#grand bargains
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In defense of Deliverism
There are many ways to slice up the coalition that is the Democratic Party, but one important axis are the self-styled adults-in-the-room, who declare themselves to be realists, and the party's left wing, who are dismissed as idealists who don't understand politics: neither how to win elections nor how to wield power.
The "realists" are the ones telling us that we can't have nice things. They say that if the Dems promise bold action - protecting abortion, controlling assault weapons, funding infrastructure, raising the minimum wage, providing health care - they will lose elections. When Dems do win elections, they insist that none of these things are possible: the Supreme Court will strike them down, or the GOP will filibuster them, or the business lobby will subvert them.
For these realists, every negotiation is a grand bargain in which all the grownups meet in smoke-filled rooms where they niggle and cajole and flatter their way into tiny, incremental policy changes, "signature achievements" that are so modest that the enemy can't possibly weaponize them as the deeds of radical socialists who will bring the country to ruin.
To do otherwise, the realists say, is to court catastrophe. Wielding power will destroy the "comity" that makes the legislature effective. It will "delegitimize" the institutions whose trustworthiness is key to enacting sound policy. When they go low, we must go high - not out of a sense of decorum, but to preserve the republic itself.
This kind of politics - the "triangulation" politics beloved of the consultant class - took over the Democratic Party in the Bill Clinton years (see also: UK Labour under Tony Blair). But its foremost practitioner - the Triangulation GOAT - was Barack Obama.
Obama's inside/outside game was indeed remarkable. He assembled and steered a massive, grassroots get-out-the-vote campaign that leveraged his skills as a once-in-a-generation orator to inspire huge numbers of historical nonvoters to show up and cast their ballot (recall that nearly every US election is won by "none of the above," so GOTV is a winning strategy, if you can pull it off).
Then, after the election, he switched off that grassroots.
Literally.
At the time, Obama's grassroots was the most successful netroots in history. Talented coders and digital strategists figured out how to leverage the internet to identify, mobilize and coordinate volunteers across the country. And while netroots activists did their work across the whole internet, their home base was a server the Obama campaign controlled. Once Obama won, they switched that server off.
You see, the rabble is useful when you're out there, trying to turn voters out to the polls. But if you plan to spend your term in office playing eleven dimensional chess, you don't want the mob jostling your elbow and shouting in your ear.
If FDR's (possibly apocryphal) motto was "I want to do it, now make me do it"; Obama's was "I want to do it, now go away." Rather than surrounding himself with the great unwashed, Obama created a cabinet of technocrats, grownups from the upper ranks of industry and the consultant class.
Think of Tim Geithner, Obama's Treasury Secretary, who counseled that the banks should be bailed out with no strings attached, not even a requirement that they halt the seizure and liquidation of swathes of Americans' family homes. When Geithner told Obama he had to "foam the runway" for the crashing banks with the roofs over everyday Americans' heads, there were no grassroots organizers foaming at the mouth in outrage. Thus did Obama end the Great Financial Crisis - by creating the Great Foreclosure Crisis:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/06/personnel-are-policy/#janice-eberly
But Obama's signature achievement wasn't his economic policy - it was his healthcare policy. The Affordable Care Act was a carefully triangulated compromise, one that guaranteed a massive flow of public cash to America's wildly profitable health insurance monopoly and steered clear of any socialist whiff that Americans would get their care from the government.
The ACA was an technocrat's iron-clad dream policy. It would work! After all, it "aligned the incentives" of healthcare investors and "harnessed markets" to drive efficiency. No one could accuse this policy - which was copypasted from former Massachusetts governor Mitt Romney's RomneyCare - of being "socialist." It was invented by a Bain Capital consultant!
Sure, the left would carp about Medicare For All and whine about the unjust enrichment of insurance barons. And sure, the right would try to convince "low information voter" lumpenproles that the individual mandate was an imposition on their Freedumb (TM), but in the end, more of us would get covered, prices would come down, and America would flourish.
That's not how it worked out. Prior to ACA's passage, 85% of Americans had health insurance. Today, it's 90%. That's not nothing! 5% of the US is more than 16m people. But what about the 85% - 282m people - who were insured before the ACA? Their insurance costs have doubled - from an average of $15,609 for a family of four in 2009 to $30,260 today. Obama promised that ACA would lower the average family's insurance bill by $2,500/year - but instead, insurance costs increased by some $15,000.
ACA wasn't just about cost, though: it was supposed to end discrimination, by forcing insurers to take on customers without regard to their "pre-existing conditions." On this score, too, Obamacare has failed: thanks to the ACA's tolerance for high-deductible plans, the number of Americans enrolled in plans that force them to pay for their chronic care out of pocket has skyrocketed from 7% to 32%. Yes, your insurer can't discriminate against you for having diabetes, but they can make you pay an extra $2,000 in deductibles every year before covering any of your diabetes care.
Now, maybe business-as-usual would have been even worse. Perhaps not passing the ACA would have left Americans poorer and sicker. But we're not comparing ACA with doing nothing - we're comparing ACA with more muscular, direct programs, like M4A. What if Obama had enlisted his grassroots, summoning up a left-wing answer to the Tea Party that turned the GOP into the party of no (including no compromises)? What if he'd jettisoned comity, appointed new judges, sent every executive order the Supreme Court rejected back to the court to be struck down again?
What if he'd governed like Lincoln, or FDR:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/20/judicial-equilibria/#pack-the-court
There's a name for this kind of politics: it's called deliverism:
https://prospect.org/politics/case-for-deliverism/
Deliverism is the idea that if you promise things to the voters, they will vote for you. It's the idea that if you deliver things to the electorate, that they will re-elect you.
Deliverism is a subject of hot debate in the Democratic Party, because Biden is an empty vessel that gets filled by different party factions, which means that his policy is incoherent, but includes some of the muscular, get-stuff-done politics of the Dems' Warren-Sanders wing, but that agenda is often undermined by the "responsible grownup" do-nothing Schumer wing.
The responsible grownups say that deliverism is dead, because voters mostly respond to hot-button cultural issues, while material improvements in their lives barely move the needle:
https://democracyjournal.org/arguments/the-death-of-deliverism/
In support of this proposition, deliverism's critics point to Obamacare, lauding it as a policy that made Americans better off, but still failed to win enough support for the Dems to defeat Trump at the end of Obama's second term.
In their rebuttal in The American Prospect, David Dayen and Matt Stoller point out that for most Americans, Obamacare didn't produce any improvement to their health care. The ACA made their care far more expensive, and the ensuing concentration across the sector (mergers between insurers, and between insurers and pharmacy benefit managers and pharmacies) made their care worse, too:
https://prospect.org/politics/2023-06-27-moving-past-neoliberalism-policy-project/
The rise in health care costs is no mystery: monopolies have taken over healthcare. In particular, healthcare is now the domain of private equity rollups, where a fund buys and merges dozens or hundreds of small businesses:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/18/wages-for-housework/#low-wage-workers-vs-poor-consumers
Every layer of the healthcare stack is has grown steadily more concentrated since the Obama years: "Hospitals, doctor’s practices, health insurance, pharmaceuticals, ambulances, nursing homes, rehab facilities." As Stoller and Dayen put it:
> Every part of our health care world is increasingly controlled by greedy bankers who kill people for money.
The same corporate concentration has eroded wages, meaning that workers are paying for higher healthcare cost out of smaller paychecks.
Stoller and Dayen argue that the polls show that politicians who make material improvement to voters' lives do win popularity. Take the Child Tax Credit, which lifted more American children out of poverty than any initiative in history. The majority of voters who received the credit favored the Democrats. After Joe Manchin killed the credit, that support flipped, and that cohort now supports the GOP by a 15% margin.
Sure, Biden couldn't order Manchin to support the Child Tax Credit. But he could have gone to WV and campaigned for it with Manchin's base. He could have loaded the bill with pork for WV that was linked to the credit, and dared Manchin to vote against it. He could have "fought dirty" (which is what the grownups call "fighting to win").
The grownups say that if Biden had done that, he might have alienated Manchin and lost future votes, or caused Manchin to run as a Republican in his next election - but that presumes that Manchin won't switch sides anyway, and it presumes that failing to deliver the Child Tax Credit wouldn't also jeopardize the Dems' legislative majority.
The grownups in the Democratic party say we can't win by campaigning on economic issues like monopoly, nor on pocketbook issues like M4A. But when Biden slashed the cost of insulin, his approval numbers shot up.
The grownups' claim that they should steer Democratic electoral strategy is grounded in the idea that they can win elections, and without electoral victories, the Dems can't do anything. The grownups' claim that they should steer Democratic governing strategy is that they can win policy victories, and that these will get the Dems re-elected.
But neither of these claims hold water. Far from being pie-in-the-sky idealists with no theory of change, the party's left is incredibly good at getting stuff done. Take the antitrust enforcers Lina Khan and Jonathan Kanter, as well as the recently departed Tim Wu. They aren't mere idealists - they're brilliant tacticians and proceduralists who have figured out how to use their existing authority to do more than decades of their predecessors combined:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff
By contrast, the grownups in the party - people like Pete Buttigieg - have notably, repeatedly failed to master the procedural technicalities needed to exercise comparable authority. You can't be a technocrat unless you understand the techniques:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge
As for electoral strategy, the consultant class puts all its focus into eking out these incredibly marginal wins - the name of the game is to guarantee a 50.1% win and then move on to the next fight, which ensures that governing will be impossible. Meanwhile, union organizers like Jane McAlevey seek out 97% majorities for strike votes, in the teeth of voter suppression, gerrymandering, dark money and disinformation campaigns that are far worse than anything we see in a general election. And yet it's the party's labor wing that is smeared as unserious about electoral victories:
https://doctorow.medium.com/a-collective-bargain-a48925f944fe
It's true that the right has been scoring electoral wins with appeals to ideology and identity rather than by promising concrete, material improvements for their supporters' lives. You can win elections that way - but only by demonizing half the country as the enemy and then promising to make their lives miserable.
That doesn't invalidate deliverism as a strategy for winning elections. People may not have the time or interest to follow politics in detail. They may not understand how the ACA's internal technical workings are structured. The ACA has a lot of deficits - for example, it doesn't allow people to discover which insurance companies deny the most claims:
https://www.propublica.org/article/how-often-do-health-insurers-deny-patients-claims
But even if that data were out there, there's only so much attention people can or want to pay to their insurance policies. People want health care that works: that takes care of their illnesses and injuries, without bankrupting them. Something like the VA (at its best). Or Medicare (at its best).
Improving peoples' lives isn't merely good governance - it's also good politics. Playing hardball is hard and can be unpleasant, sure, but most of the risk from taking big swings while in office is that the voters won't stand with you and give you the political capital to score big wins.
"I want to do it, now go away" guarantees that there will be no polity at your side, giving you political capital. The politics of grand bargains only produces unimpressive, incremental change.
For all the failings of the GOP's radical wing (and there are many such failings), there is this one virtue: they get stuff done. The GOP has taken massive swings - seizing the courts, dismantling the administrative states, stacking elections, and siphoning off trillions for its donors:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/16/that-boy-aint-right/#dinos-rinos-and-dunnos
The Democrats don't need to copy the GOP's abandonment of material policy for ideological hardlines. Indeed, it shouldn't: when they go low (culture war bullshit), we go high (delivering real benefit to voters). But the Democrats' left wing could sure stand to learn a trick or two from the GOP's right - namely, how to turn "I want to do it, now go away" into "I want to do it, now make me do it."
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/10/thanks-obama/#triangulation
The Clarion Science Fiction Writers’ Workshop (I’m a grad, instructor and board member) is having its fundraiser auction to help defray tuition. I’ve donated a “Tuckerization” — the right to name a character in a future novel:
https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/clarion-sf-fantasy-writers-workshop-23-campaign/#/
[Image ID: An old fashioned tickertape parade. In an open-top convertible, surrounded by security, is a kicking Democratic Party donkey colored red, white and blue.]
#pluralistic#thanks obama#grand bargains#deliverism#elections#strategy#obamacare#democrats in disarray#consultant class#monopolies#medicare for all#electoral strategy#us politics#m4a#triangulation#aca
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Oh, to be a fly on the wall at red bull racing... Christian Horner is once again defending Charles
#f1#formula 1#formula one#charles leclerc#mexican grand prix#mexican gp 2023#i don't know what the endgame is here but rb & christian showing interest is giving charles a massive bargaining chip for talks with ferrar#his current contract with ferrari is up next year#rb showing such interest is a massive advantage for charles#and if he decides its time to leave ferrari rb is a viable option#rbr charles was once an impossible dream now it's seems like it could be a real possibility somed#*someday
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Roxie grand is SUCHAJOKE omg
MGA is really releasing a holiday doll for rh, one of their higher quality doll brands, with
One outfit
One pair of shoes
One set of accessories (necklace, earrings, bracelet)
Earrings that they’ve already used (TWICE—jewel and shanelle)
No storage
No hangers
No extras
Plain makeup
Plain hair
For the price point of EIGHTY US AMERICAN DOLLARS she should at least have a gimmick, like lol omg’s nye queen and her light up stand, but all she does is…rotate chunkily inside the box…
Not to mention how all of her design points are ripped from other dolls. MGA really said “hey let’s release another doll with a slicked back ponytail, identical baby hairs, and a mermaid cut dress.” She’s a lightened Ayesha with Margot’s hair, Jewel and Shanelle’s earrings, and Sabrina’s dress. I haven’t seen her bracelets up close, but I’m sure they’re just color corrected versions of Jewel’s.
But for $80usd she could be yours!!
#rainbow high#roxie grand#looks like they wasted every ounce of creativity on wave 4#but seriously for how good wave 4 and sh wave 1 were#she looks like a bargain bin doll
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I put a deposit down on a new mattress today and now I’m freaking out bc it’s SO much money
#like it’s just over a grand and it’s half price but it’s the most I’ve spent on anything that wasn’t a car or a computer#but big purchases are fucking terrifying I hate it so much#now I’m trying to bargain like do I really need this?#meanwhile my current mattress is so compacted you could use it for a burrito#love having a normal and healthy relationship with money
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When Carlo Vanzini (Sky Sport Italia) said "let Vasseur cook" I FELT IT IN MY BONES
#my ponderings#sports#formula 1#australian grand prix 2024#ferrari#frederic vasseur#HE IS COOKING INDEED#if Vasseur brings a new Renaissance to Ferrari I will have to accept that only short Frenchmen can manage la Scuderia#it's a hard bargain but a good one at the end of the day#this is a Frederic Vasseur stan account
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WHAT
#night changes???#niall horan???#okay so it isn't that big of a deal#in the grand scheme of things#but that's louis' song#like he performs it now#i wonder if they consult each other and like trade#do they barter and bargain for songs to perform?#many questions#niall horan
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January 2024 in Review
Most frightening and/or depressing story: 2023 was “a year of war“, and so far 2024 is not looking better. Those diplomatic grand bargains you always hear about seem to be getting less grand. And the drumbeat for a U.S. attack on Iran got louder.
Most hopeful story: According to Bill Gates, some bright spots in the world today include gains in administering vaccines to children around the world,…
View On WordPress
#bill gates#fusion#geopolitics#grand bargain#middle east#nuclear energy#scientific progress#supersonic travel#vaccination#war
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I love a good flow state d&d prep sesh as much as the next person, but this one got me to forget that i have work tomorrow (even if it's just a half day) and that i need to get to bed at a reasonable time, and now i am mayor of regret city
#about the samcat#dm life#it'll be Fine but i've been low on sleep all this week and crabby from my period so i might be a bit insufferable to my poor coworkers#and i did get a lot of prep done so this is an okay bargain in the grand scheme of things
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It is absolutely depressing to be sick on a powwow weekend and watch your socials fill up with all your friends and enemies having the best time
#powwow#bargaining with myself like oh grand entry is in two hours i could be fine by then#wowowow looks like everybody's having a nice time
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OBSESSED|| J.F POTTER
Pairing; James Potter x Fem!Girlfriend!reader
Summary; It’s no secret that James Potter is absolutely obsessed with his girlfriend and he couldn’t be more in love.
Warnings; None. (Fluff.)
HP/Marauders Master List
The entirety of Hogwarts were not ignorant of the knowledge that when James Potter loved, he loved hard and he did it with everything he had in him.
They had seen it in the way he treated his closest friends and they had most definitely seen it when they had seen him pine after Lily Evans, trying with everything in him to gain her affections.
However, after at least a hundred hairline cracks to his heart it was important to make the decision to move on from the red head before his heart broke in two.
It was hard to believe that the Potter boy had truly decided to put the red head behind him, even his friends weren’t really sure they believed him but it just so happened that the boy was telling the truth.
He no longer put on grand performances professing his love, no longer sent gifts via owl flying through the Great Hall and no longer tried to ask out Lily on a date.
Instead he took time to focus on himself, his studies and his friends.
It turns out that when your entire focus is simply on the girl you thought was the love of your life and pranking others it could really affect a person’s grades and so when Minnie had suggested the idea of a tutor he happily agreed with her, he wanted to prove that he really was serious about his studies and his future, not just to his professors but to his parents too.
He wanted to be more than a spoilt, rich boy that got handed everything he could ever need.
He wanted to earn the opportunities he was being given.
Lucky for him, he got a lot more than he was bargaining for when he walked into McGonagall’s classroom that day to find you sitting at one of the desks with your head stuck in a book, waiting for him.
Not only did his grades start skyrocketing but he found that with each tutoring session he spent with you a weight began to grow in his chest, only growing heavier with each moment you spent together.
He’d begin to look forward to seeing you there waiting for him, hair messily pulled back away from your face, eyes narrowed in concentration as you read whatever book you had with you that week, he thought you were adorable.
Slowly, he had accepted the fact that he did indeed, have a crush on you.
He approached it differently than he had with Lily though, instead of grand gestures and eccentric performances, he instead settled for subtle acts of service and innocent touches.
An entire two months he had spent sending subtle glances your way, asking innocent questions to get to know you better, strategically taking notice in the way you’d react to his minor compliments or soothing touches to try and find out if you in some way felt the same.
He thought you did, you had to, right?
He wasn’t imagining the way your cheeks would turn pink when he brushed his hand against you or the way you’d shyly refuse eye contact with him when he looked at you a certain way.
He couldn’t have been imagining it.
He wasn’t. When he eventually bit the bullet and asked you out on a date he couldn’t believe it when you had agreed.
A night spent in the Astronomy Tower with your favourite snacks as you talks for hours and watched the stars had been the start of it all.
There was no doubt about it that James Potter loved you, Hogwarts had never seen him happier.
"He’s doing it again," Sirius groaned, seeing the way James was sitting with his head rested against his palm, seemingly in a daydream as he stared across the hall at you.
It would’ve been deemed creepy if they didn’t know he was staring at his girlfriend, you.
"Leave him alone, Padfoot, he’s in love," Remus teased, briefly glancing up from the novel he was reading, it amazed him every time at just how easy it was to read the emotions swimming in his friend’s hazel eyes.
"He was never like this with Lily," Peter piped up through a mouth of pastry.
Sirius gave him a look of disgust before commenting "He doesn’t even know who Lily is anymore, there’s only two women that exist to our Prongs here and those are his mother and the girl he’s currently staring holes into."
There was no indication that James had heard Sirius’ words but he suddenly jumped up from his seat, startling his three friends. "I need to go give Y/N a hug before she forgets about me." He briefly explained before hurrying towards his girl.
"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Sirius mutters in disbelief, all three of them turning to stare at where you were now in James’ arms, looking up at him with a loving smile.
There was no lie in the saying that Potter’s only fall in life once, they just first need to learn the difference between love and infatuation.
He had been infatuated with Lily, but he was beyond in love with you.
#james potter#james potter x reader#james potter x you#marauders era#marauders#james fleamont potter#harry potter#moony wormtail padfoot and prongs#prongs x reader#prongs x you#james potter fanfiction
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Lost in a Labyrinth - Azriel x Reader
Lost in a Labyrinth I - Azriel x Reader
Summary: Lonely and heartbroken after his near kiss with Elain, Azriel finds himself at the door to the most exclusive pleasure house in Hewn City, The Labyrinth, taking Rhysand’s cruel advice. What he expected to find was a pretty girl to warm a bed with him for a single night. But instead he finds something he never thought existed—his mate. A mate that is tangled up in something far more sinister than he could ever imagine.
Warnings: smut (minors dni), reader is a prostitute
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
Part I
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure house and pay for it, but stay away from her.”
Rhysand’s words had played over and over again in his head since the Winter Solstice, three months ago. Azriel wasn't sure why he was taking him up on his shitty advice now but by some will of his own, he was standing in the shadows of the alley across the street from The Labyrinth—Hewn City’s most exclusive brothel.
Azriel only knew of this place because some of the high ranking nobles he spied on talked about it often. It was known for its secrecy, for making sure their clientele had confidentiality. There were far more pleasure houses that were known to the public, even one in Velaris, but the last thing Azriel wanted was word getting around that he had been seen visiting one. Partly because he liked keeping his love affairs secret, but mostly because he didn’t want to give that satisfaction to Rhysand.
When his shadows came back with no reports of any sightings of faeries nearby, Azriel crossed the distance to The Labyrinth. He knocked five times on the plain looking, unassuming door, following the instructions he had overheard.
A sliding peephole opened revealing a pair of dark eyes. “A bargain, Shadowsinger,” a male voice said through the door. “A copper for your eyes.”
“A silver for your tongue,” Azriel agreed. He felt a burning sensation behind his ear, the bargain tattoo forming.
This was another thing he had learned from spying— the secret bargain that would grant you access to The Labyrinth. A bargain that he wouldn’t speak of the people and things he might see here so long as they kept their silence in regards to his identity.
The door swung open a second later and the male guard ushered him in. The guard gave him a once over, his eyes stopping on the dagger sheathed on his thigh.
“No weapons allowed, Shadowsinger,” the guard ordered. “Especially around the girls.”
Azriel wordlessly unsheathed Truth-teller and let his shadows take it away. He didn’t tell the guard that it was pointless, that he could summon it back at any time regardless of whatever wards they had set up around here—his shadows didn’t abide by the typical rules of magic. But the guard didn’t need to know that.
The guard held out a gloved hand. “The entrance fee.”
Azriel reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch filled with coins. He set it in the guard’s palm without question.
The guard gave him a dip of the head, satisfied, before gesturing for him to continue on. Azriel strided down the dim hallway. He could already smell various aphrodisiacs and drugs amongst the intoxicating scent of arousal in the air. It spurred him on, kept his feet moving on the dark red carpet, not allowing him the chance to second guess his decision to come here.
He wasn’t sure what magic was at play, or if they specifically scented the hallway to further get their clients in the mood, but something was tugging him forward.
He finally made it to the other end of the hallway, where a black door was awaiting him. He opened it slowly, cautiously and when no threat appeared, stepped through the threshold. The door opened up into a large foyer of sorts with a large candle chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
Straight ahead was a grand staircase that led to the second floor. On both sides of the foyer were large double doors with masked guards standing in front of them, swords strapped to their backs.
Waiting for him in the center of the room was an older, High Fae female with generous curves, dressed decadently. A polite smile graced her pretty but aging face as she took him in.
“Shadowsinger,” she greeted with a dip of the head, her hands clasped in front of her. “Welcome to The Labyrinth. My name is Lydia. I will be your point of contact during your time here. Please follow me, I will show you to the girls so you may make your selection.”
This wasn’t the first time Azriel had visited a pleasure house. Gods, when they were younger, him, Rhysand and Cassian had gone to some together. Had even taken the same girl once. But this felt…different. The atmosphere was soft, sensual—not rowdy like the other brothels he had been to.
He followed Lydia into the first set of double doors, which led down another long corridor with more doors lining the wall, all numbered. Until they reached the end where another set of double doors waited. As soon as Lydia pushed them open and gestured for him to continue, soft music crept through the air.
Azriel walked into a heavily perfumed room, dimly lit much like everywhere else in this place. Dark red, velvet settees and cushions lined the walls and floors. Silks hanging from the ceilings gave each space a bit of privacy. A bar was on the opposite wall, fully stocked with various alcohols. Males and females, alike, were milling about the room in various states of undress, some paired up on the couches and chairs.
At the front of the room was a wall made entirely of glass that overlooked a courtyard. Hanging plants and flowered vines decorated the space. A large fountain bubbled in the middle of it. Girls in lingerie and silk robes sat on the stone benches and cushions on the floor, lingered near the fountain, danced to the soft music in corners of the courtyard—all giggling and chattering with each other.
“These are the girls in The Labyrinth,” Lydia explained. “If you would like to see our selection of males, let me know.”
His eyes wandered over the girls, all so beautiful and unique. Every single type of fae was here—from nymphs to firelings to High Fae. But his gaze was drawn towards a lone figure in one of the second story alcoves.
His breath was sucked from his lungs the minute his eyes fell on her. She was…she was so beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen in his five hundred years of living. She was dressed in a light pink lingerie set, a sheer robe hanging over it with white fur trims. She was alone, resting an elbow on the stone railing with her chin plopped in her hand as she gazed out into the carved mountainside within Hewn City.
He couldn’t rip his eyes away from her.
“Are any of them suited to your tastes, Shadowsinger?” Lydia questioned from beside him, knocking him out of whatever spell he had been put under.
“Her,” he answered, his voice a mere whisper, as he dipped his head towards the female he couldn’t help but stare at.
Lydia murmured something to one of the masked servants walking around with trays of champagne flutes. A moment later, one returned and handed the female a slip of paper. She clicked her tongue at whatever she read.
“Apologies, Shadowsinger,” she said, “But it looks like she’s already been chosen for tonight. Do any—”
“By who?” Azriel growled before he even realized, his shadows whirling around him. Lydia looked up at him with a stern look that accentuated all the fine lines on her face.
“You know I can’t tell you that,” she chided. Azriel gave her a sheepish look, not knowing what had come over him. “It looks like any of the other girls are still up for the taking if you’d like to choose another?”
But Azriel couldn’t stop staring at the girl in the pink. Couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her. None of the other girls caught his attention. He had come here looking for a quick, no strings attached, fuck but that desire, that need—it was like it had been sucked right out of him.
“I…” he trailed off, suddenly reeling back into his body. Lydia was staring up at him expectedly but he took a step away. “N-no. I’m sorry. I should…I should go.”
Not a second later, his shadows swirled around him, whisking him away.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Azriel wasn’t sure what drew him back to The Labyrinth the next night. Or the night after. Each time he came, he asked for that girl in pink, and each time, he was told she had already been booked for the night. It would’ve been easy to accompany Mor to Rita’s and find a plethora of females that would fuck him for free. But none of them would’ve been her.
He wasn’t even sure why he was becoming so obsessed with a girl he’d never even talked to. Obsessed enough to travel to Hewn City, pay the copious entrance fee, just to leave when he was told she was still not available.
But here he was.
Again.
Standing at the doors to The Labyrinth.
It had become such a reoccurrence that Lydia would merely shake her head no at the sight of him, already knowing what he was there for. He was sure tonight would go more or less the same. But he was surprised when he caught sight of Lydia standing in the large, intricate foyer and she shook her head yes.
“Well, Shadowsinger,” she said, “I admire your persistence. It seems it is your lucky day. The girl you’ve been waiting for is available. Please, continue on up the stairs and into The Labyrinth. She will be waiting for you behind the ninth door.”
Azriel gave her a dip of the head before striding past her to the staircase. His shadows were swarming him—excited about something. He tuned them out, pushing open the black doors waiting for him at the top of the stairs.
He paused for a second, feeling like he had suddenly been transported somewhere else. Instead of one long hallway like he’d been expecting, the doors opened to a maze of large pillars, multiple pathways lit by candles placed on the floor.
He sent his shadows forward to scout the place and locate the ninth door that Lydia had mentioned. He followed their trail which led him to a red door with a number nine painted on it in a darker shade of red that looked suspiciously like blood.
He let out the breath he had been holding as he wrapped his scarred fingers around the doorknob and slowly pushed it open.
Slow, sultry music met his ears and the scent of pomegranates and cardamom flooded his senses. It was intoxicating, beckoning him forward. He softly shut the door behind him before he completely paused in his tracks as he turned to face the room.
There, standing with her back to him, was the girl who had been utterly consuming his mind since he had first laid eyes on her. She was wearing a light pink nightgown that laced down her lower back. She was bent forward slightly, lighting a candle on a coffee table set up in front of a pair of red velvet couches.
His eyes trailed over the room for a second, trying to gather his bearings. It was a large room, large enough to have a sitting area separate from the four-poster bed covered in silk and textured fabrics. Everything fit the same color scheme as the other rooms he’d been in, red and black. Lit only by candles, the soft lighting only added to the sultry atmosphere.
Some smoke lingered in the air, making everything a bit more hazy. He recognized the scent as a popular aphrodisiac often used during parties with high nobility. His shadows seemed lulled by the music, drifting around him lazily as he stood in place.
He stood frozen as she finally turned around and met his gaze. He had thought her beautiful that day he had seen her up on the balcony, but this close, well… beautiful was not strong enough of a word. She looked crafted for the Gods, a being not meant to walk alongside man. His breath was sucked right out of his lungs again, his eyes widened as his shadows reacted by lowering themselves onto the ground, leaving him bare.
“There you are,” she purred, her voice as smooth as silk and honey. “I’ve heard you’ve been waiting for me.”
Azriel swallowed harshly, his throat bobbing with the motion. He watched her eyes track it, watched how her smirk slipped into a soft smile instead. He opened his mouth to speak, to say anything, but it was like no thoughts existed in his head except for an image of her.
“A bit shy, are you?” She teased after he failed to speak, walking towards him and holding out a hand with well manicured nails. “That’s okay, my love, let me take care of you.”
She grasped his hand in her much smaller one, not even flinching when her skin met contact with his brutal scars. He let her guide him to the couch and push him to sit, entranced by her very presence. She moved to the bar cart behind him, running a delicate hand over his shoulders as she did, before pouring two glasses of whiskey.
She meandered back over to him, plopping on the couch next to him before handing him one of the glasses. She clinked her glass against his. “For the nerves, my love.”
Azriel wanted to tell her that he wasn’t nervous, but that would be a lie. He had no idea why he had been reduced to the shy teenage boy he had been in his youth but he couldn’t shake himself from the feeling. Her presence was overwhelming, intimidating. Like she somehow held his entire being in the palm of her hands.
“Thank you,” he grunted out, his voice rough. He cleared his throat before downing his glass of whiskey in one go. She followed his lead, her smoky eyes never leaving his as she swallowed her whiskey. Beneath the exaggerated desire he found in them was a more calculating look, like she was trying to figure him out.
A bit of the whiskey slipped out of the side of her mouth, dripping down her chin and neck to the crevice between her breasts. Azriel’s gaze followed it, his cock tightening in his pants as he wished to lick it off her gleaming skin.
“Oops,” she giggled, swiping it up with a finger and sucking it into her mouth. “Would you like another glass?”
He shook his head. He didn’t want to be drunk for this. He wanted to savor every second of his time with her, the girl who had been plaguing his thoughts night and day.
“You seem tense, Shadowsinger,” she purred with a pout, making his eyes dip to her full, red painted lips. “I can fix that.”
She reached forward and ran a slender hand up his chest and he nearly moaned at the feeling of her touching him. His hand latched onto hers, stopping it in its tracks.
“What’s your name?” Azriel asked, finally speaking. He needed to know. Needed to taste the way it felt to say it on his tongue as much as he needed to taste her.
“Serenity,” she replied with a coy smile. “But you can call me anything you like, my love.”
His eyes searched hers. “That’s not your real name, is it?”
“Of course not, darling,” she giggled. She leaned towards him, close enough that her breath fluttered over his ear. His cock twitched in his pants, his skin heated. “I think the real question is, what would you like me to call you, Shadowsinger?”
“Azriel,” he breathed out. “Just…just Azriel.”
“Azriel,” she repeated in that voice of silk and honey.
His eyes darted down to her lips again. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help how turned on he felt. Was it the aphrodisiacs in the room? Or perhaps the whiskey had hit just right? He didn’t care. All he knew was he needed to have her.
Azriel let go of her hand, letting her continue her travel up his chest until she grabbed the empty glass in his hand and set it down on the table in front of them. She made eye contact with him again, slowly moving to straddle him on the couch, wrapping her arms around his neck lightly. He bit back a groan as her weight fell on his hardening member.
“What is it you’re here for, Azriel?”
His brain couldn’t focus with her in his lap. Her eyes were so mesmerizing, her scent one he could get high off. His hands found her waist, the silk fabric of her nightgown so smooth against his rough skin.
“You,” he whispered, honestly. Because that was the truth. He had seen her and knew he needed to have her.
“I’m yours, Azriel,” she giggled. “Any way you want me.”
If he were a better male, perhaps now would be the time he realized this might be a mistake. But he wasn’t a better male. He couldn’t be. Not when her body was pressed against his, not when she looked so beautiful staring up at him with her large, expressive eyes, and certainly not when his body was singing for her—hungering for her like she was the only sustenance he needed.
So Azriel surged forward and kissed her.
Lightning exploded, skittering over his skin, the moment his lips touched hers. He groaned at the feeling of their softness. She let out a small sigh as she kissed him back, melting in his lap, pressing herself closer to him.
Azriel slid a hand up her exposed back until he grasped her by the back of the neck and tilted her head so he could deepen the kiss, finally taking control of the situation. His cock hardened painfully as she spread her legs further, allowing her heat to rub against him.
He kissed her like a starved male, licking along her bottom lip, compelling her to part her lips for him. She let him consume her, let him slip his tongue into her mouth and taste her fully.
So sweet.
So divine.
Azriel broke the kiss, letting her gasp for air. The scent of her arousal had his eyes rolling back in his head. Still holding her by the back of the neck, he twisted her head to the side and pressed his lips just below her ear before trailing down her jaw and to her delicate neck.
She moaned, squirming in his lap and rubbing against his hard length, only spurring him on more. His other hand started working on unlacing her nightgown. His fingers fumbled over the ribbon, until finally, it came undone and fell, pooling at her waist.
Azriel pulled back to look at her, now bare before him from the waist up. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly with her breathing, her eyes dilated and full of lust, her lips swollen. The perfect image of desire.
“So beautiful,” he growled, before leaning forward and latching his mouth around her right nipple. She gasped, arching into his mouth as her hands fisted his hair.
“Azriel,” she whimpered, pushing her hips down against his bulge. He growled again, thrusting his hips up to meet hers.
His lips made a path back up to hers, taking her breasts in his palms as he kissed her deeply. She grinded down on his cock again, pulling a whine from the back of his throat that had her smiling against his lips.
He wanted to take his time with her, wanting to draw this out as long as he could. But he knew he wouldn’t last. Not when the need to be in her was causing him to strain against his pants to the point of pain.
Azriel stood, lifting her up with him with an arm under her ass and the other wrapped around her. He let his shadows swarm them, stepping out right in front of the bed. She was breathless as he dropped her onto the soft pillows and sheets, her hair fanning around her head like a halo.
An Angel.
That’s what she was.
A godsdamn Angel.
He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, running them down her body as he pulled her nightgown all the way off, leaving her entirely bare before her. She moved to sit up, reaching for the buttons of his shirt but he lightly grasped her throat in his hand and pushed her back down.
“How do you want me, Azriel?” She hummed, seductively, wrapping her hands around his wrist.
Azriel leaned down, running his nose along the column of her throat until his mouth was beside her ear.
“First, I want you coming on my fingers,” he commanded, his voice husky with desire. “Then my tongue. And then my cock. Do you understand?”
She swallowed audibly, nodding her head.
“Words, angel,” he smirked. “Use your words.”
“Yes, Azriel, I understand,” she whimpered, the scent of her arousal peaking.
He inhaled deeply before pulling away and dropping to his knees before her. She sat up on her elbows, letting out a small cry as he hooked his arms around her thighs and yanked her towards the end of the bed.
Her sex was glistening with her want and Azriel groaned at the sight, unlacing his pants with one hand to relieve some pressure. He watched her as he dipped forward and ran his tongue up her slit, his eyes rolling back at the sweet taste of her.
She tossed her head back with a moan, spreading her legs wider for him. Azriel didn’t waste any time. He sucked and licked at her clit with a hunger he’d never felt before, his cock twitching every time he drew out a moan or cry from her lips.
True to his word, his finger swirled around her entrance, causing her hips to thrust closer and closer. He continued his ministrations as he slid a single finger inside of her, cursing as he felt how tight she was wrapped around him.
“Azriel,” she cried out as he added a second finger before slowly thrusting in and out of her. “Fuck.”
He continued to suck that spot that had her crying out, pure waves of euphoria crashing through her body. His fingers began to thrust inside of her faster and faster as her moans became more frequent.
“That’s it, angel,” he praised as she rutted against his fingers. “Fuck yourself with my fingers.”
She whimpered, her movements frenzied as he latched his mouth back on her clit, sucking in rhythm with his fingers. One of her hands gripped his hair while the other fisted the sheets and she squirmed in pleasure until he pushed her over the edge.
“Az…Azriel,” she cried, arching her back as flames licked their way through her body. “I’m gonna—”
Azriel didn’t stop, palming himself with his free hand as she orgasmed, pulsating around his fingers with a loud moan. He slipped his fingers out and replaced them with his tongue just in time to feel the aftershock ripple through her.
She tried to pull his head away, but he didn’t relent. He needed her on his tongue, needed to fulfill the hunger inside of him. It wasn’t long before he had her screaming through her second orgasm, lapping at the wetness pooling between her thighs. Azriel didn’t let up as he rode out her orgasm with his tongue, not until her body was writhing in pleasure and she was begging him to stop.
He stood, sticking one of the fingers covered in her juices into his mouth, eyes rolling back in his head as he groaned. “Gods, you taste so good.”
He left her panting on the bed as he made quick work of ripping his clothes off. His eyes were black with lust, his shadows spilling all around him in his craze. Gods, he needed her so bad. Every piece of her.
He climbed onto the bed, hovering over her and crashing his lips against hers. His tongue was still claiming her mouth as her hands roamed the muscles of his chest, sliding down to his cock. He groaned into her mouth as she ran her hand up and down his shaft.
“Please,” she begged.
“Please what, angel?�� He nipped at her bottom lip. “What is it you want?”
“Please fuck me, Azriel,” she whined.
The noise that came out of his throat at her words was one he’d never made before. He sat back on his haunches, replacing her hand with his as he guided himself towards her entrance, rubbing up and down against the wetness that was waiting for him.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he slid himself inside of her slowly. She moaned as Azriel let out an animalistic growl at the feeling of her wrapped around him. It wasn’t until he was all the way in her when they both finally released a breath.
“Fuck,” he grunted, falling forward and peppering kisses along her throat. “You feel so good.”
She whimpered at his praise and felt him smirk against her neck before he started to finally move, pulling himself all the way out her before thrusting back in, faster this time. She cried out as he slammed into her.
Azriel set a punishing pace, thrusting into her again and again. His shadows seeped from him until nearly every crevice of the room was taken over by his darkness.
Her nails raked down his back, between his wings as she let him take her. He claimed her mouth again, passionately swallowing each moan he pulled from her. Her hips began to meet his with each thrust, pushing him deeper and deeper inside of her.
“Gods, Azriel,” she cried, squeezing around him as he hit that sweet spot inside her.
“Are you going to come on my cock, angel?” he cooed.
“Yes,” she mewled. “Yes, gods, yes.”
“Good girl,” he growled, nipping at her throat with his canines.
His words pushed her over the edge into the hot bliss of pleasure. She screamed his name as the lightning shot through her, her core pulsating with each strike.
“Fuck,” Azriel groaned. He rode out her orgasm and then his thrusts became harder, faster but sloppy with no rhythm as his own release slid up on him.
His tongue swirled around the base of her neck before an utterly feral growl ripped through him. And then he bit down on that spot. His canines ripped through the skin, sinking down into her flesh as he came, thrusting once, twice and one final time—burying himself in her.
They both panted in silence for a moment, coming down from their highs before Azriel slowly slipped out of her with a small whimper. He pulled away from her and she smiled up at him, her eyes glazed with pleasure and satisfaction.
And then something happened. Something he never thought would. Something he had only dreamed about but never wished for because he had thought it a waste of breath.
A golden string of light unwound itself and shot across the darkness, all the way to the beautiful girl before him.
The mating bond snapped.
His mating bond.
Azriel let out a choked noise, rising fully. He stumbled back in shock, his eyes wide as he stared down at her. Her brows furrowed in confusion and she sat up.
Fuck, his mate…
She was his mate.
His godsdamn mate.
This couldn’t be happening. Not like this. Not after he had just paid her to have sex with him. Not after he had come here for a shameless fuck. She’d never want him now. Why would she?
He hastily began picking up his discarded clothes and dressing himself. She did the same in her confusion, slipping her nightgown back on as she frowned at him.
“What happened?” Her voice was meek as she hugged an arm around herself, looking at him. “Have I…have I done something wrong?”
“N-no,” he stuttered, not looking her in the eyes. Gods, she would hate him if he told her now. She would not want anything to do with him. “No, I’m sorry. I-I need to go.”
“But you paid for the whole night,” she said, perplexed with a hint of insecurity. “Please, if I wasn’t good…if you didn’t enjoy it…I can do better, I swear it.”
He finally looked at her, at his mate. His heart sank in his chest at her words. Fuck, he was making this worse. He couldn’t stand the sight of her looking at him like she’d done something wrong. She was perfect. She had been perfect. It was him who fucked up.
“No, no, don’t. It’s not you," Azriel tried to reassure her. “I…it’s me. I need to go. I’m so sorry.”
“At least let me get you your money back,” she said, rubbing her arm. He felt sick to his stomach.
“No! No, please keep it,” he murmured, buttoning up his shirt as fast as he could. “I’m…I’m so sorry. This was a mistake.”
And then he disappeared in his shadows, her confused and hurt face the last thing he saw.
─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───
a/n: so obvious this was entirely from Az's perspective but it will be reader y/n just in case it wasn't super obvious! Hope you guys enjoyed it! If you asked to be tagged but don't see your username, it wouldn't let me tag you for some reason :((
(also, now that the whole chapters out, if this isn't what you thought you were signing up for, no hard feelings if you asked to be removed from the taglist)
taglist: @itsswritten @impossibelle @lilah-asteria @heartless-tate @sheblogs @jesskidding3 @landofpetrichor @thecollegecowgirl @5onedirection5 @cherry-cin @fayeatheart @brieflyclassymortal @saltedcoffeescotch @glitterypirateduck @eyebagsanonymous @chxosangxl @daardyrnitta
#acotar#acotar fanfiction#azriel#acotar x reader#acotar x you#azriel x reader#azriel x you#azriel shadowsinger#azriel fanfic#azriel acotar#azriel angst#azriel smut#azriel spymaster
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the responses i’ve seen to shiv’s ending seem very quick to write her off as just another sad victim of the cycle, which isn’t without truth BUT!!! that is not even remotely the summation of shiv’s story.
i don’t think she votes yes to “save kendall” or to try to finally set her brothers free. and i don’t think her main concern was that ken was becoming their dad. she absolutely noticed and didn’t love it, but that was not her motivation in betraying him. she was thinking about herself.
it’s tempting to make a martyr out of her as she is the only female child and we see her suffer the onslaught of misogyny that comes with that. but to make her into a saintlike figure who got beat takes away the power and intelligence behind her decision.
at this point she’s stuck between two non ideal choices, but she recognizes that they have accidentally made her the single most important player in the game. because while she can’t have the outcome she’d prefer, she has the power to decide the fates of everyone else. the written off lone woman now holds in her hands the fate of every man in her life.
so she thinks about the long term benefits of both options and realizes that one side leaves her completely without any leverage.
her brothers have proven to her multiple times in the last few days alone that they will cut her out and walk all over her the first chance they get. siding with them leaves her nothing to bargain with. she would just have to hope that ken would actually take care of her. and that level of vulnerability is not only unacceptable to her, it’s stupid. and shiv fuckin roy is not stupid.
so she thinks about the other side and about what she actually wants for her life. and against her better judgment, it’s becomes unfortunately clear that she wants tom. the way she wants him is not altogether loving or even good but it is necessary to her. she sees relationships as having winners and losers and she chose this man specifically so that she could be confident in her ability to win. except now he’s grown some balls and made himself unavailable to her.
she may not like the way her husband is evolving but she already placed her bets on him, so she’s sure as hell not losing to him now. there’s also a part of her that feels intrigued by this new man she’s married to. it’s interesting to have a sparring partner in him instead of having to looking for excitement outside of their marriage.
so for maybe the first time ever, she processes what tom has said to her and thinks about what he actually wants.
he needs her to prove that she cares. he needs to know that she is capable of sacrifice. if she can’t find it within herself to do this for him, then she will lose him, and by extension, she will lose.
siding with tom gives her the opportunity to once and for all make a grand-stand gesture of love, but more importantly, it creates leverage for her. never again will he be able to hold the moral high ground over her head. never again can he say she doesn’t love him. never again can he call her selfish or uncaring. above all, he can never betray her again, because she just removed all of his moral justification for turning on her. he doesn’t realize it yet, but she’s just taken back all the power in their relationship. just in a more subtle way than she’s used to operating.
and just like that, she has the ceo of a multi billion dollar company in her pocket, while situating herself as the only descendant of logan roy to still be playing the game, having removed her brothers from the equation permanently. she may still be far from the top but she’s creating a path for herself to climb.
so yes, she’ll let tom play king for a day, and she’ll have his baby and say “congratulations,” and play the gracious wife, but tomorrow is a new day with lots of room to maneuver. and when her husband puts out his hand, she’ll place her own on top. but she won’t grasp it because she doesn’t need to.
#🐺#shivy’s gonna be just fine#okay this ended up being a very long post but#i feel like someone needed to point out her wins#also i’m fully aware that remaining in the toxic world of the family business is not a win rly but#i think her ending is being interpreted as powerlessness#which it is NOT#she chose her spot. she’s calling shots#she may not have won today but she sure as hell didn’t lose#let’s not work so hard to sanctify her that we remove everything about her that makes her such a brilliant character#succession#shiv roy#siobhan roy#scn#tv
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Sorry, Mom. I'm The New Cleaning Lady For Heartsteel
Pairings: various!Heartsteel x f!reader
Status: on-going (Cross posted on AO3)
Content/Warnings: 18+ content, explicit themes, suggestive language
Summary: Identity theft was a crime—that was obvious. But when it meant paying off the bills for basically existing and your mother’s hospital expenses, committing a felony didn’t seem like a bad thing. It was like that one quote, from that one band, with that one hit song: “Two sides to a story but they never tell me side.”
Or…something like that. Wait, what was their name again? Heartsteel? Sounds like a dating sim game.
[Reader takes the identity of her mother, who had been hired to be the new cleaning lady for an up and coming boy band named ‘Heartsteel’. Obviously, there’s no way they would ever find out. But that was a joke. Because they’re definitely finding out: one by one.]
“You…brought your own cleaning supplies?”
“You always need to be prepared, young man,” you replied, adjusting your duck-yellow cleaning gloves. They squeeked and flopped comically around your hand and fingers.
“Ma’am, you do understand today is solely the house tour.” The man folded his arms neatly against his chest, white brow raised. “In order to rely on you fully, you’ll need to be familiar with the estate first. I thought we discussed this beforehand. That and…we have cleaning supplies to provide you with here.”
You paused at the grand modern entrance. You lifted your bucket full of sponges, brushes, and cleaning spray from the dollar store. 'Buy-one-get-one' on all cleaning supplies was the grand deal of the day. How could you pass a penny-pinching bargain? Swallowing your shame, you settled the cheap items on the pristine granite floors.
“Oh, is that so? Must’ve slipped my mind. Age will do that to you.” You forced a chuckle, adjusting your sterile mask across your youthful face. “That and, I have such a passion for cleaning. I can't help myself. I see the inside of a house, and I just have to clean it. I’m sure you could understand that.”
“I don’t believe I could,” your employer said dryly. “Anyway, if you will, follow me.”
You nodded and shuffled along accordingly. As you stared into the back of his immaculately pressed business attire, a new-found horror struck through you: you had no clue what your employer’s name was. Frantically, you scavenged your pockets. From it, you pulled out a business card, holding it so close to your face you smelled the tinge of clean cologne.
YONE
RIOT RECORDS
DJ / PRODUCER
EMAIL: [email protected]
TELEPHONE: XXX-XXX-XXXX
“The bottom floor consists of all of the amenities; gym, entertainment area, recording studio and so on.” Yone stated as he stepped into the open-kitchen plan. When he regarded you again, you awkwardly plunged the card back into your pants pocket. “The boys have their own scheduled chores every week. They’re expected to do it without you having to help them. I’m trying to keep them humble, but easier said than done. Refer to the chore calendar on the fridge. And try not to interfere with it too much.”
“Okay—who switched my protein powder with flour?” Behind an opened cabinet, a heavy-muscled stacked man growled. “Guys. Seriously. This stuff’s expensive. Where’d it go?” When he poured the contents out into the trash can, he plucked out a note from the bottom of the canister. The small print read:
‘Protein powder tastes like dog food.’’
The weight of realization punched him square between the eyes. He threw open the pantry, where dog kibble was stored in a tub at the bottom marked ‘Ernest’. Sett pulled open the container, and sure enough, found his protein powder and scooper. There was no mistaking his favorite smell of cinnamon crunch isolate, now mixed with the scent of dry-bacon kibble. Another note pasted the inside lid:
‘Woof–Woof ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ’
“A–phe–li–os,” the name gritted between his canines. His ears flattened against his untamed hair, and crumpled the note to dust in his palm. “Oh–Ho. Mess with me all you want; but never mess with my gains. I’m gonna’ prank him back so hard tonight, he’s gonna’ be begging me to stop.”
“Sett,” Yone coughed, grabbing the Vistayan's attention. “We have a guest today. Our new cleaning lady.”
“Oh, sorry about that.” Sett wiped his powdered hand against his sleeveless shirt. He reached and took your rubber glove with a squelch. “Hey, how’s it goin’, Ma’am. The name’s Sett.”
You swallowed hard, hoping your glove would remain securely covering your hand. You feared if he pulled back, he would reveal a hand that wasn't so wrinkled for someone supposedly in their late-fifties. And that was according to your mother’s age printed on her driver’s license. Thankfully, you could tell he restrained himself to a delicate shake.
“Would talk more but gotta hit the gym. Nice meetin’ yah though,'' Sett started away, and called back over his shoulder. “Mom, can you take care of Phel for me? I dunno' where he hid the dog food for Ernest.”
Yone exhaled a silent sigh, and part of you felt pity for your employer. He seemed like a parent with a tag-team of overbearing children running around the house. Being a single parent was difficult; you knew this first hand from your own up-bringing. It made you grateful for your mother’s patience and attention. It was the reason you were here in the first place.
“Let’s continue with the tour upstairs,” Yone said, motioning you to a loft-style staircase. “The second floor consists of all the bedrooms and laundry room. At the end of the hall is my room. As it stands, it’s completely off limits to everyone, including yourself.” He turned a sharp chin in your direction, “Am I understood?”
You gulped and pressed your shoulders straight. “Of course.”
“Mommy, help me!” A bed of green hair bounced to Yone’s side, tugging at his tailored suit. “Kayn’s bullying me again. But I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”
“You’re such a crappy liar.” The presumed assailant, Kayn, stomped out of the hallway bathroom. Magenta hair stuck to his furrowing brows. With just a towel wrapped around his steaming waist, his abdominal muscles tensed, pointing aggressively at his target. “I was trying to shower in peace, until bubblegum pop princess over here came barging in trying to take selfies of himself. Did you know people usually shower naked? I’d like my junk not to be posted on social media, unless I’m the one doing it. For cash.”
“It’s not my fault you’re always going over your shower limit. News flash: we each only get fifteen-minutes. But you’re always breaking the rules! You know I take my selfies at the same time, at the same place, every single day. So how about you do us all a favor, and get some better time management?”
Kayn raised a vein popping fist into the air. “How about I get you a better face instead?"
Ezreal cried fake sparkling tears, cowering further behind their producer.
“Enough. The both of you,” Yone tightened around his words like a leash, restraining the quarreling pair. “For once, I’d like for you two to at least pretend you get along in front of others.”
The two whined and grumbled under their breaths till they fell to a silent agreement. But the peace treaty wasn’t upheld for long. You saw a zap of yellow from the corner of your eye. The image was so fast, you thought you must’ve imagined it—Nope. You definitely saw something. Kayn’s towel knot popped loose. And it wasn’t caused by an event of divine intervention.
The towel billowed towards the ground. And the world felt as if it was turning in slow motion, like one of those car chase movies with excessive explosions. Except, the only explosion here would be your very own heart.
Sure, you took an anatomy class here and there. In high school, you remembered the penis joke’s and games, and they never flustered you. Heck, not even when your friends set your desktop screen to a .gif of dicks spinning in circles—you found that hilarious. And when anatomy classes began in college, they were all very clinical, rudimentary, and otherwise a snooze fest.
But seeing one in real life when you’ve never had a boyfriend or a one night stand, was truly groundbreaking. Earth shattering, even.
Penis (en)counter: 1
While you were stuck in your prison of naïve embarrassment, Ezreal laughed and pulled out his cell phone, camera light shuttering a mile a minute.
“You little shi—!” Time sped forward again. With fast reflexes of his own, Kayn whipped the towel and knot back in place. “That’s it. You’re dead.”
“Uh–Oh. Time to run again,” Ezreal quipped, zooming off down the stairs.
With all bark and full bite, Kayn vanished like a cloud of smoke in pursuit. You coughed against the smog, while Yone merely swatted his hand back and forth, dissipating the gray wisps.
“You’ll have to excuse them,” he commented. “They share the same room, but have vastly different personalities. I arranged most of them together, thinking it’d help them understand each other on a deeper level. And ultimately, help them perform better together in the studio and on stage. My efforts are…yet to be determined.”
“That’s alright. Can’t be easy for young men their age to share anything. Especially with them being full of energy, testosterone, and other things. O-Oh, to be young once more…ah-ha…” you laughed nervously. Oh, God. What the heck were you saying? Honestly, you had to give pardon to yourself. You were still trying to recover from seeing your first penis up close and personal.
The image would be forever burned in your mind.
You were pulled from your self-conscious thoughts. Down the hall, a pair of shadowed eyes peeked through a sliver of door and frame. When your gaze locked together, the other pair of eyes shifted shyly from side to side. As if a poltergeist existed within the room, the visage faded back into the uncanny crack of darkness. The door creaked closed, with an audible click and lock.
Yone pursued straight to the door, and you stood a few paces back. If there was any chance that a ghost was inside living rent-free, you wouldn't be the first it possessed. You weren't a certified Ghostbuster.
But you also weren't a certified Dustbuster, either. No one will know, know one will know, you chanted the comforting hymn.
“Aphelios. Open the door. I know you’re in there. I can see the computer light flashing,” Yone stated, rattling the door knob. “Where’s the kibble for the dog? Sett told me you have it somewhere.”
There was a beat in the air. From behind the door, you heard feet pacing back and forth, and the sounds of finger taps against a phone screen. Yone’s phone pinged with an alert. He pulled it out, and opened his text messages.
‘I can’t open the door all the way. I set the bucket of dog food to fall on Sett’s head when he comes in. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ’
“For the love of…no more pranks today." Yone pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan. "But I doubt you could even manage that. Whatever trap you’ve ensembled, take it down—now. And put the dog’s food back in the pantry. Unless you want to donate a cut of your earnings every month to Ernest’s pet store bill.”
Another pause, followed by begrudging phone taps.
‘Fine, m O T h E r…(¬_¬")’
“That might take him a few. Depending how intricate the set up was. I would be surprised if the only thing involved in this scheme was just the dog food.” Yone motioned you back down the stairs. “Last thing to see is the outdoor space.”
Continuing with the tour, you passed through the lower floor, stepping down a hallway decorated with awards and magazine clippings. From commercial modeling gigs to sold out venues, your eyes glistened at the polished look the group was slowly cultivating. Which you had to admit, completely contradicted their personal lives.
When you reached a sliding glass door that stretched from floor to ceiling, you stepped out onto a landscaped deck. Lush modern garden trims, a shaded outdoor lounge, and smooth sandstone pavement decorated the space. At the backend, an infinity pool rested in pristine stillness.
At the head of the pool, a person of sculpted bronze physique posed in swimwear on a lounge chair. When you approached along with your chaperone, he picked up his tropical drink, and tilted it in a cheering gesture.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mama gracing me with his presence. And look's like someone else is with him, too.” The man basking in the sun's rays and oil slicked, shucked his sunglasses onto his dread locks. “Let me guess. This must be the new cleaning lady you hired to pick up after our mess.”
“To a certain degree,” Yone replied. “But not all of the mess, K’Sante. Out of everyone, you should know better.”
“I only joke, Mama.” He grinned smoothly, taking a sip of his frozen alcoholic refresher. “Say, have you seen Sett? I told him to come join me for a tan by the pool. If he wants his muscles to truly pop, he needs to use some oil and not be allergic to the sun. The man is whiter than the sky is bright today.”
As he laughed to himself, Ernest left his chew toy at the far side of the pool, and came to sniff your shoes. With a smile, you slipped a very small piece of your long sleeve up, allowing him to sniff at your skin. The dog lapped his tongue around his slobbering chops, barking delightedly and pawing for you to pet him. You were more than happy to oblige.
These gloves came in handy after all, you thought pleasantly as globs of saliva fell in heaps over your fingers.
“What’s this? Ernest taking a liking to the cleaning lady already,” K’Sante mused at the sight. “Barely warmed up to us when we first met. We won’t mention the illegal trespassing but, call me impressed.”
With a wink, he flicked his sunglasses back down to the bridge of his nose. “That or he has a ‘ting for older women. Can’t say I blame ‘em. An experienced woman has a certain power that’ll make any grown man cry. And from my own experience, it is never for mercy.”
Oh, boy. You couldn’t imagine your mother being interested in the cougar life-style. Not that you would approve of it. And you were certain your father would descend from the heavens and deliver the backhand of God to any young man who dared otherwise.
Before Yone could address the unsavory statement, Ezreal burst through the backyard sliding doors. Still possessed with laughter, he hopped and skipped over pool chairs and tables. The merriment stopped short when Kayn caught up to the cheeky idol, snatching his wrist which held the phone. From the staggering halt, the phone slipped from Ezreal’s hold, somersaulting towards the pool.
“M-My phone!” Ezreal paled at the thought of losing thousands of stored photos of himself—Oh, and the blackmail photos he was going to use against Kayn, too.
Yanking his wrist free, Ezreal pursued the device. But Ernest’s rubber hotdog toy squealed beneath him, forcing him off balance. Kayn latched an arm around Ezreal's slim waist, and pressed him safely against his bare chest.
He huffed against Ezreal's ear. “You can’t swim, you idiot. Remember? Just let it go.”
Ernest barked at the surmounting commotion. Being the valiant guard dog with the perfect pedigree, he bounded on his thick paws to catch Kayn by the towel, with all the intent to keep them both from falling in. What a good boy! Unfortunately for Kayn, Ernest bit a bit more than he could chew.
Kayn’s voice bass boosted ten-octaves lower. “MY DAMN ASS!”
W-Whose voice was that? Was that even the same person? The thought rattled through you.
A chunk of Kayn's soft meat condensed in the jaws of a furry devil. A shock travelled up the nerves of his spine, into the the muscle fibers of his arm, shoving Ezreal forward. Ezreal flailed his hands in the air, desperate to find some semblance of balance—with no luck, at all. Fumbling on his tip-toes, Ezreal plummeted into the pool with a splash. Kayn stumbled from the after-shock of his spirit being bitten straight through his buttcheeks. His feet met the cursed rubber squeaker, sending him following suit into the pool. Except, the towel had its own plans. It decided to stay behind and not get involved.
Penis (en)counter: 2
“I heard some commotion, fellas. What’s goin’ on?” Sett stepped out from the sliding doors. He caught witness of Ezreal’s face treading water, gasping for bouts of air. Sett’s muscles popped at the sight, barreling towards the scene. “Don’t worry, Ez. I’m coming for yah, buddy!”
Sett launched himself into the air, preparing the most athletic Olympic dive ever conceived.
Kayn inhaled sharply as he broke through the water's surface tension. Recuperating his breaths, he slicked his wet hair back from his face. Looking down at the waters crystal reflection, an odd shadow grew in size around him. And according to the forecast earlier; there was no chance in Hell of clouds or rain. Lifting his nose to the darkening sky, he blanched in sheer horror. A body, massive enough to eclipse the sun, hurled down like a meteor descending to Earth.
What day was it today, Doomsday? He must've forgot; Kayn never bothered to look at calendar's, anyway.
Back to the painful mistress that was his life; a weak, painful moan escaped him. “You can’t be serious. This isn’t the cool death I deserve—”
Those were Kayn’s final words. A wave rivaling a tsunami consumed him, a random pizza chair float, and the immediate surrounding pool area. Standing in the designated splash zone, pool water soaked your soles, leached into your socks, and dampened your pants to the knees. From K’Sante’s spot, a shot of chlorine or two spiked his drink. He snatched his sunglasses off and shouted the words; “This was the last bit of banana daiquiri mix, you aboas! Now I have to go down to the liquor store and hope they sell it frozen already.”
Yone, with all the grace anyone could hope to be blessed with, merely side-stepped away. A single speck landed on his polished shoes. He narrowed his steely eyes, flicking away the insignificant drop.
You caught something flashing on the second floor of the estate. Looking up, you shielded your eyes from the glaring sun. From one of the windows, you spotted someone holding up a sign. You assumed it was Aphelios. The poster read:
‘4/10 Ezreal. 6/10 Kayn. 10/10 Sett.’
With a dramatic burst through the water, Sett hurled Ezreal over his massive shoulder, and walked out of the pool. Placing Ezreal onto his soaking back, he coughed and gagged against the awful taste of treated water.
He smiled at his new-found savior. “Thanks, Sett. I’m fine, but what about Kayn…”
The group shifted their attention over the silent, lapping water. After a bubble or two, the sight of Kayn’s bare bottom surfaced to the top. Floating like a wet and rounded land-mass, with the additional landmark of a pink dog-bite.
“Kayn! Hang in there, pal!” Sett launched himself once more into the water, creating another wave of soaking magnitude.
Although the drink had already been spoiled, K’Sante reflexively covered the top of his daiquiri glass. “For God’s sake, Sett. Take your time. It’s not like you’re saving the life of an innocent man.”
As chaos continued to ensue around the gang, Yone placed himself at your side. With a shake of his head, he crossed his arms, and sent a ghost of a smile your way.
“Welcome to Heartsteel,” he said. “Your first day starts tomorrow.”
Looks like your identity was safe…for now, at least.
an: thanks for reading! the rest of the this story will most likely just be on my AO3. You can find me @ milksuu. comments and suggestions always welcomed. <3
#heartsteel#league of legends#Heartsteel x reader#kayn x reader#ezreal x reader#aphelios x reader#Sett x reader#K'Sante x reader#Yone x reader#reader insert#league of legends fanfiction#cross posted on ao3#divider by @benkeibear
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world burning [c.l.c]
pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader
wc: 1.4k
cw: someone is literally shot, charles kisses reader a bit forcefully
an: to the anon who said they'd sell me their soul my cashapp is @bestfanficwriterever (jk jk, i hope that anon sees this tho). Real reminder to you all, again, that non of this stuff is to be encouraged irl and this is all meant as a fictional scenario!
“Charlie?”
You could hear him softly cursing in French on the other line, whispering as the bed creaked in the background. It was obvious he had just woken up, and you felt terrible for waking him as well, knowing the day he probably had.
“Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, tu ferais mieux d'avoir une bonne raison de me réveiller (what's the matter, you'd better have a good reason for waking me up)-”
“Charles, I've been arrested, I need someone to come get me.”
The muttering stopped, grogginess disappearing from his voice almost instantly. “Y/n? Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé bon sang chéri (y/n? what the hell happened darling)?”
“Charles, not now please,” You chastised softly, looking to the door as the guards quietly conversed among themselves outside the room, “I have no idea why this is happening and what they’re gonna do to me.”
“How did you even manage to get arrested… Nevermind that, I just hope you haven’t answered anything they've asked of you.” He groaned, heavy thumping over the phone as you looked nervously at the door for any indication they’d been listening to your conversation.
“I’m not that dull,” You said quietly, looking down at your lap, “and it couldn't have been anything i did, all they did was seize the car from me in the lot and bring me here.”
He paused for a moment, silent over the line. You pressed the phone against your ear, straining for any sounds on the other side of the line.
“Stay put. I’m coming to get you.”
A shiver ran down your spine and you fumbled, tripping over your words in a hurry to get them out.
“Char, what are you planning on doing?”
He laughed humorlessly over the phone, the sound of keys jingling and door slamming making you jump back from the phone as if it’d grown a head.
“Exactly what I said I'm going to do, come and pick you up.”
You swallowed the thick ball that’d formed in your throat.
“You know what- never mind, send someone else in your place, maybe Carlos?” You bargained, earning a soft chuckle from him.
“Pas de souci, mon amour. Je ne fais que commencer (no worries, my love. I'm just getting started). They should’ve learned not to fuck with the wrong person. I’ll be there in another 20 minutes, you won’t need to call anyone else.”
You shivered as the line went dead, looking at the now opened door, all the cops watching you with a suspicious look.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
All you could do was shake your head.
Not even a grand total of 15 minutes later, a shouting match erupted, followed by loud bangs.
There was a single person you could think of who was capable of this level of chaos, and you could have swore you’d heard him threatening the cops right now.
“Where is she?”
“Sir-”
“Don’t sir me, where the hell is she? Don’t tell me I have to blow another head off just for you to tell me.”
Everything seemed to fall silent for a couple moments, only a few voices daring to make a sound.
“Char?” You called out, a couple beats of silence weighing you down.
The sound of footsteps only got louder, stopping in front of the room you were in.
Keys jangled, the door slamming open as Charles walked in, a couple of police tailing him timidly to the outside of the door.
There were dark stains on his otherwise clean shirt, an indication of what happened visible in the peeved look on his face. Your eyes slowly trailed to his hand, a gun held tightly in his grip, smoking oh so slightly.
Noticing how your attention had drifted to the weapon, he put it down on the other side of the table as he approached you, shrugging off his jacket as he approached you.
“Tu vas bien maintenant (you're all right now),” He said quietly, running his fingers through your hair as he pulled you to him, “Come on, we’re going home.”
You clutched his arm as he stood you up, eyes glued to the floor as you walked next to him.
You could hear their disappointed exhales, tinged with a bit of surprise as Charles kept a firm grip on your back, guiding you through the long hall to the main office.
As you continued to walk, he gently stopped you, turning around in the middle of the room as someone called for him.
“Fucks sake,” He sighed, turning around.
“Sir, i believe there has been a mistake-”
“What sort of mistake do you think you’ve made?” He snarled, his hand running down to your hand, lacing his fingers into yours.
“You see, the car we identified was yours and we thought that perhaps she’d stole it-”
“And you didn’t think to call me so I could deal with them myself?” He chuckled humorlessly, pulling you to his side. You held your breath, completely aware of what was about to happen.
“Charles, no-”
He shook his head at you, basically telling you to not interfere. You obliged, eyebrows creasing as you watch the poor man who had tried to explain himself get shoved to his knees.
“First off, you interrupt my very precious time, and then you have the audacity to say that you’ve made a mistake?” He stands back, waving at someone behind him to step forward to his side with a gun. “Do you know who she is?”
The man stumbled over his words, trying to plead for his life, but you already knew it was too late.
“Since you don’t seem to know, let me tell you. She’s the last face you’ll be seeing but since she’s here, I've decided to spare the rest of you for the time being. If I ever hear of anything happening to her again, anyone in this room will not be spared like they were today.” He remarked bemusedly, turning to you with the widest grin you’d ever seen from him.
“Chéri, close your eyes, and cover your ears as well.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. The second you did, there was a bang, followed by a thumping sound.
Something warm was on your face, but you didn’t dare open your eyes, shaky hands coming off your ears to touch your face.
“Don’t.” He was closer than you thought, causing you to jump as he rubbed what you assumed was a handkerchief against your face . “Don’t say anything, don’t look, just follow me.”
You cracked open an eye, briefly wandering to the pool of blood a couple of feet away from you.
“What did I just tell you?” He remarked, barking at the rest in rapid french as he grabbed your hand and pulled you out the doors of the station.
There was an awkward silence as you lumbered into the passenger side seat, pressing yourself against the seat as he pulled out and onto the road.
“I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?” He muttered, hand reaching over to squeeze your thigh.
“I thought you’d be upset with me.” You looked down, noticing the dried blood on his hands, not that it made much of a difference to you anymore. Less than two years ago, you would have been horrified at the idea of blood within six feet of you, but you had come to accept it as a part of him you could never erase.
“No-” He punched the brakes, eyes slightly apologetic as you jumped from the sudden shock of stopping.
“No, no, Y/n, look at me,” His hand left your thigh, fingers curling around your chin and pulling your face to his, “You are not responsible for any of that, i gave you the car, remember? You are not to blame yourself because I would gladly do anything for you.”
“Char-” You whined, muffled slightly by the pressure of his fingers against your cheeks.
“I would give you the world to see you happy, so shut up and take it.” He pressed his lips harshly against yours, almost needy in the way he nipped at your bottom. Warmth seemed to stir inside you as he let you go, your own mind racing at a million miles per hour as he returned to the wheel as if nothing had happened.
However, under his breath, he muttered something that even escaped you as your thoughts drifted off elsewhere.
“Le monde brûlera, si tu le veux ma chérie, je te le promets (the world will burn, if you want it to my darling, I promise).”
#mafia au#mafia!f1#f1 mafia au#f1 mafia#mafia fanfic#mob au#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#f1 x reader#f1 x y/n#f1 x female reader#f1 x you#f1 fanfic#f1 fic#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc x female reader#charles leclerc x you#dark!charles leclerc#mob!au#f1 imagine#f1 fluff#f1 fandom#ferrari f1#charles leclerc fluff#charles leclerc fanfic#charles leclerc smut#charles leclerc imagine#c16#c16 x reader
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The Dark Urge thoughts (and prayers)
anyone whos been following me knows im absolutely not normal about durge and i wanna share some tidbits that are implied, but not necessarily canonised, from their story;
I already made a post about it but it seems like bhaal has a degree of control over whether they live or die. he can deny them death, if they fail the duel with orin.
bhaal can command the slayer. he forces orin to transform if you talk to her about sarevok and the scene makes it clear that its against her will.
bhaal manipulates his kin in a subtler way. in the colony you can find a letter from old durge thats apologising to his father for 'liking' gortash. you can interpret their relationship as something deeper but even if it wasnt, this reads to me as terrified and desperate.
the reason being, if you have a LI in act 2 you get the famous bondage scene. coupled up with the letter above makes me think this is a pattern. bhaal can use their feelings against them. he did it with sarevok and orin's mother, orin's mother and orin, etc... it's not as straightforward as 'if you disobey ill kill the one you love'. you will. durge will.
bhaal is testing them in act 2, he revels in chaos, sure, but in the grand scheme of things he doesn't care about isobel. even if you tell scel that you'll kill her you're told that youre too late, you ignored your urges. from durge, bhaal doesn't expect calm calculated murder, he expects blind obedience. failing to receive that his first punishment is to take away something they cherish. there are no half measures, theres no bargaining with a god.
we get so many snippets of information that this has happened before, their foster family being their first victims. theyre made to kill their support system with their own hands, with no one to blame but themselves. they are actually apologising to their father for being fond of gortash because (in my humble opinion) theyre genuinely afraid.
how many times could this have happened, how many nights durge couldve woken up covered in the blood of someone they love until they gave in, became daddys obedient puppet?
durge is groomed for murder. scel says 'you always failed to conduct yourself without me' and given who he is i dont think hes talking about table manners when he says 'conduct'. durge needs 24/7 oversight to set themselves right lest they get tempted by softer things. lest they dare to step away from bhaals grand plan.
durge do have a choice. just as shadowheart had a choice, just as wyll or astarion had a choice. its a choice only in name.
theres no ending besides refusing bhaal that their friends and LI wont die by their hands. the entire lore of bhaalspawn is that theyre meant to conquer the world in his name and slit their own throat a top the mountain of corpses. as cazador aptly put, 'theyre made to be consumed.'
you can pray to bhaal and the narrator says he won't accept [any offering] but the entire world.
durge (and bhaalspawn) do get some sort of euphoria from murder. they crave it like an addict, but bhaalspawn (on prev games) don't constantly have to grapple with these urges as durge does.
now durge is a slightly special case but not in a good way. its implied that theyre not like a regular bhaalspawn, that theyre made by bhaal directly -so to speak-. which is to say, if youre playing a drow, they are bhaals closest approximation of a drow rather than a drow flesh and blood.
thats why theyre fighting tooth and nail against these urges every step of the way, they are literally bhaal himself(in essence). the personality they develop, the person who calls themselves 'tainted' and 'wretched', the character thats making choices throughout the game, theyre the tumour.
theirs is the story of cycle of abuse cranked up to 1000 and it is in parallel to all other origin companions.
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symptoms and causes | ch. 11
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 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)
x warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.
x author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡
series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad
<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.
And there lies the damn problem.
I don't know how.
Never have.
Why am I thinking this now?
I knew this was right.
Right for her.
But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?
Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.
I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.
It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.
Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first.
I hope he gives her space.
But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how.
Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.
It shouldn't be him.
Sorry.
It shouldn't have been him.
Past tense.
It all might be past tense now.
And the thought is more than I could bear.
Shattered.
Was that the word?
Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?
How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?
Words are meaningless in the end.
Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.
So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word.
The wrong word.
The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.
But time doesn't care.
It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made.
My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.
I didn't want to breathe anymore.
Not in a world where every breath ached without her.
"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled.
Irrelevant.
My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill.
His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.
So, I lied.
Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.
Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.
Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.
Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen.
This was my punishment.
I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.
The door clicked shut behind them.
That simple sound, final, absolute.
My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want.
My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.
The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.
"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"
I nodded.
They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.
How stupid.
Of course, I favored her.
How could I not?
She is everything.
Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.
She was everything.
Did I regret it?
Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?
Yeah, maybe.
A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.
My responses were rote, mechanical.
Yeah, I favored her.
Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.
Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age.
No, she didn't know I'd set it up.
No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.
And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.
Except maybe — maybe loving me.
After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies.
They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.
Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.
Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.
Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build.
Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.
I didn't feel anymore.
I was done.
─── ·✧· ───
I burst out of the courtroom.
I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.
That itch.
It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.
My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.
Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.
The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating.
My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.
They didn't matter. None of it mattered.
A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall.
My blood roared in my ears.
Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.
Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.
In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.
It was a stranger.
I was across the room before I even registered the decision.
The drawer.
My fingers ripped it open.
There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.
Don't —
Don't come at me now.
Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?
My hand reached, then hesitated.
The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.
The door creaked open.
And there he was. Sukuna.
He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.
Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.
I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.
"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."
"Funny to you?"
He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."
Every muscle in my body tensed.
He was right.
In his twisted way, he was.
And that's what made it all so much worse.
My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.
Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."
His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard.
Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?
"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."
My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.
"Hit a nerve, did I?"
"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."
This was his game.
Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain.
He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.
"Perhaps. But ain't I right? You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."
I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.
"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."
"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair. It had taken everything in me to push her away.
But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me.
See her drown.
"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."
"Stop giving me reasons to punch you." Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"
"What?" he scoffed.
I lifted a single eyebrow at him.
"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."
"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."
He was right, and I hated that more than anything.
Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."
I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"
I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.
Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."
"Yeah, real supportive of you."
"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"
"Shut the hell up."
"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."
"You expect a thank you?"
"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."
A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."
He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."
"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?"
Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."
Of course.
The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.
It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.
"That supposed to make me feel better?"
"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."
I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.
He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."
My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."
He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."
"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."
"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."
With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.
The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.
─── ·✧· ───
Cruel.
Cruel how one little pill can undo everything.
Cruel how one little pill can silence everything.
Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.
Unfair.
It's truly unfair.
The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.
Finally.
Oh, finally some fucking silence.
I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.
But for now, it'll have to be enough.
I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.
I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.
What a hypocrite I am really.
Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat.
The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.
So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.
It really came down to me failing again, huh?
What was it now?
Attempt number five?
Six?
I started losing count.
Maybe this was my fate.
A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.
Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder.
She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.
God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.
I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.
I watched my hand for a second.
Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood.
I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.
Traitor.
This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.
Weak.
Broken.
A pathetic mess.
Was that it?
Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time?
Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?
My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table.
Took too many, didn't I?
I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.
Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.
Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.
I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.
I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.
Too many.
Way too many.
How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.
Stupid. So damn stupid.
Darkness swam at the edges of my vision. Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet.
I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.
This wasn't me anymore.
I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.
My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall.
The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.
I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.
My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course.
Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.
How pathetic.
Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.
Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.
Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.
My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.
Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—
I knew that voice — would always recognize it.
Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.
Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.
But my eyes betrayed me.
She must be so beautiful. She always was.
Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?
Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.
Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.
The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.
Groaning, I shifted on the floor.
My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity.
The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg.
Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut.
I reached for the syringe and read the label.
Adrenaline.
Smart girl.
But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?
I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers.
She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.
Terror.
There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.
She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.
The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse.
For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.
She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.
How I hated her silence.
Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.
And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.
Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."
Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"
I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"
She didn't say anything.
It probably was on purpose.
My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"
"What happened to your hand?"
"I asked first."
"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.
"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."
"Stole it from the hospital."
"What?"
"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"
My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.
"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"
Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."
My smile faded.
Silence.
Oh, that cruel silence again.
She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.
Ironic, wasn't it?
How much power this woman had over me.
Yet it was me who destroyed her.
She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"
Huh?
Why would she ask that?
Didn't she see that it's over?
That I'm too far gone?
It was unbearable.
It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't.
Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.
I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.
"Doesn't matter. It's over."
"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."
"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.
Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within.
I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.
I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.
But I couldn't.
Because I was the problem. I was the poison.
She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."
"I know."
"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.
"I know, love."
My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood.
I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this.
She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.
Because I was selfish.
Knew how it would end.
And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated.
"It's for the best, believe me—"
"No," she cut me off. "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."
She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."
What?
The words turned my blood to ice.
After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.
My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full.
She loved me, she said it.
She loves me.
She loves me.
And I love her.
God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.
I've never once loved in my entire life.
Not until her.
Not until she changed me completely.
What is that, anyway? Love?
How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me?
How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.
Because how could I ever live without it.
Not when she showed me how to breathe.
How to live.
How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?
Not when she showed me how to breathe.
With her.
For her.
Because she is the air that fills my lungs.
The pulse that keeps me alive.
And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before?
Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little.
Nothing.
I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.
Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves?
Because she does.
She deserves everything.
She is everything.
Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.
Still—
How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life?
It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.
Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me.
Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.
More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips.
I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for.
Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.
"I spare you," I rasped.
"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."
"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."
"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."
The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.
And in that moment, I finally realized.
It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.
Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.
My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.
Her love terrified me.
"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better."
"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."
Oh, love, that's not true.
You are my better. I'm your worst.
I wanted to say that, should've said that.
But I remained silent, unable to say anything.
"Say something, Satoru."
I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.
"Say something, damn it!"
"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.
"Is that what you hope for?"
"I have to."
She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.
I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.
She knew. She always knew.
Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.
"That's it?" she asked.
"That's it."
She watched me. Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger.
Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.
Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.
When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this.
I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.
But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.
Because I'm selfish.
I do love her. Gods, how I love her.
But my fear was stronger.
And I was too damn weak to fight it.
─── ·✧· ───
Four weeks.
Was it four weeks?
I can't remember.
Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore.
It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.
Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.
Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.
So I was barely sober.
My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.
But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that.
It was a sick, relentless cycle.
The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.
It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.
Her name, though, cut through the haze.
There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse.
I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.
So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next.
Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.
─── ·✧· ───
I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.
My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.
Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment.
Yet, muscle memory took over.
I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half.
She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.
The usual chatter died down when I walked in. Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting.
Once, perhaps, it was.
Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right?
Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.
With a sigh, I turned towards the class.
And there she was.
My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Second-year lecture.
How the hell could I forget that?
She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.
My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her.
Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her.
But I knew it was wrong.
Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.
Still, she didn't flinch.
Endured it like she has always endured everything.
Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."
My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.
It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her.
Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.
Should've expected that.
Shouldn't make me angry, right?
Still did.
Finally, thank god, the bell rang.
I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.
I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.
She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."
Silence.
Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.
Now, it was done.
Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.
"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face.
They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.
Silence again.
My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.
Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."
I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.
"Didn't you get suspended?"
"They postponed it."
She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.
"How are you?"
"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—"
She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.
She didn't need to voice it.
My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.
I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know.
I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat.
Pointless now, anyway.
Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.
She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment.
I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.
"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."
"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"
Each word was acid on an open wound.
I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?
"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"
I tried to speak, but she cut me off. "Don't. You. Dare."
"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"
Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out.
Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.
It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out.
It was the look of someone who loved me.
"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.
My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.
The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me.
I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."
Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep.
"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."
Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency.
"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."
"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."
She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."
Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.
And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.
Not from hers.
"Shut up," I growled.
"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."
Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself.
Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."
Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."
The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.
Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.
I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.
Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks.
I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.
Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty.
"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.
My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.
"Don't push me."
"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."
"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."
Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it.
But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.
"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."
"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."
The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.
My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling.
Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.
Then, the auditorium door creaked open.
Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.
Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.
After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."
"For what, love?"
"For it to get easier."
I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.
"You said it would get easier," she added.
It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.
"I don't know if it ever will."
Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.
In distance.
Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.
Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.
Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.
I watched her go.
Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.
I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.
The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.
Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder.
"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.
"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"
I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.
"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."
"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."
Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence.
"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."
"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."
Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."
"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.
"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."
"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."
He sighed. "You're the absolute worst patient ever."
"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out." I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.
"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"
I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"
"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."
Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages. "You want me to do it? Is there something special about this patient?"
"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."
Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows. "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."
Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk.
I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag. "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.
Without another word, I left the auditorium.
─── ·✧· ───
My eyes snapped open.
I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest.
For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.
Damn nightmares.
Another night of that shit.
I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.
I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.
My fault.
Always my fault.
I couldn't breathe right.
Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.
I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.
I'd hurt her.
I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.
Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—
I hated myself.
Hated the way I ruined everything.
Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good.
It was like a damn curse.
Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.
Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?
How could that possibly be wrong?
Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?
Perhaps.
Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it?
It was over.
I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin.
The silence was unbearable.
I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.
That bitch.
The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.
Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?
I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill.
Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.
I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.
The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank.
No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.
I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination.
Just moving, pushing, escaping.
Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but — manageable.
I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed.
Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.
Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.
"Rough night?"
"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side.
I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.
I knew why the name was so familiar.
I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."
Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it.
But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it?
Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.
Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.
Still, a smile tugged at my lips.
Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.
I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.
Ah, fuck it.
Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.
I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable.
I couldn't stop.
The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?
Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.
A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched.
In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.
A heavy exhale escaped my lips.
She was there.
Here.
On this same cursed world with me.
My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.
She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.
My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun.
In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.
But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.
She was staring down — right at me.
Shit.
I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.
"You're bleeding."
I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.
"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."
I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion.
"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.
Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.
─── ·✧· ───
I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"
I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it."
Yeah. Now she remembered.
With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be.
The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.
My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.
Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh?
Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything.
Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.
With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.
Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.
"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"
Huh?
I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.
"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."
"What dose?"
"You really don't want to know."
"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.
"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."
She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned.
I really needed a pill now.
She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"
I knew it.
I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."
I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head.
I needed two pills now.
"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"
"I'm not high—"
"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."
Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.
"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."
She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."
Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.
"You're right. And I'm sorry—"
"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."
How little you matter?
Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.
A harsh laugh escaped me.
"You find this funny?"
"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."
Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.
"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."
She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.
Because even her anger was better than her indifference.
I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.
Might as well make her hate me.
"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"
Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut.
Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.
Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.
I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.
"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.
"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.
Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.
"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"
Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.
"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."
"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."
Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.
"More."
Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"
"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."
In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."
Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin. I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.
"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."
"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."
"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"
Okay, now it gets personal.
"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"
Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.
"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."
Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.
"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"
She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line.
"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."
"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"
"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"
"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."
"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."
"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"
Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips.
My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.
"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."
"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"
Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second.
My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.
How treacherous a body can be, huh?
"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward.
She's so damn beautiful.
I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."
Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.
I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.
She felt incredible.
Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole.
I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.
With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.
This woman owned me — plain and simple.
It was madness, this pull towards her.
Insane, perhaps.
But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.
Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.
"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.
Weren't together anymore after all.
Kissing would be too much.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.
I loved that look on her face.
I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.
I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.
Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.
Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"
I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin.
With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body.
She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—"
She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.
Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.
She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.
"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."
"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips.
Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.
"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine.
Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.
We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle.
"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."
"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.
This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.
It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.
"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."
Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.
"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."
Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.
She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release.
My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips.
My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."
"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."
"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."
"You really believe that, don't you?"
"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"
"You're the only addict here."
"Liar," I rasped.
Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.
But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.
I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.
I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips.
It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.
"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."
Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.
"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.
Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.
She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm.
I couldn't wait to be inside her again.
She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."
Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.
"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."
Oh, love. I know you like that.
I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm.
"More," she begged.
I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.
I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit.
However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.
She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath.
I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.
Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance.
I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.
She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."
I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her.
"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."
With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.
I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.
As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"
Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.
I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.
Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.
Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.
I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release.
Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.
With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me.
I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.
I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.
I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight.
Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.
Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.
Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.
"Tell me something I don't know."
She shifted to face me, her expression serious. "Promise me something."
"Anything you want, love."
"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."
I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.
I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.
The words heavy with a lie we both knew.
<- prev chapter | next chapter ->
author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.
i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are.
also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.
also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.
so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡
okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡
🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)
#symptoms and causes#gojo saturo#jujutsu kaisen#saturo gojo x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo x female reader#satoru gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo angst#gojo angst#jjk smut#gojo satoru#jjk x you#jjk fanfic
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