You pulled on your surgical gloves, positioning yourself in front of today's human brain test subject. The sun was beginning to set, casting a crimson glow through the windows and onto the sterile surfaces of the lab.

You went straight into action. You stabilized the tissue as Gojo proceeded to implant the neurotransplant into the cerebral cortex. You breathed slowly, trying to keep your hands as still as possible.

You and Gojo worked together in silence. Every muscle tensed. Gojo successfully placed the neuroimplant in the intended location in the brain. However, when it came time to test the connection between the implant and the biometric arm that the patient would eventually use, something went wrong.

The neural signals fluctuated, failing to align with the anticipated patterns. After double-checking the connections and recalibrating the equipment, you traced the issue back to the placement of the implant.

"Looks like the placement is slightly off," you said, examining the data on the screen. "The implant is a bit too far to the right. That's why we're not getting a proper signal."

Gojo sighed. "A fraction of a millimeter off, and it makes all the difference," he muttered, his gaze fixed on the brain before him. "Let's redo this part. We need to make sure we get this right."

You retrieved a fresh brain from the lab's refrigerator. You sure were spending these brains like you get them at the supermarket.

But Gojo wanted perfection. And so did you.

You made the first incision, exposing the underlying area of the brain where the neuroimplant would be placed. Gojo followed with another incision, providing access to the targeted cortical area as you stabilized the tissue. Gojo then carefully placed the neuroimplant in place.

You watched Gojo closely. It was then that you noticed a subtle tremble in his hand.

"Gojo, your hand..."

He glanced at his hand briefly. "It's nothing to worry about," he said. "Just a slight tremor. It'll pass."

He paused for a moment and took a deep breath to steady himself before continuing. You watched him, noticing the small beads of sweat that formed on his forehead.

"Gojo, if your hand isn't ready, we should—"

"I know. Just give me a second," he cut you off.

Despite his words, Gojo's hand continued to tremble more noticeably as the procedure carried on. The strain on his face became more evident.

At a crucial point in the procedure, when precision was essential, Gojo's hand shook erratically. He tried to steady it, but the tremor proved too severe. After a moment's hesitation, he abruptly withdrew his hand. He muttered a curse under his breath.

He tore off his surgical gloves, tossing them into the trash with unnecessary force. The sound of his heavy breathing filled the otherwise quiet lab.

You watched him, the room enveloped in stillness.

Gojo leaned heavily against the lab counter, his head hanging low. After a minute, he ran his hands through his hair and met your gaze. "Let's switch roles. I'll take care of the parts I can do with one hand, and you'll handle the critical aspects."

What?

"You mean I should try the implant placement?"

"Yeah," Gojo confirmed. "You've got steady hands, and we just need to ensure it's placed correctly. My hand will heal by the time of the actual surgery."

"I'm not sure, Gojo."

He walked over to you. "We'll need to practice," he continued. "I want to make sure we have every step down perfectly."

"Okay, then let's try it."

So, you prepared again, this time with you in the lead and Gojo at your side, standing close. You glanced at his hand. "Are you sure you can manage with just one hand?"

He smirked. "One hand is all I need to get the job done."

You didn't give him the satisfaction on answering to that.

You began the procedure. 

"You're doing well," he said as you carefully maneuvered the tools. His voice close and calm. Every so often, you caught Gojo flexing his injured hand, working through the discomfort.  Yet, he remained focused on guiding you through the process. "A steeper angle gives you better access... yes, perfect."

The session progressed more smoothly than you had anticipated. As you completed the practice run, a sense of accomplishment washed over you. You had successfully completed the implant placement.

"We make a good team," Gojo remarked. "I knew you could do it."

You found yourself smiling. "Thanks to your guidance, professor."

"Let's try again just to make sure."

You both prepared for another round of practice. As you repeated the procedure, you became acutely aware of Gojo inching closer. His focus seemed to shift away from the procedure to something other.

"Gojo what are you doing?"

Suddenly, you felt him lean in closer from behind. His breath was warm on the back of your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. You could feel him subtly inhaling, as if taking in your scent.

"Did you change your shampoo?"

His question caught you off guard, causing a momentary lapse in your focus. "Ehm, yeah."

"Hm. Change it back. I liked the other one better."

You cleared your throat, trying to ease the flutter in your stomach. "We should really focus on—"

Without warning, he reached out and took the surgical tools from your hands. "We've practiced enough for today."

You turned around to face him. "We could still use some more time to—"

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, closing the space between you. "I think there are other things we should be focusing on right now, wouldn't you agree?" he said, his voice a husky whisper.

He set the surgical tools down on the table behind you. Gojo inched even closer, his lips hovering over yours. "Sometimes, first-year," he whispered, his breath mingling with yours, "—it's important to know when to take a break and enjoy the moment."

In a fluid motion, he lifted you effortlessly, setting you down on the edge of the lab table. His hands were planted firmly on either side of you. Your pulse quickened as you looked up into his crystal blue eyes, unable to tear your eyes away from his.

"Hard work should be rewarded," he went on. "Don't you think so?"

You couldn't find the words to respond, your breaths growing shallow. He reached up, his fingers grasping your hair at the nape of your neck. His tilted your head back, exposing the delicate skin of your neck to his gaze. 

"Tell me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your neck, "where should I start?" His mouth met your skin, planting deliberate, slow kisses along your neck. Your breath hitched.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his. His fingers began to explore the skin underneath your shirt. The sensation of his touch was like fire, sparking a heat within you that you hadn't known before.

He trailed his lips down to your collarbone, each kiss a question. "Should I start here?"

Your arms found their way around his neck, pulling him even closer. The realization that you were crossing a line was there, in the back of your mind, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming need to be close to him.

Breathless, hearts racing, you both surrendered to the moment. He pulled your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. In an instant, his lips found your collarbone once more, trailing down to your chest. "Or here?" His warm, wet breath brushed against your skin. His fingers dug into your hips.

"Gojo," you breathed out, unable to say anything other than his name.

"What is it, sweetheart? Tell me, where do you need it?" He placed soft, lingering kisses down your chest until he reached your breasts. The sensation sent a wave of warmth through you as he kissed the skin right above the hem of your bra.

Then, in one fluid motion, Gojo knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours. He lifted one of your legs, placing it over his shoulder. With his hand, he pushed the other away, spreading your legs apart. Unable to support yourself on the table any longer, you leaned back.

He continued, placing kisses over the fabric of your jeans, from your knee up to your thighs. "How do you like it here?"

He persisted in his journey up to your sensitive spot, mere inches away from it, his face nestled between your legs. "Tell me, should I start here, sweetheart?"

Overwhelmed, you leaned back further on the table, resting on your elbows for support. Then, accidentally, you pushed the glass container holding the brain, causing it to tip over. The preservative liquid spilled across the table, drenching both of you. You sat up abruptly.

Gojo pulled back. "Did you just spill brain fluid on us?"

"I guess I did," you admitted, still trying to process what had just happened. Here you were, in the middle of a lab, drenched in preservation fluid from a human brain, right before... well, you'd rather not think about it.

Gojo stood up, wiping his face with his sleeve. "Well, that's one way to cool down." He offered you a hand to help you stand up properly. "We should call it quits for today."

You stood, glancing down at your drenched jeans, still feeling the remnants of his kisses and touches on your heated skin.

He leaned in. "You know, if you wanted to get me wet, there are far more enjoyable ways to do it." Then he backed away with a playful smirk.

Back home, you tossed your shampoo bottle into the trash.

─── ·✧· ───

The day of the surgery had finally arrived.

You methodically scrubbed your hands and arms, the sterile scent of the hospital soap filling the room. Through the window, you could see the young patient being prepared in the operating room. He smiled nervously as the nurse inserted the anesthesia needle into his arm. 

Is he more nervous or are you? Perhaps you.

The observation gallery was filling up with hospital staff and the usual press, setting up cameras to document the high-stakes surgery. The weight of their gazes, even from a distance, was palpable, intensifying the pressure.

You glanced at the clock on the wall. Gojo hadn't arrived yet. Your heart rate quickened slightly. You reminded yourself that Gojo's hand had been functioning perfectly in the days leading up to the surgery. There was nothing to worry about, right?

Taking a deep breath, you tried to calm yourself. As you continued your preparations, the door to the washing room opened, and Geto stepped in.

"Geto," you greeted him, trying to mask your surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to wish you luck," he replied with an easy smile. "But I guess you're so prepared you won't need any."

"Thank you."

"I'll be cheering on you from the observation gallery."

You nodded. After a moment of silence, you said, "Do you know where Gojo is? He should have been here by now."

Geto's brow furrowed. "Hm? I'm not sure, actually. He didn't mention anything to me about being late."

Your stomach turned. It was unlike Gojo to be late, especially on a day like this. "I need to find him," you said, removing your gloves.

"Should I come with you?"

"No, I'll be fine."

You hurried out of the washing room, your mind racing. Where could Gojo be? Was it because of his hand? Or something else? You quickened your pace, moving through the corridors of the hospital, checking every possible place where Gojo could be.

Pulling out your phone, you called Gojo's number. But he didn't answer. You tried calling again, each ring echoing your growing anxiety. Still, silence.

You reached his office. The door was shut and no one answered when you knocked. Taking a deep breath, you cautiously opened it and peered into the dimly lit room.

The blinds were drawn, casting the office in near darkness. Your eyes adjusted, and that's when you saw him—Gojo, slumped against the wall, his legs sprawled on the floor, head tilted back.

Your heart sank as you saw him.

No.

No.

This can't be real.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. You knelt in front of him. Gently, you cupped his pale face in your hands, urging him to look at you. His usually sharp eyes were unfocused as they struggled to fix on you.

No doubt.

"Satoru," you whispered, his first name escaping your lips. There was no need to address him by his last name anymore, was there?

Not anymore.

His slightly glassy eyes flickered, showing a glimmer of recognition, but he seemed distant, lost in a world of his own—clouded by whatever substance he had taken.

The realization hit you hard.

"Satoru," you called his name again, more urgently this time. 

His lips parted, an attempt at speech, but only a slurred, indistinct sound emerged. It was painful to see him like this, to witness the downfall of a person you respected and cared so deeply for. Your skin run cold with fear.

"Fuck, Satoru what are you doing?" you asked, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek. You needed answers, but more than that, you needed to understand why. 

Why? 

Why today?

Why Satoru?

You shook him slightly, trying to get any response from him. "Satoru, answer me!"

His focus sharpened slightly, and he murmured, "God, you look so beautiful today."

You shook your head. "What are you saying?"

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, fighting back the tears that threatened to overwhelm you. Right now, you needed to be strong—for him, for the patient waiting in the OR, and for the team depending on you both.

"We need to call this surgery off," you said as you tried to stand up but his grip on your wrist halted you.

"No, wait!" he said. "We can't call it off."

"What?"

"There's too much at stake. If we don't go through with it today, the project will be dead. The funding, everything we've worked for, will be lost."

"Are you insane? You're fucking high, you can't operate!"

He tilted his head up to meet your gaze. "You can."

Gojo's words hit you like a ton of bricks. "You are insane." You stared at him. "I can't do that."

"You're prepared for this," he countered, gaining a semblance of clarity in his speech. "You know the procedure inside and out. You've practically done it already."

"Don't ask this of me, Satoru," you pleaded, feeling the weight of the responsibility he was trying to place on your shoulders.

Shakily, he stood up, his hands gripping your shoulders. "You can do it," he insisted. "I know you can and I'll be there to assist you."

"Geto is also here, he should do it. "

"Suguru hasn't trained for this specific approach. He won't be able to do it without harming the patient. But you can."

"Then we call it off!" you raised your voice, feeling trapped.

"No, you should do it. You need to do this."

You stared at him, lost for words. The intensity in Gojo's eyes was undeniable, his grip on your shoulders firm yet pleading. "You are the only one who can do this now. And I'll be there to guide you. You have the skills, the knowledge. You've done it before, you can do it again."

"This is insane. You can't assist in your condition," you whispered, holding back tears.

"Give me a few minutes and I'll be ready. I swear."

You studied his face, the redness in his eyes betraying his current state. "Fuck, Satoru. Why are you making me do this?"

"You can do it, I know you can."

Silence.

You nodded.

Stepping into the OR your heart raced. Sweat broke out on your forehead. You moved as if in a trance, the reality of the situation numbing your senses. You and Gojo scrubbed up, then walked into the OR where the patient lay prepped and waiting.

You took your position at the operating table where Satoru was supposed to stand. You could feel the weight of numerous eyes on you; could hear them whispering, but no one dared to say anything. Not with Satoru Gojo beside you. No one dared to question him.

Your eyes darted to the gallery. You saw Geto rise from his seat, his brows furrowed as he stepped closer to the glass in front of him.

"Ignore him," Gojo whispered beside you. "Focus on what's in front of you."

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you turned your attention back to the patient, the ridiculous young patient lying open skull in front of you.

Then you held out your hand to Satoru. "Scalpel, please."

─── ·✧· ───

The clapping around you was a distant sound, barely reaching your ears as you stepped back from the operating table. The surgery was a success. Stress and adrenaline abruptly left your body, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and nauseous.

You run over to the corner of the OR, barely making it to the trash bin before succumbing to the overwhelming urge to vomit. Your body shook with each heave.

The whole room suddenly fell silent.

After vomiting into the trash bin, your body shaking from the sudden release of tension, you pushed your way out of the OR. You heard Satoru call your name, but chose to ignore it. You needed space; you needed to get away from him.

You rushed through the sterile corridors of the hospital. Finally reaching a bathroom, you locked yourself in, pressing your back against the door as you fought to steady your breathing.

The clinical smell of the bathroom was sickening. 

The sterile exterior felt sickening. 

Everything felt sickening in that moment.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to wash away the remnants of nausea and regain your composure.

Fuck, you whispered. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.

Fuck!

Your hands clenched tightly around the edge of the sink, knuckles white with tension. Tears brimmed in your eyes, threatening to spill over, but you willed them back.

Why did it feel like your heart was being torn to shreds?

Your breaths came in rapid succession, shallow and uneven, as panic threatened to take over. But you couldn't let it. Not now. Falling apart was not an option. You forced yourself to take slow, deliberate breaths.

Inhale. Exhale. 

Inhale. Exhale.

With one final, deep breath, you pushed open the bathroom door. Pulling out your phone, you called Geto without hesitation. "Where are you?" you demanded, cutting through any pleasantries.

"In my office."

You hung up and marched straight to his office, pushing the door open without bothering to knock.

"When did you want to tell me he's a fucking addict?" You yelled at him.

Geto stood up, his hands planted firmly on his desk. "When did you want to tell me you're fucking him?" he shot back, his voice equally furious.

You didn't even spend the breath to correct him. 

You approached him. "I didn't know my love life concerns you that much."

"Don't you get it? He's your professor, he's lecturing you, you're working on this project together that could shape your whole career. What was that even about just now? Why did you do the surgery?"

"Because Gojo was high, damn it! He was fucking high!" Your frustration boiled over, your hands tugging at your hair as you paced the room.

"You should have called off the surgery! What were you thinking?"

"Huh?" You turned to him. "What I was thinking? What were you thinking? Why didn't you tell me? You knew, didn't you?"

He sank back into his chair, tilting his head back as he let out a heavy sigh. "I thought he had it under control."

Was he for real?

"Under control?" you hissed. "Since when do addicts have their addiction under control?"

The room fell silent.

"You should have told me, Geto," you said as you sat down on the chair in from of his desk. 

Geto leaned forward, rummaging through his coat pocket. He retrieved a cigarette and lighter. As he lit it, the flame briefly illuminated his face in a warm, orange glow. The cigarette's tip crackled softly, the smoke curling upwards in lazy spirals.

"Smoking in the office now?"

As he took a slow drag, the cigarette's cherry end burned brighter, and he inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill his lungs. A sense of calm seemed to wash over him, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly as he exhaled a thin plume of smoke into the room.

"Does it matter anymore?" he said as he took another drag from his cigarette. He leaned back, the creak of the leather chair punctuating the silence. His dark eyes were fixed on you. Wisps of smoke curled around him.

"When did it start? With Gojo?" you asked him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he took another slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly as he continued to study you. Then his eyes drifted away for a moment.

"It started back in our university days," he finally said. "Satoru was always the charismatic one, the life of every gathering. Back then, it was just for fun, a way to let off steam, to unwind after exam periods."

The ember of his cigarette glowed brighter with each drag, casting a faint light on his face. "But over time it got worse. The occasional use became more frequent, and he lost control. He started needing the drugs just to get through the day. On good days, he could mask it, but on the bad ones..."

He trailed off.

"He tried to quit, to get clean, but it's... he developed such a high tolerance for it that he could easily take drugs and still function. Eventually, he became an expert at hiding his addiction."

Your stomach tightened. The truth felt like a heavy stone on your chest, and it refused to go away. Then your phone rang with a message. Startled, you reached for it. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the name.

[5:43 PM] Gojo: Where are you?

"Message from your lover?" Geto asked dryly, rising from his seat to get something out of a cupboard.

You tucked your phone back into your pocket. "He wants to know where I am." 

"Of course he wants to know." Geto remarked, returning to his desk with a bottle and two glasses. He poured a rich, dark liquid into the glasses, sliding one towards you.

"I don't really drink," you said, observing him take a sip of his whiskey.

"What a shame."

"What happens to the project now?" 

Geto laughed. "The project? It was a full success, wasn't it? The neurotranplant worked. The surgery worked. The media will love the story of a young, brilliant surgeon performing such a groundbreaking procedure. They'll be even more fascinated when they find out you're still a student."

"You find this amusing?"

"Not really. It's my project, after all," he replied, taking another sip. He set his glass down, his gaze meeting yours. "They'll want you to lead more surgeries like this one, to further validate the technique."

"I don't think I can do that again. Just the thought of it makes me sick."

Your phone vibrated again.

[5:48 PM] Gojo: Where the hell are you?

[5:48 PM] Gojo: Talk to me.

You stared at the screen.

"You want to go to him?"

"No." Without hesitation, you reached for the glass of liquor, tilted your head back, and swallowed the drink in one fluid motion. The alcohol burned in your throat. "I want to leave."

"Should I drive you home?" 

"No, I'm fine," you said, setting the empty glass back on the desk with a slight clink.

─── ·✧· ───

After leaving Geto's office, you made your way to the elevator, lost in thought. The doors slid open, and you were jolted back to reality by the sight of Satoru leaning against the wall inside the elevator. His eyes looked up at you.

No way.

Before you could react or step aside, the people behind you, caught up in their own hurry, pushed forward, shoving you into the elevator. The confined space forced you to stand close to Satoru, your back to him.

The elevator began its descent. The people around you chattered, but you felt that the silence between you and Satoru was louder. You could feel his presence only centimeters away. The close quarters left no room for avoidance, and you were acutely aware of every breath Satoru took.

The elevator ride felt like an eternity, each second stretching out as you struggled to maintain your composure.

"You smell like smoke," Satoru observed quietly.

"Are you still high?" you retorted under your breath, not turning to face him.

"I'm good."

"You're good?" you echoed. "How can you even say that after what happened today?"

"You're angry."

"Angry is an understatement," you replied, turning slightly.

He leaned closer, wrinkling his nose. "Did you drink?" he asked, a bit too loudly. "Are you drunk?"

"It's none of your business, Satoru."

As the elevator stopped and its doors slid open, you saw your chance to escape and quickly maneuvered through the crowd. You wanted to put as much distance between you and him as possible.

The lobby of the hospital was a blur as you rushed through it, Satoru's voice calling after you, but you ignored him. You wanted nothing more than to get away from him.

You pushed through the exit doors and stepped outside, only to be greeted by a heavy downpour. The rain drenched you almost instantly, but you hardly noticed.

His footsteps splashed behind you. "Talk to me!" he called out, his voice barely audible over the sound of the pouring rain.

You quickened your pace, the rain streaming down your face. Your heart ached as you tried to distance yourself from the situation, from Satoru, from everything.

"Enough of this crap already! Talk to me!"

"Leave me alone, Satoru!"

"Then just tell me!" he implored, his tone desperate. "Tell me, will it ever stop?"

You halted, but didn't turn to face him. The rain was relentless, soaking through your clothes, matting your hair against your face. "What do you mean?" you called over the downpour.

"Wanting you—every damn second of every fucking day. I don't think I can take it anymore."

His words cut through the sound of the rain, raw and unguarded. For a moment, you were speechless, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. You slowly turned to face him, seeing in his eyes a tumult of emotions that mirrored your own.

"Satoru—," your voice barely rose above the rain.

"I can't ignore it," he said, taking a step towards you, closing the gap. "I've tried, believe me, I've tried. But it's always there—you are always there."

Your heart pounded against your chest as he stopped mere inches away from you. Raindrops trickled down his face, cascaded down his striking white hair, which clung to his forehead and temples.

"So tell me," he urged. "Will it ever stop? Because I don't know if I can take it much longer."

You were both soaked to the skin, standing in the middle of the downpour, the world around you blurring into insignificance.

"It's killing me, pretending not to want you is killing me," he said quietly.

He stepped closer. His hands reached out, gently cupping your face.

Then, he kissed you.

Without warning, without permission.

Without even deciding to do it, simply because he couldn't not do it.

His lips pressed firmly against yours, molding to their contours as if they had been crafted to fit together. The world around you faded away, leaving only the sensation of his warm breath mingling with yours, the electrifying touch of his fingers on your cheek, and the intoxicating taste of his mouth.

Your hands found their way to his rain-soaked shirt, fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if you were afraid he might disappear if you let go. His mouth moved hungrily against yours, and you responded in kind, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings that had lingered between you for far too long.

As the rain poured down, you tasted rainwater mixed with his unique flavor, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. You finally gave in to the undeniable pull that had drawn you together, allowing it to consume you completely.

Because that's how it felt. Satoru Gojo consumed you.

His tongue grazed your lower lip, seeking permission to explore further, and you willingly granted access. His tongue explored every inch of your mouth, caressing and teasing, his urgency and intensity increasing with each passing second.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. Your bodies pressed closer together. His hands roamed your body with a newfound boldness, tracing the curve of your waist, the small of your back, and the nape of your neck. Each touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but respond in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair.

But as you kissed, the reality of what had just happened crashed over you like the waves of the rainstorm around you. In that fleeting moment, you hesitated, and Satoru pulled back.

Separated now, both of you stood there, breathless and drenched by the rain. He lowered his forehead to rest against yours. His arms remained loosely around you. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"No, it's... don't speak."

You both stood there under the relentless downpour, the rain streaming down your face, mirroring the tears that had started to well up in your eyes. Satoru reached up to tenderly brush away the tears that slipped down your cheeks.

The silence stretched between you, filled with words you were too afraid to say.

Then you pushed away and turned.

You walked away.

He didn't follow you.

─── ·✧· ───

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

x a/n: let the angsty and hurtful part of the story begin haha. as always thank you for reading ♡

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

[benedictscanvas]

pretty boy, pretty girl - jamie tartt x reader

pairing: jamie tartt x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

a/n: okay yes. it has been six months. which is actually mad to me, but there we are - whoops! i've been off following my dream and wrote this while procrastinating an assignment, so this is by no means a return!! honestly i was just itching to write it, but i don't know how much time i have for more - enjoy nevertheless <3

warnings: just a little bit of suggestion towards the end, reader is referred to as 'pretty girl' as the title implies amongst other pet names, quite a lot of swearing (some things don't change)

---

“Hi love.”

Jamie barely murmurs it as he walks past you, can’t help himself but to drag a palm along your back, one shoulder blade to the other, as he goes. 

He knows he’s bold sometimes, but he swears it’s instinct. He glances back to see whether your expression holds any discomfort, but all he finds is your grin, a tiny wave. He continues on his path towards the canteen, knowing that your corridor conversation with Rebecca is probably important.

Somewhere between here and there, he decides to get your lunch, your usual, and sits alone on a table until you appear.

You do, three and a half minutes later. As soon as he sees you, the irrepressible urge to make you grin again is back with a vengeance. He waves you over to his table with a gesture to the food he’s got for you and- there it is again.

If he was a slightly smarter man, maybe he’d consider why all it took was the sight of him to draw your lips upwards, set your eyes alight.

“Thought I’d save y’ from the queue,” he speaks, still soft, in a tone he feels he only uses with you. You match his unnecessary low volume.

“Thanks, angel,” you say easily, and you must not see his stomach doing flips, “Too good to me, you are.”

“Shut up,” he deflects, wonders if you can see him fluster at your nickname for him, “Are you still coming tonight?”

You groan. He frowns, and you quickly correct.

“Sorry. It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, you sound proper convinced, an’ all.”

You chuckle, taking a bite out of your sandwich and taking a pause to chew. Jamie eats too, content to let you think before you speak. It was slowly teaching him to do the same.

“I’m just boring, Jamie. My favourite people are all under this roof, but usually they’re sober, you know?”

He often forgets you don’t really drink. Your friendship (however sour that word feels in relation to you) usually confined to these halls, to the pitch, to various football stadiums up and down the country. When they all get a chance to let loose, you’re very quick with the excuses, but he’s believed them blindly until this moment.

“Shit, y’ don’t drink, right? I can’t imagine that’s much fun in a club. I won’t tell anyone if you happen to come down with an illness or somethin’ this afternoon.”

You’re grinning at him again, all bright and sunny. It’s downright infectious, so Jamie nudges your foot with his on purpose and then apologises like it’s an accident.

“You’re alright,” you reassure, “I will join tonight. Even if it just proves to myself I’m not missing out on anything. Maybe Colin’s not as bad a drunk as I’ve been led to believe.”

Jamie winces.

“No, he is pretty bad,” he admits and then finally comes up with something to make you more comfortable, “Hey, what about this? I won’t drink either and we can spend the evening laughin’ at everyone else.”

You poke his hand and he tries not to drop his crisp packet.

“It’s everyone’s ‘relax and recharge’ night, Ted said. We both know you relax much easier with a few drinks in you. And I’d never judge anyone for that, I really hope it doesn’t come across like I’m judging any-“

“It doesn’t, sweetness,” he cuts in, “But actually, I’ll relax better if I’m one hundred percent positive that you’re relaxing too. What better way than judgin’ everyone else, together like?”

You purse your lips thoughtfully, mid-chew. He feels like he’s holding his breath, like he’s underwater and you’re in charge of the oxygen tank.

“Well, see how you feel when we’re there. It sounds lovely but only if you’re still up for it when we’re right next to a bar,” you say, still unconvinced. He wants to convince you fully, but he can’t decide if he should argue with you or kiss you silly before you speak again, “Hey, if not, I’ll buy you a drink?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line, love.”

“I said it, I meant it. Girls can buy drinks for pretty boys, you know.”

He thinks you might have removed his oxygen tank now. There’s some cruelty in that sentence but you don’t know you’re wielding it. He wills himself to flirt back even though it’ll only make him feel sick.

“Okay, pretty girl. One passionfruit J2O, please.”

Another grin. He’s so fucking fucked.

---

He’s been waiting for you for around forty minutes. He doesn’t know if that’s the normal amount of time you take to get ready, even if he wishes he knew, so he just waits, leaning against his car.

After fifty, he decides there’s no harm in just checking you’re alright and haven’t slipped on a sparkly floor that an evening cleaner has done a number on.

You mentioned going to the kit room to get changed, and he meets Will on his way there.

“Hey mate, you seen Y/N?”

Will looks paler than he’s ever been. Guilty. Jamie narrows his eyes and waits.

“Kit room.”

It’s all that Will says. When Jamie doesn’t walk off immediately, still waiting for an explanation for Will’s strange demeanour, Will turns around and legs it all the way down the corridor, turns left at the end and never returns.

Jamie shakes his head and continues in the direction of the kit room. The closer he gets, the more he hears. Muffled banging, shouting. He picks up the pace.

“Y/N? Love?”

“Jamie! Jamie, in here!”

Your voice floats out from the kit room and he hurries over. Still very confused, Jamie turns the door handle and finds the door won’t budge, however hard he shoves his shoulder against it.

“It’s locked, babe. Did you lock it?”

He hears your exasperated sigh and feels a little embarrassed.

“No I didn’t bleeding lock it! Well, I did, when I was getting changed, but then when I unlocked it my side it had been locked from the outside.”

Jamie struggled to put the dots together. Had Will locked you in? Judging by the running, he had… and he’d done it on purpose. A spark of anger shot down Jamie’s spine but he tried to convince himself there must be a reason.

Before he could, there was a hand on his on the door, pulling him away. It was being unlocked by another hand and then he was being shoved inside, hard enough to stumble against one of the benches. A piece of paper was thrown at his face and Jamie groaned as he heard the lock click back in place.

“What the fuck?” he muttered as he stood up fully, more dazed than angry now as he stared at the locked door.

“Jesus, Jamie, are you alright? Who the fuck was that?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring at the door as if it might have answers. Your hand on his face wakes him up, his eyes shifting to yours where you look him over with concern.

“You’re alright, though?”

You ask it like you need the answer, and Jamie needs you to stop trailing a finger along his hairline either way.

“Fine, love,” he assures you, patting the juncture between your shoulder and neck gently until your hands drop to your sides. Then he raises his voice, and he’s not really talking to you anymore, “Whoever’s locked us in here as some kind of joke won’t be fuckin’ alright though!”

No answer. He picks up the small piece of paper from the floor and reads it in his head.

Tell her, you prick.

He’s actually going to hit Roy with his car. Lightly, definitely not enough to damage him, but enough to really, really piss him off.

This was all some ridiculous attempt to make him tell you how he felt about you? Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn’t be coerced into something so delicate, so important.

“What’s it say?”

You’re peering over the top of the paper, but he folds it in two before you can read anything. His chuckle comes out strained.

“It says: Get fucking pranked. Must be Roy, he’s probably scared Will into helpin’ him, the fucker. I’m afraid it’s payback for putting all his socks on the ceiling last week, babe, an’ you’ve been caught in the middle.”

You pause, staring at your shoes. For some reason, you look far more forlorn than the situation calls for, but it’s gone before he can think about it further.

“On the ceiling?”

He nods and you giggle. It’s only as you step away from him in your laughter that he realises how close you had been. He should’ve savoured it.

It’s also only as you step away that Jamie finally gets a glimpse of your outfit and nearly reaches out to the nearby bench for strength. He’s never seen you in a v-neck anything before, let alone a dress, and he thinks it might do him in.

“You look good,” he says lamely, then tries again, “Great. Fan-fuckin’-tastic, I mean.”

“I like that last one,” you smile, ducking your head. He thinks, or rather hopes, you’re a little flustered, “Fan-fuckin’-tastic happens to be what I was going for.”

“Yeah,” he breathes, words gone as soon as he’d found them. And now he was staring. Shit.

“I like your suit,” you say, maybe breathless yourself. It must be his ears. You reach up as if you might fiddle with his lapel but just point towards it before your hand drops again. You practically fall down onto the bench you’re both stood beside and he follows, ever obedient, “Shame no one else will ever see it. How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

The suit isn’t for anyone except you. That’s what he’d say if he had any stupid bravery. He’s an awful coward, he thinks.

“Until Roy gets bored or Keeley finds out I reckon,” Jamie guesses, “Y’ wanna play I-spy?”

You sigh, but when he peeks at you out of the corner of his eye, you’re grinning your silly, lovely grin again.

“I spy with my little eye…”

---

It is around 11pm, when Jamie has not long fallen asleep against the jacket he had scrunched behind his head, that he feels your hand on his ankle. He can tell, as he wakes without opening his eyes, that you’re not trying to rouse him. The touch is light, feathery. Maybe an accident.

No, not an accident. It wouldn’t have lasted this long, and your thumb is drawing absentminded circles into his ankle bone. You think he’s asleep and you’ve reached out to hold him anyway.

He opens his eyes but doesn’t move. His legs are stretched out on the bench in front of him and you sit upright next his sock-clad feet, one hand on his bare ankle. You’re staring at a piece of paper so intently he wonders what could possibly be so interesting.

“This doesn’t say get fucking pranked, Jamie,” you murmur, and his hand flies to his jacket pocket. It must have fallen out when he slumped into a slumber. He’s sat up in a blink, watching the hand that had been so soothing, fall back at your side suddenly.

“I’m sorry. Shit. I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“No, don’t,” you insist, still staring at the piece of paper. Instead of whirling on him for answers, you reach calmly into one of the boot cubbies beside your head and pull out a piece of paper from one of the boots. You chuck it at him without looking.

He unfolds it with careful, if shaky, hands.

Tell him, you silly shit.

It takes him an absurdly long time to understand what the hell this second piece of paper means. Later, when the two of you look back on this moment (and you do so often), you’ll wonder how he could have been so dense and he’ll spin you a line about how too good to be true it all felt. But in the moment, he has no lines and no words, until your hand lands heavy on his knee this time.

“Jamie,” you say softly, through a grin that is so different from your usual that he could pass out. It’s so beautiful and so strikingly lovesick that he thinks he might actually be sick, “What do you have to tell me?”

“What?”

He feels dumber than he’s ever felt. But your hand is still on his knee and now you’re shuffling closer to him on the bench.

“What do you have to tell me?” you repeat, then you poke his chest playfully as you add, “You prick.”

He still looks confused, so you clearly decide the best way to catch him up is to kiss him.

You pull away after a moment, a moment of pure heaven, because clearly you don't want to kiss him fully until he's all clued in.

"Come on, pretty boy," you say, teasing, "Figure it out. I was going to buy you a passionfruit J2O. It's the sign of all signs."

He should be laughing at your joke, but all he really wants to do is kiss you again. And again.

Maybe again.

"Oh pretty girl," he says, and he feels the rumble of his low tone in his chest. He places a hand on your face, fingers itching at your hairline, "I'll tell you anything ya wanna hear, I swear. Anythin'."

He hears your breath hitch, but he feels it too, where the meat of his palm is covering your neck.

"Anything?" you answer back, "I could have a lot of fun with this."

You scrunch up your brow like you're thinking and he's so stupidly in love with you that he just tells you. Too-soon be damned.

"Smooth talker," you laugh, giddy, and you kiss him again. And it's so good that he doesn't even remember you didn't say it back until hours later.

(at which point, you say it back so many times and in so many ways, Jamie is certain that he's the luckiest man in the world. he might not hit Roy with his car after all)

[cryptidclaw]

Star Firesight!

Bonus! Healer/Second Firesight:

And Outsider/Apprentice Rusty/Fire:

Design Notes:

I redesigned him again despite saying I would stop doing that... Prev design and old bio here.

He still has a lot of the same features as my previous design, i mostly just changed his pattern and coloring! I wanted him to be a rustier color!

I also changed his cheek fluff to be round, mostly just for an interesting face shape! his cheek fluff hangs a little more flat when he's older just to give him a more matured look (hes been thru some shit, his cheeks hath deflated)

Character Bio:

Star Firesight

(Fireheart/star)

Bisexual & Polyamorous; Trans Tom; he/him

Age as of 1st arc's beginning: 7 moons; 11 Hyrs

Age as of 1st arc's end: 2 cycles, 5 moons; ~26 Hyrs

Title meaning: -sight = this cat can spot things that others cannot; a cat with a close connection to the Stars; this healer receives many signs from the Stars; the healer may also be very good at spotting illnesses or injuries.

Outsider -> Healer -> Second -> Leader of Thunder Order

Mentor: Redtail (died) -> Spottedleaf

Mother: Nutmeg

Father: Jake

Sibling: Sapheart (Princess)

Half Siblings: Socks; Ruby: Tinyclaw

Mates: Sandstorm; Shriketail

Kits: Squirrelflight (sire: Sand); Leafpool (sire: Shrike); Foxleap (sire: Sand); Icecloud (sire: Shrike)

Grandkits: Star Hollyleaf; Falconstrike; Jaywing; Alderheart; Sparkfire

Other notable kin: Cloudtail (nephew); Snowshoe (nephew); Mistletoe (niece); Spiderleg (nephew); Shrew (nephew)

Notes:

Firesight has chronic pain (and mobility issues later in life):

Fire has the Scottish Fold breed's mutation which effects cartilage in the body, this causes his ears to fold, but it also causes chronic joint pain and can progress into swollen and inflexible joints.

For Fire, he is has the heterozygous version of this mutation, which means that his disability progresses more slowly, as a young cat he does experience some joint pain, with some days being worse than others. He is able to medicate with his own chronic pain herbal mix he created as a Healer. However as Fire grows older his joints will worsen, and by the time of his old age he will be unable to jump and some days is unable to walk.

He is able to still use his medication to aid him and is able to lead a happy life, but he is disabled and I didnt want to leave that out of his character! It's important to have disability rep (and spread awareness of the issues with the Scottish Fold breed) and I hope I serve him justice!

Character Summary:

In Progress (to be added later)

...

[Image 1 ID: a digital drawing of Star Firesight, an AU version of Firestar from Warrior Cats. He is standing with his left side showing and has a proud and happy expression with a smile. He is a short, chubby and round shaped rusty orange and red tabby tom with small folded ears and green eyes. his chest, underbelly and paws are all a lighter shade of orange, and he has a red stripe down his back as well as a single red swoop shaped stripe on his side. He has red to orange striping on his face and red freckles on his cheeks. His right ear is brownish-black, he also has a small black spot above his nose and a black stripe on his back. He has a white flame shaped spot on his chest, a white muzzle, white paws and a white tail tip. He wears yellow flowers and green leaves in his pelt and a simple crown rests on his forehead made up of a diamond shaped red stone and a small teardrop shaped white stone below it./End ID]

[Image 2 ID: a digital drawing of Firesight, an AU version of Fireheart from Warrior Cats. this drawing is almost the exact same as the first image, but in this he has no crown./End ID]

[Image 3 ID: a digital drawing of Fire, an AU version of Firepaw from Warrior Cats. this drawing is almost the exact same as the first image, but in this he has no crown, or flowers and leaves adorning his pelt. his face also seems younger and he has a brighter happy expression on his face with his mouth open in a smile like he is talking./End ID]

[peachsayshi]

Can you write about how the JJk characters are like in their yandere version.

anon, I have actually been thinking about this recently - here’s some thoughts on yandere gojo, geto, nanami and choso!

(minors & ageless blogs dni) // tags: dark content (ish?); dub con; possessive; controlling; somno; mentions use of sex toy; use of pet name kitten; smut // a/n: I don’t usually write stuff like this so please don’t read if you aren’t comfortable!

GOJO - overwhelms you; he can’t keep his hands to himself whenever you’re around. he doesn’t care that you get nervous when he plays with your hair while you talk. he often loses his concentration to brush his knuckles down your cheek or swipe his thumb along your bottom lip. he expects a kiss whenever you greet him or say goodbye -and this kiss isn’t a chaste one on the cheek but a deep, consuming one on the lips. he wants to taste you on his tongue, to draw out every little breath and claim it as his own. the first time it happened you whimpered “s’too much,” but he just smiled against your lips and replied: “actually it’s not enough.”

you don’t fully understand why he treats you like this; why he can’t accept that his physical touch is more than you can handle. you hate that his face grows menacing when you deny him of what he wants, but you always end up succumbing to his advances. “this isn’t right, w-we aren’t even-ah…lovers…” you whisper in protest, your fingers digging into his lap while his own brush over your nipples underneath your shirt. he glides his nose up your neck and leaves a soft kiss just behind your ear as he pinches the sensitive buds. “we can be, angel…” he exhales, but his dark tone sends a shiver down your spine. “…it’s all I ever wanted…”

GETO - punishes you; you never expect him to behave cruelly towards you, because the man adores you in every way possible and regards you with nothing but admiring eyes. he’s so unbelievably sweet, you often question what you have done to deserve his heart in the first place. yet, you still find yourself easily triggering his jealousy. he won’t stand having others look at you, nor will he let it slide when you put yourself in positions of being around others who fancy you. it doesn’t matter how innocent the situation is - like when you decided to meet up with an old friend or when you gave the barista a gentle smile as he handed you your coffee - suguru will easily find it as an excuse to to remind you of what his love means over others.

“this is all they see when they look at you, you know?” he growls in frustration, his firm hands pressing your knees as he keeps you spread for him. “…your needy little cunt begging to be stuffed. they don’t give a shit about you…” - you whine when he thrusts his hips, because he’s rough and it’s entirely purposeful. he takes in the marks on your throat, your chest, and your inner thighs before softening his hard gaze. he brushes his mouth over your quivering lips, leaving a tender kiss in the wake of his retribution. “but I do, sweetheart…” he coos, as he finally eases his movements and you sigh with relief when he brings his fingers to your sensitive clit. “…I love you so fucking much. can’t you see that?”

NANAMI - controls you; he uses subtle manipulation tactics to make this happen, and because he’s supremely intelligent, it’s difficult for you to catch on when he does it. he has no ill intentions - he just wants to take care of you, and that has given him reason to claim ownership over you. you thought the diamond choker he bought for you was simply a sweet gift, but he’s particular about you wearing it at all times (except when taking a shower and sleeping). when your lease was up for renting your apartment, he arranged to have you move in with him without questioning how you might feel. “it’s for the best,” he insists, “you shouldn’t have to worry.”

he thrives off your submission; you so eagerly want to please him because you’re grateful for everything that he’s given to you. you’ll easily comply, and it works out beautifully for him. he narrows his gaze when he looks at you trembling against his sheets. “kento…wanna cum…” you mumble, and his ego flares at how you’ve been reduced to such a wet mess. he slowly shifts his gaze towards the phone screen, his thumb hovering over the control of the vibrating toy inside your cunt. “I know, kitten…” he sighs before taking a sip of his drink, pretending to show some consideration as he drags his finger to increase the speed. a wicked smile highlights his exceptionally handsome face, but your eyes roll to the back of your head that you don’t even notice - “just a little longer, hmm?”

CHOSO - claims you; he’s selfish about requiring your attention, and demands it at all hours. he hides how overbearing he is with his needy behavior, but he yearns for you in a way that aches. your time should belong to each other, it’s something precious that you both share together, and he can’t comprehend how you don’t feel the same way. of course he understands that you need space, but giving it to you is harder than he expected. he’ll often show up unannounced when you’re home alone or out with your friends, and he greets you by holding you tightly while murmuring “I miss you,” against your skin.

“please cho…” you implore, your heavy eyes drifting open as your fingers pull on the strands of his hair. “m’tired tonight…” - you are met with a hot gaze as he stares at you intensely from underneath his lashes, his lips suctioned over your clit while his fingers brush up against your gummy walls. he often does this when you’re sleeping, unable to resist himself even during the peaceful hours of the night. he doesn’t respond to your pleas, but proceeds to slurp and lick your tender pearl with even more conviction. “cho…” you hiccup, moaning a long, drawn out vowel as your breath shakes, “just…just one sec…” - he lifts his lips, his hungry eyes shifting down to focus on the sound of your pussy squelching around his thick fingers. “I’ll stop after this, okay, baby? I’ll let you go to sleep once you cum…”

[llamagoddessofficial]

I'm on my knees for any more crumbs with prison AU therapist Mc and Sans 🙏 the more equal(?) dynamic is just so good And to the anon that brought it up—I love you

I'll do you one better. Here's some crumbs for ALL of them

Since she's not a nurse, this Mc doesn't have a very strong stomach. Stories of Skull's crimes sometimes make her physically ill.

Generally, Sans and Mc's 'sessions' can be quite pleasant. They talk about current events, how things are going. It's only once she starts trying to explore his feelings that he starts toying with her.

... Red teases her a lot. She tries not to react to it, it's unprofessional, but he can always tell when he's flustering her. He gets this infuriating smug grin.

Since Red is a high risk prisoner, he has to have one hand cuffed to a table during therapy. He often complains that he wishes he could be cuffed alone in a room with her in different circumstances. What Mc doesn't realise is that, considering his strength, the cuffs are basically for decoration- Red just pretends he can't break out of them so she feels more comfortable alone in a room with a massive skeleton monster who openly displays interest in her.

Sans doesn't require cuffs in his sessions. And the only time he was cuffed, he snapped them 'accidentally' to make a point. It just makes it all the more nervewracking for Mc.

Skull doesn't know she's his therapist. He thinks she just really cares about him. That's why she keeps coming back to see him, right?

Red isn't the only flirt. Sans is a lot more forward in this AU, considering she knows the truth about his nature. Granted, Sans being 'clear' about something is still incredibly cryptic, but he enjoys the shock in her eyes whenever he calmly flirts with her.

Red's flirting is warm, sincere, and never crosses the line... it leaves her flushed and (though she'd never admit it) flattered. Sans' flirting is nervewracking. It makes her feel like she's a mouse, and Sans is a cat playfully batting at her, capable of clawing her to death at any moment.

Skull gains bits and pieces of speech back a lot faster with her. Unfortunately, that means he's learning how to terrify the guards. It used to be that Skull would just scream or snarl, but now he likes to say broken ominous sentences to guards he doesn't like to see them shit their pants.

He's also figured out that, when he's really upset and angry, if he screams her name enough someone will send her. It's not a great lesson to learn... but it's better than him deciding to attack people.

Whenever Mc tries to get Skull to do therapeutic art with her, he just draws the same thing over and over. The art is scribbly thanks to his tremor, but it always looks like three people; a tall skeleton, a shorter skeleton, and a human. He draws them in various positions- standing together, sitting around a table, sitting on a couch. She suspects one skeleton is him and the human could be her, but she doesn't know who the tall skeleton is.

(It's him, her, and Papyrus. His family)

Sans, for all his power and control, gets ratty and jealous when she treats other people. The first time he hears her laugh is when she realises that was why he's being moody.

She'd never seen him so delighted before.

Sans likes when she dodges his conversational traps. He'll try to lure her into talking about herself, revealing information to him, but she won't fall for it and always turns it back on him. There's not much he's been able to glean from her. It's always so fun, to play with someone who knows what they're doing.

Again, she'll never admit it. But Mc is fascinated by Sans. Most serial killers are delusional and kinda pathetic, but Sans is as if all the stereotypes of the 'genius mastermind serial killer' were true. She gets to be up close and personal, see how he works; she gets to watch his mask rise and fall in real time.

Of course, he knows she's fascinated. He uses it to keep her coming back. He's fascinated with her, too~

[angelltheninth]

hsr men with insecure reader?🥹how would they show you are more than enough,maybe a bit of suggestive 🤭love your writing!

I used to be really insecure before, and I'm sure a lot of people are too, hopefully this will make everyone feel more loved.

Pairing: Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Luocha, Sampo, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: fluff, comfort, slightly suggestive, kissing, insecurity, cuddles, public display of affection, protectiveness, jealousy, playful biting

A/N: Some comfort for you all this time around.

Dan Heng isn't the best with words of comfort but he will always make you feel like the most special, no the only, woman in the room when you're out with him. He's always got his full attention on you weather you be talking, asking him to dance, or just needing him to hold your hand when you feel overwhelmed by the attention the two of you are getting. Although you're sure that its mostly due to him not you, still all these eyes on you, on him, they make you want to prove yourself somehow. He knows this, he notices how you tense up when someone approaches him and he makes sure to let them know that he's already taken by this beautiful woman by his side.

Gepard can't stop talking you up to his friends and even his team. He thinks you're amazing. You could be doing the most mundane thing and he'll take a picture of it and smile over it the entire day. Always makes sure to kiss you when you feel proud of something, his hands cupping your face so gently because all he wants to do is care for you for the rest of his days, he wants you to know that he might be a protector and a knight to the people, but to you he's simply your boyfriend who will stop at nothing to show you how special you are to him and how happy he is to have you in his life and that he wants you to always, always be a part of it because you make it brighter.

Jing Yuan shuts down any and all feelings of insecurity before they get the chance to make you feel like you're not good enough for him. It doesn't matter if he's the general. If you value his opinion so much and hold him in such high regard then won't you trust him when he says that you're everything he could have wanted and so much more? Perhaps a little demonstration is in order. Grabbing you by the wrist he pulls you against him and carries you to the couch where he props you on his lap, bearing his neck and telling you to mark him. He never lets anyone do this, but you, he will gladly be marked by you, be yours for all to see.

Luocha knows that this isn't something he can just cure like he does with illness and injuries. This is something that he needs to show you, that you're more than worthy of being his lover. Whenever you walk into town he makes sure to hold your hand, fingers intertwined and to always insist on a single room with one bed so there's no confusion about you being a couple. Both of you are well aware of the looks you draw to yourselves and the fact that sometimes people can be blind to the signs, so in every town he makes sure to go to a stand and buy you something, a necklace, an earing or a bracelet, a matching set, one for you and one for him, showing you belong to each other.

Sampo can get insecure too but he always plays it off pretty easily as him being playfully jealous of the guys always looking your way. However if he sees that you're the one who's getting down he will try to cheer you up, he won't be too overbearing but he will leave little notes in places around the house, like a secret message for you to discover, to find and that will lead you to him. Congratulations, he is your prize, you have him now, and always from now on. Yeah it was a little silly but you had fun right? He can tell by the big smile on your face, he wants to protect that smile with everything that he's got and make sure no one disturbs your happiness.

Welt hates it when he sees you feeling insecure around passengers. Some of them can be a little flirty but he has no interest in anyone on this train other then you. Now, he can't quite put his job on hold right now but he can very quickly let you know what you mean to him, if you can stay silent that is. He doesn't mind waiting until you get home though, he'll just have to wear your lipstick mark on his neck for the rest of his shift. A little unprofessional of him yes, and will most likely get him a scolding but its a small price to pay for seeing your smile again.

[gaywarcriminals]

Remember that time Xiao Jiu wanted to beat a kid with a brick?

The scene where Shen Jiu threatens Shi Wu is possibly my favorite scene in the whole novel because it tells us so much about qijiu's dynamic, both past and future, and namely, that they're both little freaks (affectionate) who show love in weird ways. I think it particularly exemplifies several of Yue Qingyuan's traits that often go overlooked!

I am just going in order. All excerpts are from the Seven Seas official translation, Volume 4, Chapter 24: Yue Qingyuan and Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Jiu fights for resources

“Shen Jiu, don’t think you can just throw your weight around. You don’t own this street. What gives you the right to tell us we can’t stay?!” This main street was wide and even, and many people came and went upon it. If one wanted to beg, it was the best and prime location. Some of the passersby watched this group of children fight, but even more hurried on their way. And this new brat had the gall to challenge him. Shen Jiu looked down and around, preparing to find a brick with which to teach him a lesson, when a tall youth happened to walk over. He saw Shen Jiu rolling up his sleeves, head lowered, and hastily went to stop him. “Xiao-Jiu, let’s go somewhere else.” [...] With Yue Qi standing in front of him, Shiwu grew bold. He leaned forward and yelled, “Every time we go to a new place,you always hog the best spot!

From this we know that Shen Jiu, without fail, tries to claim or fight for the best begging spots in every city. This isn't fully textually supported, but add to that the later section that mentions how Shen Jiu was far better at begging than Yue Qi and I think that, on some level, SJ feels responsible for both his and Yue Qi's wellbeing. Chasing off the other children is not just a selfish act, but also a protective one.

According to the orders given to them, Yue Qi should have wailed and wept, but no matter what, he never could manage to cry. Therefore, this task had instead fallen to Shen Jiu, even though he was faking an illness that supposedly left him too feeble to weep. But he was small and his face wasn’t too unsightly to look at, so whenever he sobbed and bawled, the passersby found him pitiful and generously opened their wallets. It would have been no exaggeration to call him a money tree.

Xiao Jiu fancies himself the breadwinner lol.

How Yue Qi reacts to accusations against Shen Jiu

That first youth took the opportunity to tattle. “Qi-ge, he’s bullying me.” “That wasn’t bullying, Shiwu,” said Yue Qi. “Xiao-Jiu was just joking around.” “Who’s joking?” said Shen Jiu. “I’m telling him to get lost. This is my territory. I’ll kill anyone who tries to steal it.”

I've anyways found this passage so telling of their eventual adult relationship! First of all, Yue Qi implicitly takes Shen Jiu's side, and immediately defends him. This seems to be taken for granted by all characters, so we can assume this is their standard dyanmic. Yue Qi, notably, does not deny that Shen Jiu was threatening Shiwu. In this situation where SJ is actively gearing up for a fight, it would be a very poor defense, and that's probably true of most messes Xiao Jiu got himself into! 

Most of Yue Qi's actions in the scene are attempts to de-escalate. This is just my theory, but I think in Yue Qi's mind, who's at fault is much less important than making sure no one gets in trouble with a higher authority. Even if he knows SJ could win the fight, it would only gain SJ more animosity, and possibly the attention of someone who would be a real danger.

I think it's evident how Yue Qi's ethos of keeping their heads down and not causing trouble or drawing too much attention would feed into how he handled Shen Qingqiu's less commendable behavior as an adult and complaints against Shen Qingqiu.

In the brothel scene later in the extras, we can see that he's conscious of their image. 

Yue Qingyuan yanked Shen Qingqiu off the bed. He was in a rare fit of anger. “Why are you like this?” “Why am I like what?” asked Shen Qingqiu. “Two of Cang Qiong Mountain’s head disciples getting into a huge brawl inside a brothel—does that sound good to you?”

Imo, now entrenched in the politics of the cultivation world, YQY sees protecting SQQ's image/reputation as an important part of protecting SQQ. Yue Qi spent his childhood managing Xiao Jiu, and as an adult, he's not able to so easily break the habit, not matter how SQQ scorns him

Shen Jiu does not get upset by attacks on his character, only from Shiwu calling Yue Qi "Qi-ge"

With Yue Qi standing in front of him, Shiwu grew bold. He leaned forward and yelled, “Every time we go to a new place,you always hog the best spot! Everyone’s been sick of you for ages! You think you’re all that? That everyone’s afraid of you?” “Shiwu,” Yue Qi scolded. Amidst the struggle, Shen Jiu kicked Yue Qi in the shin. “If you want a fight, I’ll give you one. Only losers would blame their spot for their incompetence. You bastard—who’s your Qi-ge? I dare you to say that again!”

Now granted these aren't the most cutting insults, but it's SO interesting to me that Shen Jiu doesn't react to the insults directly. To me, this is a little bit of evidence that, even at this age, Shen Jiu had already decided he was a bad guy, and stopped caring about what others thought of him. The glaring exception to that was, ofc, Yue Qi. I think part of the reason that SJ reactions to the "Qi-ge" specifically, is that Shiwu just said that no one likes Shen Jiu, and then tried to align himself with Yue Qi. I think to SJ, he sees a real threat in the idea of someone else stealing Yue Qi, the one person who likes SJ. SJ is so possessive of Yue Qi not just because he's Qi-ge, but also because, without him, Shen Jiu would have nothing and no one.

Yue Qi tries to deescalate by coaxing/appeasing Shen Jiu

“You’re the bastard! I bet you’ll get sold off soon and end up a pimp!” Yue Qi didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “Where did you learn that kind of nonsense language?!” Then he dragged Shen Jiu off to the side of the road while coaxing him. “All right, you’re the most competent one here. Even if you didn’t pick and choose your spot, you’d be the best. So let’s change streets.” Shen Jiu stepped on his foot. “Get off me! Like I’m scared! Come on, fight me! Wanna gang up on me? Go ahead!” Of course Yue Qi knew he wasn’t scared. If he really let Shen Jiu brawl with the other kids, he would fight dirty. He’d gouge at their eyes and kick them in the belly or crotch or shin. He was terribly vicious, and the other party would be the one to end up suffering and bawling in terror. Yue Qi forced down a smile. “Are you done stepping on my foot yet? If you are, stop it. Qi-ge will take you somewhere fun.” “What shitty ‘fun’?” Shen Jiu asked savagely. “The most fun I’ll have is if they’re all dead.” Yue Qi looked at him helplessly and shook his head.

Yue Qi only barely scolds Shen Jiu, even when Shen Jiu in the wrong (tried to steal Shiwu's spot and then almost beat up Shiwu). Instead, his reaction is to distract, coax, bribe, and praise him until SJ looses interest in whatever trouble he was going to cause. Yue Qi is so biased, and he spoils him 😂. Even when Yue Qi has so little he can give, he managed to spoil Shen Jiu by giving him so much favor, attention, and affection. 

I think this is something that comes naturally to Yue Qi to the point that he can't help himself from doing the same thing as an adult, even when SJ scorns him. It's just the correct response to seeing a Xiao Jiu! He's the "why do we have hands" meme fr 

Yue Qi smiles imagining Shen Jiu beating up the other kids

Of course Yue Qi knew he wasn’t scared. If he really let Shen Jiu brawl with the other kids, he would fight dirty. He’d gouge at their eyes and kick them in the belly or crotch or shin. He was terribly vicious, and the other party would be the one to end up suffering and bawling in terror. Yue Qi forced down a smile. “Are you done stepping on my foot yet? If you are, stop it. Qi-ge will take you somewhere fun.”

I don't have much to say about this, I just want to remind everyone Yue Qi finds SJ's violent, feral tendencies adorable. This man has no desire to train his cat, and he will insist it's friendly even as it gnaws on his arm.

In Conclusion?

This single scene shows us the trajectory of qijiu's relationship going forward, the strengths of their relationships that became pitfalls. It allows to imagine what they could have become if not torn apart by a world set to doom them.