#I know their relationships to one another

[sceletaflores]

HELL OF A VISION…

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 2.6k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, post-outbreak, established relationship, jackson joel mmmh, domestic joel mmmh, both tags that are good for the soul, set in a sweet and lovely place where nothing bad happens, old man joel RAAHHH, the readers stay on, lots of dirty talk cause he’s old and gross, dry humping, finger sucking (still on this bullshit), lots of come and come talk…like verging on hyperspermia, yeah ik he’s old but he comes like a fire hose because i just can’t help myself y’all, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i love fucking men who should be on AARP. thank god for them. this fic was actually meant to be the one i posted for rylea and i’s challenge, but i fucked up and accidentally made it over a thousand words…oops. of course i’m all about that reduce, reuse, recycle life sooo here we are. hope y'all love it, mwah!

dividers by @cafekitsune and @saradika-graphics!

you and joel spend a night reading in bed, amongst other things…

It's rare that you get to see Joel like this.

Relaxed, completely.

Propped up against the headboard of your bed, a pillow behind his back and his legs stretched under the quilt you finally finished up last year.

The copy of Lonesome Dove Ellie found a few weeks before his birthday rests open in one hand, the other slipped up under the hem of an old shirt you stole from him to absently stroke over the skin of your back.

You lay with your head on his chest, legs tangled with his as you count the beats of his heart against your cheek. It soothes you in a way nothing else can, listening to the slow turn of the pages and the occasional rumbling hum in his throat when he comes across a line he likes.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been curled up next to him, quietly watching the tiny shifts in his expression.

Letting your eyes glide along the side of his face bathed in the warm orange glow of his bedside lamp, the messy silver curls of his hair catching the light enough to almost shine. You’re tempted to reach out and run your fingers through the strands, even more than you did earlier tonight, to feel just how soft it is.

Your gaze traces down the slope of his forehead, the caress of his lashes fanning out over his cheeks, the arch of his nose, the soft curve of his lips and all the way back up to do it over again.

However long it’s been still isn’t enough. You could watch Joel for hours without getting bored, just a silent spectator drifting in the warmth of his presence. 

There’s always something. A new project, patrol shifts, repairs. New everyday things you get to experience with him here in Jackson that you do love, but that keep him just out of your reach for longer than you like.

That’s why moments like these feel so special. There’s no crisis, no issues or problems to keep him out of your bed. 

You don’t say much. You don’t need to.

You just…you have him tonight. And that’s enough.

Well, it's almost enough.

You’re in his t-shirt for Christ’s sake, wearing it like a brand. In his t-shirt and just your panties. And he’s so warm beneath you, big and solid, the kind of comfort you ache for. In more ways than you could even think of naming.

You shift your hips slowly. One tiny move that has his thigh pressing between your legs a little more firmly than before. Testing.

Joel’s hand pauses on your back. The subtle drag of his thumb stutters where it was gliding just beneath the hem of your shirt before it starts up again, slower than before. He doesn’t look at you right away. Doesn’t say anything either. Just flicks his eyes further down the page and keeps reading.

You try not to smile.

You do it again. Another slow drag of your hips—like it’s an accident. Like you’re just getting comfortable.

But Joel knows you too well. He knows every part of you now—the tiniest hitch of your breath, the way you go quiet when you want something, the shift in your touch dragging over his chest. Knows that the heat blooming between your legs has nothing to do with the cozy warmth of the blanket.

“Somethin’ on your mind, kid?” Joel drawls without looking up from his book, but his hand slides a bit lower, the tips of his fingers brushing over the hem of your panties.

You hum noncommittally, shift again, letting your hips roll forward with a little more intent. You feel the twitch of his thigh, the stutter of his exhale. “I’m just getting comfortable.”

The flick of a page, his fingers drag a little lower. “That so?”

“Mhm,” you murmur, all mock innocence as you press in closer, lifting your leg just enough to drape it over his hips. You’re practically straddling him now, your bare thigh flush to the soft cotton of his sleep pants.

“Doesn’t look it.” Joel’s tone is bland, uninterested. You know it’s just for show, part of the game. It’s always better when he fights you for it. “Looks like you’re tryin’ to take advantage of me.”

You muffle a laugh in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of pine and skin and musk. Your hand trails down his chest, down his stomach until you can toy with the drawstrings of his bottoms. “Maybe…are you offering?”

Joel peers at you over the edge of his readers, skeptical. It’s the first time he’s looked at you since he opened up his book. You try not to preen under his gaze. “I’m too old to be grindin’ like a damn teenager.”

“It’ll be good, promise. Just let me…” You sit up, swinging your leg over him to straddle his hips properly. “Let me rub on it a little, Joel. Please? I just wanna feel it.”

Your voice is all sugar, and Joel’s a sucker for it.

His cock softly jerks to life in his bottoms, lazily hardening under you. It tattles on him, gives away how he really feels seeing you perched on top of him. Your hips are moving before you can even think, rocking down against the rigid plane of heat. 

You fit together perfectly, and Joel’s cock slipping between your soaked cunt has your mouth going slack, a soft moan passing through your lips.

"Jesus." His book snaps shut and lands somewhere by the lamp. His hands find your hips, not to stop you, not really—just to hold. You meet his heavy gaze, the blown pupils of his eyes shine like an oil slick under the dim light. He squeezes you hard, holding you in place as he huffs a dry laugh. “I ain’t dry humped since high school.”

You grind down again, fighting his grip. “Then I’d say you’re due.”

You roll your hips again and again. Back and forth in slow and deliberate motions, dragging that damp cotton across the length of him. You know he feels it—feels the heat of you, the slick mess you're making. You're working your clit right along the swell of him, jaw slack as your rhythm picks up.

And Joel is just watching, head tipped back against the headboard. Letting you use him. Eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted.

There’s been days where it’s harder for him to really roll around in the sheets with you, especially in the last couple months. Joel’s age catching up with him, hitting fast and slow all at once.

Joel hates it, not that he'd ever tell you that. He doesn’t have too, you know. Of course you know, you’re not stupid. You knew how old he was when you met him, and it never made you second guess that you wanted anyone else in your bed. 

You’d never let Joel’s recent struggle to get it up ruin all that you have. You were more than content to find other ways to be intimate with someone you love, maybe a little excited even.

That’s not the case tonight.

Joel’s cock is fat and hard under you, twitching up through the soft cotton of his pants like it’s straining to get to you. The thick ridge of it bumps perfectly against your clit every time you roll your hips, dragging against the soaked crotch of your panties. The fabric clings to you, flimsy and so drenched with arousal that it’s barely even there.

“You’re soaked through, pumpkin.” Joel’s grip on your hips tightens until his fingers dimple your skin. His thumbs run over the edge of your panties, pressing hard enough that you know it’ll leave behind lacy imprints in your skin when this is all over. “Gettin’ my pants all wet and I ain’t laid a finger on you.”

Your brow arches, lips tugged into a smug grin that you can’t hide. “Is that a complaint?”

Joel squeezes your hips once, hard. A light warning, don’t be a smartass. “Don’t sound like I’m complainin’, do I?”

“I don’t know.” You hum, coy as your fingers dance over the hem of your shirt—his shirt—bunching it up around your hips, the dip of your waist visible in the lamplight. “You sure were talking a whole lot of smack earlier.”

You sneak your hand down the front of his pants before he can respond. His cock jerks when your fingers brush against it, his hips twitching up off the mattress and into your loose grip. You tsk softly, shaking your head as you lay it flat over his stomach, trapping him between the waistband and the coarse gray hair of his happy trail.

Joel hisses through his teeth, hands tightening around your hips. “Shit–”

“Don’t get too excited, Miller.” Your tone is teasing, even when your cunt clenches weakly at the sight. The rosy tip of his cock oozes pre-come onto his shirt, wetting the fabric enough that a dark patch blooms across the thin blue cotton. You want to press your lips to it, to trace the ridge with your tongue so you can taste him—salty, musky, and heady. “I just wanted a better view.”

Joel grunts like he doesn’t believe you, like he knows you’re full of shit, but his hips are shifting under you anyway. His cock nudging up into the hot mess between your thighs, seeking friction, contact—you. 

His hands curl around your thighs, pulling you down harder against the heavy bulge in his pants. He’s soaked through too now, the front of his sleep pants dark with it, sticky and wet where you’ve been grinding down. 

And his cock—god, his cock is leaking. Fat beads of precome drool out from the tip, smearing slick over the dark hair of his happy trail and dripping down between your folds. You can feel it every time your hips circle down.

“Dirty fuckin’ thing,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “You look so pretty like this, baby. Just like this.”

Your eyes flutter shut on a breathy moan, your hands falling to rest on his chest as your hips rock and rock. 

There’s a spot, right where his cock curves, that keeps catching against your clit every time you rock forward. You keep grinding into it, chasing that pressure, whimpering with every pass of it.

Joel notices. Of course he fucking notices.

“There,” he grunts, holding you in place and angling his hips up. “Right there, huh? That’s it, baby? That’s the spot.”

You whimper, nodding so fast it’s dizzying. “Feels so good, Joel. I can’t—I can’t stop, you feel so good—”

Your hands drag up his chest, lingering on the tan column of his throat. You run your nails over the thin skin, stretching over the coarse hair he must’ve missed cleaning up his beard. Your thumb rests just over his pulse, right where you can feel the beat of his heart pounding like a hammer on a nail.

Your hand slides up before you can stop yourself, cupping the side of his face like you’ve got the whole world cradled in your palm. Your thumb glides along his bottom lip now, wet with spit. Your nail presses into the fat of it, firm enough to drain the color before you lift up and do it again. 

Joel can’t swallow down his noises like this, with the way you’re forcing his lips to part. Deep grunts and groans ring out from around your finger. His eyes never stray from yours as he closes his lips around the tip of your thumb, watching you through the steamy glass of his readers.

You let out a pathetically broken moan, pushing your thumb deeping into the wet heat of his mouth. “Fuck, Joel…”

He doesn’t hesitate. Just parts his lips and sucks it into the heat of his mouth, deep and greedy. His tongue curls around your thumb, wet and filthy, moaning low in his throat like he’s starved. His brows pinch like he’s feeling it somewhere deep, deeper than he’s letting on.

You rock your hips while he sucks your fingers like he’d suck your clit—like it’s nothing to him, just muscle memory now. Your cunt clenches weakly with every pass of his tongue, fire shooting up your spine as your rhythm starts to falter. 

Joel feels it, the shift. The way you start to get messy with it, desperate. He knows you’re close.

He groans around your thumb and lets it go with a slick pop. “Go on, girly. Mess up those pretty panties. Rub that sweet cunt all over me—fuck yourself on it. That’s it.”

Your nails dig back into his chest as your stomach clenches with the first signs of your orgasm sneaking up on you. You rock faster, chasing it, slick soaking through the thin cotton. The shape of his cock is so perfect under you—thick and wide and right—even through your clothes.

You whimper something broken, grinding down hard, over and over, as pleasure builds sharp in your belly.

Joel grits his teeth. “You gonna come for me like this?”

“Yes.” You nod again, frantic. “Joel—I’m gonna—god, I’m gonna—”

Your thighs seize and your body jolts against him as you come, trembling in his lap, cunt spasming against soaked fabric. 

Joel groans like it’s killing him, watching you fall apart. His voice breaks as he groans your name, “Keep goin’, baby, just like that—fuck, fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

Your eyes are locked on the drooling tip of his cock, you don’t think anything could tear your attention away from it. Not even gunfire. Your hips don’t stop moving, even when your clit pulses with overstimulation each time it bumps up against him. 

But you can’t stop. You won’t stop, not when Joel asks you so nicely.

His grip on you tightens, his hips twitch up off the bed. Once, twice, three times. “Fuck–” 

You watch as he comes, mesmerized. His cock jerks against his stomach, painting the front of his shirt with rope after rope of thick come. 

Joel groans, loud, from deep in the chest. An intoxicating, raw sound, like it’s being pulled out of him with a tight fist. His head knocks against the headboard, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut like the pleasure hurts.

“Jesus—shit, baby,” he grits out to the ceiling, voice wrecked. His hands are basically doing all the work now, shifting your hips back and forth, but he doesn’t seem to mind. “That’s it, ride it out of me—goddamn.”

He just keeps coming, shooting up high, nearly hitting his chest with it. A slow, filthy mess oozing out of the flushed head of his cock. The shirt’s a lost cause, but you could care less when his come drips down the sides of his stomach as it clenches deliciously.

You stare, panting as the last sparks of your high fizzle out. You want to taste it, to smear it around and dirty him up even more.

By the time he slumps back against the pillows, he’s panting like he just ran ten miles. His chest is heaving, the front of his pants an absolute wreck, and he’s still twitching under you like he hasn’t fully come down.

You lean down, nose brushing his. “Still think you’re too old for dry humping?”

Joel gives a weak chuckle, hands smoothing up and down your sides. “You’re laughin’ now, bet you’ll be singin’ a different tune when you’re the one nursin’ my bad back tomorrow.”

You grin, pressing a kiss on his chin. “Worth it.”

And then you rock your hips once more, dragging your soaked cunt over his softening, come slicked cock.

He groans, his hands twitching over your hips. “You just don’t know when to quit, huh?”

“Probably not. Guess you better read faster next time,” you murmur, mouth against his ear. “Because at this rate? You’re never finishing up that chapter.”

The swat on your ass stings, but you knew it was coming. It’s not enough to hide the low rumble of laughter ringing out over your head, and that’s all that really matters anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: this got waaay fluffier than i thought it would when i started it. it’s probably the fluffiest thing i've written in a while. this isn't what i planned on posting, but it's hot and my knee hurts and i can't sleep...and this was basically done so i finished it up as a distraction from my chronic pain :))) and insomnia :))) yay me! yes the title is a lonesome dove quote because i’m texas trash and so is joel miller.

to the anon who sent me an actual banger of an ask, i am working on it! don’t worry babe, i almost cried tears of joy when i saw it in my notifs…i’m just on the struggle bus rn and the ideas are suffering…

thank you so much for reading, love you!

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 37: October 2024 - Part 4

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Belle: Max and I are flying to Austin tomorrow, so I’ll text when we land xx

Arthur: wait you're coming to the US? like actually coming??

Belle: Yes? I cleared it with my doctor. It’s the last triple header before the baby comes. So. Final trip. One last hurrah.

Charles: THE TRIPLE HEADER??? Belle.

Belle: Yes. Austin, Mexico, Brazil. I’ll be with Max. I won’t even go to the paddock every day.

Charles: YOU ARE SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT. AND GOING TO BRAZIL.

Belle: You’re yelling in caps.

Charles: Because you are SEVEN MONTHS PREGNANT AND GOING TO BRAZIL.

Arthur: Does Max know??

Belle: Max insisted. He’s already packed a separate suitcase just for my snacks.

Lorenzo: This feels like something you should have told us earlier. Like when flights were being booked. Or when your OB signed off. Not in a throwaway line 48 hours before you’re halfway to Texas.

Belle: I didn’t think it was a big deal.

Charles: Not a big deal??? You’re flying across the world while pregnant in your third trimester!

Belle: I’ll be fine. I’m cleared. We have everything. And I want to be there with him. It’s the last time I can be.

Arthur: ngl you sound kind of romantic and badass rn

Charles: She sounds like someone who should be HOME, with her FEET UP. This is how Max ends up delivering a baby mid-air.

Lorenzo: That would be a PR nightmare.

Belle: We’re flying private.

Charles: I’m going to throw up.

Belle: You’re not the one carrying a baby to Brazil.

Arthur: touché.

Charles: Lorenzo, say something sane please.

Lorenzo: I mean. If she’s medically cleared and Max is with her and everything’s planned…

***

The jet cut smoothly through the clouds, the hum of the engines steady and familiar, but Max’s attention wasn’t on the flight path, the weather reports, or even his schedule for Austin.

It was on Belle.

She was curled up on the couch across from him, blanket tucked around her legs, a copy of The Night Circus open in her lap, though she hadn’t turned a page in a while. Her other hand rested instinctively on the swell of her belly—seven months now, round and unmistakable. His baby. Their baby.

Max had flown this route a dozen times. More. But this was the first time Belle had been with him while visibly, heavily pregnant, and he couldn’t stop fussing.

“Do you want another pillow?” he asked for the third time in an hour, already half-rising from his seat. “You said your back hurt earlier.”

Belle looked up from her book, amused. “Max, I have five pillows. I’m fine.”

“You said that last flight, and then you couldn’t get comfortable for four hours.”

She smiled at him, soft and fond. “You already made me a nest. There are snacks, lemon water, compression socks, and a blanket you pilfered from the Red Bull hospitality suite. I think I’m okay.”

Max didn’t look entirely convinced. He stood anyway and adjusted the angle of the nearest pillow, his fingers lingering on the edge of the blanket like he was checking for invisible threats.

“You’ve flown so much this year,” Belle said gently. “You should rest too.”

“I will. Just—” He leaned down and kissed her temple, then her belly, like it was instinct. “I just want you comfortable.”

“You’re nesting worse than I am,” Belle murmured, grinning.

Max didn’t deny it.

He sat back across from her and watched her for a moment. Not just her face—though he could get lost in that—but the way she held her body now, instinctively protective. How easily she wore the role of mother-to-be. How radiant she looked, even when she swore she felt swollen and tired and done with travel.

The thought crept in again, uninvited but persistent:

How did I ever get this lucky?

Belle caught him staring and raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” she teased.

He grinned, and then grew quiet. “I like having you with me. I know this is the last trip before the baby comes, but I’m glad you came.”

Her expression softened. “Of course I came.”

“I miss you when I’m on the road,” Max said simply, voice low. “Even when we’re texting every hour. It’s not the same.”

Belle reached over and took his hand. “I miss you too.”

He watched her fingers thread through his, her ring catching the cabin light. Something steadied in him. Anchored.

“You’ll tell me if anything feels wrong?” he asked, quieter now. “Even the smallest thing?”

“Yes, Max.”

“You’ll wake me if you feel weird, or if the seat’s too uncomfortable, or if—”

“I will.” She squeezed his hand. “I promise.”

He nodded once, then leaned back in his seat, eyes still on her.

***

Belle adored many things about traveling with Max.

The fact that she didn’t need to worry about anything. The way he handled her passport like it was state gold, the ridiculous fussing over whether the air pressure on the jet was bothering her ankles (it wasn’t), the look he gave the flight attendant when she offered Belle caffeine (“She’s seven months pregnant, what do you think?”), and the way he absolutely refused to let her carry anything, not even her little cosmetics pouch.

But if there was one thing she truly, indulgently loved about traveling with Max, it was the hotels.

Max Verstappen did not do hotels by halves.

Not when Belle was pregnant. And especially not when the words triple header were involved.

By the time they arrived in Austin, Belle was swollen and tired and slightly irritable despite the compression socks Max had packed and insisted she wear.

But then they pulled up to the hotel—discreet, modern, unfathomably expensive—and stepped into the suite, and Belle could have cried.

It was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows, rainfall shower, deep marble bathtub with views, robes folded on the bed, pillows so plush they looked like clouds, and a welcome basket of non-alcoholic champagne, ginger biscuits, and lavender lotion.

Max had already vanished into the kitchen area to check what snacks had been stocked. Belle dropped onto the sofa like a woman anointed by the gods and looked around with a sigh so content it could’ve ended wars.

“Anything else you want?” Max called.

“Yes,” she replied, eyes still closed. “I want to live here.”

Max appeared, holding a bottle of sparkling water like it was a peace offering. “It’s not bad, huh?”

Belle cracked one eye open and smiled. “It’s heaven. I take back every complaint I made on the flight. Your hotel taste is the only reason I’m tolerating international travel while this child is using my lungs as a trampoline.”

Max grinned. “Told you I’d make it worth it.”

“You did,” she said, already sinking deeper into the cushions. “If you need me, I’ll be horizontal until Brazil.”

He leaned down and kissed her temple. “Perfect. I’ll bring you snacks and foot rubs on the hour.”

She opened one eye. “See? Heaven.”

Max smiled again, soft and unguarded, and for a moment he just looked at her like she was the best part of his whole life.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” he said. “I found your favorite crackers. And I’m about to demolish room service.”

Belle reached for his hand. “Fine. But only if I can eat in bed.”

He squeezed her fingers. “It’s your kingdom, Prinses.”

And it was. All of it. The suite, the snacks, the boy who looked at her like she was made of stardust.

Luxury was nice.

But being loved like this?

That was the real indulgence.

***

Belle hadn’t meant to snap.

She really hadn’t. She’d just been trying to find her lip balm and get through twenty minutes without someone asking if she needed to lie down.

But Charles had shown up at their hotel suite unannounced, full of anxious energy and the big-brother instinct that always seemed to arrive about three years too late.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he’d said, frowning at her the moment she opened the door.

Belle blinked. “Good morning to you too.”

“I’m serious,” Charles insisted, brushing past her into the suite. “You’re seven months pregnant, Belle. This is a triple header. You shouldn’t be traveling.”

“I’m fine.”

“You think you’re fine.”

She turned, jaw tightening. “Because I am.”

“This isn’t about how you feel right this second,” Charles said, pacing now, hands flying. “It’s about consequences. About what happens if something goes wrong. If you get sick or—if the baby—” He broke off, unable to even say it. “You don’t think ahead.”

That hit a nerve. Belle folded her arms. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t,” Charles insisted, eyes wide. “You just do things. You say, oh, I’m flying to Austin with Max, and you don’t think about what it means to fly that far in your third trimester or what could happen if you go into labor early—”

“I checked with my doctor, Charles.”

“But you don’t think—”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I’m irresponsible—”

“You’re not irresponsible,” Charles said quickly, “you’re just—you're Belle. You don’t stop. And now there’s a baby. That changes things. You can’t keep acting like nothing has changed.”

And that did it.

“You don’t get to say that to me,” she hissed, her voice cracking with something sharp and wounded. “You weren’t there for any of the other things that changed my life, Charles. You weren’t there when you forgot my birthday or when I graduated or when I got married. But now you want to care? Now you think you get to tell me what I should be doing?”

Charles opened his mouth—but he didn’t get the chance.

Because Max had appeared in the doorway behind them, silent and slow like a thundercloud forming.

“Outside,” he said. Calm. Cold. His eyes on Charles, unreadable.

Charles blinked. “What?”

Max stepped forward. “You don’t get to yell at my pregnant wife. Outside.”

Belle was still breathing hard, her hand trembling where it had curled against her side.

Charles glanced at her, then at Max, and something in him relented.

He nodded once. “Fine.”

Max didn’t look back as he followed Charles out of the suite and shut the door behind them with a quiet finality.

Inside, Belle sank onto the edge of the bed, her chest heaving, heart aching.

She hadn’t meant to fight.

But maybe she’d meant every word.

***

The hallway was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that offered peace, but the kind that came before something dangerous. The quiet that settled like pressure in your ears, heavy and impossible to ignore.

Max didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. He just stood there, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel.

“You do not talk to her like that.”

Charles exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care,” Max snapped, his tone controlled, deliberate. “You came into our room. Uninvited. You lectured her. You shouted at her. And you scared her.”

Charles flinched. “I was just trying to make her understand—”

“She understands perfectly.” Max stepped closer. “She’s spoken to her doctor. She knows her limits. Do you think I’d let her fly across the world if I thought for a second it wasn’t safe? If her doctor thought it wasn’t safe?”

“No, but—”

“But what?” Max’s voice was low, almost dangerous. “But you don’t trust her? Or you don’t trust me?”

Charles didn’t answer.

Max didn’t back down. “Do you think I don’t wake up every morning and check how she’s breathing? That I don’t carry a list of every hospital within a hundred kilometers of every race? That I haven’t already mapped the fastest route to three different maternity centers in Austin?”

Charles opened his mouth, stunned.

Max shook his head. “You love her, I get it. But I’m the one she comes home to. I’m the one she wakes up next to when the nightmares come back. I’m the one holding her hair when she throws up. And I’m the one building a life with her that you didn’t even know about until it was already happening.”

Charles looked down, shoulders slumping.

Max paused, watching him. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. Still steady. Still protective. But gentler. “You didn’t mean to hurt her. I know that. But you did. Because you’re not scared of her. You’re scared for her. And you don’t know what to do with that.”

Charles swallowed hard. “She’s my sister, Max.”

“I know,” Max said. “But she’s my wife. And she’s carrying our child. So the next time you’re scared, you talk to me. You ask if she’s okay. You don’t show up and make her feel like she’s failing.”

Silence hung heavy between them.

Then Charles let out a slow breath and nodded once, roughly. “You’re right.”

Max’s posture softened a fraction.

“I just…” Charles looked up, eyes rimmed with guilt. “I wasn’t there for so long. And now I am, and I don’t know how to be. I’m scared, Max. I’m scared something will happen. And I’ll lose her before I ever really earned her back.”

Max’s jaw tightened again, but for a different reason this time. “Then show up. Quietly. Gently. Let her decide what she needs. Don’t try to control it because you feel helpless.”

Charles nodded. “Okay.”

“She still loves you,” Max said after a beat. “But don’t make her choose between protecting herself and forgiving you.”

Another beat. Then:

“Do you think she’s okay?” Charles asked softly.

Max nodded. “Yeah. She’s okay. But she’s tired. And you didn’t help.”

“I’ll fix it.”

***

The suite was quiet again.

Not the sharp-edged quiet from earlier. Not the kind that hurt. This one felt softer, like the sigh of wind after a thunderstorm. The kind of quiet that came from exhaustion and too many feelings spoken aloud.

Belle sat curled on the sofa, her knees drawn up beneath her, Max’s oversized hoodie stretched over her baby bump. Her hair was still slightly damp from her shower, and her hands were tucked under her thighs like she was trying to keep herself grounded.

Max closed the door behind him with a soft click and walked toward her. He didn’t say anything right away. Just crossed the room, crouched down in front of her, and rested his hands gently on her knees.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Belle nodded. Then shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “About earlier. I didn’t expect him to… go off like that.”

Max’s expression softened immediately. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I should’ve told him earlier I was coming,” she said. “Maybe then he wouldn’t have—”

“Belle.” Max’s hands slid up her legs, warm and steady. “You are allowed to exist. You’re allowed to go places. You’re allowed to travel with your husband and be excited about things without preemptively managing other people’s feelings about it.”

Belle blinked at him. “You’re very good at this, you know.”

“At what?”

“Knowing what to say when I’m spiraling.”

Max gave a little smile and pressed a kiss to her knee through the fabric of the hoodie. “You weren’t spiraling. You were trying to keep the peace again. And I love that about you, but not when it hurts you.”

Belle leaned forward slightly, resting her forehead against his. “He just looked so worried. And I get it. I do. I know it’s not rational, but part of me still wants him to be proud of me. Not scared for me.”

Max’s thumb traced over her knee. “He is proud of you. He’s just drowning in guilt and doesn’t know what to do with it.”

“Did you talk to him?” she asked, quiet.

Max nodded. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“I told him not to raise his voice at my wife ever again.”

Belle huffed a laugh. “Max.”

“I was calm,” he promised. “But firm. Your therapist would be proud of me.”

“She probably would,” Belle said. “You’ve gotten very good at communicating.”

“I’ve had an excellent teacher.” Max smiled. Then, after a pause: “He’s worried. But he heard me.”

Belle studied his face. “Are you worried?”

“Of course I am,” Max said instantly. “You’re seven months pregnant and flying across the world to three races in a row. I’m terrified. But I’m also confident. Because you’re smart. And careful. And you know yourself. And I trust you.”

Belle’s eyes stung again. Not from anger this time. Just from love.

Max leaned up and kissed her, slow and steady. “I’ve got you. And we’ve got this.”

***

Leclerc Brothers Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: ok I was an asshole

Arthur: that’s not news but go on

Lorenzo: What happened?

Charles: I went to check on Belle and I kind of lost it yelled at her told her she wasn’t thinking about the consequences

Arthur: you WHAT

Lorenzo: Charles.

Charles: I didn’t mean it like that! I was just… worried She’s 7 months pregnant! She was standing in a hotel room after a 10-hour flight and she looked so tired and I panicked!

Arthur: you still don’t yell at her! especially not now!

Charles: I know! Max kicked me out of the room Literally said “outside. now.” Then proceeded to verbally gut me in the hallway like a fish

Lorenzo: good

Arthur: good

Charles: thanks for the support 🙃

Lorenzo: we love you but Belle is our sister and you don’t get to project your guilt onto her

Arthur: also you were genuinely being a dick Charles: I know I just saw her and the bump and how small she looked in that hoodie and I felt like she was slipping away from us again I didn’t know what to do

Lorenzo: then you don’t yell you sit and you listen and maybe ask what she needs instead of assuming

Charles: I’ll apologize in the morning Properly I’ll make it right

Arthur: bring pastries and maybe don’t act like she’s a toddler in a hurricane

Charles: understood fully and completely humbled

Lorenzo: good. and maybe next time, let Max be the worried husband you just be her brother

Charles: …noted. thanks both of you

Arthur: go to bed, old man before you stress yourself into another forehead wrinkle

Charles: I hate you

Arthur: you yelled at Belle. you deserve worse. 

***

The table overlooked the Austin skyline, golden hour casting soft light over everything. Max had picked the restaurant for its privacy and the cushioned chairs, and because he liked the steak. But Belle knew the real reason—he wanted to keep her off her feet without making a fuss about it. 

Though Max was fussing. He’d already  asked the waiter to bring extra lemon wedges for the side of greens, and given Belle’s glass of water three concerned glances, as if willing it to stay full.

Lando slouched into his chair beside Lily, looking approximately 80% emotionally compromised.

“Still moping?” Oscar asked dryly, stealing a fry off Lando’s plate.

Lando sighed. “She’s only coming to Brazil.”

“Emilie has a job,” Belle reminded him. “In Monaco.”

“Yeah, well, I have a heart. And it’s broken,” Lando muttered, poking at his burger like it had personally betrayed him.

“You saw her literally on Monday,” Max said.

“Exactly. Three whole days ago.”

Belle exchanged a look with Lily, who was clearly holding back a smile.

“You can still text,” Belle said helpfully. 

“I did. She sent me a meme of a cat falling into a bin. I think it was symbolic.”

Oscar bit back a laugh. “You think she’s trying to tell you something?”

“She said the cat was me.”

Belle reached across the table and squeezed Lando’s hand. “She loves you. Even if you are a bin cat.”

“I miss Emilie,” Lando said mournfully.

“You’re impossible,” Lily muttered affectionately.

Belle leaned back into her seat with a soft sigh, resting her hand over the curve of her belly. Max noticed immediately, shifting his chair slightly closer.

“Back okay?” he asked in a low voice.

“Just a bit achey,” she murmured. “Nothing serious.”

He nodded and poured her another glass of water before turning back to the table conversation.

They lapsed into easy conversation—about media day chaos, weather predictions, pit strategy speculation. The kind of casual camaraderie that came after years of shared race weekends and occasional mutual therapy.

But eventually, it circled back.

Lily asked, gently, “How are you feeling, B?”

Belle smiled. “Tired. A bit swollen. But okay.”

Oscar nodded. “You look good. Happy.”

“I am.” She glanced at Max, who looked smug about it.

Then she added, “Though Charles is… spiraling.”

“Still?” Lando blinked.

“Mm.” Belle took a sip of water. “He showed up earlier and basically scolded me like I was sneaking out to a nightclub. It turned into a thing. Max had to break up the shouting match.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Bold of him.”

“He’s just… worried,” Belle said after a pause.

“Yeah,” Lando said, “but there’s a difference between worried and unhinged.”

Oscar nodded. “We’re all worried, Belle. But none of us would yell at you like that.”

Belle glanced at Max, who hadn’t said anything yet. His jaw was tight.

“He was scared,” Max said finally. “But that doesn’t excuse it.”

“There are better ways to say ‘I love you and please don’t push yourself’ than blowing up at a pregnant woman,” Oscar said. 

Lily leaned in. “And if Charles yells again, I’ll throw a drink at him.”

“Lily,” Belle laughed.

“I will. I’ve been waiting for an excuse.”

Max raised his glass slightly. “To not being an asshole.”

Everyone clinked glasses. Even Lando, who still looked like he was mentally writing poetry in his head about Emilie and bins.

Lando sighed. “I miss Emilie.”

“You said that three times already,” Oscar said.

“Well, I do.”

Belle reached across the table and patted his hand. “Brazil isn’t far.”

“It is emotionally far,” Lando replied, staring dramatically at his empty bread plate. “And spiritually.”

Max glanced at him. “You want more bread?”

“Obviously.”

Max flagged the waiter down without missing a beat. Belle just shook her head and leaned back, letting the sounds of familiar voices settle around her like a blanket. Her husband. Her friends. Her people. It didn’t erase the hurt, or the worry. But it made the world feel a little softer. A little more hers.

And for now, that was enough.

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Charles Leclerc

Oscar: I’ve been holding off, but I need to say this. I have three sisters. Three. We’ve fought. We’ve argued. We���ve said stupid things. But I have never spoken to them the way you spoke to Belle.

Charles: I know.

Oscar: You scared her. You made her feel small. That’s not what big brothers are supposed to do. You want to worry? Worry. You want to check in? Good. But if yelling at her is how you show you care, then we’re going to have words.

Charles: … Okay. I deserved that.

Oscar: Yeah. You did. You don’t get to love someone and also make them afraid of your reaction. And if you ever need a reminder of how to be an older brother without being a dick, call me. I’ve had a lifetime of practice.

Charles: Noted. And Oscar? Thanks. I mean it.

Oscar: Don’t thank me. Just do better. For her.

***

Charles had been standing outside the Red Bull hospitality unit for at least three minutes, holding a white paper bag from Ferrari’s kitchen and questioning every life choice that had led him here.

He could hear the low hum of conversation from inside, interrupted now and then by laughter. Not Max’s—Belle’s. And for some reason, that made him even more nervous.

He took a deep breath, adjusted his sunglasses, and stepped inside.

The first thing he noticed was how full the space felt. Not crowded—Red Bull’s hospitality was never chaotic—but busy in a way that hummed with energy. Cameras, laptops, coordinated polo shirts. And in the middle of it all: Belle.

She was sitting on one of the plush sofas, ankles tucked up, cradling a Red Bull-branded water bottle and smiling at something Paul from comms was showing her on a tablet. Her bump was obvious now under her pale blue sundress. Seven months along and unmistakably glowing.

What was unmistakable, too, was the way everyone was treating her like she was made of glass and diamonds.

Paul offered her a seat cushion—another one. Someone else asked if she wanted another fan moved closer. One of the engineers passed by and offered to grab her another snack from the kitchen. Even the PR intern—Alex? Andy? Something with an A—hovered with wide eyes like she was witnessing royalty.

Charles blinked.

It wasn’t just that everyone was fussing over her. It was the way they listened. The way they made space for her. The way Max, standing at the coffee bar nearby, kept glancing over at her like the earth might tilt if she frowned.

It was… a lot.

And Charles suddenly felt very much like an intruder.

Still, he cleared his throat. Loud enough to be heard. Not so loud as to startle her.

Belle turned. Her face, open and curious a moment before, shuttered just slightly when she saw him.

“Hi,” Charles said, lifting the bag a little. “I brought you pastries.”

A pause. Then: “From Ferrari?” Her tone was unreadable.

“The good ones,” he added quickly. “From Marco. The ones you like. Raspberry and almond? Smuggled across enemy lines,” Charles replied.

Belle hesitated for one breath. Then she nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and said, “You can sit. If you’re not too scandalized by the energy drinks.”

Charles exhaled, relieved, and settled into the seat beside her, careful to leave space. He handed her the bag.

“I wanted to say sorry. Properly,” he said, quieter now, aware of the eyes around them. “Not because Max made me. Or because Oscar glared at me like he was about to fight me in a car park.”

That got the ghost of a smile out of her. Just barely.

“I was scared,” Charles admitted. “Still am. But that doesn’t excuse what I said. Or how I said it.”

Belle didn’t look at him. She picked at the edge of the pastry bag instead. “You made me feel like I wasn’t allowed to choose for myself. Like being worried gave you permission to shame me.”

Charles winced. “I know. I hate that I did that.”

A pause.

“You looked pale,” he said helplessly. “And tired. And it’s a triple header and you’re already seven months and I just—my brain short-circuited.”

Belle finally looked up.

“And you yelled.”

“I did,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. And if Max hadn’t stepped in—honestly, I’m glad he did.”

“I know you’re worried. But I’m okay. Max is okay. We’re doing this together.”

“I can see that,” Charles murmured, glancing around the room again. At the staff. At Max, who met his eyes for a second, then nodded—just once, like a warning and a truce all in one.

“You have people looking out for you,” Charles added. “And… I’m glad. Even if it hurts a little that it wasn’t always me.”

Belle’s expression softened. “You can still show up.”

“I want to,” he said. “I will. Just—maybe next time I’ll try asking how you are instead of yelling about it.”

“Next time,” Belle said, lips twitching into a small smile, “you can also bring tea.”

“Deal.” He leaned back slightly, glancing at the pastry in her hand. “Is it still good?”

Belle took another bite. “You’re still on probation, but this helps.”

Charles grinned despite himself. “Fair enough.”

***

Text Messages: Oscar Piastri & Belle Verstappen

Belle: what did you say to charles?

Oscar: 👀 hi belle

Belle: don’t “hi belle” me he showed up with pastries and actual remorse you broke him, didn’t you

Oscar: i just had a chat with him man to man brother to brother reasonable adult to emotionally unhinged Monegasque

Belle: oscar

Oscar: okay okay I might’ve told him that if he ever speaks to you like that again, we’re going to have words and that I have three sisters and even when they’re being annoying I still don’t talk to them like that and that you’re my friend too

Belle: 😳

Oscar: too much?

Belle: no just you’re going to make me cry in the paddock

Oscar: you already have Max you don’t need me but I’m here anyway just in case

Belle: i mean… it worked he brought croissants and apologized and didn’t deflect once

Oscar: that’s the power of australian disapproval we’re quiet but terrifying

Belle: thank you really ***

***

Instagram Stories: @/belleverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/F1TeaSpiller wait wait wait ISABELLE LECLERC JUST DROPPED A WHOLE Q&A AND GAVE US MORE EMOTIONAL INTROSPECTION IN 20 SLIDES THAN MY THERAPIST DID IN SIX MONTHS????

@/McLarenMaddie “Kidnapped to McLaren hospitality for snacks” Belle pls we are in a cost cap era stop outing our snack budget like this 💀 (also Lily def did the kidnapping)

@/GridGossipOfficial Confirmed:

Baby Verstappen is due mid-December

Max talks to the baby in Dutch

Belle is seven months pregnant and still looks like a Vogue editorial

She’s quietly funnier than the entire grid

I fear she’s iconic.

@/yukisnaxnation did anyone else catch the shade in “Installed Throw Pillows for a living 🙃” i know a backhanded family insult when i see one

@/tifositrouble charles leclerc: i am the family’s emotional support belle leclerc: the emotional support has left the building and written a dissertation on trauma in residential lighting

@/lan_doughnut “Life is weird. I wanted a horse.” Isabelle Leclerc really is that girl who married a four-time world champion and FINALLY GOT THAT PONY we love a grounded queen

@/gridwivesunite “Because I get to tell our baby their papa is brave and brilliant and comes home to us.” HELLO I DID NOT ASK TO CRY TODAY

@/OscarWifeCentral Max being fluent in Dutch, F1, and soft husband era is not what I expected in 2018 but I am so here for it

@/babyverstappenfanpage NOT HER CALLING THE BABY “THRIVING” WHILE THEY KICK HER RIBS this kid is already iconic drop the name. we deserve it.

@/f1emoposting i’m sorry but this woman said “Motherhood doesn’t end ambition—it just shifts it” and i am engraving that onto my bones

@/MaxVerstappenUpdates i think what makes me insane is how Max makes her feel safe like he doesn’t force reconciliation or pick sides, he just makes sure she knows she always has a home i’m losing it

@/screamingincashmere when she said “I don’t owe the internet my pain—or my healing” i stood up. i saluted. i screamed.

@/lilyheartsbelle as Lily’s self-declared spokesperson: Belle is invited to every McLaren snack table, always, forever, no questions. also she can absolutely design my house.

@/gridwitches

BELLE’S Q&A IS EVERYTHING

We got Max stories, existential career grief, architectural dissertation flexes, and a warning that baby Verstappen is a rib assassin.

10/10, no notes.

@/chaoticgoodlando

wait. WAIT.

is no one talking about the fact that she casually said she graduated TOP OF HER COHORT AT THE SORBONNE

AND PEOPLE CALLED IT INSTALLING THROW PILLOWS FOR A LIVING

i’m going to fight someone

@/mclarenmami

“Have been kidnapped to McLaren hospitality for snacks.”

Now listen. I need the transcript of that exchange. Who kidnapped her? Was it Oscar? Did Lily lure her with fries?

@/f1confessional

me rereading that Q&A and thinking about how Max Verstappen is the emotionally grounded husband and Charles is the one spiraling

@/charleslechic

if you told me in 2021 that max verstappen would become the sweet, quiet husband defending his wife while charles leclerc would be the one in family drama exile…

i would’ve called you delusional. now i call you prophetic.

@/trackwalktalks someone said max verstappen is the emotionally intelligent husband and charles leclerc is the messy sibling with unresolved issues and i haven’t recovered since

***

FIA Post-Race Press Conference – Austin 2024

 Drivers: Max Verstappen (P3), Carlos Sainz (P2), Charles Leclerc(P1)

Moderator: Congratulations to all three of you—Charles, Carlos, and Max. A thrilling race here in Austin. Charles, first win in the US. That must feel incredible?

Charles: Yes, absolutely. It’s been a long time coming. The team executed everything perfectly, and I’m really, really happy. It means a lot.

Reporter #1: Carlos, another strong weekend. You and Charles made it a Ferrari 1–2, and that’s no small feat.

Carlos: Yeah, it’s a good day for the team. It’s been a difficult few months, but this was clean, strong, and we got everything right. Proud of how we handled it.

Reporter #1: And Max, P3 today. A bit of a fight out there, but you seemed particularly focused near the end.

Max: Yeah, it was not our cleanest weekend. We struggled with balance in the early laps and tire deg later on, but we did what we could. I’m happy to bring home some solid points.

Reporter #2: I have to ask—there’s been a lot of chatter off-track, too. This is only the second time we’ve seen you both on the podium since the world learned that you’re officially… brothers-in-law.  —smiles Charles, Max—how does that feel?

(Charles pauses, blinking. Max smirks slightly.)

Charles: It’s— (pauses, glancing toward Max)  —an adjustment. But one I’m learning to navigate.

Max: I think we both are. I mean, racing is racing. That’s separate. When the helmets are on, we’re just competitors.

Charles: Exactly. On track, nothing changes. I want to beat him. He wants to beat me. But I mean… it’s still weird. Let’s be honest. It’s Max.

Max: (chuckles) Thank you.

Charles: But— we’re figuring it out. We both care about Belle. That’s the common ground.

Max: It’s more peaceful than people assume. We’ve always had… respect, I think. Maybe not always friendship.

Charles: (sighs, but smiles) I think it’s just surreal. My baby sister is married to him.

Max: And carrying my child. (grins)

Charles: Please stop talking.

Carlos: This grid is becoming a soap opera, and I love it.

Moderator: Has it changed anything, being family now?

Max: It’s made some things easier. Others—more delicate. But Belle is very good at keeping the peace.

Charles: She’s the only reason we haven’t killed each other.

Carlos: I’m just here enjoying the show.

Reporter #3: Do you have a name picked out?

Max: (smiles tightly) We do.

Reporter #3: Are you going to share it?

Max: Nope.

Reporter #4: Max, with the season wrapping up soon and the holidays approaching—how are you and Belle planning to celebrate Christmas?

Max: (smiles a bit helplessly) Well, that depends on the baby.

(Laughter in the room.)

Max: We’re either going to have a newborn… or I’ll be staring at the calendar and jumping every time my wife sneezes. The due date is mid-December. So it’s going to be a different kind of off-season. 

Charles: (smiling faintly) We’ll all be on standby, I think. Family Christmas might involve a hospital room this year.

Max: Honestly? As long as Belle’s okay, and the baby’s healthy, I don’t care where we are. That’s the gift.

***

Text Messages: Pascale Leclerc & Belle Verstappen

Pascale: Ma chérie, I’ve been thinking of you. I know traveling during the triple header must be exhausting, and I wanted to check in. How are you feeling? Truly.

Belle: Hi Maman. I’m okay. A bit tired. A bit sore. Baby is doing gymnastics on my lungs today, I think. But I’m okay. Thanks for asking.

Pascale: I can’t imagine how much that takes out of you. Are you at least letting Max spoil you a little?

Belle: He’s in full bodyguard mode. Won’t let me carry anything heavier than a water bottle and keeps muttering about compression socks like a 75-year-old Dutch man.

Pascale: That sounds like love. I know I don’t say this enough, but I’m really proud of you. The way you handle everything—your work, this pregnancy, being married to someone constantly in the spotlight. You’ve always been stronger than people gave you credit for. Including me.

Belle: …thank you. That means a lot.

Pascale: Would it be alright if I called sometime this week? Just to talk. No pressure.

Belle: Okay. Yeah. I think I’d like that. Just… not during free practice. Max will give me the look.

Pascale: Then I’ll wait. You deserve to be looked after too, ma fille. Talk soon. 💛

***

Belle didn’t need the timing screens or the pit wall whispers to know something was coming. She could feel it in the air—that particular charge that came when Max had something to prove. It was all altitude and adrenaline in Mexico City.

She sipped her agua fresca in Red Bull hospitality, her free hand resting on her bump.Max had kissed her forehead that morning, mumbled something about traffic and tyres and Turn 1, but she’d seen the tension in his shoulders, the clipped way he’d tugged on his gloves.

By Lap 10, she was already sitting forward on the couch, legs crossed uncomfortably, one hand braced against the armrest.

And then it happened.

Turn 4. Max dove in—hard, late, uncompromising. Lando squeezed. Neither gave. Norris bumped wide, managing to avoid the wall by centimeters. Her heart shot to her throat.

She didn't say anything. Not even when the second incident came—Turn 8, just a few laps later. Another lunge, another wheel-to-wheel moment, another wide run-off.

Then the penalty notices hit the screens like thunder.

10 seconds. Then another 10.

Belle sat back, exhaled slowly. Max wouldn’t like this. He’d be furious with himself, with the stewards, with the line between bold and reckless being dissected in real time. She knew that look he got—the kind that was all calculation and pride and the sting of knowing he'd gone too far.

She looked down at her bump, whispered, “He’ll calm down. Eventually.”

The post-race press area was a buzz of barely contained tension. Lando, to his credit, had kept it professional.

“This is not very clean driving… I just had to avoid a crash.”

Belle had known Lando long enough to read between the lines. He was angry. But he was also careful. Measured. She couldn’t fault him for what he said—and neither would Max.

But this was something between the two of them now. Something that had started back in Austin and hadn’t burned out yet.

Later, back in his driver’s room, Belle had the room dimmed, her feet up, the baby pressing insistently against her ribs. Max came in quieter than usual—no slammed doors, no hissing under his breath. Just the sound of him peeling off his race suit and standing still, like he didn’t know what to do with the noise in his head.

She sat up. “Snack? Water?”

He shook his head, then changed his mind. “Water.”

She handed it to him. He took a sip, then sat on the edge of the couch, hands braced on his knees. The silence was heavy, not angry—just full. She walked over, lowered herself beside him with some difficulty, and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said quietly, not even defensive. “I left space.”

“I know,” she said. “But sometimes it’s not about space. It’s about how it looks.”

He didn’t respond. Just leaned into her a little more.

She rested her hand on his and let him be quiet. That was the thing about Max—he didn't need fixing. Just space to feel what he was feeling. And a home to come back to when he was done being Max Verstappen, Red Bull’s relentless ace.

“You’re still brilliant,” she said after a while.

“I’m still penalized.”

She nudged his knee gently with hers. “And still coming home with me.”

He let out a breath—something like a laugh, something like defeat—and let his head drop to her shoulder.

***

Text Messages: Emilie Abadie & Belle Verstappen

Emilie: Explain to me why your husband nearly launched my boyfriend into the stratosphere today.

Belle: He did not launch him. He defended his position. Aggressively. While being Max.

Emilie: Aggressively?? Belle. I nearly threw my phone at the TV. Do you know how fast I went from "let's get him" to "baby no 🥺" in 0.3 seconds??

Belle: Yes. Because I watched it happen live and then lived with the consequences in the driver’s room. Lando is fine. 

Emilie: I’m not.

Belle: You’re in love with a man who drives like a maniac and jokes like a 12-year-old on Red Bull.

Emilie: And I choose him. Daily. Despite all that. Which is why I reserve the right to yell when your husband tries to murder him with a late dive.

Belle: Max didn’t try to murder him.

Emilie: Belle. I had to stress-bake banana bread.

Belle: …I accept this level of emotional escalation.

Emilie: Good. Because next time, if Max breathes wrong in Lando’s direction, I will uninvite you both from brunch.

Belle: Not brunch 😩

Emilie: That’s how serious I am. Tell Max. Actions. Consequences. Croissants.

Belle: Message received.

Belle: (But also: Max says Lando moved under braking.)

Emilie: Tell Max I moved under deep disappointment.

***

Text Messages: Lando Norris & Belle Verstappen

Lando: Tell Max I’ll stop being mad if he names the baby after me. 😌

Belle: You didn’t die, Norris.

Lando: Felt like it. Spiritually. Emotionally. Tyre-ly.

Belle: Tyre-ly is not a word.

Lando: It is now. I’ve suffered. Let me have this.

Belle: You got P2 and a plate of tacos after the race.

Lando: Justice for me 🪦

Belle: The baby just kicked. I think they’re judging you.

Lando: Max’s child already hates me. This is worse than Russia 2021.

Belle: They’ll love you. Once they’re old enough to understand sarcasm and chaos.

Lando: So like… age three?

Belle: Exactly.

Lando: Tell Max I forgive him. But also that I expect naming rights for the second one.

Belle: Noted. You’re on the list… somewhere under “never.”

***

They were in their hotel room in Mexico City, the lights low, the air still buzzing faintly with the noise of the city outside.

Belle was curled up on the bed with a book resting on the curve of her belly. Max was by the window, still in his undershirt, hair damp from the shower, staring out like the skyline held answers.

He’d gotten P6.

Solid. But not a win.

Not for a while now.

He turned from the window slowly.

“I’m scared,” he said, voice quiet.

Belle looked up immediately, setting her book aside. “Of what?”

Max rubbed the back of his neck, not meeting her eyes. “That I won’t win again.”

The words hung there, heavier than either of them expected.

Belle sat up, one hand instinctively resting on her bump, the other reaching out to him. “Max…”

“It’s stupid,” he said quickly. “I know. I’ve already won so much. More than most drivers ever will. And it’s not like I’m not competitive. It’s not like I’ve lost the pace completely. But—” He broke off, frustration simmering just under the surface. “But it’s been ten races. Ten. And suddenly everyone’s looking at me like I’m… fading.”

Belle’s fingers wrapped around his.

“You’re not fading.”

He finally looked at her, and his eyes were raw in a way few people ever got to see.

“I used to feel like the car moved with me. Like I could sense it before it happened. Now it’s… like I’m fighting it more. Like the edge is duller. I’m scared that—” He exhaled, hard. “That this is the beginning of the end.”

Belle stood, stepped into his space, pressed her palms flat against his chest.

“Max Verstappen,” she said, steady and fierce. “You’re not at the end of anything. You’re evolving. That’s different.”

His mouth pressed into a line. “What if evolving means slower?”

She gave a soft smile. “Then you evolve into someone who wins in different ways. With patience. With strategy. With wisdom.”

Max huffed. “I don’t want to be wise. I want to be fast.”

Belle laughed, low and warm. “You are fast. You’ve always been fast. But mon amour, that can’t be the only measure of who you are.”

He looked down at her hand on his chest, then at the swell of her belly. Their son shifted beneath her skin, like he was listening.

“I want him to be proud of me,” Max whispered.

Belle reached up, thumb brushing his cheek. “He will be. Not because of wins. But because of who you are when you don’t win.”

Max closed his eyes, just for a second, and breathed her in.

Then he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “How do you always know what to say?”

She smiled. “Because I love you. And because I’ve seen you drive a car like it’s an extension of your soul. That doesn’t just vanish.”

He kissed her. Soft and searching.

And when he pulled away, his voice was steadier.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Brazil, then.”

Belle grinned. “Brazil.”

And maybe—just maybe—the winning wasn’t over.

Not yet.

[bxnfire]

Stereo Love

Synopsis: You’re determined to get over Suguru, and Suguru’s determined to never let you. Amongst annual vacations, unresolved tension, and one hell of a view, what could go wrong? Come to Mykonos and find out!

Content/Warnings: MDNI! Smut, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, blowjob, handjobs, public nudity, m! masturbation, edging, teasing, friends-to-lovers, yearning, soo much tension, mutual pining, fluff, slight angst, vacation, Shoko and Gojo betting on your future.

Wc: 9k

A/N: The images are from pinterest. I can’t take credit for them. Divider creds go to @bronzewasp. Check out other amazing works and the place that inspired me to make this fic here at @lily-bisque’s summer bash collab!

Suguru is many things. A tattoo artist, a music lover, a sweet talker, a witty man, a softie at heart, and for the longest time, perhaps since he drew your favorite flower after your crush rejected you to lift your spirits up back in high school, or was it in middle school when he got your favorite snack after you completely bombed a test? You’ve had the stupidest crush on him. You've loved him for so long, all the memories have become a blur, you can no longer remember when he did what, but what you do remember is that even at the ripe age of 13 Suguru has known how to sweep you off your feet.

Maybe that’s why no one else has ever stood a chance.

You’ve tried. God, have you tried. But every relationship since him has been doomed before it began. They all paled in comparison: too soft, too cocky, too dull. Too not Suguru. And maybe they knew it. Maybe they all saw the look in your eyes when his name popped up on your phone or heard the way your voice changed when you talked about him.

You’ve told yourself you’d get over him. You meant it, too. But then he sends you one of those effortless selfies, or calls you just to hear your voice, or keeps his promise to go on vacation with you every year. And suddenly, all that resolve evaporates like mist off the ocean.

What you don’t realize is that Suguru’s just as far gone as you, maybe worse.

It's stupid really, he has no clue as to why you haven't realized that he has so many memory cards for his digital camera purely because he cannot bring himself to delete anything where you're in. There's so many photos and videos of you just being silly, one of you sleeping on his couch, another of you running away from Satoru after he realized you stole his mochi, even one of you petting a cat on the street.

Unbeknownst to you, you inspire the tattoos he's become so known for, which is quite funny because Suguru fears one day you'll have the bright idea of visiting his shop, he wouldn't know what to do if you noticed your favorite flower on different styles on the walls, your birthday on roman numerals, samples of fonts which say your name, middle name, and/or last name, and in a hidden crook of his studio, your eyes.

It sucks having to miss you so much, since you only see each other once a year, but on the bright side, you also don't get to see the fool you've made of him.

Since college, you knew you'd be apart from each other most of your time, as Suguru pursued his dream of owning his own shop in Tokyo whereas your aspirations took you somewhere else. You both have always been very supportive of each other, but at the same time, you're so stuck on each other that you made a pact to go on vacation for 2 weeks every year, taking turns on choosing the spot, and this year it was Suguru's turn to choose.

📩 Suguuu <3: have you checked your email yet songbird?

📩 my muse: SUGURU SHUT THE FUCK UP

📩 my muse: YOU DID NOT

📩 my muse: MYKONOS?

📩 Suguuu <3: surprise surprise

He marks the days like a countdown, two weeks where he gets to have you close, but never close enough. Where he watches you fall in love with the world and aches knowing you’ll never look at him the same way. It’s his favorite part of the year, and also the hardest. Because no matter how far you go together, he always ends up right where he started: still loving you, still silent, and still too much of a coward to ruin what you've built for so long.

You step off the plane, the salty Mykonos breeze kissing your cheeks, and it hits you: this is going to be dangerous. Not because of the cliffs or the scooters or the cocktails you’ve already mentally committed to drinking by the dozen—but because Suguru looks like that in a white button-up and linen pants. He pushes his sunglasses up his nose and smiles at you with that same familiar softness that’s been ruining your dating life since you were 13.

“This place is already ten times better with you in it,” he says casually, grabbing your suitcase like it’s second nature.

You don’t respond. You can’t. Your brain has momentarily stopped functioning.

Choosing to just giggle as a response to avoid any awkward, mumbled response, you pick up your phone to double-check the address of the hotel you had chosen. It took a while, but you reached an agreement with Suguru: if he paid for the tickets, you would pay for the stay.

Since he had gone all out with the location as was, you decided to level the playing field by choosing a suite with a private pool, big ass beds, and the most beautiful view of the beach.

“Songbird, you sure this is our room?” Suguru asks, curious, but also excited?

“‘Course Sugu, why wouldn’t it be?” You ask oblivious to what he was looking at, too busy contemplating at the pool.

“Well, there’s just one bed, it’s huge, but one bed nonetheless,” he says, his lips curving in a dangerous smile.

“Oh.”

“Oh sounds right.” He chuckled, looking at your mortified expression.

“No wonder the lady who checked us in kept treating us like a couple, and you didn’t even correct her!” You realize, jokingly putting the blame on him.

“Would you have wanted me to?” He asks, his purple hues locking your own.

You didn’t have it in you to respond directly, and the loud beating of your heart wouldn’t have let your mind come up with a good answer anyway, so you just opted for saying, “I could sleep in the hammock?”

“Fuck no.”

“So then?”

“If anyone’s sleeping on a hammock it’s me,” he says in a tone that suggests he won’t be swayed otherwise. “But I was thinking of just sharing the bed instead? It’s big enough, you’d probably need an Uber to get to the other side anyway.”

“Okay dummie,” you giggle, “pillow fort it is.”

“Don’t think you could stay away from me in your sleep? You flatter me,” he teased.

“I really couldn’t, you’re just so humble and handsome,” you play along, trying your damned best to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

“If only you truly meant that,” he mumbled.

“What’d you say?” You ask, not having heard him right.

“That you better not snore, songbird.”

“YOU better not snore,” you replied giggling.

“And if I do?” He asks.

“Then I’d have to do this,” you say, and he stands there clueless as to why you’re moving around in silence. Poor Suguru only remembered you were having this conversation by the pool after you had pushed him in, clothes and all.

As he resurged from the water, he just looks at you and smirks, his snake-bites shining in the bright afternoon. You knew he was up to no good, but you sort of felt guilty for pushing him in, so when he extends his hand towards you, you don’t hesitate to take it. Should’ve known you’d be drenched the next second.

As you swim back to the surface, you’re startled to find Suguru so close to you. It should’ve been obvious; he pulled you in, so of course you’d be close. You’ve been pining for this man for years on end, and every year you tell yourself it’s going to be the last, but when he pulls shit like this it’s easy to forget your top new year’s resolution for the past 12 years: to get over Suguru. But he doesn’t help! It’s not easy to get over your best friend if he’s your dream man incarnated, specially when he looks so fucking good with wet hair and a look of mischief in his eyes, with his lips merely an inch away from yours.

He noticed you staring, and it was driving him insane. It took every bit of his (very strong mind you) resolve to not kiss you right there and then and potentially ruin a friendship of over a decade. So, to stop it from going further he just splashed water at your face and started a water fight. He had hoped he’d be able to contain his feelings until the right time, but seeing as he gets worked up so easily even if you’re not trying to seduce him lets him know it’ll be harder than he thought.

About 2 hours later you both finally stopped trying to get back at each other and decided to go out for dinner. You took an awful long shower, which gave Suguru time to rent a bike for your stay, as he remembered how much you loved to ride it with him back when you were in college.

“Songbird! You done in there or are you trying to pluck all your feathers?” He called out teasingly, he knew how much you hated to be rushed, and he had a dirty little liking for working you up.

“Gentle reminder that I’m not a man and can’t serve without proper preparation,” you yelled back, going back to retouching your makeup.

“I’m not even going to comment on that,” he responds, realizing that you truly didn’t know how beautiful he found you, no makeup or prep at all. He’d love to argue with you about it, but admitting to stroking his fat cock for 2 hours straight after he’d seen you with the tiniest shorts and a sweatshirt (one you stole from him by the way) ready to go to bed a year ago wasn’t probably the best argument. But you couldn’t blame him right? After walking around Berlin he was physically and mentally exhausted, so he couldn’t really think better than to just imagine how nice it would be to get to see you like that every time as you walked to your shared bed before he could rearrange your guts goodnight, it’d make you both sleep better!

He was ready to go down that rabbit hole of a memory, but you snapped him away from his thoughts as you finally walked out of the bathroom with the prettiest dress he’s ever seen. Maybe that’s a vague description of your clothes, but you made everything look fucking great, he started to think you’d even look good with a trash bag.

“Staring much?” You ask, basking in his attention and quiet praise.

“I have every right to have a staring problem too you know,” he replies, referring to your little mishap at the pool.

“Oh shut up.”

He chuckles, and for the pure sake of annoying you, he texts you what he was going to say.

📩 Suguuu <3: come outside

“You do realize I’m right next to you right?”

📩 Suguuu <3: you told me to shut up

📩 Suguuu <3: who am i to say no to you?

“You’re so dumb,” you say as you hurry outside, trying your best to hide your blush from him.

You hear him laugh behind you, and you’re about to keep fighting him when you see a red Kawasaki Ninja, and all of your college memories flooded. You couldn’t conceal your smile as it all came back to you, and he takes this chance to speak up.

“You liking our sweet ride for these next 2 weeks?”

“This is fucking amazing Suguru, thank you,” you say as you look at him with the sweetest smile, and you’ve made him melt once again for this evening.

“Let’s get going then, Mykonos awaits!” And with that, you two go into the night looking for trouble, which in itself was scary to think about because it surely felt dangerous to be on this ride with Suguru, and not because he likes to speed, but because being this close to him, getting to wrap your arms around him and press your head on his shoulder, trying your damned best not to succumb to the intoxicating smell of his, made you wish you were riding him instead.

Unluckily for him, you've failed to notice the raging hard-on he sports every night you've gone out for a ride, he chalks it up to his ability to choose bottoms that make it easier to hide, but it really is just the mere fact that you both end up so flustered after those that you don't look at each other much past stolen glances the first couple of minutes, which gives Suguru the perfect chance to run straight to the bathroom to... decompress!

It’s been 1 week in Mykonos and you’ve both fucking loved it. Apart from all those times you’ve come awfully close to kissing or confessing, and ignoring all the damn tension, it’s been great. You spend your days strolling through markets or landmarks, then come back to the suite to hop in the pool and the end the day by clubbing somewhere, it is Mykonos's whole thing for a reason.

Today was a little different though. You were feeling the impulsivity that could only come from days being away from your reality, being with Suguru, the man that made anything and everything seem possible, and of course, the unspoken agreement of vacation, and even if the saying names Vegas, you're in Mykonos aren't ya?

“We should go to a nude beach today,” you say as you bite your koulouri.

Suguru nearly chokes on his yogurt. “A w-what?” He asks, looking at you with wide eyes.

“A nude beach! Wouldn't it be so liberating? And you know I've always wanted to,” you say with the sweetest smile you can muster, acting as if you wouldn't also be a mess if you saw him naked.

“Well, if there's nothing else you'd rather do,” he gives in, trying to think of what the fuck he'd do if he gets hard, it's already bad always making sure he's up before you to hide his morning wood, but a nude beach? God knows he couldn't even cover it up with both of his hands if he tried.

“Not at all,” you smile as you watch him get up to get ready, “I looove you.”

“Seems like you're trying to kill me,” he says with an honesty you weren't expecting at all.

“How so?” You ask innocently.

“You're gonna be the death of me, remember that.”

Shit, you remember other things too. The other night you two had a little too much wine, and while Suguru is usually suave and calculated when he's sober, when he's drunk you really get to see why him and Satoru are such good friends, it makes you see that they're both fairly unhinged, to put it some way.

Sure, in different ways, but unhinged all the same. At least, that's the best word you could find to describe what it was like to hear from your best friend's pretty lips that he’d eat you alive if you let him.

He said it so casually, so slurred and sweet, like it wasn’t the kind of thing that would replay in your mind every time he looked at you a second too long. Like it wasn’t going to haunt you now, while you’re both about to strip down in public like it’s just another Thursday.

You don’t think he remembers. He laughed right after, laid his head on your lap and started telling you how the stars in Mykonos looked fake, like they were too pretty to be real, just like you. But you remember. You remember everything.

Now, as you stand on a rocky path down to the beach, your sundress fluttering in the breeze and Suguru beside you, trying to act nonchalant while adjusting the strap of his backpack for the fifth time, you feel the tension tighten. Not in a dramatic, movie-scene way—no, it’s worse than that. It’s subtle. Controlled. His silence is louder than any confession.

“I googled it,” you say suddenly, trying to fill the silence. “The beach. Apparently it’s, like, super secluded.”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Secluded is good. We like secluded.”

You hum in response. “Means no one will see if I trip and fall flat on my ass.”

He chuckles. “But I would see though, that’s more than enough.”

A few minutes later, you reach the sand—white, soft, hot beneath your feet. Suguru sets down your things and stretches, his shirt lifting just enough to expose a sliver of skin and the bottom edge of a tattoo you don’t recognize. Your eyes catch on it a second too long.

“What’s that one?” you ask, pointing to it before you can stop yourself.

He freezes. Then glances down. “Ah. That one’s… new.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Of what?”

He shrugs. “Something that reminds me of you.”

And before you can press further, he takes his shirt of fully and it takes you a moment to register what the fuck you're looking at. As if it wasn't already hard not to stare at his muscular back, slutty waist, and broad shoulders, now you have to deal with looking at all of that and your favorite flower on his lower back.

Yeah, right where your hands are when he lays his head on your lap and wants you to comfort him. And you do so by just hearing him out and caressing his lower back, good to know. Good to know what the tattoo was.

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, right before that part of his body could be covered up by the water he glanced back at you with a smirk, locking eyes for a second too long. Enough to put you in a trance that didn't even let you realize you had been staring at that damn direction for too fucking long.

“So you dragged me here to just sit by the shore with your clothes on?” He yelled, as he was fairly deep in the water.

“You didn't put up too much of a fight anyway,” you replied.

“Because I thought it would be even humiliation but you're sitting there like a princess while I'm completely naked.”

Before you could even process what you were doing, you took your shirt off, and put up a fucking show for him, it was only fair right? If he had you blushing every other sentence, you could fluster him by letting him see what he's allegedly been wanting to eat.

And fuck, you just made him hungrier after that.

You managed to swim and put the tension behind a barrier, even if it was fragile, and you two found a cove not too far from where your things were at.

The cove is half-shaded, half-glowing with the soft shimmer of the Aegean sun. The rocks cradle the space like it was made just for two idiots in denial, and the water here is calmer, like it knows something’s about to happen.

You float lazily beside him, your arms brushing every so often under the surface. If you didn’t know better, you’d think the ocean was trying to make you touch him on purpose.

“You're quiet,” Suguru says, voice low and a little breathless from the swim.

You shrug. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“That tattoo,” you say without looking at him, even though you can feel him looking at you.

He hums. “Knew you’d notice.”

You flick water at him. “You put it where my hands always are. Kind of hard not to.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that fills your lungs heavier than the sea.

“I put it there because that’s where you always are,” he says, so casually you almost miss it.

You blink, heart stuttering. “What?”

But he doesn’t answer. He swims a little closer, hands finding the edge of the rock behind you, his body suddenly close enough to cage you in without touching.

“Can I tell you something?” he murmurs, voice low, unreadable.

You nod.

“I lied the other night. When I said you were gonna be the death of me.”

Your breath hitches. “Oh?”

“I meant to say you already are.”

You can’t decide what happens first, your pulse skyrocketing, your stomach dropping, or the burning desire to kiss him so hard you forget every reason you told yourself you couldn’t.

But his lips are right there, and you’re both naked, half-drenched, and you’re fully ruined for anyone else—and you’re starting to think he might be too.

You swallow hard, not from nerves, but because it’s suddenly too quiet. The air shifts, the world narrows. His hands are still braced behind you, his body close enough that you feel the heat of him through the water, your knees occasionally brushing under the surface, sending jolts straight to your core.

“You can’t just say shit like that,” you whisper, trying to sound unaffected and missing the mark completely.

“Why not?” he murmurs, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for the line between brave and stupid, safe and honest.

“Because,” you say, voice a little shaky now. “Because I don’t know what you mean.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “Yeah, you do.”

You try to look away, but his voice drags your gaze back.

“I meant it, y’know,” he says. “The tattoo. The flower.”

“Suguru—”

He leans in just slightly, not close enough to touch, but close enough that your heart forgets how to beat properly.

“Every time you touch me there, it grounds me,” he admits, quieter now. “Even when I’m barely holding it together. Even when I want things I shouldn’t.”

Your breath catches. “Things like?”

He doesn’t say it. Instead, he lets the moment stretch.

The sun catches on the water between you. He looks devastating like this—dripping, golden, pupils blown just a little too wide to blame on the sunlight.

But then, as if he senses you need an escape route, he gives you a smirk, tipping his head back and letting the tension almost break.

“You still owe me for dragging me out here alone,” he says, voice back to playful, but his eyes? Still fixed, still dark, still hungry.

“Oh?” you manage, breathless. “And what exactly do I owe you?”

He shrugs, but it’s mocking. “Dunno yet. But I’m sure I’ll think of something by tonight.”

And with that, he pushes off the rock and swims a few feet away, leaving you stewing in the heat he left behind, mouth slightly parted, heart absolutely wrecked.

Coming back to the suite was something else. Sure, it was already bad having to share a bed with the man you've loved for so long, but today was just rough. Your glances seemed to last a little longer, if you walk past each other you're so awfully aware of your skin touching, so much so it feels electric.

For his “get back” he ended up taking you to a club, but this time he had laid out an outfit for you to put on: a cute little purple dress along with some silver heels.

“Suguru what the hell are you planning on doing?” You ask, trying to suppress your giddiness.

“Clubbing,” he says walking into your shared room with his fit on, and to your surprise he was wearing a button-down shirt matching your dress, alongside silver accessories to match your shoes.

He loves watching you dance, you look so happy and carefree, but he'd also be lying if he said that was all there was to it. He loved seeing you flaunt your curves without a care in the world, and even if he knows better than that, he likes to imagine that you're putting up a show just for him. So, why not let the Greeks think that you were his and only his?

“And is there a reason to be matching?” You ask.

“Yeah, it'll be easier to find each other if we're wearing the same color,” he says just to instantly realize how stupid that sounded.

“Like we're on a summer camp?” You giggle.

“Yeah. A summer camp, but now we won't have to give up or phones or try to hide the booze,” he chuckles.

So, you're off to the club. It's not the first time you're clubbing in this trip, but tonight is just different. After learning about his tattoo earlier and being the closest you've ever been to actually kissing him the tension is through the roof, and you'd think a club would be stimulating enough to let your mind focus somewhere else, but something about those colored flashing lights, his easy smile and his luscious hair going everywhere along his moves gave you goosebumps. It surely didn't help that now he was using every excuse to flaunt the tattoo he'd done an amazing job of hiding up until earlier.

The club is alive. Bass thrumming through your chest, lights flashing pink and violet like they’re syncing with your heartbeat. You’ve danced before, plenty of times. But never like this. Never with his eyes on you like this.

You weren’t expecting them to play it — the familiar swirl of ikaeotiotiko rising like smoke through the haze of the night. The DJ must’ve been Greek. Or brave. Either way, the mood shifts, the crowd parting slightly as people start forming loose circles, clapping into the rhythm, shoes sliding against the floor with practiced ease.

You’re mid-laugh when Suguru’s hand slides around your waist.

“Thought you didn’t dance,” you tease, breathless.

“I don’t,” he says, but he doesn’t let go.

The circle opens around you, and somehow you’re pulled in, your hands brushing against others, your body keeping time with the rising tempo. You spin once, then again, feet moving instinctively. The music builds. Quick.

You feel him again before you see him. Suguru at your back, steady and grounded while the world moves in rhythm around you. He doesn't grab you outright, but his hand returns to your waist like muscle memory.

When someone reaches out to join hands with you again, he steps closer.

“She’s with me,” Suguru says. Casual. Almost bored.

But you know better. His voice is strained honey, the smoothness so fake you know it's just trying to feign calm. His fingers tighten at your side, not enough to hurt, but enough to speak volumes.

You move faster. The music demands it. The steps get looser, sweat slicking your skin, your dress hitching a little higher with every spin. You’re glowing with it, the dance, the music, the heat — and you lean back into him, letting your hips graze his.

Suguru doesn’t back away. If anything, he braces you.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs into your ear, the beat thrumming through your chests as one. His mouth is so close to your skin, it feels like a kiss.

You smile without looking at him. “Maybe I like the burn.”

The music’s lifting now — that final run, that fast-breath, foot-stomping energy unique to ikaeotiotiko — and you let go. Let your body trust the rhythm. Let yourself press flush against him as the circle breaks into wild joy. But Suguru? He stays still behind you, like stone, like an anchor, his hand sliding lower now.

“Careful,” he breathes, “If you keep dancing like that, I’ll forget where we are.”

“Then maybe you should.”

That pause, thick with want, thick with years of unsaid things, lingers between you longer than the last note of the song. Even as the music fades and the next track bleeds in, he stays molded to your back. Possessive. Unmoving. Burned in.

You turn your head just enough to glance at him. “Possessive much?”

“Can you blame me?” he says, and it’s so honest, so fast, it makes your pulse skip.

The DJ switches to something darker, deeper. The kind of song that slows the room down and pulls bodies closer. Your hands find his shoulders, his settle on your hips. It’s instinct now.

You shouldn’t be doing this. But you also should’ve stopped a long time ago.

Your noses nearly brush as he leans in like he’s going to say something. But he doesn’t. His gaze flicks down to your lips, then back up.

You can’t breathe.

“Say something,” you whisper, voice almost drowned out by the music.

He swallows hard. “I’m trying really fucking hard not to ruin everything right now.”

The way he says it, so raw and vulnerable, sends your heart crashing into your ribs. You want to ask why not ruin it? what if it’s already ruined? what if we’ve been lying to ourselves this whole damn time? But you’re trying to see if he'll cave in, but unfortunately your patience is dangerously close to boiling over.

So you smile instead. Force a little laugh. “You think dancing with me is going to ruin everything?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slightly. “Wanting more will.”

At this point you're fucking fed up, the tattoo, the side comments, and now to top it off the fucking possessiveness. Your heart couldn't handle that much.

“Stop playing with me. You keep talking so sweetly to me and I know you're a sweet person but this has gotten so out of hand. You keep saying I'm the death of you, that I calm you in ways no one does, and you just rile me up so fucking much. It hurts Suguru, to have wanted to for so long and to keep wanting you and all you do is play around. Honestly I've kept quiet for the sake of our friendship, but it costs me too fucking much, and I can't take it anymore,” you confess, tears threatening to spill over.

Before you could think logically, you let your pride take over and ran out into the rain because it seemed like a better option than to let the man who's controlled your feelings for so long watch you cry over him.

Your inner turmoil doesn't let you realize that he was chasing you the whole way.

“Y/n wait! Fuck, come here,” he says out of breath.

“Haven't you had enough this past decade? What else do you want from me?!” You ask, looking at him through your tears.

“You didn't let me reply,” he says so easily, as if he wasn't holding you as you broke down, as if you both weren't getting completely drenched by the rain. “I have always loved you. Insanely so. You've always plagued my every thought, been the muse to all the art I've made, the force behind every one of my efforts, my partner in crime, my favorite voice to wake up to, the last person I want to see before I fall asleep.”

His hands cup your face like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on tight enough, but his touch is gentle. Careful. Like he knows how badly you’ve been hurting and hates himself for being part of it.

“I never said anything because I didn’t want to lose you. Not to distance, not to time, not to something I said too early or too late. I’ve had so many chances, and I ruined every one of them by keeping my mouth shut.”

You’re crying harder now, but you’re not backing away. You're just there, in his hands, trying to catch your breath as his confession keeps unraveling.

“I wanted to say something a hundred times on this trip. I almost kissed you on the bike, when you leaned into me and I forgot how to think. And again on the beach. And at the cove. And right now, I am so close to doing it I can’t even breathe.”

You blink up at him through the rain. “Then do it.”

Suguru pauses just long enough to make sure you mean it, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“Please,” you whisper.

And he kisses you like he’s been waiting to. Not careful anymore, not calculated. Just full of every second, every day, every year he’s spent loving you in silence. You melt into him, fingers curling in his shirt, finally holding him like you’ve dreamed of doing a thousand times.

When you part, both of you breathless, soaked, and shaking with adrenaline, he rests his forehead against yours.

“No more waiting,” he murmurs. “I’m yours, okay? I’ve always been yours. I've even got a mark of it.”

You laugh softly. “About time, idiot.”

He grins. “I’ll take that.”

Needless to say, you don't take too long to get on going to the suite. It should've been a quicker trip, but with Suguru slamming you into walls every 5 minutes and kissing you like a man starved it made a 10min walk into a 40min one, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't play into every bit of it.

By the time you make it into your room, your skin is on fire, not even the droplets of water clinging to it can do anything to calm the burning sensation down. It makes you act as though coming in contact with his skin with every inch of yours might ease it, but it only makes it worse.

Suguru’s not holding up any better. Years of longing are pouring out through his lips, tongue, hands, cock, everywhere. He’s all over you, kissing your neck as struggles not to whimper, hands busy trying to take your drenched clothes off as he doesn’t let you an inch away from him while he guides you towards the bed.

“So have you thought about it?” He asks, his lips one inch away from yours as he holds both of your arms above you with just one hand.

“Suguru I haven’t thought of anything that wasn’t you since we got off the plane,” you reply breathlessly.

“I’m talking about my offer, or should I say request?”

“And what would that be?” You reply smiling, kissing his neck, feeling it vibrate as he chuckles.

“That I’d eat you if you’d let me,” he says, eyes now fully locked on yours.

“YOU REMEMBER THAT?” You ask startled, fully convinced you were the only one who kept that night alive through your memory.

“I remember everything songbird, so well that I don’t recall there being an answer.” He pauses just to look at you, and as he inches close enough where you can feel his breath on your lips he speaks up again. “So, can I?”

You don’t feel like replying verbally, so you opted for smashing your lips into his. Kissing him felt so right, far above the feeling you got from anyone else even fucking you. This kiss alone made you wish he took all of your firsts, and with how nervous he’s making you, it almost feels like you’re a virgin again. Close enough right?

He understood perfectly. His hands started going south, roaming through your abdomen and navel, getting a feel of all the skin he’s only ever allowed himself to look at. As he tries to stop his mind from going overdrive so he can please you the way he’s always dreamed of, he places wet kisses from your neck to your collarbone, sneaking in some bites and hickeys to pave down his newfound territory.

“F-fuck Suguru,” you moan, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“That’s it songbird, don’t hold back. You’ve starved me long enough,” he says as he finally reaches your breasts. He takes one into his mouth, outlining your sensitive nub, as he moves one of his hands towards your other breast, taking your nipple between his thumb and index finger, rotating it back and forth, the pressure and friction taking your soul out your body.

You feel yourself grinding into him, and he’s so big. So damn big, it’s obscene to even look at the tent in his pants, and you’re insatiable. You’re grinding on his drenched boxers, whether there was more moisture from your own dripping cunt or the pouring rain you didn’t know, but it doesn’t matter because either way it makes the fabric cling to him so deliciously, and it made your back and forth motion so much better.

Every roll of your hips sends a jolt through him, his grip tightening on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You hear his breath catch, low and sharp, just before he mutters something guttural against your skin — something you can’t even catch, but it makes your thighs tremble.

Somehow, he gets harder, and you feel his cock pulsate through the thin layer of cloth between you. You whimper loud, and he takes that as encouragement to keep roaming further. His hand finds its way to your wet cunt and starts taping it, quick enough to make you ache for him but not hard enough to ease your want.

“Are you really fucking teasing me after making me wait years for this moment?” You manage to get out, so overwhelmed by your physical state and emotions.

“If anything you kept me waiting this long, and for that fact alone I should be given a reward don’t you think? I want it to last forever,” he breathed out before circling your entrance, toying with your dripping pussy as you arched your back for him.

“S-sugu,” you moaned, desperate for more.

Your plea — that broken little whisper of his name — makes something primal flash in his eyes. Suguru’s jaw flexes, and his breath stutters against your neck as he finally presses two fingers against your folds, sliding them through the mess you’ve made of yourself. He’s slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second of having you this way: spread out, soaking, and absolutely wrecked just from the friction and his mouth.

“You’ve got no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” he growls, voice ragged. “You, desperate like this… begging me. Needing me.”

You can’t think. Can’t speak. Every nerve ending in your body is screaming for more, but he’s still just barely touching you, the pads of his fingers brushing your entrance, teasing you open but never pushing in. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s cruel.

“Then stop thinking,” you gasp, hips rocking up into his hand. “Just do it.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous. “So bossy when you’re this fucked out.”

And just when you’re about to snap — right on the verge of clawing at his shoulders and dragging him under you — he finally slides his fingers inside, slow and deep. It steals the air from your lungs, and your body tightens around him like he belongs there, like you’ve been waiting your whole life for this.

“I told you I’d make it worth the wait,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as he curls his fingers just right. “Now be a good girl and take it.”

Even if it's just 2 fingers it takes you to a whole other world. Suguru has always had a sixth sense for what you need and desire, and it doesn't surprise you that it translated over to bed. It takes him less than 30 seconds to find your sweet spot, and once he realized it he abuses it so deliciously.

"K-keep going Suguru," you breathe.

"That's my girl," he says as he keeps working you up. He loves to be in control, and he does it almost well enough that he's rutting into the bed, trying to find the friction you were giving him earlier in the mattress, and he thinks you wouldn't notice... but you did.

You don't know where you find the strength, but you manage to flip you guys over so you're on top of him now, and you're feeling like returning the favor. So before he can even guess what you're about to do, you take the hand he was just fingering you with and suck your slick off his fingers, then you take your tongue out and start dragging it from his chest all the way down to his waist without taking your eyes away from his, as he watches you hungrily through lidded eyes.

You waste no time in putting your hands to work, so fucking slowly. You drag your fingertips down his torso like you’re tracing a path you already know by heart — over the hard planes of his stomach, the twitch of his hips when you get too close, then back up just to hear the frustration in his breath.

“You’re really gonna tease me now?” he mutters.

You don’t answer, just smirk, letting your lips follow the trail your tongue blazed moments ago. Every inch of him tastes like salt and rain and something only he could ever smell like, so familiar and addictive.

When you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, you pause. Just enough to make him twitch. Just enough to watch the way his jaw tightens.

You glance up at him through your lashes. “If I kept you waiting all this time, don’t you think I should take my time making it up to you?”

He lets out a strangled groan, and his hand flies up like he’s going to grab something, but then he stops himself. Lets you stay in control.

That alone makes you ache.

You press a kiss right below his navel, slow and intentional. Then you hook your fingers into the waistband and drag it down, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s fully exposed and twitching against his stomach.

“Fuck,” he hisses, voice cracking as you wrap your fingers around the base of him, your thumb brushing the bead of precum at the tip.

You lean in, mouth barely grazing him, breath hot and teasing. “I want to see how much you can take before you lose it.”

"You're signing up for a long night then Songbird," he says, not even bothering trying to conceal how worked up he is.

Your adrenaline is going overdrive, and even as you’re trying your damned best to get it together to put on one hell of a show, your resolve is crumbling quicker than you’d like it to. You’re toying with his cock so painfully, licking his tip as you stroke him with one hand and cup his balls with the other, allowing yourself to revel on how hot, moist his dick is, and above all, how delicious his veins feel on your palm alone. If it was intoxicating here how bad was it going to be when he was actually inside you?

“S-shit,” he pants, giving in to the pleasure.

You wanted to keep him waiting, but his honeyed voice sounded so pretty breaking down for you, you decided you’d give him a reward! Instead of continuing to tease him, you actually took him in your mouth, and it was a delight to both of you. Feeling him twitch and keep leaking in your mouth made your cunt impossibly wetter, but you tried not to pay that much mind to focus on your task.

Having one hand free now, you opted for using it to caress your favorite flower inked on his back, the gesture making him buck violently into your mouth. You gagged, but that only made him more eager to take you. It truly didn’t take you much to turn your “reward” into further torture, the funniest part is that you didn’t realize it at all.

“This is g-gonna be so f-fucking embarrassing for me if I l-let you keep going,” he moans out. “Let me t-taste you instead.”

You intended on continuing sucking him off, but he pulled that same stunt you did, so you found yourself on your back once again at his mercy, and the glint in his purple hues told you you were going to get ruined for everyone else, now in a whole different area.

He dove right in your pussy as if you were the only oasis in the desert he had walked on for days. He was nothing short of calculated and intentional, but only Suguru could be those things while at the same time being desperate and so fucking hungry. He was lapping at your cunt as his nose pressed on your clit, the pressure making you cry out in pleasure.

“Suguru! F-fuck, don’t stop,” you moan.

He chuckles and the vibrations go straight to your core.

“Since you’re being so good for me, and taste so fucking delicious, I’ll give you a little gift,” he says, taking his tongue out your cunt just to softly blow on it, making you shiver, then put it around your clit and get his fingers back in it again.

To say you’re moaning would be quite offensive. You were screaming at this point, certain that everyone on the hill could hear Suguru’s name being yelled at the top of your lungs. Even taking all of this into account you were holding it up quite well, his skilled tongue along with his fingers at the same time is no fucking joke, adding on to the fact that your body’s been waiting for this for years.

And in just a moment you start feeling it, that pressure begging to be released pooling inside of you, and he feels it too, he knows he’s driving you to the edge.

“You want to cum pretty?” He asks mockingly, as if it wasn’t tearing him apart as much as it did you.

You nod frantically, unable to form a coherent sentence in the state he’s put you in.

“Shit baby, I can’t hear you. Guess you can wait a little hmm? You’ll get another chance to cum, don’t worry.” The fucker smiled as he said that repositioning himself so that he was centered right at your entrance.

Testing your patience, he started dragging his hard length through your folds back and forth, driving you both insane by feeling your cunt up with just his leaky, pretty red tip, overstimulated beyond belief with such brief touches.

“Always knew you were quite the tease but didn’t know you were a masochist Sugu,” you said impatiently, wondering just what you’d have to do to get him to put it in already.

“You really don’t know me at all, but don’t worry, you will soon enough,” he says, and before you can answer he goes balls deep in only one thrust, making you scream out his name once again at the sudden (but not unwelcome) intrusion.

“You feel so fucking good,” he says breathlessly, locking eyes with you as he locks you in a mating press.

You feel him hit all of your sweet spots without fail, as if he had mapped you out long before he even got to this point, all his thrusts erratic but never unintentional, he was determined to make sure you lost your mind just as much as him.

You can’t breathe, can’t think, the stretch of him inside you is overwhelming — thick, deep, perfect — and all you can do is hold on as he fucks you like he’s trying to brand himself into your cervix.

Your legs are folded tight to your chest, and he’s so deep it feels like he’s rearranging you. Every slam of his hips makes you cry out, makes your body arch against him, and when his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight and fast, and your vision blurs.

“S-Sugu, f-fuck! I-I,” you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. You can’t get it out.

“I know, baby. I know,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours, his pace somehow rougher and sweeter all at once. “Let go for me.”

And it’s all you need.

You shatter.

The orgasm tears through you like lightning, loud and blinding, your whole body trembling as you clutch at his shoulders like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded. And he doesn’t stop; he keeps moving through it, keeps dragging every last drop of pleasure out of you until you’re gasping for air and moaning into his mouth.

“Fuck— you’re squeezing me so tight,” he chokes, hips stuttering now, losing rhythm, chasing his own end.

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, sloppy and desperate, as he finally lets go, burying himself deep with a guttural moan and spilling inside you in thick, pulsing waves.

For a moment, everything’s still. Just the sound of your uneven breaths, the weight of him on you, the rain still faintly tapping against the window outside.

Then he exhales a laugh, soft and wrecked, nuzzling into your neck.

“Guess we made up for lost time, huh?”

You smile, still dazed. “You think that was making up for it?”

His eyes flicker open, dark and gleaming.

“Right. Round two, then.”

And with that, it is safe to say you did not get any sleep that night.

The rays of the sun woke you up, and as your eyes adjusted to the lighting, you took a look at your surroundings, delighted to find you and Sugu’s body tangled up to the point where you couldn’t tell when your body ended and his started. You felt him flutter awake too, looking up at you with the most lovesick smile you’ve seen in all your life.

“You sleep good Songbird?” He asks in his raspy morning voice, sounding so fucking sexy.

“Best sleep I’ve had in years. You?”

“I think I’m doomed,” he confesses, as he grabs a strand of your hair to play with it.

“What do you mean?” You ask, growing concerned.

“I doubt that after tonight there is a way I’ll be able to get any sleep without you by my side,” he declares, so easily, as if he wasn’t accelerating your heartbeat with merely some words.

“You’re so silly,” you giggle, relaxing at his cheesy confession.

“I’m just being honest,” he says, caressing your face. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything,” you say, feeling how much you mean it.

“Can we please keep this going outside of Mykonos? I know I may have rushed it, but believe me when I say I meant every word I said out in the rain. I don’t want us to be a hook up, just a vacation thing. I genuinely want to wake up like this every day, getting to see your beautiful face and hearing your voice first thing in the morning. It would kill me to have done this and to go back and pretend like you’re not the love of my life and like I haven’t realized it yet,” he says without missing a single beat.

You reach up and place your hand over his, the one still cradling your cheek with such gentleness you know he means every word he just said.

“I don’t want to pretend either,” you whisper, voice barely steady. “I want this… all of it. You.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and devastating, the kind of smile that says finally.

“Good,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Then it’s settled. Mykonos was just the start.”

You nod, melting into his chest as he pulls you in tighter, the warmth of his body grounding you even as your heart soars.

And as the Aegean sunlight filters through the curtains and the sea murmurs softly outside, you fall asleep once again wrapped in his arms — no longer wondering what comes next, but knowing that whatever it is, you’ll be in it together.

Meanwhile, somewhere in Tokyo there are two close friends of yours arguing, which isn't surprising, but to think that it was about the two of you made it hilarious.

“Shoko I'm telling you, I know Suguru better than anyone, that fucker will keep pining after her like a lovesick ghost. You said the same thing about their trip to Berlin last year, why do you think this one would be any different?” Satoru asks, getting into yet another bet he fully expects to win.

“Because I just feel it, nothing screams more romance than a getaway at Mykonos of all places. Besides, this is the first trip where they've only had one bed to sleep in,” she explains, believing more and more in her conclusions as she gets the words out.

“Not buying it. It would take a life or death situation for him to cave in,” he says stubbornly. “But since you're so certain, it wouldn't hurt to bet on it, right?”

“You have no problem in reminding how little you care about your money huh?” She says, more than willing to give in once again, her pride taking over her better judgement.

“Just recognizing an opportunity when I see it,” he shrugs.

“Fine, ¥14,450 they'll come back a couple.”

“You're so on Shoko,” he says, grinning as they shake hands.

Needless to say, after you two came back and had diner with those two to update them on all, Satoru not only lost his ¥14,450, but also his pride, especially when Suguru kissed you right in front of them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Shoko sipped her drink smugly. “Told you. Mykonos equals love.”

Satoru groaned dramatically, slumping back in his chair. “Unbelievable. All it took was Mediterranean air and a single bed? You folded faster than Go Fish.”

Suguru just smirked, arm lazily draped around your shoulders. “You won't understand me until you're in my spot, Satoru.”

“You shut your traitor mouth,” Satoru muttered, pushing his plate away like the betrayal had ruined his appetite.

“You’re just mad because you lost,” you grinned.

“I’m mad because now I owe her money and I know she'll spend it on some wine she won't even share,” he said, gesturing to Shoko, who just raised her glass in victory.

“Correct,” she said. “And it’ll be imported.”

The night ended with Satoru dramatically Venmoing Shoko under the transaction label “This won't happen again.”

And you? You leaned against Suguru’s shoulder, already planning the next trip — two tickets, one bed, and no intentions of ever holding back.

[majestyeverlasting]

Would you do a inexperienced reader x joel? For your requests😊

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 | 𝐣𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

This piece contains 18+ content

pairing joel miller x female reader

summary you stay the night at joel’s because it gets harder to leave every time [no outbreak, fluff, smut, wc 3.5k] 

a/n really enjoyed writing this request! there's something about a man who's mature, and attentive, and knows what he's doing...

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Stay. The request repeats in Joel’s head like a broken record, but never weakens or distorts. It teeters on the tip of his tongue, but he has yet to utter the word out loud. It persists as he sees you to the front door and watches you step into your shoes to mark the end of another memorable night. One that made him realize he very well may be in love. 

Part of him always feared he wouldn’t be able to recognize the feeling when it arose, that it’d slip between his fingers before he could curl them and hold on tight. But Joel knew it was love because it had gotten to the point where even your laughter knocked him off his feet. He was so attuned to your happiness that he clung to every iteration. 

A small smile settles on your face as you meet his gaze, purse on your shoulder, ready to go. Joel rubs the back of his neck, but he’s not nervous. He knows what he wants to ask, and the raw energy of that desire buzzes beneath his skin. 

“Feels like you just got here,” he laments as he lowers his arm. If that were true, the moon and stars wouldn’t be visible in the night sky. 

You nod despite the fact that you’d eaten dinner with your knee against his, talked through a movie tucked into his side, let yourself relish the comfort of being in his home. These days, it feels like yours too. 

“You make it harder to leave every time,” you admit. It’s a light dig.

Joel tilts his head just enough for you to notice. “Do I now?” 

You nod thoughtfully. “You treat me really well,” you say. “Really, really well.” That hadn’t been the case with everybody who entered into your life. Perhaps you’d already expressed that to him in a million different ways, but the emphasis doesn’t feel wrong on a night like this. 

You’ve never had a relationship as steady and constant as what you have now with Joel. The sincerity of  your words warms a proud part of him. 

“I’m happy to,” he says. “You know that, don’t ya?” 

That’s what terrified and delighted him—the ease of it all. Maybe things would be different if it felt like a chore. 

“I know.” 

A smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he steps closer. “Also reckon you know I gotta steal one last good night kiss.” 

Butterflies burst to life in your stomach when Joel cups your cheek and presses his soft lips to yours. He pulls away much too soon, and you’ve never felt the lingering ache of want quite like this. The feeling weaves itself between the bones of your ribcage. 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, hopeful. “Would you wanna stay the night?” 

A lump forms in your throat. You hadn’t brought any extra clothes or toiletries. And you’d left the light on above your stove to ensure you didn't come home to a dark apartment. Even then, the response to Joel’s question is a reverberating yes in your mind. It’s the only answer that makes sense when you’ve been unsure about so many decisions in this life. 

“If you’ll have me.”  

He kisses you in place of an answer, large hands kneading your waist like you’re his tether to Earth. A small sound rises up your throat when his tongue runs over your lower lip in a light, almost ticklish sweep. 

Joel pulls away, eyes searching yours. 

“M’sorry,” you breathe shyly. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “I like hearin’ ya.” 

The new warmth that spreads through you is deeper, unfamiliar, more consuming. Joel has never been one to refrain from dishing compliments or a well-timed remark. Now something different burns beneath the gruffness of his voice. 

“Wish I heard you more sometimes,” he continues. “You’re my little church mouse.” There’s a disarming glimmer in his eyes.

You pout as a smile threatens to break through. “No I’m not.” 

You could be loud if you needed to be. Joel had the singular ability to hear you even when you hadn’t said a word. You never had to vie for his attention or assert yourself for fear of going unheard. 

As a stillness settles between you, he slips his thumbs beneath your shirt to brush your stomach. He smirks when you look down at his hands to escape his gaze. 

A pleasant flame has kindled within you.  

“Might as well get comfy again since you’re stayin’,” he says, then amends, “Since you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

You huff a laugh and look up at Joel again. He’s handsome in the dim light of the foyer. A few strands of silvering hair fall onto his forehead. His dark eyes bear that same intensity that always drew you in instead of away. This time, it’s you who raises a hand to his face. Your fingertips run over his prickly scruff, and his eyelashes flutter when you run a finger down the slope of his nose. 

That indescribable tug within you hasn’t faded away 

“Like what you see?” Joel asks, voice low, partly teasing. 

He doesn’t move for fear you’ll pull away. You trace the dip of his Cupid’s bow, and when you go lower, he puckers his lips against your finger in a delicate kiss. Your gentle touch and heavy eyelids have made more warmth kindle low in Joel’s belly. It’s your thoughtfulness that does it for him. You’ve never been quick to rush into anything. You always think, then think some more, and he can see that’s what’s happening now. 

“I’ve always liked what I’ve seen,” you finally say. 

“Well, there’s a whole lot more of me.” He presses in. “We can take this upstairs if you’d like.” 

“Alright,” you murmur, lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Joel offers his hand. It nearly engulfs yours as he leads you towards the staircase. 

•••

In his bedroom, his lips find yours in an fervent kiss, hands firm where they grasp along your sides. You’re so dizzy, you lose track of everything except Joel. Reality rushes in when you begin to fall backwards. 

After your back hits the mattress, Joel’s plush lips trail a line to your jaw and down your throat. His body is solid above yours, but you don’t feel the brunt of his weight. Your hands shakily comb through his disheveled hair as your heart hammers in your ears. It feels like you’re a live wire and he’s the water making you spark. 

When he stands, leaving you lying there, the rise and fall of your chest is embarrassingly pronounced. You watch with hooded eyes as he pulls off his shirt. Wispy hair is splayed across his chest, and a darker line of it leads down from his navel. He’s broad and rugged. 

“Told you there was more,” he drawls with a smile in his voice. 

You’ve never wanted another person as more as you want Joel now. But you can’t help but be aware of the fact that you’re out of your depth. Aside from what you’ve gathered vicariously, this is new. You don’t have half the courage you imagined you would. 

You manage to push yourself upright on shaky arms. That’s when Joel notices the look in your eyes. 

“I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” his brows furrow with worry. “M’sorry.”

You swallow and shake your head. “I’m just a little nervous.” 

“Nerves are okay,” he assures. “Long as you want this.”

“I do,” you promise. 

Joel studies you to be sure. “I want you real bad, but the world’ll keep turning if we don’t have sex tonight.” 

There’s something about his shamelessness and directness that makes you want him even more. 

“Don’t wanna screw this up.” You exhale a self-deprecating laugh, and Joel purses his lips. Then the deeper truth comes out, “Want it to be good for you.”  

Joel scrubs at his scruff with a husky chuckle. “Got me all wound up, so I’d say you’re off to a helluva start,” he says, then his gaze softens. “It’s already good for me.” 

His words give you enough courage to lift your shirt over your head. Your bra is trimmed with lace, and the crotch of his jeans grows tighter. You’re so beautiful that sometimes he can’t believe it—mind and body. 

You still his hands as he begins to unbuckle his belt. 

“May I?” The way you blink up at him makes him curse under his breath. 

You pull his belt free from the loops when you’re done. After popping the button and dragging the zipper down, Joel goes weak in the knees when you peer up at him with a sweet, shy smile. Then his breath catches when you lean forward to kiss the pudge of his belly. You bite your lower lip as he pushes his pants down and kicks them to the side. 

The bulge between his muscular thighs is prominent through his gray boxer briefs. It swells as you unexpectedly unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor. 

“Christ, sweetheart,” he groans, palming himself. 

With his free hand, he gingerly cups one of your breasts and runs his thumb over your pebbled nipple. The sensitivity makes you jolt. 

“Wanna scoot up the bed for me?” 

You move before the full sentence has left Joel’s mouth, a little braver now. The mattress dips as he crawls overtop of you. It all happens so fast. His lips find the pulse point of your neck, then descend along your sternum in a line of kisses. He strays off course to pepper some over the supple skin of your breasts, then even lower. Your hips shift as he kisses your stomach. 

With deft fingers, he undoes your shorts and helps you shuck them to the floor. Joel guides your knees to a propped position, then lays between your legs like he belongs there. The muscles of your thighs twitch with the threat of closing as his finger teases along the seam of your panties. 

“Joel…” you say his name because you’re not sure what else to say and it feels like you’re on fire. 

“Just admiring,” he assures, stilling. “You doing okay? Just say the word.” 

The thought of this ending pains you. “Please don’t stop.” 

Joel hides his knowing smile in the hot kiss he presses beneath your bellybutton, then over the top of your mound, then over the damp fabric where you ache for him. An unsteady breath leaves you when he hooks both index fingers beneath your waistband and stares into your eyes so deeply you want to hide. 

“How ‘bout we get these outta the way...” 

Joel is nothing short of careful and attentive as he drags the fabric down your legs. Upon resettling between them, he kisses your inner thighs, noting the way your muscles jump. He’s so close, the fan of his breath feels cool where your arousal has gathered.

“So here’s the deal,” he starts in a low timbre that makes you clench around nothing. “I’m really good with my hands… amongst other things.” He pauses to trace the crease of your thigh. He’s surprised his own voice doesn’t waver at the sight of you glistening for him, because of him. “Just gotta let me know when something’s workin’ for you and we’ll be aces.” 

It’s a miracle you don’t melt straight through the mattress. 

“Okay.” It’s your quietest response all night. 

“Okay,” he parrots with a glimmer in his eyes. 

You’ve never been this turned on in your life. This hot. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” you admit in a murmur.  

The thicker, dazed quality of your voice makes Joel kick up in his boxers. As his lips twitch in amusement, he fights the urge to take you right this second. 

“Guess we’ll pray for the best then.” 

The world freezes when the pad of his middle finger finds your clit and begins to rub firm circles. When your brows pinch together, he trails it downwards through your slick entrance as it flutters in want. 

He ventures back to your swollen bud to work a steady pace. The pleasant tension within your core roots even deeper than before, snaking and expanding. Holding your breath and tensing your muscles seems to make it swell faster. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Joel soothes. “It’ll feel better on the tail end if you do.” 

You’re too worried he’ll stop not to listen. 

“There ya go,” he praises. “Think I’m ready for a taste.” 

There’s no further preamble before he presses a feathery kiss to your clit. At your jolt, he suckles it into his mouth and feels out your reactions. Your fingers immediately curl into his taupe sheets, but that’s not enough, so you bury them in Joel’s hair to scratch against his scalp. The stimulation paired with the warmth of his mouth grows to be so much that your thighs involuntarily close around his head. His stubble prickles against your velvety skin. 

The vibrations of Joel’s hum remind you that he’s a real person down there, and you force your legs back open with what’s left of your coherency. He rewards you by running the flat of his tongue from your opening to your clit. Electricity prickles beneath your skin as you arch off the bed to chase him. 

This time, he sucks your clit into his mouth with more pressure than before and you lose yourself in the sensation. 

Before long, he lifts up and replaces his mouth with his finger. 

“Feelin’ good?” His question comes as you cant up into his touch with a quivery breath. “What’s my baby want more of?” 

You whimper because, as impossible as it seems, he hasn’t done anything you don’t prefer. You want more of everything—whatever he’s willing to give. If he does happen to fall off the mark, you’re certain he’ll find it again before you even say a word. 

Joel is gracious enough not to make you spell it out. He takes it upon himself to draw an orgasm so strong and concentrated out of you, that all you can do is shut your eyes and surrender to the swell as he sees you through. 

Your eyes flutter open just as he shuffles back off the bed to push his boxers down. His cock lifts towards his stomach in a smooth, impressive swing. Traversing veins are strained along the length of him and his mushroom tip is flushed in a testament to his need. Dark, wispy curls surround his base. 

A fresh surge of eagerness and anticipation warms you down to your toes. Joel smiles shyly when your eyes flit up to his, and it’s the first time all night he’s looked a little self-conscious. You’re the first person he’s bared himself to in quite some time. 

Words escape you as he crawls back over your frame. He braces one hand beside your shoulder and uses the other to give himself a few tugs to ease the ache. You’re beautiful beneath him, all wide-eyed and longing. 

His stomach clenches when you reach out to replace his hand, tentative and careful as if he’ll break. You give him a couple strokes, and even though there’s a bit more friction than he would normally prefer, it feels good because it’s you. He’s rigid in the palm of your hand, throbbing in dull pulses. You’re not sure if gorgeous is the appropriate word, but it’s the only one you can think of. 

“I’ve been missing out,” you lilt after working up the courage. 

Joel flushes as he laughs, those lovely crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. He lowers to kiss you, then guides the tip of his arousal to your cunt. The beady pearl of his wants mixes with the glide of you, and you frown when he stops to reach towards the nightstand drawer. 

As he resumes his position, you realize he’d grabbed a condom. He rips the packet open with his teeth and promptly rolls the rubber down himself. 

“Think m’gonna pass out if I don’t get inside you soon,” he says, eyes searching yours to check in. Even in his brazenness, there’s a familiar honeyed quality to his voice that sets you at ease. 

You laugh even as a small spell of apprehension returns. Joel notices, and refuses to let the levity dissipate so you don’t fall back into your head. 

“Is that funny?” he asks in feigned offense. “You’re the one who’s got all the goddamn blood in my head rushing south.” 

He playfully pinches at your waist and a breathless giggle stutters out of you as you squirm. When you helplessly look up at him, Joel smooths a hand over your skin as fondness settles in his dark eyes. 

“Hey. Remember what I said?” he asks as he lines himself up between your thighs. “Just say the word.” 

The sensation of him pressed hot and heavy against your entrance has cleared everything from your mind except desire. 

“I’m okay.” An encouraging smile pulls at your lips. “Just need you really bad, Joel.” 

Hearing his name makes him twitch as he runs himself through your folds. 

“M’right here, baby.” He notches at your entrance. “Deep breaths for me, okay?” 

A dull ache thrums through you as Joel eases into your warmth. You whine after the thickness of his tip has breached. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “Just like that.”

All you can do is hum airily and watch where he disappears within you.

“Feels like heaven already,” he compliments. “Keep breathing, we’re getting there.” 

Tears prick in your eyes because the stretch is new, and beautiful, and overwhelming. That soft, focused look in his eyes only adds fuel to the fire because pleasure and eagerness burn just beneath. You never realized how harrowing it was to be wanted so intensely. For the longest time, you wondered if it was possible for someone to feel such a way about you, and here Joel was in the flesh. 

“Know there’s a lot of me,” he grits. “Doing so well…”

When he bottoms out, both of you sigh in relief. It feels like you’re floating even though you’re pinned beneath his strong frame. Warmth radiates from his skin. 

“Oh—god,” you breathe. 

Joel chuckles as he eases out of you, “Close.” He thumbs a circle around your clit. 

The initial pressure subsides as Joel begins to thrust, biceps flexing as he shudders with pleasure. He takes it slow and steady, each drag more intoxicating than the last. His reach deepens as he lowers himself onto his forearms and you hook your ankles around the backs of his thighs. Stroke after stroke, he hits that spongy spot within you just right. Joel can hardly believe how snug and warm you are. 

“You’re in trouble,” he rasps. 

“W-why?” you whimper. 

“I’m never gonna get my fill of this.” 

You paw at his biceps and shoulders, not exactly sure how or where to touch him to ground yourself. Scratching your nails down his back earns a satisfied growl, and when you dig your fingernails into the meat of his backside, he gives a pointed thrust that makes you bite back a cry. 

“Lemme hear those pretty sounds, mouse.” 

You’re unable to help the next breathy moan that escapes you. 

“You’re perfect,” The moment has you so blinded that’s all you can see him as—his cock included. 

It’s a broken confession.

Joel dots a few lazy kisses over the apple of your cheek, then touches his forehead to yours. It’s almost too much—his wrecked grunts, the graze of his chest, the sound of skin meeting skin where he stretches open the most tender part of you. 

It is too much.

“I’m gonna—” your breath catches in your throat. “Joel.” 

“Let go for me, babygirl,” he coaxes. “Lemme have it.” 

The tension embedded within you winds undone in an instant. Pleasure radiates as your walls contract around him in strong, rhythmic pulses. In another life, where he wasn’t completely gone and taken by you, Joel would’ve been able to hold out. But he’s only a man. 

A gasp escapes you as he gives one last deep thrust. His balls draw up as the insistent tug low in his gut drives him to spill into the condom, stomach tensing with each relentless spurt. You rub his back as he rides it out with a shudder. You’re achy, but more than content to shiver through the aftershocks. The two of you stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s closeness, the haze. Still joined as one. 

Something in the air shifts, the gravity of it all finally pressing in. 

Joel looks spent and satiated as he lifts up to meet your gaze. “You okay?” he wipes the tear off your cheek. The way you look at him suggests you’re expecting him to answer for you. As if you’ll be whatever he says. 

“You’re okay,” Joel decides, kissing your forehead. 

You weakly cup his cheek and guide him to kiss you. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

Your chest flutters. “I love you too.” 

All Joel can think about as he reluctantly slips out of your heat is that he’s glad you stayed. When he begins to soothingly massage your thighs, you’re almost certain you’ll never want to leave again. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Please know that you’re feedback means the world to me. I love reading your thoughts and it makes writing for you guys all the more worth it. Likes, comments, and reblogs greatly appreciated. ♡

JOEL MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[widowsweet]

What does the Super Soldier hide?

Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Reader. Thunderbolts* x Mutant!Reader.

Summary: The Thunderbolts find an enigmatic message on the cell phone of the most grumpy soldier on the team. Intrigued by the mysterious sender, they decide to investigate on their own - but it doesn't take long for Bucky to realize that something is happening.

WC: 4,8k

Warnings: Fluff, found family vibes, Bucky being soft, team chaos, telepathy (mild), domesticity overload, slow burn revealed relationship, Yelena flirting lightly with the reader. (18+ insinuation, no explicit content!!)

A/N: The reader, in this story, is a mutant. Her gifts include telepathy and the ability to enter and manipulate people's dreams - something she has learned to control over time.

I'm considering turning this story into a mini-series with Bucky Barnes and the mutant reader, but nothing is guaranteed yet. For now, enjoy reading.🤍

Bucky Barnes was a private guy. He didn’t talk about his personal life—not because he didn’t trust anyone, but because he had learned, the hard way, that the less people knew about him, the better. And honestly? Having his past dragged into the spotlight as a former war assassin and now, as a “new Avenger,” was more than enough. He just wanted a bit of peace. A normal life.

At the moment, the Thunderbolts were scattered around the main lounge of the base like poorly placed pieces on a board.

Yelena was sprawled out on the couch like she had no bones, head thrown back, eyes closed, looking more dead than alive. Next to her, Alexei was lightly snoring in an armchair, hugging a pillow that clearly didn’t belong to him. Ava stood by the window, headphones in, eyes vacant, like she wished she was literally anywhere else. John Walker was flipping a knife between his fingers, clearly too bored to cause trouble—for now.

Bucky had left a short while ago. Said something about sorting out an issue with the transport from the last mission—not that anyone had really paid attention. He just tossed his phone onto the arm of the couch, grabbed his jacket, and walked out, leaving behind his usual trail of quiet grumpiness.

The room was silent. No conversations. Just the occasional building creak and the collective weight of boredom in the air.

Then the phone screen lit up, vibrating softly against the cushion near Yelena’s leg.

The message flashed for just a few seconds, but it was enough. Ava, closest to it, caught a glimpse of the contact name and narrowed her eyes.

“Sweetheart?” she read quietly, frowning.

Yelena, who had seemed asleep moments ago, opened one eye.

“What?”

“Barnes’s phone.” Ava nodded toward it, not touching. “Someone just texted him. It’s saved as Sweetheart. With an emoji. A pink heart.”

That was enough to make Yelena sit up with a speed no one expected.

“Repeat that.”

“Sweetheart. That’s what it says.”

Walker raised an eyebrow, slowly making his way over, still twirling the knife in his hand.

“Wait. Barnes? The same guy who growls if we ask whether he sleeps? He has someone saved as ‘Sweetheart’?”

Alexei, now awake thanks to the noise, noticed the group’s focus on Bucky’s phone and shuffled over, scratching his beard.

In a matter of seconds, they were all gathered around the couch, standing in silence in front of the device like it was some kind of sacred artifact. No one dared to touch it—not even Walker.

The screen lit up again. Another message.

“Sweetheart💝: Is it cold out there? I’m making soup for us ☺️💗”

Silence. Absolute, stunned silence.

“Am I dreaming?” Yelena whispered, staring at the screen like it might explode. “Barnes has a girlfriend?”

“Or a very well-hidden fling,” Ava muttered. “Knowing him, this person probably lives in a bunker.”

Walker let out a low whistle, half-amused.

“That’s it. We’re finding out who this woman is.”

“Or man,” Yelena corrected.

“Or alien,” Alexei added, dramatic as ever.

“Whoever has the guts to send Barnes a heart emoji deserves to be studied.”

Ava shook her head slowly.

“You guys aren’t letting this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Yelena replied, already pulling out her own phone. “Time to plan a mission.”

Bucky, the moment he stepped back into the room, immediately sensed something was off.

It was too quiet. And not the usual kind of quiet—the kind that came when everyone was too tired to throw jabs at each other or fight over the couch. This was a different kind of silence. Staged. Artificial. Almost… too peaceful. Like they’d cleaned up a crime scene a little too fast before the cops arrived.

He paused for a second near the door, his eyes scanning the room.

Yelena sat on the couch, legs crossed, a cup of tea in her hands.

Ava—who practically lived with her headphones in—was without them. Sitting stiffly, her expression so neutral it practically screamed “I’m trying to act normal.”

Alexei was flipping through a magazine—upside down.

And John Walker was… smiling.

Bucky frowned.

“I fixed the issue with the transport,” he said flatly. “Just a problem with the hangar’s authentication system. It’s working now.”

“That’s good,” Ava replied—way too quickly.

“Nice,” Yelena added, sipping her tea with the forced elegance of someone pretending to be a civilized human being. “Very… efficient of you.”

Walker just nodded, still wearing that weird smile.

Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn’t say a word. He walked over to the couch and grabbed his phone from where he’d left it.

The screen was still warm.

“I’m heading out,” he muttered, more to himself than to them.

And just like that, he left the room.

The following weeks were… suspicious, to say the least.

Suddenly, the Thunderbolts seemed way too interested in Bucky’s personal life. And not the healthy, supportive kind of interest you’d expect from a functional team. No—this was nosy interest, badly disguised as “concern for team dynamics.”

Bob—the soft-spoken, nervous guy who usually preferred to keep his distance from anything involving tension or weapons—started showing up in the most random places. He was never actually doing anything, but somehow always managed to be around whenever Bucky was on the phone.

“Oh! Hey, didn’t know you were here, Bucky,” he’d say, straightening up as if he’d just remembered his posture, pretending to check the thermostat on the wall. “I just… thought it was getting kinda cold in here. Or hot. Either one. Doesn’t matter.”

The following week, he popped into the elevator right as Bucky ended a call—with a slight smile still hanging on his lips.

“Hi! I was just heading up to, uh… get a document. I think. Might be lost. But hey—what a coincidence, right?”

Bucky would just squint at him. Say nothing.

Yelena, on the other hand, went straight for it—in her own way.

“Barnes,” she started casually, walking beside him in the hallway. “You’ve been smiling at your phone. That’s new.”

He didn’t reply.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” she pressed, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to read him like a map.

“Don’t be paranoid.”

“Not paranoid. Observant,” she said, raising a brow. “I bet she likes books. You smell like the kind of man who’d fall for a reader.”

He ignored her. As usual.

But she didn’t stop.

“Does she live with you?”

“Does she snore?”

“Do you smile in your sleep because of her?”

“Has she seen your arm? The vibranium one, obviously.”

“Yelena.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, lifting her hands in mock surrender—smirking. “I’m just saying… anyone who makes the grumpy supersoldier smile over text has to be interesting.”

John Walker was… less subtle.

In the kitchen, on a random morning, while they were both grabbing coffee, he dropped:

“So, Barnes… ever cook for someone?”

The coffee hadn’t even started dripping and Bucky was already thinking about chucking the whole machine out the window.

“No.”

“Okay, okay. Just asking. You know. Love in the air and all.”

Even Ava, who never got involved in the team’s personal nonsense, made a surprisingly out-of-pocket comment during training.

“You seem… calmer lately.”

Bucky glanced over without missing a beat on the punching bag.

“That a problem?”

“No. Just weird.”

She paused, adjusting the wraps on her hands, then added in her usual deadpan tone:

“You look like you’re sleeping better.”

He froze for a second, jaw tight—then resumed punching, harder.

Nothing made sense.

And somehow, it all made perfect sense.

They were circling. Prodding. Trying to chip away at any piece of the life he kept hidden—

especially that part.

It was another late afternoon at the Thunderbolts base, and everyone was gathered in the main lounge.

The kind of unofficial meeting that only happens when no one has anything better to do and boredom spreads like invisible gas.

Yelena was on the couch, tossing popcorn in the air and trying to catch it with her mouth (failing miserably).

Ava was typing something on her phone with robotic focus, not lifting her eyes once.

Alexei was reading an old Captain America comic, glasses at the tip of his nose, wearing the most judgmental expression known to man.

Walker was scribbling in a notepad full of group training ideas—none of them good.

And Bob, as always, was pretending not to listen but very clearly was.

The door slid open with a soft sound. Combat boots echoed heavily on the floor.

Bucky walked in.

He stopped in the middle of the room.

Everyone turned to look at him, slowly, with that fake disinterest of people who were obviously expecting something but trying to act indifferent.

Bucky crossed his arms.

“I know everything.”

Silence.

Yelena was the first to react, placing a dramatic hand over her chest.

“Know what?”

Walker frowned, leaning forward.

“We don’t even know what you’re talking about, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” Bob mumbled, chewing a cookie slowly. “There are lots of… things someone could know. You know?”

Bucky stared at them. One by one. His expression judgmental enough to be almost comical.

No one said another word.

He sighed, uncrossed his arms, and started walking toward the center of the room.

“I know you’ve been trying to figure out who I’m talking to on the phone. I know you’ve been following me, eavesdropping on conversations, asking not-so-subtle questions. I know there’s even a name for the “operation.” And that you dragged Bob into it.”

Bob raised his hands in surrender. Said nothing.

“And?” Yelena asked, resting her chin in her hand. “You gonna hit us?”

“ Thought about it. Still considering it,” he replied dryly.

Ava gave a small smirk.

“So… are you gonna tell us?”

Bucky was quiet for a moment. His gaze distant, like he was deciding whether opening that door was worth it. But when he spoke again, his voice was firm.

“Her name is Y/n. We’ve been together for three years.”

A pause.

A long one.

Not an awkward silence. But the kind that means something. The kind that happens when everyone finally stops pretending and actually listens.

Yelena blinked. Twice.

“Three years?”

Walker let out a low whistle, leaning back in the armchair.

“ And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“Of course not.” Bucky looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “ Because I like peace. I like the life I have with her. And because you all,” he pointed slowly, finger turning in the air “can’t even keep a frozen sausage in the freezer without turning it into a civil war.”

“That was one time,” Alexei muttered.

“You’re chaos. And she’s everything that’s not that. I kept you out of her life on purpose.”

Ava simply nodded, like she understood. Bob let out a soft “hmm” of agreement. Yelena, though clearly surprised, didn’t seem offended.

It was the kind of truth that, coming from Bucky, made sense. He wasn’t the type to overshare. Every part of him was guarded, measured, protected.

But now… he was giving them a piece.

Walker was the first to speak again, voice curious, almost respectful:

“And why now?”

Bucky looked around. And exhaled.

“Because you’re not going to stop. You’re gonna keep snooping, asking dumb questions, turning this base into a bad reality show… so I’m ending it my way”

“And what way is that?” Yelena asked, already smiling.

He took a deep breath, defeated.

“I’m taking you to meet her.”

A spark lit up in everyone’s eyes.

“But listen up. You’re going to behave. No stupid comments. No invasive questions. No fake bonding attempts. Got it?”

“Barnes,” Yelena said, offended “ do we look like people who wouldn’t behave?”

He stared at her. Long. Direct.

“Yes.”

Yelena snorted.

“Okay, maybe a little.”

Bucky shook his head and turned to leave the room.

“Tonight. Get ready. No weird outfits. And Walker, for the love of God, don’t try to intimidate anyone.”

“I’m literally the friendliest person here!” Walker protested.

“That’s tragic.” Ava muttered.

Yelena was already grinning like she’d been waiting for this day for years.

And Bucky, even while groaning, even while rolling his eyes at every step…

deep down, he knew.

Maybe—just maybe—it was time to open that part of his life.

To show them that even the Winter Soldier was capable of love.

The group stood in front of Bucky’s apartment door like they were on a school field trip.

Yelena was chewing gum calmly. Walker adjusted the collar of his jacket. Bob looked way too nervous, hands shoved in his pockets, one foot tapping anxiously on the floor. Ava stayed impassive, but her eyes were sharp. Alexei held a potted plant he’d brought as a “gift” — no one asked for it, but he was determined.

Bucky, standing in front of the door, took a deep breath and turned to the group with that classic “if you mess this up, I will make you disappear” face.

“Okay. A few rules, and listen close because I’m not repeating myself,” he began, voice low and firm. “No yelling. No weird comments. No invasive questions. Keep your voices down. And for the love of God, don’t try to act too cool. You’re not.”

Bob raised his hand like they were in school.

“And if she, like… offers tea?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Say thank you and accept. Like a normal adult.”

Yelena grinned slightly.

“Relax, Barnes. We’re gonna be nice. Zero chaos.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You are the chaos.”

“But adorable chaos.”

Without another word, Bucky unlocked the door.

He turned the handle. And called out, in a voice softer than the team had ever heard from him:

“Babe? I’m home.”

A few eyes widened. Babe? Did he just say babe?

From deeper inside the apartment, a sweet, calm voice responded:

“I’m in the kitchen!”

And then you appeared.

You walked over with relaxed steps, like you already knew they were there.

You wore dark jeans that fit snugly and a black long-sleeve turtleneck, the soft fabric looking even cozier with the sleeves pushed up to your elbows. Your hair was tied in a messy bun — the kind that looked thrown together, but somehow still perfect.

You were smiling — that kind of smile that warms up a whole room better than any heater.

When you saw Bucky, you went straight to him and kissed him on the lips — slow, unfazed, just that kind of soft, simple affection from someone who loves without needing to prove anything.

“I’m glad you’re home, honey,” you said, gently fixing the collar of his shirt.

Only then did you notice the group behind him.

Five faces. Staring. Some clearly surprised, others pretending not to be — and failing.

You looked at them all, still wearing that gentle smile, and spoke naturally:

“So… you’re the Thunderbolts?”

A short pause.

“Bucky told me about you.”

And, without hesitation, you stepped forward with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

Yelena glanced at Walker. Walker glanced at Ava. Bob froze for a solid two seconds.

Bucky closed the door slowly, silently saying: Now that you’re here, choose your words carefully.

While he did that, you were already approaching the group with the same steady, warm energy of someone who knew how to break the ice — and maybe, secretly, already knew who each of them was.

You greeted each of them with a warm smile.

First, you offered your hand to Ava, who hesitated for a second, then returned the handshake with a slight nod. Then, you exchanged a knowing glance with Yelena, who immediately said,“You’re prettier than I expected.”

You just laughed, naturally.

Walker went in for the classic exaggerated handshake, and you matched it without flinching — smiling like you could already read him inside out.

Bob, nervous, nearly tripped over his own foot, and you instinctively caught his arm before anything happened, like you already knew it would.

Lastly, Alexei — the gentle giant — held out the plant, wrapped in what looked like improvised gift paper. His smile was awkward, like he wasn’t sure how to be cute but was trying anyway.

“Uh… this is for you. A gift. Bucky said you liked plants.”

Your eyes lit up as you took the pot, genuinely excited.

“I love it! My plants are going to be so happy to have a new friend,” you said, looking at the gift with pure joy.

Then you turned to Bucky with a bright look.

He returned it with a smile no one in the room had seen before — calm, loving… almost young again.

You turned back to the group, eyes shining:

“Please, make yourselves at home. Dinner’s ready… and the brownies are just a few more minutes.”

Yelena muttered, “She makes brownies?” already halfway convinced she’d just met the perfect woman.

As everyone started to explore the cozy apartment, Bucky stayed close to you — like he still didn’t completely trust the five of them not to break something… or ask you a hundred weird questions.

But you, with your calm voice and steady smile, didn’t seem fazed.

You chatted cheerfully, asking if the food was okay, if the seasoning was too strong, if they wanted water, wine, or both.

You had a way about you — that kind of grounding presence that made it feel like you could balance their collective chaos with just a look.

Bucky just watched.

A little tense, yes, but with that expression that said: You’ve got this.

Yelena, on the other hand, wandered around to take in the environment with genuine interest.

The place had soul.

A deep red vintage couch sat in the center of the room, with warm-toned cushions carefully arranged. In front of it, a rustic wooden coffee table held a vase of fresh flowers — daisies and lavender, probably picked by you yourself. A fluffy brown rug warmed the space underfoot.

But what caught Yelena’s attention was the pale marble bookshelf off to the side.

There were a few picture frames.

One showed you and Bucky on what looked like a trip — somewhere in Europe, maybe?

You smiled at the camera, arms around Bucky, who had his head turned to kiss your cheek. Sunlight framed the whole photo. There was peace in it.

Another frame, tucked in a corner, showed Bucky in black and white — clearly from the 1940s, probably during his military service. He looked… different. Softer. A boy trying to be a man.

But it was the last photo that made Yelena narrow her eyes. A group shot.

You were in it, but looked younger — hair down, laughing at something off-camera.

Around you were five very unusual people:

A red-haired girl with fierce eyes.

A guy with spiky white hair and a mischievous grin.

A Chinese girl with neon pink hoops and a yellow coat.

A serious-looking boy with glasses that looked way too high-tech to be normal.

And finally… a blue-skinned man with lizard-like features, yellow eyes, and a shy, gentle expression.

Yelena blinked twice.

They were definitely not normal.

She kept it to herself. For now.

She simply stepped away from the shelf and returned to the table.

Soon after, everyone was seated around a large dinner table — plates served, wine glasses clinking, the comforting smell of home-cooked food filling the apartment.

The warm lighting from the overhead lamp made everything feel softer.

Conversation flowed with rare ease for this group — like, just for a moment, they actually were home.

You served the last few side dishes and smiled:

“Hope you’re all hungry. Oh the brownies are almost done, too. Just a few more minutes.”

As you sat down, Yelena gave Bucky a long, amused look. He pulled your chair for you, brushed his hand down your back, and sat beside you with a small, content smile.

The meal was served, the food warm, the scent of spices and fresh bread floating in the air.

Everyone slowly started to relax.

You, ever the gentle host, went around asking if anyone wanted seconds, offering more salad, more rice, more of anything.

Bucky remained quiet beside you.

Always watching. Always present.

Bob, now two glasses of wine deep, took a generous bite of lentil rice.

It tasted like comfort. Like real food made with care. “God, this is amazing. I should ask for the recipe. Or just offer to live in the kitchen cabinet. Would she let me?”

And then, without even glancing at him, you replied, completely serene:

“No, Bob. I don’t allow people to live in my kitchen cabinets.”

Silence.

Instant silence.

Everyone froze.

Forks in mid-air. A wine glass halfway to someone’s lips.

Bob blinked. Twice.

“I… I said that out loud?”

You gave a soft smile, no explanation.

You just kept serving salad onto your own plate, like nothing had happened.

“What?” Yelena asked, brows knitting together.

Bucky didn’t even look up from his plate. He just muttered:

“She’s a telepath.”

The word lingered in the air like smoke.

Walker nearly choked.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Ava just observed. She didn’t look shocked — but she was definitely focused now.

“Telepath? Like, you read minds?” Yelena asked, already way too intrigued. “Since when?”

You finally looked at them, that calm expression still your trademark.

“Since always. But I control it. I promise I don’t go around reading everyone’s minds… unless you think really loud”

You threw Bob a teasing look. He sank into his chair, utterly defeated.

“That’s not fair,” he mumbled, hiding behind his napkin. “My brain is noisy.”

“So that’s why Barnes kept you hidden all this time,” Walker muttered, still trying to process.

Bucky took a sip of wine like he was remembering exactly why.

“One of the reasons.”

“She’s officially cooler than all of us,” Yelena said, helping herself to more mashed potatoes. “Just saying.”

You smiled, accepting it like it was the simplest compliment in the world.

You continued chatting with them in that same soft, steady way — answering each question with patience and a little affection. Bucky stayed close, always watching, always alert, like he filtered every question before it reached you. Not out of suspicion… it was just his way. And you knew that.

The questions came from a softer place now. Not curiosity laced with judgment, but genuine interest. Almost excitement.

And you didn’t mind. You welcomed it.

As dinner went on, you started sharing a little about your life — your way.

You told them about the X-Mansion, where you grew up.

How your powers showed up early, and how Professor Xavier helped guide you with empathy.

You didn’t dramatize it. You just spoke like someone who had survived something hard and was now proud of it.

They listened. Really listened.

You mentioned your friends — the ones from the photo — and explained that it was taken during the Professor’s birthday party.

Jean had insisted on a photo with everyone before the celebration started.

It was one of those chaotic, happy days where everyone looked exhausted and laughing.

That photo captured it perfectly.

And then, without anyone needing to ask, you explained how you ended up in New York.

The accident that brought you into this universe.

No suspense, no melodrama. Just a story. A piece of your past.

Bucky, beside you, kept listening — jaw occasionally tight, his thumb rubbing gently across your leg under the table.

And they listened. With full plates and wide eyes, they listened to someone who held so much more than she showed.

By the end of it, the mood at the table had shifted.

Calmer. Closer.

Plates were empty.

The smell of brownies baking in the oven was already drifting through the air — warm, sweet, comforting. The kind of smell that makes you forget, for a second, that the world is harsh.

You stood up with a smile, brushing your hand over Bucky’s shoulder as you passed by.

“ The brownies are probably done,” you said, casually disappearing into the kitchen.

The second you were out of sight, Yelena turned in her chair, arm draped over the backrest, smirking.

“ Ohhh, now I get why you kept her from us, Barnes…”

He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, already bracing himself.

“ A woman like that? Honestly. I’d have kept her hidden too.”

Bucky muttered a low “Yelena…”

But he couldn’t quite hide the little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Seconds later, you returned holding a simple ceramic tray, lined with golden, steaming brownies — some with cracked edges, others with gooey melted chocolate still glistening.

You placed them at the center of the table and sat down, grabbing a dish towel to protect your fingers.

It didn’t take ten seconds for everyone to dive in.

The compliments rolled in fast. One after the other.

You laughed, adjusting your messy bun, a little shy with so much praise.

You explained the recipe was a gift from Jean — from a sleepover years ago. She insisted baking would be therapeutic. And it was. The recipe stuck.

Everyone kept eating, talking with their mouths full, fighting over the last piece.

As the night wound down, people began to rise one by one — grabbing jackets, offering thanks, the kind of cozy chaos that comes with the end of a good visit.

You helped collect jackets, walked each one to the door, thanking them.

“ And thank you again for the plant, Alexei,” you said sweetly, holding the pot carefully.

He turned a bit red and mumbled a quiet “It was nothing” before joining the others down the hall.

Walker gave a lazy “Good night.”

Bob complimented the brownies for the fourth time.

Ava nodded with a small smile.

Yelena? She just said, “See you soon, future best friend.”

You laughed.

After a few more waves and hurried goodbyes, the door finally shut.

And it was like flipping a switch.

Bucky’s large hands were on your waist the next second, pulling you close — not roughly, but with that kind of firm tenderness he only ever had with you. The grip was solid, warm, like he’d waited all night for this.

You turned in his arms, smiling, and your lips met in a slow, deep kiss — the kind that says I’m here, I’m yours, completely.

When the kiss broke, you stayed close, your hands resting on his chest beneath the soft black shirt.

“ You did great,” he murmured, voice low and husky in that way he only sounded when his heart was soft.

You giggled gently, barely a whisper, your eyes locked with his.

“ Think they liked me?”

Bucky gave a crooked little smile.

“ Yelena was flirting with you.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

“ Really? I thought she was sweet.”

“ Too sweet,” he muttered, already pulling you even closer.

The next kiss was different.

Hotter. Needier.

The kind you hold back all night, wishing you were alone sooner.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your ass firmly.

A soft breath escaped you mid-kiss, your whole body already melting into his.

When the kiss finally ended, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

His breath was warm, a little heavier — like the whole day was finally behind him, left right here in your arms.

“ I missed you…,” he whispered, voice rough and low.

“ We’re alone now,” you replied with a lazy, smiling tone.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes locked on yours.

He reached for the collar of your shirt — that soft black fabric of your turtleneck — and slowly pushed it down, exposing your neck.

Carefully. Like unwrapping something he already knew by heart.

Without saying a word, he leaned in and began placing slow kisses there. One by one.

Warm. Lingering.

His lips pressing just enough to leave your eyes fluttering shut and your skin flushed.

He knew exactly where to kiss.

Exactly how.

And you knew — the night was only just beginning.

[formulafanfics13]

Since I have seen a couple of fics bases on songs I was wondering if your could write one where the reader is a famous singer dating either Max or Kimi and she releases her new song Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae. Making the public and the grid realise how freaky the driver is. As well as the driver getting teased a lot even to the point of getting asked in interviews about the song and car sex. If possible then add a part where said driver gets caught getting a bj in the car by another driver who won’t stop teasing them. Please 🙏🥺.

Diet Pepsi  - MV1 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: You drop a surprise single at midnight — a filthy, unfiltered anthem clearly about Max Verstappen. The internet erupts. Lyrics match real paparazzi photos and private moments, leaving zero room for doubt. The F1 grid loses its mind, with Charles and Lando leading the chaos. Max wakes up to find his sex life trending and his girlfriend smugly drinking coffee in his hoodie. The paddock never recovers. From viral memes to press questions, backseat jokes, and a now-infamous G-Wagon incident, your relationship goes from secret to legendary. And Max? Max doesn’t just take it — he starts playing your song every time he drives.

Content Warning: Smut, public sex, oral sex (fem reader on male), dirty talk, degradation, humiliation kink, exhibitionism, group chat teasing, innuendo-heavy dialogue, power dynamics, and references to social media virality.

You don’t even warn him. Not the label, not his PR, not even his fucking manager. Not even Max himself. You just release the single at midnight, posted with a caption that read:

“For the freak in the Red Bull. You know who you are.”

By 1am, the F1 grid knows exactly who you’re talking about.

The world doesn’t react gently. It detonates.

Clips go viral instantly:

The line “losing all my innocence in the backseat” paired with paparazzi photos of you straddling Max in the parking lot of a Monaco restaurant last summer.

A zoomed-in shot of his actual gold cross chain reflecting off your glossy red lips as you leaned out of his car window during race week in Budapest.

An old TikTok from behind the scenes of a Calvin Klein shoot where Max’s hands disappear under the hem of your skirt when he thinks no one’s looking.

Fans aren’t stupid. Neither are the drivers. By sunrise, Lando’s tweeted “this song sounds like a Red Bull strategy” and Charles has reposted the song with a feral “💀💀💀” and the words “Max bro????”

Christian texts Max just one word: “Backseat???”

And Pierre drops a comment under your video teaser that just says: “Tell him to blink twice if he’s alive.”

Max wakes up late. Rolls over in bed, eyes crusty, hair a mess, boxers askew, unaware that his entire fucking sex life is trending. You’re standing in the kitchen in his hoodie and no pants, pouring coffee like you didn’t just end his career with three minutes of breathy vocals and confession-level filth.

“Did you sleep well, baby?” you ask sweetly.

Max narrows his eyes at you.

You just smile, tip your head, and hum: “When we drive in your car, I’m your baby...”

He drops his phone face down without even unlocking it. “Are you fucking serious?” he mutters.

You take a slow sip. “It’s a hit.”

By the next race weekend, the entire paddock is feral. The song is blasting through fan zones and garages. Mechanics are singing “break all the rules till we get caught” while calibrating cars. Engineers are humming “Diet Pepsi” over the radio checks. Max walks into the drivers' briefing and Lando immediately plays the chorus from his phone.

Even Lewis gives him a slow, knowing smile across the room like, damn boy. You really did that.

Max sits in his chair like it’s a throne of humiliation and pride. Because the thing is, he did. All of it.

You did ride him in the RB19 simulator garage in Singapore. You did fog up the G-Wagon windows behind the Red Bull hospitality tent in Miami. You did write your name in lipstick on his chest before a press day in Baku.

And now the whole world knows. Because you told them. With verses. And falsetto. And a bass line that sounds like your moans sampled on loop.

The interview questions start off subtle. Then they get worse.

Sky Sports was first, “So Max, your girlfriend’s latest single is number one globally! Have you had a chance to, uh, hear it yet?”

Max, replied with the most bored tone, “She played it while she was recording it.”

A Dutch outlet was next, “There’s a lot of speculation about which car the lyrics refer to. Is it the Aston Martin Valkyrie or the Porsche GT3?”

Max, with a straight face, “Whichever one has the deepest seats.”

Lando, walking past off-camera: “That would be the Red Bull garage, no?”

Then it happens. Three days later. Friday night. Quiet paddock. You’re back early from Milan. Max is restless. Horny. Wound tight from the teasing.

You’re both parked in the back lot behind the media centre. Inside the AMG G-Wagon. It’s hot. Windows up. Engine off.

He’s got his jeans halfway down his thighs. You’re between his legs in your little cherry-red mini dress and nothing else underneath. Lipstick already smudged, hair clinging to your cheeks. You’re slow and messy about it. Drool running down his cock, hands on his thighs, mouth full and humming the bridge of your own song against him.

Max is gripping the seat like he’s in the middle of a Grand Prix. And then.. Tap tap tap. He looks up. The horror is immediate. Standing outside the window, two fucking shadows. Peering in. Smirking. Wide-eyed. Shit-eating grins. Charles. And Lando.

Max nearly chokes. Tries to cover you but it’s too late. Lando throws up a peace sign. Charles mouths: “Untouched” with the most evil smirk you’ve ever seen.

You do not stop. If anything, you go slower. Max throws his head back, groaning out your name, coming so hard he forgets how to breathe.

The group chat explodes.

CHARLES: max bro ur girl’s throat deserves a grammy LANDO: did the back seat get jealous of the front one or what OSCAR: I’m not opening any car doors near Red Bull again GEORGE: Mercedes cars have privacy glass for a reason PIERRE: imagine finishing a blowjob to your own chorus CARLOS: she should do a live performance in parc fermé

Max leaves the chat. Twice. They keep adding him back.

It becomes a thing. FIA press officers start confiscating aux cables in the media pen. Your fans start tagging every photo of Max with “my boy’s a winner, he loves the game”. People ship you under the hashtag #MaxInTheBackseat. Christian bans anyone from saying “Diet Pepsi” within the garage unless they’re talking about actual beverages.

Your Spotify bio reads: “Untouched. XO. Young lust. Let’s go.”

And Max? Max starts requesting your song when he gets in the car.

Late one night after qualifying, he pulls you into his hotel room, presses you against the mirror with your back arched, your dress hitched up, and says: “Sing it for me.”

You moan instead.

He slaps your thigh. “Sing.”

So you do. While he fucks you. Hard. Slow. And when you get to the part about writing your name on his chest, he’s already pulling off his shirt.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “I want them to know it.”

You leave a mark in red. Lipstick and nail crescents. You’re his baby. Always have been. Even before the world knew. Now they just get to watch.

[that-one-girl2020]

Can you do the one about the Shovel Talk in part 7, because I really want to know what happened.

The Shovel Talk

Saja Boys x Rumi’s Sister! Reader

A/N: Ask and you shall receive! Or, at least, I will attempt to anyway. I tried to keep it simple for the most part and I’m working on more parts for this series.

Synopsis: After the defeat of Gwi Ma, you continue to explore your blooming relationship with the five Saja Boys. So, the Huntr/x girls take it upon themselves to have a little talk with them.

TW: Death threats?

Word Count: 1,001

Master List

Things were awkward.

That day you were spending time with the boys, you were going to introduce them to some modern movies like Disney or Studio Ghibli—you hadn’t decided which yet.

The boys and the girls had slowly relaxed from their overly protective and overly clingy mindsets a few days after you and the boys returned. So you didn’t know why the girls had suddenly shown up at the Saja Boys’ apartment.

Rumi, Mira, and Zoey were dressed in casual clothes, sharing one of the recliners with Rumi sitting in it and Mira and Zoey perched on the arm rests like a throne. The boys were squeezed on and around the couch, Jinu sitting in the middle of the couch with Kwan and Hyeon on either side of him. Jum and Chungae sat on the armrests, their feet behind Kwan and Hyeon’s backs.

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the other recliner, looking between the two groups. “I’m gonna… go start that recipe I found… Please don’t maim or kill each other.” You stood slowly. The boys’ eyes went to you, following you as you slowly left the room but they didn’t say anything.

“Okay, we’re just gonna get to know the boys,” Rumi smiled, waving you off gently.

“Yeah, don’t mind us, (Y/n),” Zoey grinned widely, her eyes closing with the size of it.

Mira leaned back on the arm rest, propping her elbow on the top of the recliner, “Sorry, for dropping in on you.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine…” You waved them off, sliding the folding door closed behind you. ‘It’s not like it’s my place anyway…’

~~~

With you in the kitchen, the aura in the room shifted. The planes of Mira, Zoey, and Rumi’s faces shifted, sharpening as the shadows changed, their eyes narrowing and their smiles falling as they turned their attention on the boys.

The boys tensed, fingers twitching as if readying for a fight. They couldn’t help but wonder if the girls hadn’t actually accepted them, if they were plotting to kill them.

“What’re your intentions with (Y/n).”

The boys faltered at Rumi’s blunt demand. Their figures relaxed but their faces hardened to match the girls. “How is that your business.”

“It’s not,” Mira responded in a clipped, even tone. “But even if she doesn’t want it, we’ll still watch over her.”

“We know we have no place dictating her life, and we won’t,” Zoey added.

“However, (Y/n) has never been in a relationship before and we worry for her,” Rumi propped her chin on her fist, looking at the boys flatly. “So if you all intend to fight over her, or hurt her, we will tell (Y/n) immediately.”

The boys wanted to argue, their tempers flaring at the insinuation that they would hurt you when the girls had been the ones that had turned their backs on you when it counted. Vitriol filled their lips, tempting them to speak and spew the vitriol at the girls.

But they couldn’t.

Because at the heart of the matter, they all just wanted to protect you.

“(Y/n) is the one that shows me the joys of the human world. She teaches me to be human,” Jum stated.

“She’s the only one I want to hold close, her warmth and her scent are home.”

“She’s the one that reminded me what it’s like to be gentle and yet strong at the same time.”

“She’s the first one who’s made me feel really seen and… loved. I want to love her.”

”(Y/n) is the one who saw my… our flaws and she chose to love us anyway. It’s been so long that we don’t remember what it feels like to love another. But if this is it, then we will fight for it.”

Jinu spoke, all the boys looking at the three girls with steely determination. They were flawed, there was no arguing that. They had pasts that they weren’t proud of, things they were just now starting to make up for. But you understood them, you became their guiding light. Their reason to do better than they had before.

The girls took in their words silently, not reacting as they listened raptly. Once they had said their piece, the girls looked at them for a long moment, meeting their eyes one by one. Then they looked at each other, the three girls communicating with their expressions alone—it wasn’t subtle though. The boys watched as the girls deliberated using exaggerated eyebrows, narrowed or widened eyes, pointed looks, and different twists of their lips.

Eventually, they turned back to the boys.

“Fine. But know that if you ever hurt (Y/n), then we won’t hold back,” Rumi stated sharply.

Mira snarled, “We’ll turn you to ash—even if we have to do it the old fashioned way.”

Zoey slammed a fist on the coffee table before them, “No one will ever be able to find your bodies when we’re done with you!”

Kwan smirked, crossing his arms over his chest, “And if you hurt (Y/n) ever again, we’ll be forced to turn the tables and make the Hunters into the Hunted.”

Chungae leaned forward, swinging an arm around Hyeon’s shoulders as he shared Kwan’s smirk, “We’d have to put our limited demon abilities to work.”

Mira bristled, “Oh yeah? Well if you hurt her then we’ll have to shop you all into little pieces and feed you to Derpy and Sussie.”

Jinu raised an eyebrow at the girls, tilting his head, “You really think Derpy and Sussie would side with you over me?”

Rumi quirked her lips, “Oh yeah, definitely.”

From there, it devolved into the two groups lightheartedly trading death threats.

~~~

You couldn’t help but sigh and shake your head in the kitchen. You returned to the recipe you were attempting, not confident in it but you still trudged on.

You couldn’t help but wonder how you ended up with eight dorks but you wouldn’t trade a single one of them for the world.

A/N: The tag list is still full but let me know if anyone doesn’t wanna be tagged anymore!

Outtakes:

You, Saja Boys, Huntr/x: *Casually hanging out together in disguise*

A Random Passerby: *Overhearing them*

Saja Boys, Huntr/x: “I’ll fillet you with my sword and grill your entrails for dinner.” “I’ll rip your heart out with my bare hands and rip your throat out with my teeth.” “Poison would be quick and efficient.” “If I shoved a gallon of glitter down your throat, would that kill you?”

The Passerby: *Shook. Walking away faster.*

…

You: “Okay, I finished baking!”

Saja Boys: *Looking down with dread at whatever you just set on the table* “Uhmmm… Great. Looks…delicious…”

You: “Don’t worry, I know. I’m gonna go buy some—DON’T EAT IT!”

Abby: *Blue in the face* “ANYTHING FOR YOU BABE!”

…

Tag List: @brights-place @itmechaosartist @reni502 @chin-chii @cultish-corner @enerofairy @mama-m1na @akariis4snowball @gremlinartstudio @shynotded @shadowmoonlight0604 @omgsuperstarg @neigesprincess @sleep-7372 @hurts-my-brain @kiwibackie @gh0stied3ath @naysha140 @theferretkids @lelantyuu @sexyindependentdowntospendit @hornehlittleweeblet2 @moonymoo1 @moochiwoochi @cheolright @crescent-z @prorpy @mey-archive @cami1qx @nerdalicios @xxsadlovexx @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @blackheart34 @anonymousewrites @scarletrosesposts @justanindiangirl12 @beexboo @tatsuri-zomushiki @call-me-nyxx @queenofviolenceandnerds @randomfan218-blog @jaybbygrl @unholycheesesnack @ocean-mochi @iviorienne @confusedparticle @otakusimp1 @nosbaby07 @fries11 @ri-eveowe @1950schick @libdarkheart @yourjustassaneasiamx @the-bookish-artist @anduinandwrathionlover @eternallyrosyfire @lysira340 @lansy-4 @strayharmony943 @maximumtrashchild @bleufu1 @minepugs @valeriele3 @arieslucy @nisarelle @suzieq1948374 @esposamultifandom

[rainy-day-gracie]

taking care

pre-outbreak!joel miller x babysitter!reader

summary: Joel takes care of you, whether you know it or not.

cw: consensual somno, dual pov, age-gap (reader in college/grad school, pre-outbreak joel), power imbalance due to employment (babysitter), pre-established relationship (fwb/dom-sub), discussion of d/s dynamics, discussion of mental health, oral f!recieving, fingering, unprotected piv sex, pre-outbreak joel my love, joel miller DOWN BADDDDD, use of pet names (baby, honey, pretty girl, etc.), PRAIIIIIIIISEEEEEE

word count: 1.4k

a/n: don't look at me, i know it's another somno but what's a girl to do about it huh? i just want an old man eating me out in my sleep is that such a crime

masterlist

-

You weren’t sure how it started, this arrangement with Joel. 

Sure, you technically worked for him, as Sarah’s babysitter during the week. But this relationship – if you could even call it that – was a separate deal entirely. 

Joel knew how to read you, unlike any other man before him. He knew your nervous tics, your pressure points, your signs of stress. He knew when you were desperate for distraction, needy for direction. 

At first, the relationship was purely sex; scratching an itch you both had, a mutual desire for release. Waiting for him to come home, long after Sarah went to bed, and jumping his bones the moment he crossed the threshold of his doorway. 

Joel certainly never had any complaints, and neither did you. 

Until grad school started up again, and your head swam with more than just regular twenties-troubles. 

Buzzing anxiety plagued you constantly, brooding weight seemingly slung across your shoulders, making you heavy with self-doubt, insecurity, stress. You spiraled at any small deviation from the standard you set for yourself, the impossible bar you bent yourself into pretzels to reach.

With school, and babysitting, and work, and friends, and family, and money… you found yourself desperate for reprieve from the leash you had on yourself, aching to give up the control you clung to so tightly. 

Joel knew. He knew you wanted, needed, something requiring more trust than simple friends with benefits. 

You need me to quiet that head of yours? Tell you what to do for a while?

In the dark of night, you’d nodded eagerly, entirely willing to become nothing more than his.

Okay, pretty girl. Get on your knees for me. Right now, you ain’t gotta be nothing but a mouth. 

–

Joel was horribly, horrendously, unforgivably late.

It was all Tommy’s fault, really. His little brother refused to stop flirting with the owner, was slow on the dimensions of the property, and insisted on a nightcap after a 12-hour workday.

All Joel wanted to do? Be with his daughter, or with you. Either one was a better deal than anything he did all day. 

The clock had just struck eleven when he finally managed to crack through the front door, his house quiet, dark. One lamp had been left on, casting his home in a dim, warm glow. 

He knew Sarah had long gone to sleep. But you… 

His heart melted at the sight of you, snoozing on his living room sofa. Golden Girls played on the TV, muted, adding to the angelic light that cast shadows across your face. 

Dropping his bag at the door, he moved towards you, keeping his boots quiet on the hardwood floor so as to not wake you. 

Joel couldn’t look away from you, so soft and beautiful and sweet in the dim light. 

Your brow furrowed in your sleep, telling him exactly how plagued you’d been all day. Despite your stress, he knew you’d taken care of Sarah as a first priority, valuing his daughter’s smile over your own personal needs. And he couldn’t thank you enough for it. 

But he could damn well try. 

Joel wrapped his hands around your bare thighs, kneeling between your legs, and propping them up on his broad shoulders. His cock hardened at your pliantness, even in your sleep, letting him do as he pleased with you. 

His perfect girl. 

Joel hummed softly as he breathed in your scent, pressing his nose against the fabric of your shorts. Slipping his fingertips under your waistband, he pulled the shorts off easily enough, bringing your panties with him. 

He held those close, feeling like he would want to play with them again. 

Joel breathed in your bare cunt like it was the crispest air he’d ever inhaled. His balls tightened as he saw the hair you let grow in, how it showed the evidence of your arousal even in your sleep. 

Noticing the stretch marks that pulled across your inner thighs, he pressed light kisses to the sensitive skin. At once, your cunt gushed with a rise of desire, your body reacting to his worship unconsciously. 

Joel always made a point to praise the things that you critique about yourself, from stretch marks to your breasts to your stomach to your intelligence itself. He found purpose in making you see yourself in the way he sees you, making you recognize your own worth because of the things you dislike so violently, and not in spite of them. 

He kissed your inner thigh more deeply, sucking marks into the skin that he knew you would smile at in the morning. Even with his marking of you, still you slept, though the tension between your brows had eased. 

Joel, holding your legs spread over his shoulders, licked a line up your cunt from the skin above your asshole all the way up to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the top of your pussy. A moan escaped him as he ate at you, something dark and dominating arising the moment your sweet taste met his tongue. 

Blood rushed to his cock, pressing a harsh dent into his work jeans. 

Your cunt responded to him with neediness, despite the fact that you hadn’t yet stirred. He grinned into his pretty girl, your pussy like fine wine as he lapped at your wet hole. 

“Joel…”

Your breathy, sleepy whine sent fire racing down his belly, and into his groin. Here you were, calling his name in your sleep, as he ate your cunt like a starving man. 

He shushed you quietly, coaxing you back into rest. “Relax for me, baby, that’s it.”

Your lips parted slightly, soft moans escaping as he put his mouth on you again. He rubbed his thumb over your sensitive clit in circles, fucking you on his tongue with wicked delight curling within him. 

He would die here, between your legs. Forget Texas, forget his brother, forget contracting, forget it all, save for Sarah. You were all he needed, all he wanted. 

Your sweet skin, and soft moans. Your bright eyes studying him as he fixed his whiskey. Your giggles of joy, and pleasure. Your trust in him to take care of you.

He would live and die taking care of you, if he had it his way. 

“Joel, what…” you sighed, eyes fluttering open and shut between reality and dreams. 

“Shhhh, baby. Just let me kiss you for a bit,” he said into your skin, his tongue delving between your folds in a punishing swipe. 

Your legs dug into his broad back, and through your closed lids, he knew your eyes were rolling back into your skull. In your haze of sleep, your hips lifted against his mouth, chasing your orgasm. 

Joel pressed his thumb more heavily to your clit, and grinned into your cunt as your muscles began to clench. 

“Good girl,” he breathed, sinking his teeth into your soft thigh as you came on his tongue. Breathy moans fell from your lips as you grinded against his calloused thumb, the faint call of his name nearly enough to get Joel to cream his jeans. 

Despite the heavy rise and fall of your chest, and the slickness coating Joel’s mustache, you remained asleep, relaxing into his sofa cushions with a quiet sigh. 

Joel hummed with delight, and slipped two fingers knuckle deep into your wet cunt. 

–

You weren’t sure where the dream ended and where the reality started. 

All bets were off once the clock struck ten, and exhaustion overtook you. 

At first, dreams of C- grades, overdrawn checking accounts, and burnt cookies plagued your mind. Not nightmares, but aggravating mishaps that made your shoulders tight with worry, the buzzing of anxiousness deafening in your head, trapping you in restless sleep. 

Somewhere, somehow, the dreams shifted to something much more delightful. 

A vague sensation of lips on your core, rough hands holding you steady, sent you into a blissful state. Dark eyes, calloused fingertips, and a gruff Southern drawl chased away the worrying dreams tormenting your sleep. 

Distantly, you registered the soft murmur of your name in your ear, against your stomach, against your wet pussy. A warm mouth eating at you lazily, a single thumb rolling your clit beneath worked callouses. 

The darkness of sleep was comforting, replacing restlessness with satisfied contentment. You didn’t particularly notice the fingers stretching out your slick core, or the blunt cockhead pushing deep into your belly.

Only tidal waves of orgasms, easy crests of pleasure, and the rough rumble of your name as someone with dark eyes took what he wanted and gave you what you needed. 

[eraserbread]

go as a dream, pt. 2 ft. ex-husband satoru gojo✧

୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible. → afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, long-established relationship, mutual pining, smoking, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, rough sex, drinking, verbal outbursts, mentions of body and relationship insecurity, emotional sex, spitting, dub-con (?), masturbation, oral m!receiving, face-slapping, unhealthy possessiveness, slight sub-drop, mentions of readers relative hair length in contrast to gojo's, mentions of readers mother, nsfw → w.c. - 18.9k {1.45 hour reading time}

a/n: honestly, i don't know what to say anymore. this chapter ruled my life, and it only took me two weeks to complete -- I was just so invested and emotional. thank u all for the love on part one, which you can re-read here :)) again, sit with this for awhile. it's a lot of words to ingest and a lot of emotions to feel, but I think they're good ones. don't be too afraid to keep reading <3 ily! -elly

listen to the soundtrack (updated for pt.2), revisit part 1 <3

A cigarette passes through the warmth of the summer air, mid-morning rays bleaching the burning tip an eye-squinting shade of red. 

Shoko brings it to her lips, tongue in cheek as she stares past Suguru’s head. Perched at the back entrance to the Science building, the small expanse of cars parked neatly under sun covers distracts her piercing gaze. She shakes her head, lowering the smoke to ash it quickly, then reaches to take a drag. 

“You don’t think it’s gonna affect us?” She continues, growling something of a sigh into the openness. It’s clear as day, Shoko is not having a good morning. You were supposed to return today, but so is Satoru. This divorce wasn’t even her problem, but the entire staff base was going to feel the ripples. Every single one of the 120 faculty members was aware of the marriage. Satoru is everyone’s favorite – you were his rock. 

“Only if you allow it to.” Suguru crosses his arms at his chest, squinting as he peeks behind him. The crunch of tires pulls his attention just like it pulled Shoko’s. “Look, I texted him the other night, didn’t get a response, and moved on with my life.” He shrugs, sharp shoulders soft against the blur of harsh light. “Satoru’s so easy to read that it’s shameful. He wants to be alone – needs it, too. It’s like he’s allergic.” 

Shoko hums, pursing her lips around another drag before handing it off to Suguru. She’s looking past his head again, thinking she recognizes the sleek, black car that pulls in behind the school. 

She does. It’s Satoru’s. 

“Speak of the devil,” She mentions, glancing up at Suguru when he peeks over his shoulder again. “That’s probably Jo.” 

“Oh-” Suguru shoves the cigarette between his lips, cheeks hollowing around the drag he sucks out. If Shoko was right, Satoru hated the smell of smoke – he’d complain with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. It’s a habit; there’s a jump behind Suguru’s step as he walks to meet Satoru halfway. Shoko’s standing up like she’s about to head inside, light eyes squinted as she watches him shrink with distance. “Oh, shit.” 

“Whaaaat?” Shoko springs up, hand latched onto the metal. Suguru halts in his tracks at the end of the ramp, grip tightening against the rail. She can just see the look on his face in her mind; he doesn’t have to be looking over for her to know. 

“They’re getting a divorce, right?” 

“What do you mean – yeah.” 

“Okay, well, they don’t look very separated to me.” Suguru’s pushed out of the way as Shoko stumbles over her feet for a good vantage point. He’s not lying; you and Satoru are together. It’s just like things always were; he holds the door open for you, gaze dead ahead as he waits for you to slip out. That poor door slams shut – his body so packed full of hot tension they could feel it from so far away. 

You aren’t looking at him either, wary with a short peek over your shoulder when you emerge. Satoru is wearing a tight, dark, long-sleeved shirt in the peak of this heat – you’re wearing long, dark pants. 

Everything is right – normal. Why does it feel so wrong? Something is off.

“Go – go, we have to hide.” 

“What? No, I want to know what’s going on-

“Oh, he looks so pissed.” Shoko gasps behind her hand. “He’s wearing the glasses – Geto, the glasses.” 

“I see the glasses. Come on.” The cool air from inside the building soothes Shoko’s back like a thick, welcome blanket. Sure, inside would lead to hours of emotionally uncompelling work, but it’d be better than second-hand embarrassment. She’s wise enough to deduce that nothing good will come from this situation. 

Shoko ducks out, sliding under Suguru’s stretched arm, keeping the door propped. They both dart from the entrance.

“What a shit show. Someone is lying.” Shoko’s nearly running down the hallway, breath heavy in her throat. It’s still too early for students to be in yet, but a scattered few roam the halls, breaking their necks when the pair rushes hot past them. 

“Don’t bring it up; just act normal,” Suguru mutters, pushing the door to the staff room open for Shoko to step into. They know it's where you two would stop once you arrived – it’s where everyone is gathered. 

At least three heads turn at the dramatic entrance. 

Utahime stands up from her spot at the head of the table, a thick, leather-bound book open towards the end that she entirely disregards. “Shoko!” 

“Gojo’s are coming.” 

Two seats down from Utahime, back as straight as a pen, Mei annotates paper assignments, nails as red as the ink on the page. She hums – slow, controlled. “Didn’t you say they broke up?” 

“That’s the issue, just be normal.” 

They don’t have to tell Nanami twice – he takes his coffee, drops his conversation, and leaves the room like he was never there. Takuma watches him walk out on their discussion, sputtering like a fish out of water. 

“What is happening?” He turns around, eyes blown wide. “Suguru?” 

“Sit. Be normal.” Suguru snatches his shoulders, pushing him into the empty seat opposite Mei. His heavy touch lingers, and one hand fumbles in his back pocket for his phone. 

“Don’t say anything about the divorce, or I’ll strangle you,” Shoko speaks through gritted teeth, holding her hand in a tense claw in Takuma’s relative direction. He slumps down like he’s guilty, letting Suguru’s weight sink in. 

“I didn’t even know they were getting divorced…” He trails off, voice light as a feather. 

“Shut up,” Shoko and Suguru hiss at the same time, wary of the shadows that pass the covered windows every time one appears. She’s keeping an eye out for a pair of them – intertwined by the arms like you and Satoru always do. 

It never comes. 

The door clicks, creaks, then settles. You walk inside, your head heavy and your gaze low. Shoko gives a breath of relief. 

“Hi, stranger.” Suguru purrs. 

“Oh my God – you didn’t sleep?” Shoko clicks her teeth, turning on her feet, and she crowds you at the door. You feel pitiful standing in the way, arms crossed over your sensitive frame, still singing and sore from last night. There’s a crip in your walk – a numbness in your eyes. 

“Oh, Gojo.” Utahime pouts, standing to greet you, hiding no pity behind her words. It’s all over your face, you feel like shit. 

“Don’t call her tha-

“Whatever, it’s fine.” You cut Suguru off, knowing he has good intentions but belittled by the air of it all. Utahime goes in to hug you – your chest aches as she cradles it. “I guess it’s nice that everyone knows. I don’t have anything to hide.” You smile when she pulls away, avoiding eye contact so she can’t see the lie in your gaze. It’s bad enough you can’t even hide it in your tone. 

Shoko is chewing her bottom lip raw, poking and squeezing at it with manicured fingers. She wants to say more – wants to point out the stumble in your step and the drowsiness in your eyes. She wants to point out the fact that you came here with him, but knows it's inappropriate. After all, you and Satoru live together and share a car – it’s not unheard of that you two are still around each other. She just worries about the headspace it’d lower you into. 

Satoru, when he’s upset, is an entirely different person. Every ounce of heat in his soul drops, leaving icy lakes where his heart should be. He jokes through it all, making sly digs at Shoko’s unhealthy habits or how useless he thinks she is as a friend. Always, he’d laugh it off, then drop his expression like it was never there. He’s too good at being an asshole – it’s why she’s so wary. 

“You sure you’re good to be back?” 

You ignore her. “Hi Mei, Takuma.” 

“Hi, beautiful. Long time no see, hm?” 

“Good to see you, Gojo.” 

“Stop-” You reach for Shoko’s shoulder as she whips around to scold him. “I don’t care. I’m not changing my name.” 

She turns back to you, eyes wide with worry. You can hear the unsaid words vibrating off of her bare lips. They wash over you with the weight of the world. Everyone is staring. 

Utahime crosses her hands at her waist, clearing her throat as the dust settles in the room. Takuma peeks up at Suguru as he steps away, wanting to say more but far too conscious of the space they found themselves in. 

“Smart.” Mei hums, not having looked up from her work since you entered. She tilts her head, light, loose hair falling over the pressed, blue blazer over her shoulder. “Don’t let one bad Gojo ruin the name for you.” 

“You know you’re not helping, right?” 

“Bye, Ieiri. Your abrasiveness would be endearing if she were actually a child who needed support.” Though she threatens to walk away, Mei doesn’t move. She doesn’t even reciprocate the hazel daggers Shoko is sending her. “It seems this conversation is a bit suffocating. Why don’t you move it outside.” 

“Is that a suggestion?” 

“Let’s just-” Suguru jumps into action, peeling his dark eyes from his glaring white phone screen. “Come on – she’s right.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it at all.” You scoff as Suguru nudges both of you out of the frosted glass door. “You two are making this into a spectacle.” 

“Oh, I guess it’s fuck me then? Okay.” 

Suguru scoffs once the door closes on the rest of his colleagues.“Sho- are you just incapable of calm?” 

“I need a cigarette.” She decides, turning on the ball of her flat shoes. In one fluid, flustered stroke, she’s pulling out her pack and her phone, grumbling something likely aimed at Suguru that you couldn’t catch onto. 

“Is she serious?” You scoff, eyes burning a bit at the rush of emotion so early in the day. You’re still incredibly fragile from a silent, ugly morning with Satoru, facing his glaring and silent treatment all the way here. You felt worthless in his bed, in his car, and now you’re an outsider at work. 

Suguru stands with his hands stuffed in his front pockets, his knee jutted as the back entrance rushes open and slams shut. He squints against the light, bangs reacting to the breeze. “She’s just overwhelmed with the change of workload. She’s fine.” 

“Have you heard from Satoru?” 

“Oh.” Suguru flips his phone around in his pocket, biting over his lip as he feels your short stare burn the side of his face. “Texted a few minutes ago. He just said he was on campus – came in through the front.” 

“Like he’s avoiding me.” You sigh, gaze falling as you turn back to the hallway. Sugu’s close behind in every one of your movements, head tilting like a confused puppy. He knows you two drove together… Toru’s doing a pretty shitty job at avoidance, then. 

“You don’t even have to be in the same vicinity as him today. Don’t let it bother you.” 

You suck your cheek, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder as you weigh your options. You could go back to the break room and kill ten minutes before the day started, or you could duck into the bathroom and cry this energy out. Right now, the latter is the best option. 

“You understand, don’t you?” You turn around, peeking over your shoulder at his hunched frame. Your lips are shaking with a familiar rush of emotion. Yeah – you’re about to cry. “It’s so hard to see when you’ve lost your light.” 

Suguru stares at you like an emotionless, gutted fish. Lips parting to bring you back as you start to walk away. You take a few steps, then turn into the bathroom hallway, face beet-red as tears start down your face before you can hide. 

Your languid pace turns into flustered steps, hiding your running nose behind your fist. Through your peripheral, Suguru locks eyes with you just before you disappear. He feels backed into a corner – broad shoulders weighed down by bricks he didn’t place. 

Suguru sighs, eyes rolling in his skull as he turns back to the break room. Mei finally looks up when he pushes back inside, but he doesn’t care to notice. He needed to tell Toru what was on his mind. 

To: Satoru Gojo I actually want to die a little inside. I’ve never seen her cry before, please let this be the last time Oh, i’m so sick From: Satoru Gojo Wdym?  Are you talking about Gojo? She’s a literal train wreck, just avoid her

Satoru looks up from his phone, pulling his square-framed glasses from his face as he steps inside the building. For some reason, he finds a smile crossing his lips at the feeling of being back – he’s riding on a dangerous high, eyes flickering the white fluorescent lights. On his phone, he can see the three dots undulate across the bottom of his screen as Suguru responds, but he tucks it away just as the message appears on his screen. He wouldn’t be distracted right now – today was a big day. 

It’s the day every student waits for – the day when Satoru takes over office hours. In charge like that, he’s gentle and enthusiastic. Scarily good at his job, too. A small cult following had bloomed around him – girls even opting to take Nanami’s course so that they could sit a little closer to their beloved Gojo.

He feels on top of the world when he lets himself lead. It’s still unknown as to why he’s still just an aide, but you know why. Satoru is as straight-backed as they come. He doesn’t drink, do drugs, lie, or steal. He hardly cusses – never, ever getting mad… unless he’s around you. Their beloved Gojo becomes Satoru when 5 o’clock hits.

He’s grown up as the wonder boy, always wanting to do things by the book. He went to school and immersed himself in his studies to escape from his family, devoting all his energy and sanity to it. That’s why he graduated early – taking that first opportunity at freedom and education by the horns and riding off with it. It only took him two years of schooling to get his first career line as an aide at Tokyo-U, and he’s still there nearly eleven years later, hanging off of Nanami’s bootstraps – aging him twice as fast. 

 Satoru absorbs Nanami’s information like a dehydrated sponge, coming back to life every time a new nugget of knowledge plants itself inside of him. It’s all he lived for before he met you, and loving you wasn’t even the end goal. He never wanted to get married but couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you with another man. Even now, moping about the science hall, the thought bubbles in his throat like he needs to expel it. 

No, he wouldn’t think about you now. He needs to swallow it down. 

Then, the perfect distraction presents itself at the crossroads in front of him – Nanami and his beloved protégé, Yuji Itadori. He’s one of Satoru’s favorites, too – the only one who can carry his humor in non-humorous spaces. 

“Sir, I’m really excited about all the stories you’ll have to teach when you come back! Please bring us souvenirs.” Itadori is begging with his arms clasped, dangerously close to Nanami’s footpath. The older man cradles the coffee he brought from the break room, golden eyes flickering from the steam he’s nursing to his peer. 

“It’s much more than a pleasure trip, Itadori. I will be in and out of various Universities doing guest lectures with little time to rest or sight-see.” Nanami is typical, just as straight-edged as Satoru, albeit in a stricter sense. Nanami didn’t need anyone around him – Satoru needed everything. 

He needs this twenty-two-year-old kid to like him, which is why he approaches him as if they’re friends, not a teacher and peer. 

“Itadori!” Satoru rushes to the scene, sticking a hand in Itadori’s light locks and ruffling them unkempt. “What are you doing here, kid? Did you sign up for my office hours?” 

“I was the first person who put the request in! Kugisaki told me they were all full two minutes later… she had to settle for Nanami’s after his break.” 

“Settle?” 

“Ah – don’t take it personally, Nanamin.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

The pair break out in devious laughter. Nanami rolls his eyes, ready to walk away and find peace in his empty lecture hall. Something stops him – it’s the way Toru looks at him with his long arm slung across Itadori’s shoulders. They’re nearly twins like this once their outward appearances fade away. They’re just two smirking idiots burning holes in Nanami’s aging face, not saying a thing. 

“I heard you two talking about Malaysia. I know you’re excited, and so am I.” 

“Mm, because you can pretend to be me for a full month – I know.” 

“I’m excited, too! Inumaki mentioned sneaking into the lecture in my place next Thursday… and I told him no.” 

“Good. Respectful.” Satoru mentions. Nanami sighs again. 

“Please don’t sneak students in while I am gone.” 

“I’ll make sure he won’t.” Satoru smiles like an elated child, pearly white teeth on full display. Bells don’t ring early in the morning like this, but at the turn of the hour, Itadori notices immediately and shrugs from Toru’s grip. 

“Sir! I will see you this afternoon.” He bows deep enough to show he respects the pair with his life, but not enough to make it odd or showy. Nanami nods him away, and then Itadori turns to Satoru. He goes in for a hug. 

“Do good work today.” 

“Yes, sir.” He nods, so sure of himself and glistening with the only praise he needs. “Goodbye Nanamin! Bye, Gojo!” 

Once they’re alone and Nanami tries to flee, Satoru finds a way to hook his attention once more. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smirks, “You know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you.” 

“For what?” 

“Well, isn’t your dream coming true? You know, any school in Malaysia would hire you without question. Japanese is so highly sought after there. So is science – especially mind science. You could get your hands on some cool research material. Everyone's willing to have their mind poked for a little bit of money” 

“You just know this course will be handed to you on a platter. Not that I’d have it any other way, of course. You spent the last decade fleshing out these units with me.” 

“Your encouragement means more than you know.” 

“I respect you, Gojo.” He nods, finally taking a sip of the coffee he’s letting get a bit too cool. “I won’t be your friend, but I respect your relationship with your students as well as your colleagues. You’re more fitted to be a Professor than a lot of them already here.” 

“But the system-

“Ah, the system.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hyper-aware of the time ticking away. He needed his dark, quiet time, and Gojo was pulling that from him with every chatty second. “Systems are made to be dismantled, aren’t they?” 

That’s what he leaves Satoru with, and the lingering smell of his shower from this morning. It makes him think for a moment – about his boss, or Nanami’s boss. The way they judge scores and hand out punishments when grades drop, and students drop out. To a high degree, they have nothing to do with lazy pupils or people who make poor decisions about their majors, but when they do fall short, it consumes them. There’s no need to rub salt in the wound, but it's common practice when teaching. 

Control is so fragile in this field – when you’re nurturing new minds. 

Toru slams the door shut on you with the same vigor he showed this morning. You two waited three hours after the day ended to shrug off back home together. The sun is setting in the warm sky – you’re quiet and nervous. Today had been shitty, but freeing in its own way. It gave you time and space, free from Satoru and his seedy, strict ways. You’re talking to people that you haven’t seen in a month, and the normalcy is sparkling off of you. 

What a shame that one look at Satoru’s covered eyes and you’re slinking back into insecurity. He was just so cold. 

He’s an iceberg personified – a walking flurry of winter snow that keeps flying under your jacket, making your skin sticky and wet. You hate it – you hate him, right now. 

Yet, you stay. You let him treat you like this because you’re the idiot. A flustered, selfless idiot who uses her body as ransom for a love it’ll never feel again. You wish you could go back in time and bottle the feeling of the last night you and Toru actually made love. If you close your eyes, you’re back there – back pressed into his sheets, his sweet name on your lips, and the climax just seconds away. He told you he loved you on a loop. Yes, he wanted you swollen with his babies, but that’s nothing abnormal in the heat of the moment. He made sure you knew just how much he loved you. 

When he gets back in the car, you’re rudely jolted from your head, numb to the noise but nervous about what would transpire once he settles so close. You know he doesn’t want to talk to you – he’s said it on multiple occasions on the way here, but that won’t stop you. You still pine for him – still yearning for a shred of attention, even if it’s platonic. You just don’t want him to hate you… never, ever. 

As stupid as it sounds, all you wanted was yourself back. If living a life known as only Satoru Gojo’s wife was your destiny, you’d kill yourself trying to run away from it but would stumble two steps back just to feel him again. 

What a cruel existence… you let your head fall into your open palm. 

Just like he promised, Toru doesn’t speak a word to you as he pulls off, glasses sitting over his hair so he can squint at the road. With both hands on the wheel, you can peek over and see just how tense he is. Thick veins protrude against his pale skin, leaving purpley streaks and tinges against the ocean. Of course, you’d only notice this. Your throat burns. 

“I… I ordered my new bed today.” 

“Will it be here today?” 

You pause, unsure of his tone. He just seems transactional – as if all the life had been sucked from his soul. “No,” You reply, soft as a whisper. It’s lost against the rush of the road. 

“Speak up, or don’t speak to me at all.” 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” 

“And you don’t have to be so goddamn pathetic, but here we are!” He explodes, finally free after holding in anger all day. He used to hate lashing out at you like this – he never really did, but you were the bane of his existence right now, pestering at his ear like an angry fly. “You cried in front of Suguru today. Do you see how terrible that makes me look? I can’t even pretend to care through text, and I shouldn't feel like the bad person, but that’s how it looks, doesn’t it?” 

“I-I didn’t cry-

“You’re gonna call him a liar?” He whips his head around, blue eyes wide and crazy. You can always nail down how he’s feeling with the glint of his eyes. They’re blown and dull – he’s mad. They’re bland and sparkling – he’s endeared. It hurts to know him so well. “You’re seriously going to sit here and call Suguru a liar to my face? Are you dense?” 

“Satoru, I’m sor-

“No! No, you don’t get to be sorry.” His grip tightens. He rolls his shoulders back, so tense that it’s almost painful. “You don’t get to be sorry… not when you’re the one that left. I’ve never felt hurt like that before – it tore me apart.” 

You’re crying now. You can’t help it – the emotion in this tiny car is so thick and hot that you feel suffocated. He’s always been one to swallow his pain or just ignore it through and through. He hates his family but visits them every year. He hates the commercials that interrupt his favorite show but will sit through each one willingly. He hates loud, sudden noises but doesn’t flinch at them. He hates you but loves you. He wants to hurt you, then turn around and heal it brand new. 

Right now, all he wants to really do is yell. It’d make him feel brand-new. 

So, that car ride home is the worst thing you’ve ever put yourself through. It’s constant – belittling, nasty, and loveless. He doesn’t stop. 

“I think it’s so funny – you’re the one telling me to be kinder, when I used to beg for that. Do you understand just how much I begged for you when you were already emotionally checked out? Nobody deserves that.” 

“I-I didn’t-

“You don’t get to speak – you get to listen.” He pauses, taking a breath, then starts again. “You didn’t even spare me a stupid meal – not unless I forced you. I had the swallow back the urge to call you a cold bitch because I felt some type of dedication to you. Call it respect – but it’s all gone now.” Another pause – he has to catch his breath.“You just make me sick. Truly… And when you crawl into my bed feeling lonely tonight,  I want you to feel as disgusting as I felt this last year.” 

Satoru has to stop again. He has to give it to you. “I don’t know… it just feels so good not having to worry about upsetting my wife.” He lifts his hands from the wheel, adding fitting air quotes around the phrase he lost access to a month ago. “I can fuck every person that looks my way, come home smelling like it, and always count on you to open your legs. Are you not ashamed?” He finally spares you a look, not even reacting to the silent, shaking sobs you’re trying to stifle. 

“I’m just so exhausted with being good for you. I’m exhausted with holding your hand and kissing it better when you never did the same for me. You’re cold, calculated, and cruel. So fucking cruel, and I want you to feel it.” Staring you down again, it feels like knives in your back. “Do you feel it? How much I hate you right now? I want it to hurt.” 

“Fucking classic. Pathetic, sad coward. I hate you. I hate what we have.” 

Somewhere, buried in the deepest part of yourself, you conjure up something to defend yourself. “I don’t want to be with you. Look at how you’re speaking to me!” 

“Oh, fuck me! For years, you’ve called me useless, pathetic, and annoying – years! Isn’t that your favorite term, “Stop annoying me, Satoru”? Huh? Am I annoying you right now? Well, I’m not sorry.” He’s flailing like a polite maniac, hair ruffled and disheveled as he nervously runs a hand through it, trying to use the road to balance out his emotions. His heart is beating so fast, you’re crying in his ear, and he’s numb to the core. “I’m not fucking sorry because you’re an entitled brat. My family took you in last time, and you were worried about them thinking you’re fat – they just wanted to cherish you!” 

Your jaw hangs open – those arrows hitting a deeper part of you. “That’s not what happen-

“I’m doing the talking – me!” He whips over at you, swapping hands on the wheel so he can dig a finger in his chest. “How ungrateful, and you still have the nerve to walk around with that Gojo crest on your skin.” 

“J-just stop!” You’re sobbing, trying to hide behind your hands as they cover your face. You’re pushed all the way to the door, cowering in on yourself to dodge his bullets. You’ve never seen him like this, and you never want to see him like this again. The Toru sitting to your right was not the same boy you married. “Stop, okay?! I get it!” 

“If you get it, you’ll get a hotel. You’d sleep on the bare floor and shiver all night, but I know you better than that. You want to be touched – you need to feel real, satiated, and wanted, right? What if I said I didn’t want you anymore? That your body disgusts me, and I’d rather use my hands?” Satoru doesn’t think he means what he says, but he speaks it like he does. If it hurts you, good. It can’t hold a flame to the years of emotional neglect you put him through. “Silence. That’s what I thought.” 

You’re a shell of yourself, existing with holes riddled through your exhausted body from his shots. It feels like once it’s over… It’s over. He’s done, finally empty from the thoughts making him manic. You know he hates you, now. He made it clear that you’re the reason he hates you, and it just makes your decision feel even more right. 

Your husband is gone. 

You sob while he calms down, heavy breathing morphing into contented sighs and occasional head shakes. You feel like a disobedient child after being scolded, ashamed, and wanting to melt away. You never wanted to speak to him again, but you’re so close. You let your eyes slip shut. 

Minutes pass — however many needed to until you’re back home. Toru doesn’t say much, but he is chewing his lip when he parks. “I’m sorry.” 

You scoff. “Now I really don’t wanna talk about it.” 

He huffs out a defiant breath, slamming that fucking car door again just like he’s been doing all day. Still, he makes the time to get out and open yours for you. 

“I didn’t mean that stuff I said about my parents.” He whispers, leaning against the doorframe, eyes lost somewhere in the deepening horizon. “Yes, I think you’re crazy… But so am I, then. I think it’s the fact that you bring it out of me.”

“Satoru, do not speak to me.” 

He thrusts his hand towards you, putting your coolness on display. “Look at you – cold as ice.”

“Are you fuck- Are you serious? You just called me every name in the book, then you try to lighten things up with your shitty sayings?” You reach past him, using the side of the car to stand up and not his outstretched hand. “Nothing is funny right now, Satoru. If you want to hate me, how about you hate me completely?” 

“If you want to leave, how about you leave me completely?” 

You shoulder past him, unable to hide that look on your face, he can’t see. Then, there are people around, and you two have to put a lid on your boiling emotions. Your lips snap shut. 

You two play the role of the emotionally detached young couple too well — you don’t even glance at each other in the lobby or in the elevator. He’ll peek over at you sometimes, wondering if you’ll be looking back. There’s nothing. 

He unlocks the apartment door when you step beside it. As the lock turns, words bubble in your throat. You swallow them down, Satoru lets you in first, thoughtful even in the thick of this seismic rift.

“I have some work to do, so you can figure out dinner.” He starts, key clinking on the hard countertop as the door draws shut. 

“I’m not cooking for you.” 

“Then, there’s plenty of laundry to do.” 

“Just shut up — do you hear how demeaning you sound right now?” You scoff, kicking your black loafers in the corner by the door for him to pick up. 

“What else do you do when we’re at home?” He’s mad, too, wanting to jump down your back for painting him into someone he’s not. “You don’t work from home, I do. I work from home after eight hours on campus — you make sure the home is neat and dinner is made! Why are you so hellbent on fighting me all the time?!” 

Desperate for a shred of control, you fight back. “I work from home, too!” 

“What are you so desperate to prove?!” 

“That I’m not your wife anymore, Satoru! I signed it away, it’s not who I am!” 

“Tell me, Gojo.” He lets himself calm down — two deep breaths, and he leans a propped arm against the countertop. “Who are you, then? Do you even know?” 

He wants a reaction so bad, calling you that name. You won’t give in, you spit venom and then turn your back. “I hate you.” 

“Yes, but answer the question.” 

“You stole every single chance of self-discovery I had.” You don’t know why, but you’re storming off to the spare room in hopes of peace. You know he’ll follow you, and he does, but he’d never undermine you and open the locked door when you don’t want him to. Not even after saying all that to you. He’ll let the lightness of his hair rush in the heavy breeze from the slam, blinking when that lock turns and the thump of your bag hits the floor. 

Still, he reaches for the knob, giving it one little shake. “You know, I really am sorry. There were better ways to air my frustrations out without resorting to name-calling and accusations.” 

“Fuck off Satoru.” You deadpan, absolutely no emotion behind your tone as you unbutton your blouse in the bedroom mirror. He heavy-sighs against the wood. 

“I’m gonna work for a few hours, then grab some takeout. I’ll let you know when it's here.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

Biting down on you is like crunching through ice, and Toru’s teeth are chipped and sensitive. He doesn’t fully realize that you’re retaliating in the one way he hates – by ignoring him. 

There is absolutely nothing Satoru Gojo hates quite like the silent treatment. Fittingly, nobody can dish it up like him either. There were times when you were clawing your skin bloody for an ounce of verbal support, all for him to turn his nose up at you and walk the other way. 

It’s what you have to dig out every time you think you want him back – that cruel existence when he’s too fed up to speak and the venomous words he thinks he can speak to you. Now, you have more material to hate him with. 

However, he does leave you alone for a few hours. It’s wholly welcomed – you’re able to get ahead in some work you’d have to finish tomorrow, kicked up with your laptop on your knees in bed. You have the windows wide open, using the sun as your clock to measure the time before you’d have to take a shower and resort to bed. 

Sometime before the sun fully sets, you can hear Satoru move about the hallway and inevitably shut and lock the front door behind him. You take that time to sit up in bed, rubbing your skin raw in the shower in less than five minutes, and melt into the couch with your current read tucked under your arm. Freedom like this in the space you developed is so serene and exactly what you needed. Satoru never lit candles, so when you sat up to light them, the wick crackled with unuse. Lighting fills the air – the softness of lavender spinning from the smoke like ribbons you can’t make out with the naked eye. 

You’re only wearing socks, wrapped in loose linen shorts and a patterned sleep top that leaves little to the imagination. Not wearing undergarments to sleep is just routine – you don’t know why you feel so naked under the soft, golden light. Perhaps it's the fact that Satoru is due to arrive at any moment. You couldn’t check his location, but when that lock clicks, you’ll be running back to the bedroom with the linger of your smell clinging onto the furniture. 

Or, maybe you wouldn’t run. Maybe you’d eat with Satoru and not pull away when his hand slips—your core trembles at the thought. You quickly open your book to will those thoughts away. 

When that dreaded lock clicks, you’re flying up from your spot, book slamming and heart racing. You have every mind to run for the hills – to curl up on yourself and will the night away with dreams, but you don’t move. You’re too late. That’s what you tell yourself. 

Satoru is slinking back into the apartment, wearing a dark hat over his hair and glasses hanging from the front of his shirt, which he pulls off and places next to his paper bag of takeout. He notices your head over the back of the couch, smiling softly when you turn to him with an unreadable look on your face. 

“I got Thai food, I know it’s one of your favorites.” 

You don’t respond. His smile fades into grey. 

“Food from Thailand-” He starts, unveiling the carry-out boxes hidden in their outer packaging. There’s a separate plastic bag he unveils, setting it next to it. “-And drinks from Japan. I got cold green tea – your favorite.” 

“I’m not hungry for anything provided by you, unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?” He scoffs, eyebrow raised as he moves about the kitchen, not bothering to plate the food, but opting for real chopsticks. It’s a stainless steel pair you got for his birthday – his favorite. “Don’t be hard-headed. Come and eat this.” 

You stare at him blankly, blinking once before turning back to your book. In your rush, you absolutely lost your page, and it was one of your final straws. You can feel the frustration start to build in your bones. 

Satoru closes in on you from behind, gaping mouth and disheveled, hatless hair everywhere as he takes a noisy bite of his rice noodles. He crunches on his broccoli in that savage way you despise, exhaling loudly as he slams into the couch next to you. 

Pulling your limbs close and turning your nose up at him, you scoot to the edge, begging for distraction from the words you’ve already read in front of you. You still couldn’t find your page. 

“Don’t be like that.” He mutters around a bite, manners completely thrown out the window when he’s next to you. 

“How about you don’t be like that.” 

“Like what? Cold? Cause that’s what you’re being.” Two seconds after his last, Toru shovels another loaded bite into his mouth, chewing quickly. “I like that sleep set on you. Reminds me of our first anniversary.” 

Satoru can never be vague – the entire idea is lost on him. It wasn’t in your head when you pulled this set out of your bag; it’s just what you packed to sleep in. Your options are so limited, and now you feel like you can’t run from them. 

“Close your eyes, then.” You cross your knees, trying to shrink yourself further so you don’t fall victim to his man-spread. He’s taking over the couch with his long limbs like he always has. Years ago, you didn’t care because it was just an excuse to be touching him all the time. Now, you’re running from it. 

Caving and leaning forward to put his meal down, he gives you a look over his shoulder – one that pulls your attention from the turn of a new chapter. “Don’t be like that,” he repeats, then his knee bumps your thigh. You suck in a breath. 

It feels like the end closing in again – dreaded but so familiar. 

Satoru blinks once, then licks over his lips. Your finger twitches as it washes over you again. 

Then, he turns around, wrapping a thick hand over your throat. You react with claws, reaching up to tug at his wrist. He’s not being gentle – your breathing is uneven and scared. Knees pressing to the couch to crowd you, Toru lets your book tumble off your lap when he pins you down. 

Your hands are shaking, eyes screwed shut, but completely unable to speak. He’s got you so vulnerable like always – reduced to a thing manufactured for his pleasure who would never, ever say no. 

After all, what’s a man to do? This was customary during the marriage, and if you’re willing to give it, Toru is more than willing to take it. He can read you well enough to know this is what you need – him. 

As he crawls over you, both knees pressed close to your thighs, his weight shifts back, and your legs quiver. He’s got your arms tied up, legs pinned, and body becoming one with the cushions. If you’d look, you’d see the tent in his grey sweatpants standing at full attention as he dominates you into wordless, fightless putty. 

You only need one more thing to seal the deal – that mature, deep, reassuring voice scorching you like fire on mealy stones. 

“Gonna give it to me?” He whispers, free fingers pushing through his lips into the warmth of his mouth. He’s wetting them over, unsure what to expect when he dips his hand into your shorts. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and that’s as good a sign as any to let him know you wouldn’t be an overactive sprinkler system down there. 

You don’t answer him right away – those two fingers twirl around his digits like he’s making out with them. 

Under this dull, shadowed light, you crack open your eyes and die at the sight hovering over you. 

Toru’s light hair hanging over his blinding eyes, the way the shadows dip in the sucked hollows of his cheeks and bounces off the strength in his hand. A small, silver bracelet rolls down his arm, hanging from pale skin so delicately that your insides tremble and shake. 

You squeeze them shut again. “Oh, my God.” 

“Well, Gojo, I’m not God.” He mutters, wet fingers falling from his lips. He trails them down past your waistline, using his instincts to push them right to your warm, waiting cunt. Easing you apart, he raises an eyebrow at the slickness that pools around his fingers, but his heart is pounding. You’re wet for him – growing wetter by the second, and he’s drinking it up like a greedy child, tongue darting over his lips again. “But it feels like you want it.” 

“Don’t wanna talk-

“Well, I do-” He cuts you off with a bite of his tongue. He gives you no warning, but you can feel his fingers start to slip lower, completely disregarding your pleasure and focusing on intrusion. Your breath picks up when his fingers slip inside. “-Wanna talk about it. It’s impossible to get off when you’re keeping your filthy mouth shut.” Punctuating his point, that finger inside of you curls mean against your shivering walls, hooking you like prey. 

“Ugh – God, Satoru.” 

“Yeah, let me hear it.” He eggs you on with a deep voice, sliding another finger inside of you. He waits a moment, grip tightening uncomfortably over your neck, before he’s fucking you on them – no mercy. He’s not tender with anything anymore. “God, Satoru, Jo, Toru, Gojo – I don’t care. Just say my name.” 

“Ugh – I hate you.” 

He leans down, lips hovering over yours as you slowly blink your eyes open. It’s startling… looking right into his pearlescent gaze, but it's so familiar that you could die. Then, he kisses you like everything is okay. You kiss him back. 

“I love you – Mm, I love you, baby.” He’s rejoicing on your lips, the lines between marriage and separation blurring in his hazed mind. “Love when we fight ‘cause it shows that you still care.” 

“Higher… H-higher, I wanna com-

“No, it has to be on my cock.” He cuts you off with little thought, thumb only barely lifting to ghost across your shivering wet clit. It shocks you from the blood, back arching painfully over the soft couch. “Just wanted to get you wet for me first.” 

If it were anybody else, you’d be cringing with the language Toru so easily lets melt off his tongue, but it drives you deeper. His hand on your throat – his voice in your ear. Yeah, this is why you married him. It’s just too good. 

You want more. 

“Then give it to me.” You growl, finally ready to be his again. You’re ready to hear your old pet names – you’d be good enough to hear them. If he just keeps this up… if he lowers you deep enough, then pulls you back up for air, you’re sure it’d be the one thing that reels you back. 

“Fuck – I love you. I love that I can hate you. I love that I can love you. I love that I can fuck you.” He sits up, face flushed from your presence. His thumb is back at his lips, studying the taste of your chapstick on his tongue. He looks so manic, like he’s entirely taken with your dark expression. 

Finally, that hand around your throat unravels, and you’re taking a deep, reassuring breath. “Don’t say that. Not right now.” 

“No, I know you want it hard.” He mentions if it was a fact, like he knows how repressed you are from a too-sweet marriage. The main thing Satoru adopted when you took his surname, was the absolute definition of love and gentleness. During sex, he never squeezed you too hard. During arguments, he’d nod and let you win. There is something there – something that drove that part of love out of your life. You’re just too blind to see it. 

“You don’t have to say it, I know you feel ashamed.” 

“C-can you just…” 

“Can I what?” 

“Get on with it.” You whine, hips bucking up into his pelvis. He loves trapping you like this, chests kissing when you take a deep enough breath. “I don’t want— don’t wanna talk about it.” 

His hand closes around the underside of your jaw, yanking your head to force eye contact. You’re like a puppet – pliable and jelly in his grip. You can’t fight back against his strength. 

“You don’t get to rush this. Not like before.” His voice simmers out, getting lost in his chest all gravelly and hard. His fingers dig into your jawline, leaving wells against the sensitive muscle. Your face twitches, eyes shut and burning. 

Then, he slaps you for some reason – on the face. 

Your lips part, eyes flying open as you suck in a breath. Your body is rolling under him, shivering with generational need for him to bury himself inside of you. “Ohh, God. Toru–

“Knew you’d like that–” another slap. You bare your teeth. “-Fucking shameless.” 

“D-don’t wanna hurt,” 

“Ye, you do.” He slaps you the other way, gentler on his backhand but strong enough to leave a sting. You’re wiggling from his grasp – his hot fingers tighten. “You were shaking in the car when I was demeaning you. You know, that’s what I was doing – demeaning you just like you do to yourself. If it didn’t feel good, you’d have burned my number the second you left.” 

“S-so mean…” 

“Didn’t mean all of it, but I meant most of it.” He leans real close again like he’s trying to push words into your gasping mouth. “Respect is earned, lust is given. You’ve gotta give it to me really good for me to even glance at you outside of these walls again.” 

Toru sits up, letting you free as both hands work at his waistband. He’s not stalling, and he’s so hard that his cock whips out with one tug at the crotch. He hisses as cool air hits too-hot skin. “Tell me what you told Mama, baby. ‘Toru is so cold, he ignores me’? What about, ‘He watches my every move, even my bank account’?” 

You don’t really understand what he’s trying to say; all you’re focused on is the pure, shiny white pearl falling over his fist as he works himself in front of you. You’re trying to look him in the eye – his shirt is between his teeth, now. He’s the perfect reflection of the lust you keep buried deep inside of you. 

“Bet you didn’t tell her about how I peeled the underwear from your skin and sucked them clean right in front of you on our wedding night,” his neck tenses as pleasure builds white-hot in the core of his hard body. “Or how I obsessed over that green tea you told me you liked on our first date – the green tea sitting in that bag over there you didn’t touch. Remember how I wiped the shelves of it and surprised you with a fully packed fridge? Or your ring, I had resized six times just because it kept falling off during sex, and I’d have to stop and put it back on? Hm… there’s that time I missed finals because I was hungover in a hotel room with you in Shibuya. The last time I drank, I drank for you.” 

You’re crying now. It’s a feeling you’re used to – crying at the thought of him and everything he’s done. The ring now sits beautifully on your finger. It’s so embedded into your being that you don’t notice you haven’t taken it off. 

“Yeah, how can you ignore that? It’s true love, I don’t care what made you run so afraid, but my love never faltered.” 

“If that’s all you want to see, fine.” The tears are making you angry – you’re frustrated by the build-up, horny and tense. Your face burns from his palms. “But I see the times you purposefully didn’t make me finish, how you told your family I was crazy for not wanting them to comment on my body, and the weeks of silence you gave me after.” 

“Insignificant things, sure.” 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“Because I did it, so what?” Toru’s starting to get himself there – scarily close to finishing from the flustered sound of your voice and the quickness of his fist. He quirks his neck, finally pulling open his eyes. “Ugh – what about when you told your friends how I wasn’t good in bed? The same friends I have to see every day?” 

“None of my friends are going to stroke your ego. You don’t like how I describe you? Fix it.” 

That cold look in his eyes burns as he hoists your hips up with one arm. There’s no real way to fuck you comfortably like this, so he’ll maximize his own pleasure, knowing you’ll cry and come for him at the drop of a coin, and the pain will only make you hotter. 

One long leg swings over the side of the couch, foot planted just the way he needs to keep his balance as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. You’re stretching so filthily around him – opening up to everything he has to give. You’re already blooming that delicious pink-red shade he loves so much. He’s so focused on the sight that he doesn’t notice the line of drool that slips from his shiny lips. 

“Put me down– this angle.” You’re whining, fingertips digging into the side and back of the couch like you’re trying to run away. He has your body pressed in a sick seventy-degree angle, your thighs burning and singing with pain at the awkwardness. 

“-is so hot, I know.” Satoru throws his head back when he’s buried all the way inside of you. He focused on this feeling right now – filing it away as one of his favorites. He feels so safe and surrounded like this – loved from the core of his being, even when you’re deadset against him. “Baby, you’re so flexible.” 

You’re sweating now, tears sliding hotter down your flushed cheeks. He’s rolling his hips, staring off into space as he brushes your cervix. Your hand flies up to push at his chest – you fall short. “S-stop! God, you know I hate that.” 

Toru finally looks down at you, gaze sparkling in turquoise hues as he watches you flail for mercy. “Feel good?” He rolls his hips again, breathing so delicately like he’s in heaven. “You’re so wet. Gonna make you feel me tomorrow.” 

It’s the last thing he truly says to you before pulling out halfway – mind on a mission as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars. All the blood is rushing to your heart and head – eyes rolled back like you’re on the verge of death as his thrusts send you deeper and deeper. He’s pushing you into the cracks of the couch, uncaring of how your neck is straining and face reddening. He’s fucking you with his eyes shut – perhaps imagining someone else, yet hopelessly in love with you. 

Your body is trembling as he continues the assault on your poor cervix – his eye twitching every time he slams into that soft little barrier. 

Toru has a sad affinity for this – being so deep inside of you that if he were any deeper, he’d be playing in your womb. He’s so obsessed with your body – he can’t help it. He loves your taste, and the way you sound, look, and feel. Every one of his five senses is wholly devoted to you, and still, you found a reason to leave him. 

He lays you down so well every night, and still you tell your friends he can’t make you come… To him, it sounds like a personal problem. He won’t let you fuck with him like that – not again. He’ll just fuck the devotion right back into you as hard as he can. 

Toru’s sweating now, too. It’s dripping off the hair sticking to his forehead – hips moving so fast they’re blurred with speed to the naked eye. Combined wetness makes those lewd squelches so much louder, and you’re deafened by your own desire. 

Sanity is starting to slip away from you. Satoru notices immediately. You’re not tearing at the couch as hard as you usually would – your grip falls loose. 

“Look at me, beautiful. Look at how well you’re taking me.” He grunts, taking breaths between each deep word. His voice is so lost – so wrecked, and it wrecks you. A whine punches from your throat. 

Toru gulps and starts again. “Hey, c’mon. Gonna be a good girl and stay with me?” 

“Too- It’s too-

“Shh, shh… Don’t talk, honey. Let me take care of you.” It might be a bad idea, but Toru has you completely mindless. He reaches for your clit and pinches it whisper-soft between his thick fingers just to elicit a different reaction from you. He smiles when your eyes fly open. Your whines are the only thing he can hear. “Do you know how good you feel – how good you’re making me feel?” 

“Mm, yeah. T-tell me.” 

“It’s so hot.” He starts. Moving both big hands to your waist when you start to slip. The sweat against your silk, all streaky and stained, is so slippery, Toru wishes he can rip it off. “You’re squeezing me so tight, it feels like home – God, it’s just so hot.” 

You’re crying even harder if that’s possible. The onslaught of his deep, precious voice during this rush of physical and mental stimulation is just too much. It feels like you love him so much – like you want to open up and give him babies, be his forever, but you can’t. 

You’re not even his anymore. 

Then it hits you like a cruel joke without a punchline – your orgasm, right to the face. 

At that very moment, all life is pushed from your bones. You go completely limp in Toru’s grip, dragging him down like dead weight. He scrambles, letting your hips fall as your body shakes and seizes with release. 

It’s never hit you this hard before. It’s never come to you so unexpectedly. 

You’re obsessed. 

“Oh, my God… Shit, you should see your face.” Satoru’s voice carries you through the mindlessness. He’s sitting between your thighs, pulling his leg behind him to finish you off in missionary. Your legs are too weak – they fall open and expose you like you’re a prize to be bid on. “So pretty… So beautiful; my perfect wife.”

“N-

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard. It’s coming – shit, ah-

Toru can only roll his hips because the expression of pure mindlessness you’re making is better than the ruthless way he’s screwing you. Seeing your strict demeanor crumble and burn with the feeling of him makes him so fucking cocky. He knows you now – has never seen this before, but will do anything to see it again. 

When he comes, he buries his face in your neck, getting drunk off your scent as he ruts into you weakly. He can feel himself flood and pool around his cock – leaving a sickly, shiny layer on him once he pulls out. It falls limp against your thigh, and for a moment, Satoru collapses into you. He holds you like a prize. 

You two must’ve stayed like that for hours – days have passed in your mind. You’re not worried about his crushing weight or his soft breath; you’re worried about what your friends will think when you tell them Satoru just gave me the best sex of my life. 

Shoko will laugh – Utahime will take pity. Yeah, you have to tell them. 

When he’s finally sitting up, it feels like your skin is being pulled from your body. You two are interconnected; he has to sit up slowly so your soul doesn’t detach, too. His hair is a mess – it’s the first thing you see when you creak open your eyes, feeling high off of something you couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was him – how you couldn’t get enough of that savory, sex-filled scent that wafts off his godly body and settles in your skin. 

This feeling —lost in a rose-colored daze —feels like love. 

“If you can sit up, I’ll grab you some tea.” He sits back, sliding his pants over his filthy skin. Of course, he has plans to shower later, but he’s hungry. That always comes first. “You want some Pad See Ew, baby?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

He rolls his eyes, and finally, you two feel like yourselves again. You’re rolling over on your side, positioning your shorts back over the mess between your thighs – shoving your chest back in its constraints. 

“Will you cut it loose? You know how hard I just made you come? I swear, you saw Jesus.” 

“Shut up.” You bite. “No, I didn’t.” 

Satoru sucks his teeth, kicking his legs back up as he takes his cool noodles back in his grip. He’s eating like nothing just transpired – hair sticky with sweat, come drying on his skin. You feel just as dirty, and when you move to kick your feet off the edge of the couch, your core cramps and tightens. Your hands fly there to cradle it. 

“Ah- fuck.” 

“You okay?” 

“No!” You snap, overcome, and pissed because you told him you didn’t like when he targeted your cervix like that. It didn’t take a genius to know it’d be bruised for these next few days. “I don’t know if you know, Satoru, but you can’t fuck yourself into my womb, so you need to stop trying.” 

You’re not trying to be funny, but Toru chokes on his food with a laugh. He’s coughing – laughing. You’re glaring. 

“But I know it’s so warm and safe in there, baby.” He sighs, pushing your overwhelming strictness off his shoulders like he always has. Yes, he knows about your cervix aversion. No, he wouldn’t fuck you halfway – there’s no point. He needs to be buried inside of you, all the way to the hilt, or it’d kill him. 

“You have no respect.” 

“I don’t.” He mumbles, taking another bite once his breath evens out. Sharp canines scrape against pristine metal. You glance over at his striking side profile. “But seeing you so beautiful and willing to let go like that might be bringing some back.” 

“How about you keep it?” You’re trying so hard not to let him in again – so hard. His voice is sweet like honey, and his movements are endearing, but you know it’s that post-sex ovulation-thick way your thoughts twist and twirl everything into something it’s not. You can only hope that the feeling of absolute detachment you experienced a month ago will return and bring you to your senses, as Satoru did. 

Unfortunately, you’re leaning into his strong frame when he fishes for a vegetable-heavy bite for you, mentioning, “Open wide.” As he pushes it between your lips. 

Sauce dribbles across them; Toru reaches to wipe it away, then leans in to lick them clean. 

That lick turns into a kiss – his hand pressed to the side of your head, chopsticks digging into your hair as his tongue licks forward into your mouth. He wants something else out of you now – your devotion. Perhaps that umami taste on your tongue that he’s so addicted to. Either way, you’re making out with him like you love him, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Toru is just so in awe of how sexy and mindless you look right now. He wants to make a mess of you again. “On a scale of one to go rot in Hell, pervert – how pissed would you be if I said I was hard for you again?” He whispers against your lips, serious as hell, but moreso focused on never letting up on yours. 

“Go rot in Hell, pervert.” 

Midnight has ticked by – forgotten takeout containers litter the table. You’re standing in the dark, legs trembling in the shower as the throbbing in your stomach makes it hard to keep steady. 

You’ve been here many times before, losing your mind against the rush of clear water. Moments like these give you time to think – to want, to yearn. 

Now, you’re yearning for Satoru. 

You want him to bust the door open and press his naked, wet body into yours until you become him. You want his hair in your mouth – his blood on your skin, his touch on your bare, shivering flesh. No skin, no boundaries. 

Your shame spans countries – continents. You hate yourself. 

Reaching between your thighs, you cup your hand against your core, absorbing the flaky traces of him before the water washes them away. Once, it was so thick – so soft against the heat of your legs. Then, it felt like lava pouring into your soul. Now, Toru’s old finish feels like a stain on your skin. You sigh. 

Satoru loves showering with you, so it doesn’t take him long to come slinking in, welcome as ever. He’s still wearing those tired, terribly attractive grey sweatpants, hair wild from constantly running fingers through it. The sweat’s got the strands sitting on a different gravitational field – they’re everywhere. 

“You can tell me to go die, but I swear it’s just gonna make me stay longer.” He whispers, stepping inside with you like he always has. This is such a familiar maneuver – so familiar it makes you smile. His hand on your wet shoulder, his toned stomach melting into your back. You sigh against him, nodding slowly. 

You don’t know what to say. “Hi.” You reply, rolling your head back on his sturdiness. Toru breathes out a short laugh. 

“Hi, my love.” He kisses the top of your head, taking this moment as his. Nothing can ruin this right now. 

One more kiss – a few seconds to linger, then he turns you around. His hands trap your arms, and his tall reflection feels like home as he gazes down at you. You’re being stared down like headlights in the dark – blinding and cruel. You blink up at him. 

One arm falls, reaching between your pressed bodies, and your thighs part as they know. Except his fingers concentrate under your belly button, smoothing out before pressing softly. You suck in a breath. 

“It feels good to leave my mark like that, though it hurts you.” He’s mumbling, so the mood isn’t lost or twisted. Satoru is in here because he knows one more round will do him in perfectly. So, he pushes you to your knees, keeping his arm strong and stiff to guide you as you fall. 

You do so without saying a word, ignoring the singing in your pelvis and the shame on your cheeks. He knows what he wants – you know what he wants, so you don’t waste time. 

Rescinding all control, you lean forward and press your lips to his heavy-hanging cock, breath so hot and painful in your throat. His thighs smell like him – the tuft of hair around him being the absolute goldmine of his body. A beautiful head of hair falling into a gorgeous face, body, and crotch – all dripping like a waterfall to his long fingers, strong legs, and wide feet. Every part of him was crafted with so much care and precision; it’s your job to worship it. 

Satoru reaches down, grabbing his cock by the base. He palms it to the side, letting it linger on his thigh as he presses your face to the swell of his sack. You whine, tongue darting out to catch the water that streams against the soft skin. Satoru tastes so much like himself as you suffocate between his legs, but it’s a taste so salty and loving that if you could bottle it for a high, you would.

He holds you close for a moment, letting you kiss and lick at him like a needy kitten. His thick fingers trail across your chin, sending down little breaths and moans to make your blood hotter. You reach up and bury your fingertips in his thighs. 

Satoru pushes you away once he’s hard enough. His blood is rushing again, thick cock painted in a hue of crimson. It almost matches the palm of his hands – as soft as them, too. Shiny and pink like his lips. 

“Open your mouth.” He demands.

You do. 

Water attacks your gaze when you try to open your eyes, but he notices and shifts just for you, letting the water pelt his shoulder blades. With a curl of the lip – a suck of the cheek, he gathers spit on his tongue and lets it fall right into your waiting mouth. 

Your lips snap shut. His cock eases against your jaw, sliding delicately across your wet skin. He pushes your head back, water falling on your skin as he rubs his length over your cheek, brushing your nose, poking at your eyelid. 

He’s guiding himself with his thumb, making sure he’s pressed close enough to feel something. The rest of his fingers tangle in the hair behind your ear, caressing you like a porcelain doll. 

Satoru knows he has you again. It’s a feeling he can’t see but can pinpoint in the darkest of hallways. It’s the sound of your voice – your obedience, your care for his jokes. He knows. 

You’re right back where he wants you. 

At the end of the night, you crawl into his bed. All the lights are off, and the bathroom door is cracked – soft light from your shower spilling into the void. You think Satoru is asleep on his side of the bed – his soft snoring is familiar. 

You’re half asleep, throat on fire, stomach in knots when you crawl over him. 

Your knee presses into his side, body sliding over his arms as you make your way. He ruined your set, and now you’re wearing his clothes to bed. You don’t mind. Satoru surely doesn’t mind when he blinks awake, and it’s the only thing he sees. 

You settle against his back, slipping an arm under him – winding one over his broad shoulder. He’s the little spoon, rolling back into the touch like he’s never been without it. You used to hold him like this when you called him your husband, sneaking little ear kisses and wandering fingertips as the night dragged on. 

Now, he knows you’re awake. He’s awake. 

His voice hits so genuinely, you think it might kill you. “We don’t have to be married if you don’t want to be… but I think we’re good enough to start over.” 

“Satoru…” You whisper, voice broken with the ghost of him scrubbing your throat raw. “I’m scared.” 

“So am I, but it’s a good feeling.” He reassures, giving you that sweet, low voice he knows you can’t say no to. “If this weightlessness isn’t gone by tomorrow, we’ll know, and I’ll give you your divorce.” 

It’s been a week since you’ve been moved into your apartment. You and Satoru have had sex two more times since that night, but you two don’t bring up the obvious. 

You’re staring in the floor-length bedroom mirror, fingers at the blouse you’re buttoning to your skin. Like always — it’s your friend's idea. You’re impartial to karaoke, but they’re desperate to see you again, chalking up the weekend outing to a housewarming. 

It’s been too many times that you’ve blown them off; now you have to show up. 

You straighten out your hair in the reflection, avoiding your eyes and the darkness that just won’t fade. Your phone rings — exercising bad habits, you reach for your side table to answer it without checking the caller. 

“Hello?” 

Your mom is on the other line — her voice is warm. ‘Hi, dear. We haven’t heard from you since you visited. How’s Tokyo?’

You sigh, stepping back to sit on the edge of your bed. “Um… I know. It’s just been a lot. Tokyo is good… It’s good for me to be back here.” 

‘Settling into your new place, still?’

“Unfortunately.” You’re ripe with shame for some reason, fingers twisting in the strings hanging from your thin skirt. “Had a friend help me move the last of my new furniture today. It’s good to actually have stuff.” 

She hums — you know she wants to say more. ‘And… is it okay if I ask about him?’ 

You close your eyes, the sound of her gentle voice making you cry only the way a mother can. “Satoru? Mhm. I put in for divorce yesterday. Just waiting on the proceedings to be shipped to me.” 

‘That’s good. I’m proud of you for taking that step. I know it’s hard.’

“Really, really hard.” You’re crying now, unable to hide the sound of it in your voice. Over the line, she hears, giving you a sad little hum. You feel so pathetic - reaching up to cover your eyes to hide from yourself. “Mama, I’m so scared.” 

‘Darling, you have no idea just how strong you are and just how strong I think you are. No matter your reasons for leaving, I understand and support them. Satoru was an important person in your life — there’s no doubt about it, but even the closest of relationships aren’t meant to last forever. God has something better for you, you know that.’ 

“Have you ever felt like this? Like you’re standing so close to the edge, but you just… can’t?” 

‘Well, what made you leave him?’ 

Your throat clicks, stopping the words before they’re even thought of. If you cared, you’d give her a laundry list right now, but you can’t. “I- I can’t. I’m ashamed.” 

That’s all you need to tell her. It clicks. ‘It’s not the sex, is it? Dear, if you’re not satisfied, have you told him?’ 

“It’s-” You pull the phone from your ear, chest tightening as tears rush. “It’s not that, it’s the opposite. We can’t stay away from each other.” 

‘Oh,’ she pauses, unsure of where to step. You two always had a good enough relationship to talk about these things, but the conversations were few and far between. You hardly talk about Satoru when you're at home, which is why the divorce doesn’t surprise her. ‘How many times… have you two been together since the split?’

“Four or five times.” You’re beet red in shame, sniffling into your hands as you try to muster up words. “It’s so bad, I know.” 

‘Nobody can blame you for going back to what you know. After so long with your father, I don’t even know if there’s a man out there who can even make me feel anything anymore. You’ve been with Satoru for years — he’s all you know. Don’t feel guilty.’ 

“Thank you.” You cry, snotting into your hand, ruining the makeup you painted so precisely just minutes ago. “It’s just – the sex is good, but everything else is so terrible with him.” 

‘Then, you’re making the right decision. Trust it.’ She pauses for a moment, offering you the rustle of movement to fill the silence. ‘I don’t dare overstep, but if all he can offer you is pleasure, why don’t you just find another outlet?’ 

“What do you mean?” 

‘Going to the gym regularly could help you balance out some of that need. Or, you could derive pleasure from other sources. I know it won’t be the same, but toy-

“Mom.” 

‘I know – you don’t want to hear it from me.’ 

“No, I don’t.” 

‘Then pretend like I’m a friend.’ She doubles down, evening out her voice as she repeats. ‘It won’t kill you to just try. It can’t be worse than going back to him, can it?’ 

And that’s what you tell yourself as you crawl back in bed, breath heavy and hot in your lungs. The conversation ended long ago – you had to sit with yourself for a bit afterward, letting her wisdom set you straight. It feels better to know that you’re not a touch-starved slut, and it makes sense that you keep going back because it’s all you know. Change is uncomfortable. That’s what she left you with.

Now, you’re lying on your back against the rustle of sheets, staring at the ceiling, trying to work up the nerve. Proudly, you don’t own any sex toys – your husband was a walking one with a voice and touch that drove you mad. It’s what you’re trying to lose as you part your knees, hand reaching down to pull your panties to the side. Under your skirt, it’s so easy to get where you need to go – Satoru always loved you in them, and always found the perfect excuse to be under it come nightfall. 

You’re thinking about one of those nights – skin to skin, your voice melting off of his tongue as you slowly approach your core. Your fingers concentrate at your slit, completely bone-dry save for naturality. You breathe out a soft breath, working up the nerve to dip your finger a little closer to your most sensitive area. 

You can’t find the nerve. 

“Fuck.” You bite, angry at yourself as you hesitate. Time moves slowly suspended at this moment, and when you slip your eyes shut, all you can see is his gaze – that cheeky little wink he sends you when he’s propped between your legs. You’re combing back to remember his taste – his touch, the way he loves. It makes your heart skip a beat in anticipation. 

“Toru… Toru – mm…” You whisper, gasping when your fingers slide over your clit, making your back arch embarrassingly. “Please, Satoru – right there.” 

You feel so pathetic, but it feels so good. Too good. 

Just not enough. 

You work your smaller fingers in messy, quick circles against your bud – just trying to get yourself off so you can have a level head tonight with karaoke. It’s shameful just to admit how much you get from being intimate with Toru – it’s a way to lose your mind, like a high from a drug that costs way too much. 

You’re trying to mimic his deep tone in your head, whispering how good and beautiful you are. Your hand quivers as you bring it to your neck, hoping the soft squeeze will be enough to emulate Satoru’s affinity for squeezing you there. It works, if even for a second. Then, you’re scrambling for your phone, remembering the one video he sent you two years ago. You were in Tokyo, and he was in Kyoto – he missed you and recorded a video of himself in bed, vocalizing just how much he did. 

That tone – that adoration. It’s what you need. 

So you’re swiping manically through your camera roll, one hand frozen between your thighs as you search and comb the archive. 

Finally. You’ve never clicked on anything so fast. 

As you click the video to start, you push your head back into the pillows, working your fingers at your clit like you’d die if you stopped. 

God, his voice. 

‘Hi, baby. Just got to my room… It’s so big and lonely without you here… I know you’re gonna shake your head and think ‘God, he’s so dramatic.’ like you always do, but I miss you. If a man is dramatic for missing his wife, then lock me up and throw away the key because I'll be in jail for a long, long time… I wish I can touch you right now. Wish you were here so I can tell you all about my day – you’ll tell me about yours… then we’ll make the sweetest love… look, see how soft this bed is? You’d sink right in, love. I’d have to dive in and pull you up for air, haha… Anyways, I know you don’t like when I talk too much about nothing, but I really do miss you. Work trips are the worst. Well, I love you. So, so, so much. Alright baby, good night…’ 

He kisses the phone, and the video goes dark. 

You’re close, leaning over to bite the pillow in a sad attempt to muffle your overwhelmed sobs. In a few swipes, the video is replaying, and as soon as that deep laugh licks the line, you’re convulsing and coming all over your fingers. 

When you’re sitting in the dark blue light in the private karaoke room, you feel lighter, yet so guilty with shame. It’s only been twenty minutes, but you’re three drinks and two shitty pop songs deep. Now, you, Shoko, and Utahime are listening to the machine run – letting the choppy backing track carry the silence when one of you stops talking to take a sip. 

Shoko’s at your left, leg pressed to your bare one, blinding white screen cutting through the darkness as she feverishly texts someone back. When you lean over to ingest her business, you see Suguru’s name. Your heart flips. 

Clutching your glass like it’s a stress ball, you sit up so fast your head is spinning. “Please tell me you didn’t invite him.” 

Shoko scoffs, not even looking at you as she sends Suguru an “okay” message. “What? Of course, I invited him, who do you think’s gonna buy the drinks?” 

“Okay, but you know he’s going to bring Satoru – Shoko, I’m gonna fre-

“I told him not to invite Gojo. Chill – it’s fine. They’re walking up now, I think. He’s just bringing Yu instead.” 

You huff, sitting back with the mind to trust her. You can’t win against an angry or annoyed Shoko – never. Not even when she’s tipsy, and you’re drunk. You actually don’t want to fight at all because you know you’d curl into a ball and call a truce. 

The fact that Suguru is just bringing Yu is a red flag – he went to school with them before you even met. If there’s one, there’s always the other. It’s suffocating trying to leave someone so integral to your friend group. 

You didn’t notice exactly when Utahime ducked out of the room, so you’re loopy and surprised when she peeks her head through the door, smiling softly, eyes shut. “Shoko-

“What?” 

Utahime opens her eyes to glance at you, then tugs at her lips as she circles back to Shoko. “I have a situation. Can you… come on?” 

“Whatever.” 

They leave you alone like it’s nothing, but you’re thankful for the loneliness. You didn’t even want to come out tonight; you thought the orgasm would help, but the conversation you had with your mother hung over your head like a dark cloud. You feel so lifeless – like joy falls onto your soul just to shrivel up and die. 

Utahime makes sure that the door is shut – she’ll keep an eye on it, too, but she’s panicking right now. There’s nobody in the world who has ivory-white hair, sticking out of the crowd like a sore thumb. It’s a weekend – the bar is thick with bodies, and Satoru stands tall amongst the crowd at the edge of the room, drawing attention. 

Utahime leaps into damage control, waving her hands in front of Shoko like it’d simmer her down before she starts. “Look, I don’t know where Haibara and Geto are–

 “Shit, is that Gojo-

She springs into action, Utahime right on her tail.“-wait! Shoko, look-

-no, I’m killing him.” Shoko would never let anyone see how flustered she was, but she knew this was going to happen. If Suguru didn’t tell Satoru he’d be here, it was surely Yu. She knows you or Utahime aren’t responsible. “Killing all of those fuckers – God, I hate them.” 

Just before Utahime and Shoko can close in on him, Satoru’s attention is pulled to his phone, then the pushing bodies moving through the door. Suguru and Yu are shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing at a joke carried over from the walk here. They don’t see each other often – not with Yu’s secretive job on the outskirts of the city he can’t tell anyone about. Suguru told you it was government work, and Satoru told you he worked for a tech company. They’re both liars, but Yu is sweet enough to overlook the grey matter. He’s been around for years. 

“You. Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest, come here.” Shoko points to each of them respectively, barreling into protector mode to shield your bleeding heart just a few rooms away. She didn’t want to see your face when you saw Gojo, but she also didn’t want to be proven a liar. 

“Hey, Shoko!” Yu tries, unfamiliar with seeing her painted in dark makeup but in love with the reflection. He just thinks she’s great, albeit a little strict. It’s why you two get along so well. “Utahime!” 

“To be clear, you’re ‘dumber.’” Shoko completely barrels past his sunny persona, letting Satoru pick it up when he looks his way. She targets Suguru, grabbing at his baggy sleeve to drag him away for a second. Utahime is quick to start damage control, leaning in to hug Yu and exchange pleasantries with Satoru. It’s hard to hide what she thinks about him when he’s so close – after everything you said about him, too. 

Suguru isn’t even surprised, but he does pull Shoko’s small hand from the expensive fabric, frowning against the flickering blue lights. Everyone’s gaze is shadowed – terribly sung music is ringing in their ears. “I didn’t invite him!” 

“I don’t care! Kick him to the fucking street!” 

“Dude, you’re drunk. Whatever, they’re cordial.” 

“Because she’s actively trying to stay away from him – ugh.” She grunts, disgusted to her core and so flustered she’s tripping over her own feet. Suguru is a lost cause; he’s too nonchalant and sweet. She needed to poke the target – the only man wearing sunglasses in a bar. “You.” She states, pointing a finger right into Satoru’s chest. 

He steps back, feigning ignorance. “Hey-

“Leave – I’m so serious.” 

He’s laughing – of course, he doesn’t think this is serious. “Why would I leave? Come on. Don’t be like that.” 

“Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you!” 

“Shoko–” Utahime steps back in, cheeks all red with flush. Poor Yu has no idea what’s happening – he doesn’t think he even wants to know. 

“You’re gonna kill me? Me?” Satoru’s challenging her; it’s just in his obscure nature. He thinks she looks like a feral kitten, with fluffy hair and a razor-thin gaze. “What’d I do?” 

“Why couldn’t you have just kept your stupid mouth shut?! We wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

“What situation? My divorce?” 

“What divorce?!” Yu stands shellshocked, looking at Suguru, who is chuckling under his breath, then to Utahime, who looks like she just wants to run and hide. He can’t blame her – these two are scary when they’re mad. 

“His!” 

“Mine!” They belt at the same time, emotions running hot without care. 

Then, it’s like something supernatural clicks. Satoru stands up straight, taking a tentative step back. “She… she’s here?” 

“Who fucking cares?!” 

Satoru looks past Shoko’s sad, tiny figure, peeking over his shoulder as Suguru gives him a small nod. 

He feels manic, like a lion swooping in to collect his mate. It’s a feeling in his blood that he’s not sure he can pinpoint, but one that feels like pure, unbridled protectiveness. He just knows you’re somewhere sad and drunk, wishing he were close even though you’d push him away. Without care, he’s shoving past Shoko – she spins on her heel and follows. Suguru slinks behind with his hands in his pockets. 

“Lay off Shoko!” 

“You’re going to make it worse when you go in there!” 

“She needs me!” 

“Guys, come on.” Suguru’s voice evens theirs out as the music thins. They stop in the hallway of private rooms; Satoru is panting. “Satoru, I don’t think you should go in there. We don’t have to fight about it, and you know-

“I’m the only one that knows what she needs.” Satoru presses his hands into his chest, blue eyes open to the hilt under his dark glasses. His heart is racing so fast he doesn’t know how to think. “It’s complicated, but I know she needs me.” 

You can hear them outside the door – you’re staring at the red wood, vision pulling in and out, distorting the obvious. It makes it easier that you’re drunk, but Satoru’s voice feels like a blanket – a loud, mean blanket. Your heart races just like his, swallowing twice when their voices draw closer. 

Then, silence comes. Someone mutters. 

And the door swings open – wind slaps you in the face. 

It takes a second for reality to settle, but when you see Toru’s body in the doorframe, you’re panicking. 

You scramble for cover, rising to your knees pressed on the faux leather couch. He closes in on you before you can blink, and trying to gather yourself to run, you rise to your feet, towering over him, for once. 

“Get down. We’re leaving.” He takes his glasses off when he looks up at you, big hand reaching to snatch yours up. He feels possessive in your drunken daze – mean in a way you’re not sure you’ve seen so blatantly. 

“What? No.” You whine, knees rocking together as you tug against his grip, nearly losing your footing. 

“Get. Down. Look at you – about to fall.” Toru glances over his shoulder at Shoko and Suguru watching on with their fists in their mouths. He has to approach this accordingly – you two are in public, and everyone thinks you’re estranged. 

Then, he thinks to himself – how estranged can a couple be after only a month and a half apart? 

No, Satoru is crazy about you. He doesn’t care. 

He snatches you down so quickly, careful to hoist you to your feet when you rightfully stumble. 

The last time you two saw each other left him with more questions than answers. Satoru is reaching out for you, gripping onto every shred of hope you hang on a string. He thinks these hookups are hope — a way to split you open so he can see who you are and what you need. 

You don’t talk to him much anymore, but you didn’t tell him no when he proposed starting over. It’s why his mind is skewed - you won’t give him the answers he needs, so he’s making it up in his head. 

Not to mention, this is not where you were supposed to be tonight. “You said you weren’t feeling well, so you were gonna stay home.” He closes his hands over your shoulders, shaking them to bring you to life. Satoru is mad, but he’s not angry. You were too drunk to care — trying to drink him away. 

“Mm,” You whine, shaking hands covering your eyes. You feel exposed with your friends in the doorway, even though the lights are so dim nobody can really see your face. Except him. He’s so close. 

“I hate when you do this!” His voice reaches a peak you haven’t heard in a few days. It’s still not enough to rid your shame. “Stop running from me! There’s nothing to run from!” 

His tone makes Shoko stand up straight, ready to dive in and protect your shivering figure. They’re just lucky the music is so loud — it drowns Satoru out. “Hey, shithead. You don’t have to scream at her.” 

Sensing this situation won’t get better if they’re idling, Suguru steps in, smoothing his hand over the top of her back. “Shoko, let’s just leave them-

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trying.” You whimper, safe with him so close but torn to pieces at what you know you have to do. You have to leave him. This has to be the last time you two ever see each other. 

Digging deep, there has to be something there — some kind of courage that can rear its ferocious head and set you free. 

“Trying? All we do is try; this is a marriage!”

“And I want out. Let… let me out.” 

“You keep coming back! Why?! If you hate me, stop crawling back!” 

Like always, you’re crying, hunching in on yourself as his anger shoots for your core. ”I can’t stop! I can’t. I wish I knew how…” You shake your head, scrubbing at your eyes like it’s scrubbing how pathetic you feel from your frontal lobe. “I-I’m so scared that I’m not who you think I am, Toru. I need to be free — or at least feel free — and I need to be wanted by you. That’s all I want. I want you.” 

“See? You’re telling me you don’t want me, then saying you do.” He calms down when you’re shaking so bad you can’t breathe, turning that possessive arms-length hold into a comforting hug. “How am I supposed to work with that? Help a guy out.” 

“I want you.” You sniffle, finally calm enough under the prison of your hands to get some real words out. “I don’t feel good without you.”

“I want you, too — easy as that.” Satoru takes that spark you give him and lights a torch. He pulls you away when he feels your hands lower, heart-shattering when he sees your bloodshot gaze. “We’re back together now, got it.” 

“No, Satoru—

“What about me is driving you so far away?! Help me understand, I’ll change!” 

“How can I ask you to change everything about yourself?” 

You can hear it through the fog — Satoru’s heart plummets. He pulls away. “What do you mean?” 

It has to be the drunkenness— there’s no way you just said that out loud. You don’t even believe it. Yes, he has flaws like every other human, but he tries. 

Which is more than you can say. 

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, the door slipped shut because someone knocked on it as soon as the silence hit. The noise stills you to the core. “Satoru, come on. I’ll take you home.” 

Satoru takes a step back, staring into your soul as if he wants to snatch it away… his gaze is off, as if it’s missing something. Or, like something inside of him has died. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

He laughs — something akin. Just a short, stupid breath of air through his parted lips. Silently, he shakes his head, then turns on the ball of his foot, making a beeline straight for the door. 

“Sat-

“Yeah, Suguru, let’s go.” 

“Sure-

“Satoru, don’t.” Now, you’re doing the chasing, piecing together the only two sober brain cells you have to put one foot in front of the other with purpose. 

Through the door, you’re rushing past Shoko, tears streaming down your face. It’s pathetic — honestly, the laughing stock of your lifetime, but right now, you don’t care. It feels like you need Satoru. Like your heart is ripping from your chest every time he takes a step away from you. 

No. It’s not supposed to be like this. Satoru is not supposed to be leaving you. 

The crowd gets thicker as they approach the front doors — Suguru peeks over his shoulder, expression so damning and overcome as he watches you push past bodies to get to them. Satoru is dragging him along now, holding onto his bicep like he’s on a mission. 

“No! Mph– T-toru!” You sputter, the heel of your hand flying up to tug at your eyes. You can’t see much in the haze – the front door is cracking open. Everything falls by the wayside. “I’ll stay, I’ll try! I promise you, I’ll try again!” 

He stops, grip shaking around Suguru’s elbow before he yanks it back. The three of you stand like statues in the middle of the floor, blocking the exit — bodies pushing. You’re out of breath, swallowing tears and wiping wetness when he turns to look at you. 

In the pursuit, his glasses fell, but somehow you can see the look in his eyes. One that loves you, hates you so well, and that can’t hide the devotion he feels. 

It hurts. You’re running face-first into a lie. 

Satoru blinks at you, breathless, as he closes the distance in less than a second, it feels like. He yanks off his glasses, balancing in his left hand as he cradles your cheeks. Sobbing, you grip his shoulder blades, shaking your head when he pulls your gaze. 

There, in the ripe blue light at Midnight, he kisses you like he used to all those years ago. He holds you, eyelashes shuddering against your skin as he leans into you. 

The kiss is hungry and mean — he’s shoving his tongue between your lips, squeezing your face so you don’t run away. You cry and sniffle against him, whining when he bites down on your bottom lip, drawing blood. 

Satoru’s not done for at least a minute — face so red when he pulls away that you swear he’s due to pass out. In that heaviness afterward, he presses his forehead into yours. Not saying anything, just silence. Pulsing music, unfamiliar stares. 

Nothing blooms into something. You’ve thrown your life to the wolves, innocent and baring your neck to be mauled to a bloody, beautiful end. 

That’s why you’re crying now. Not for him… for you. 

Satoru is on his back in bed, your ring finger in his mouth, sucking the metal clean. 

You’re on top of him, crying like always. Head tossed back, jazz music on your skin, and blossom in the air. You’re riding him like a horse, out of your mind with pleasure as he moans your name. He’s fucking you so good, now, knowing you differently since the breakup. You feel different since then, too. Nastier — headier. 

You know what you want. Satoru knows you know what you want. He’s ready to give it all to you, but right now, all he wants to do is suck your wedding ring. 

“You look so hot like this.” You gulp, tongue flicking from your parted mouth. Your free hand reaches forward to rub over his face, marking the expanse red in your wake. “Look at me.” 

He does, slamming open his eyes and staring at you so blue it feels like you’re drowning. Toru’s pupils are blown to Hell, too — so dilated you could be mistaken for a drug he’s high on. 

“Fuckin– look at you.” He groans, teeth grinding as your hips slam down again. He’s sure your calves hurt with the fervor of your want, but he’s just too much right now. Your body is craving him – he’s treating you so well. 

Satoru reaches forward, kissing your glistening ring as he grips and grabs at the flesh gathered around your hips. Your body is making him drool, and the pure mutual attraction in the air is so thick neither of you can snap out of it. You’re caught in a constant state of praise, adoration, lust, and more praise. 

Everything is perfect, here. You’re not sure you ever want to rise to the surface.

Technically, you and Toru aren’t separated anymore. It’s complicated. 

It’s what you two tell your friends – it’s what you tell yourself. He still refers to you as his wife even though things aren’t perfect all the time. He comes to and from your apartment now, just like you do his, and the space is exactly what you two need. Maybe living with him is too much? Being around him constantly is suffocating? 

The pieces are starting to fall into place. Satoru sees that you still need to feel free even when you’re tied to him with a ring you refuse to take off. If it’s staying so perfectly, ripe with his spit and deep in the throes of pleasure, it’s meant to be on you. 

“Oh, you’re stunning – taking me like this.” 

“Tell me, baby.” 

“Sexy fuc-fuckin’ mouth. God, your pretty little lips–

You’re slowing down, catching your breath as you grind on him like you want it to mean something. Your ringed hand pinches at his chin, egging those words you need to hear along. Toru’s spacing out – he’s close. 

You shiver, that deep, grinding sensation setting you ablaze. It doesn’t dawn on you just how far you were edging yourself until you’re about to snap, but it’s impressive. “Want it in my mouth?” You whisper, dragging one of his heavy hands to your lips. Biting and kissing at the soft webbing between his thumb and pointer, Satoru mumbles something adjacent to yes, then no. You giggle – hardly there, but felt through the vibrations of the pulsing position you’re in. 

“No– yes, oh, suck on it, beautiful… Tell me you love me,” 

“Oh, I love you, Satoru.” 

“Again.” 

“I love you!” 

“Come here.” His voice turns into something primal – deep in his chest in a way he can’t replicate outside of the moment. This is taking you there at an alarmingly defenseless rate, closing in like a bounty hunter. 

Satoru yanks his hand from your mouth, pinning you chest-to-chest by the back of your neck. He knows not to be gentle now, taking the small hairs at the nape and nearly pulling them out. Open-mouthed, sharp-toothed, he gnaws at your cheek and ear because it’s just too much to get to your lips right now. 

It gets too much – he has to fuck you. He feels like a track runner, hips rising from the bed so he can carry you both to the finish line. Toru knows you too well, he knows how to sync your orgasms, and he executes it perfectly this time. 

Fingertips digging in that gorgeous muscle around your hips, Satoru fucks you right – the only way he knows how to keep you, now. He tugs at your earlobe with sharp teeth, gasping right into you. You’re sobbing for him, fists pulling at the ruined sheets as the wetness between your bodies gets too much to block out. 

“Ugh – take it.” He growls, screwing his pulsing release deeper inside of you as it comes. You can feel every spurt – your nerves are on fire. It’s that third one that does you in. It pools right against your favorite spot, stabbing deep inside of you as Satoru lays his mark. 

You’re the one that collapses on him once the aftershocks ride away, but he’s still limply thrusting into you like he doesn’t have a mind to stop. 

After the ecstasy, Satoru thinks he feels… sad. He’s sad that its over. He’s sad you’re so tired you can’t talk to him anymore. He just wants to talk to you. He wants to know how he did… was it good enough for you now?

Everything settles. You roll away sometime in the midst, and Satoru sits up. He knows you’re tired – don’t want to be touched, don’t want to be bothered, but he wants you to know how much that just meant to him. 

He wants to show you how loved he feels. Something he hasn’t felt in that last year of your marriage. 

“Ba-

His phone rings. Satoru closes his eyes and wills it to Hell.

Then snatches it up from the nightstand, eyes glancing at the caller ID as he stands and fishes his underwear from the pile on the floor. 

It’s Nanami. Satoru smiles when he answers. 

“Hi! How’s Malaysia?” 

‘I’ll make this quick – I’m having a peaceful time down here.’ 

“Really?! Aw, well we miss-

‘I was offered a position down here at the school… Effective next semester, but effective nonetheless.’ 

Satoru stands still as a statue in the doorway of the bedroom. Glancing back at you, it seems like you’re completely dead to the world; you must’ve drifted off. 

So, he slinks out with his promise of good news, trying to hide his smile as he shuts the door so softly the click is almost invisible. 

When he’s safe from ears-length, he opens his mouth. “That’s so amazing! How amazing! So deserved – really, that’s so great.” 

‘Don’t be coy, Professor Gojo.’ 

It’s hard to hide the face-spanning smile that creeps over his. Then, he throws his hands up – letting it take over. In any case, he grinded for over ten years just to feel this moment. Now, he gets to live it. “God – it just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?” He flushes like a child, bringing his hand to his face to cover the unbridled joy. 

He has to shake himself free of it again. He earned this. He’s allowed to feel excited. 

After all, you’re not at his feet telling him how annoying his light is. 

‘Fairly well, I admit. Look, Gojo, I didn’t know this was going to happen, but I do not regret it. Your pupils adore you, peers love you, and you’re so smart…’ Nanami pauses, taking a deep breath. Satoru can almost see him now – head in his hands, stewing away in the wake of success. ‘You know I have nothing but respect and faith in you.’ 

“Thank you… honestly, thanks.” 

‘I’ll be back in Japan next week – together, we will work on making this transition as smooth as possible, okay? Don’t let this weigh on you, Gojo. The summer semester is slow. It’ll be the perfect time for you to adapt.’ 

“Yes… yes, sir. I understand. Thank you so much.” 

‘Alright.’ 

Just like that, the line clicks on the most important phone call of his life.

Satoru spent the entirety of his twenties focused on this and you – it’s all he knows, so stepping into this shiny new territory is terrifying and so exciting. 

He just can’t stop. Satoru can’t stop smiling. 

Lost in himself in this moment, the only thing that can pull him out is you. The movement from the bedroom behind him makes that smile even wider. Toru just can’t stop winning today – you’re awake after sex. 

Still, he gives you a moment, giddy in his own skin as he paces, combing his hands through his hair, trying to slow down his racing heart. He doesn’t know whether he should grieve for the years past or look forward to the new ones – maybe both? Maybe talking to you can help him balance out these big, conflicting feelings. 

For once, Satoru actually wants to call his mother. 

He abstains, opting to slip back into the bedroom with a small grin on his lips. You’re not in bed – the sheets are ruffled. Satoru smiles even bigger. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” He peeks his head in the dark bathroom, reaching to pull the dimmed lights a little higher. He watches as newness floats over your body as you lower yourself into steaming bathwater. 

You’re exhausted – bones sore. You needed this. 

Satoru walks into the bathroom, turning the dripping shower head you used to rinse entirely off. Silence spills the nude space. He’s biting over his lip as he watches you settle. 

“Hi.” You reply, finally. Eyes drifting shut as heat melts over your entire strung-out nervous system. Against the heat, you’re shivering,  opening your eyes as you lean against the back. Staring at his smile, you can’t help but smile back. “What?” 

Toru’s phone is still in his left hand. He waves it once, then pushes it on the counter. “Nanami’s all kicked up in Malaysia. Totally forgot about us over here.” 

You laugh under your breath, flashing him the sleepy bedroom eyes that make him feral. He steps closer. “Mm… Miss him. Nanami always has the best family-owned bakery recommendations.” 

“My professor is not a review site – but I agree.” 

“Shut up,” You shrug him off with a short laugh, rolling your head the other way as he approaches the side of the tub. The moment falls in silence – Toru is kneeling beside the basin, reaching for your wet hands against the polished stone. 

“I know it’s still too soon to tell how you’re feeling, huh?” He chews on his words carefully, avoiding eye contact when you look over to evaluate the sudden dip in his tone. 

Satoru’s referring to a conversation you two almost had two days ago over dinner. He brought up moving you back in — you declined immediately. He suggested going on casual dates until the pieces are connected again, but you also declined. 

He asked you what you wanted from him, and you lied. You want his company, but you want his lust even more. You want him to scream your name in his sleep — to torment him with debilitating morning wood and linger in the air long after it’s gone. You want to smile in his face and have him smile back — you want that feeling of teeth against softness when he smiles as he kisses you. 

That’s it. 

“What do you want to hear?” 

“That you’ll forget you ever left and let me buy you that house I always promised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nanami took a job in Malaysia. They’re offering me his position.” 

You sit up, water splashing around you as you stare at him dead-on. Satoru is easy to read — when he’s lying, his eyes sparkle in mischief. He’s telling the truth, you can tell. 

Then, it dawns on you. “Oh, my God.” 

He’s smiling as big as he did when he found out, just ecstatic you’re around to tell it to. “I know.”

“Oh- oh, my God. Baby, I’m so happy.” You whisper, shell-shocked as you pull him into a wet hug. “I’m so proud of you.” Your naked chests melt together with water to make them stick. His heart is sprinting like a hare, knocking over your chest cavity for entrance. 

It’s true – you’re so proud of him. Before Toru was your husband, he was a friend. Previously, he was a trusted and beloved colleague. That’s where it should have stayed. 

“I love you. I do it for you.” He kisses your hair, big hands rubbing your back. This moment with you is so tender and warm, like he can pull away and feel the same heat from you. He knows the truth, though – just doesn’t want to admit it. “I feel so good right now, with you and this news. I think it’s hope.” 

Still hugging him close, arms slung over his neck, your hands pull into fists where he can’t see. You’re staring at yourself in the tall vanity mirror. You know what this is – what he’s going to take from this. Now that he’s found success, naturally, he’ll want to drag you into it. After all, you two spent your best years talking about this time in your lives. He’d get this promotion, and everything will be okay. 

So, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you state the obvious. “I love you.” 

~

 Suguru’s house is up in lights, and chatter spills out through the open kitchen window. Everyone sounds so happy – Satoru’s name is on the tip of everyone's tongue… Everyone is so happy. 

Not you. Never you. You swear something inside of you was manufactured with broken parts – this didn’t make sense. You’ve spent the best week of your life with Satoru. You two had the best conversations, and agreed on the minute stuff. This last week actually felt like the promise – a tiny little inkling of the hope Satoru wanted to churn out so badly. 

Inside, you’re nowhere to be found. 

Once he crawls off of you, you’re drowning in overwhelming numbness. 

When he kisses you, some feeling comes back, only to fade away again with the passing breeze. You look at him and see nothing, you’re tired of hearing about the promotion, and you’re tired of your inability to escape him. 

It passes through you all at once as you stare at the promotion party from around the corner. Suguru lives in a beautiful, well-maintained neighborhood – families and salarymen at the top of their field make this street more alive than you’ve ever felt. You envy it. 

You envy their lives – you bet their marriages are perfect, and their children are beautiful. Their cars are probably polished like Satoru’s, ripe with money like Suguru and demanding attention like Shoko.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fall back behind a fence, willing your life to disappear. You no longer want to have a choice. You don’t want a body that feels something your mind doesn’t – you just don’t want to be here. 

It takes everything inside of you to do it, but one-foot steps in front of the other. Your arms shake as it clutches your purse against your body. Tears come – you welcome them. 

You welcome anything that pours some feeling back into you, because you feel like a dripping, empty chasm. Burning the hope you two created as fuel, your slow steps turn into determined strides, sneaking a look over your shoulder to see if anyone from the gathering was following. 

Maybe you want them to, or maybe you just want to disappear off the face of the Earth. 

You chose the latter. 

France is beautiful around this time of year, but not the city. The countryside sparkles in the humid breeze, away from all the noise and sewage. It feels a little bit like home, only you can’t go back there. Not yet. 

Not when you gave every single piece of your old self away. Of course, you kept the ring and the last name – it feels good to carry him around. It’s proof to your former self, there to remind you that those years did exist, and they were good. 

It’s just you. You’re the faulty component. You’re the missing piece. Satoru is an angel – you’re nothing but a stranger who crashed into his life and drained his happiness from his sweet soul. He doesn’t deserve that. 

The toll you took on him was starting to kill you, but he was too indebted to ever let it show. Satoru would see the darkness in your eyes when he turned your words into a joke, then nod and tell himself to never do that around you again. Being so close to you for so long, his light started to fade at the corners like a vignette. 

He never mentioned it, and when you began to notice, you hated yourself. 

Now, you’re cordial with your mind. It’s had time to think and heal just being alone. Being in France is just a vacation for you – sleeping in a bi-weekly rented cottage a few hours from the Capital. 

You truly picked the destination out of a hat after leaving Tokyo. You quite literally ran for the hills – sending off the stack of divorce documents to his new office at Tokyo-U for him to sign. Inside that sealed package, you had decided to give him the note you had written when you left the first time. You’re not sure why you kept it, but you knew you needed to. 

This was why. You knew you were going to leave again. 

With the absence of him, you’ve begun writing again. It started as notes to him, then to your past self – now it’s studies of the mountainside, the way the air smells as it rushes through your hair. Small little poems to take your mind away, and it feels so good. You don’t feel like a walking extension of him anymore, but you feel like a Gojo. There’s that scary sense of power that sits over your shoulders, knowing it’s all one phone call away from falling back into place. 

You have plans to reach out to him eventually, but it feels good to not exist anymore. It feels good to pad around the little cottage in nothing but your socks and underwear, reciting the poem you wrote yesterday without care of anyone hearing. 

It feels good to feel the morning light on your skin, snaking in through the window with the week-old dried wishbone on the sill. You love this life right now, and that’s all you need. 

All you need is right now. 

@coralbae @nylve @torueater @yossellinn @kiwikeeahwah @gojoikawa @peacequeen2 @asimpinamillion @genericxseas @casssiesthings @bypanana @kr3ideprinz @kamuihz @bbqsauceonmytddys @sukunaslilsocks @spacefae-x @tenaciousavenueavenue

[chornayadrakoshig]

I'm going to add another perspective as a person from a different side of fandom.

One of my navite languages is Russian so most of my time reading and posting fanfiction was spent on Ficbook. The thing is, unlike ao3, that site is monolingual (recently they tried expanding by creating separate sites for English, Spanish, and Portuguese I believe, but they aren't well known). And while there are a lot of native Russian speakers outside of Russia (like me), most of their user base is in Russia.

And the thing is... They are for profit site. They have ads (increasingly more and more over the years). They have "gift" system where you can pay real money to send someone a digital sticker (that back in the day was original illustration at least - now they are heavy on AI-generated shit), and the site gets all that money. They have paid features (e.g. free accounts can only download 10 fics per day and paid accounts can download 100). Some users suggested to move site to donation-based system (or another tier of paid accounts where you'll remove ads in exchange of donations without getting other paid features - ppl wanted to support the site but didn't want paid covers and promo and stats and shit). The site refused, saying that project won't survive on donations, it's not a realistic system (which might be true since they are for-profit and they have paid developers on stuff, but still). So, they kept relying on ad revenue and paid accounts.

And because of that they were trying to walk a thin line of "don't be banned by Russian government" for years. Technically, they moved their servers to EU long time ago (though as far as I know they still hire developers in Russia). But they rely on ads traffic and paid users and ban would mean they lose a big chunk of it simply because Russia is cracking down on vpns and there is some laws around putting ads on banned sites which cuts out actually relevant companies who could've advertise there and bring more clicks and more revenue.

After annexation of Crimea the site added a rule forbidding to write fanworks about "recent world tragedies and political conflicts" with a limit of "6 month after the situation stabilised". However many people noticed that the thing that actively gets blocked is anything pro-Ukrainian related to Russia-Ukraine war, for example a work where author supported Ukraine and urged russian ppl to protest in his author's notes, not in the body of work.

While they don't have it written in their rules, the site deleted multiple works with graphic depiction of suicide because Russian government bans anything beyond brief mention.

And in the recent years, when Russia introduced stricter laws about "gay propaganda", the site added rules about tagging: the category and all additional tags have to be correct, if you miss a warning or mods decide your off-hand mention of lesbian couple is too much for "mentions of f/f relationships" tag, your work can be forcefully edited or in most cases just deleted. No warning, no emailed copy. If you don't have a backup elsewhere, you're fucked.

At one point they considered creating "Slashbook" and basically moving all queer works off the main site into its own reservation, so in case they'll get a ban, it won't affect the main site. They even started accepting donations for that but soon quietly ditched the idea and started making an english fic site.

A year ago, when Russia decided to ban the site completely - for many repeated violations of "gay propaganda" laws they tried to resolve it... by soft-blocking queer works themselves, so a user located in Russia opening a fandom tag will see "this work is not available in your country" placeholder on anything with m/m, f/f ships, trans characters and some kinky tags. The placeholder was non-clickable, didn't have link to work or the author. The authors from the area would be able to post the work but most users won't see it. And some smaller russian fanfiction sites like fanfics.me of fanficus.com were able to get away with it - but Russia refused to unblock Ficbook and basically ignored them since. yay.

So. The site dependent on ads and profit will think about ads and profit first, their users second (if at all).

So, the other day, when I was discussing AO3's policy on solicitation, a tumblr user came at me saying that AO3's "no monetization/solicitation" rules were "bullshit" because nexus mods allows fan created mods to get paid.

Look at me.

Look at me right now.

AO3 protects you.

AO3 protects you and your works. 

It protects your works from copyright strikes and DCMA takedowns.

It protects your work from advertisers.

It protects your work from overzealous legal challenges.

It protects your right to post adult content.

AO3 is non-profit and AO3 will never try to use you or your work to make a profit for themselves and AO3 will go to bat for you if someone tries to legally challenge you or your works.

Please respect AO3 and its mission.

[bullet-prooflove]

Swiftie: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @yousigned-upforthis @oklahomapeach @before-we-get-started @fadeinsol

Summary: Robby realises your baby might just be a Swiftie.

Companion piece to:

Lines - It’s been a long time since Robby’s been attracted to someone like this.

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

Exorcism (NSFW) - Robby and you finally find a way to be honest with one another.

Ready - Robby and you discuss starting a family in the aftermath of Pittfest.

The Rose - You give Robby a special gift for your anniversary.

Heartbeat - Robby finds something to help him sleep.

Jinx - Robby discovers a particular superstition of yours.

The Scary One - Robby and you face concerns during your second pregnancy scan.

Pop Tarts - You and Robby decorate the baby's nursery.

Brave Little Boy - Robby wakes up to the baby kicking and gets a suprise.

Brown Eyed Boy - The birth of your son doesn’t quite go the way you’d planned.

One Week - Robby cares for the two of you one week after his son’s birth.

Seperation Anxiety - Robby gets severe seperation anxiety at the thought of returning to work after Noah's birth.

The baby likes dancing.

He likes being tucked in close to Robby’s body, feeling the rumble of daddy’s chest as he sings to the music. His tiny fists flail excitedly as Robby sways his hips to Taylor Swift’s Shake It Off in the kitchen.

“He’s definitely a Swiftie.” You say watching the two of them over your laptop at the kitchen table. “He’s gonna drag Papa kicking and screaming out of the Blues and right into mommy’s favourite genre Pop, just you watch.”

“You been working him while I’ve been at the hospital?” Robby asks you as Noah’s chubby fingers come to rest his lips. He kisses the tiny pads, making loud smooching noises as the baby scrunches his face up as if to laugh.  “Playing the Midnights album while he sleeps?”

“Trust me when you’re not here the only thing he does sleep to is folklore.” You inform Robby as you return your attention to the spreadsheet in front of you. “He really loves The Last Great American Dynasty, I think it might be the fact it tells you a story you know? You put that on and he just crashes out.”

“Have you seen what happens when you put on Bejeweled?” Robby asks you and you shake your head before pulling up your Spotify playlist to find the right album. “I’m telling you he loses his mind.”

He isn’t wrong. As soon as the opening bars start to play baby Noah’s chubby arms go up like he’s at a rave, and his feet kick out as if he’s doing the two step at a barn dance. Those delicate features of his light up like the Fourth of July, a smile appearing on his pursed lips.

“Holy shit Robby.” You erupt as the song hits the chorus. “He just smiled. He’s smiling right now.”

“What…” Robby tilts his head down to look at him and there’s his son beaming like the god damn moon, bouncing his tiny booty. “I can’t believe we made a Swiftie.”

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[puma-riki]

WAIT ON YOU

IN WHICH ── .✦ Jake has missed you all week amidst his busy life as an idol. He missed you so much that the night before his day off he fights off sleep just to spend more time with you.

Sleepy! Jake x gn! reader fluff est. relationship skinship not proofread

NOTE: I might have channeled my inner jake with this one because it is 1am as I'm writing this and idk how well my brain is functioning, if there's any crazy typos or other mistakes, please let me know!!

──────────────────── .✦

It's late and your bedroom is dark. The only light in the room is coming from your laptop perched on your lap. The movie playing on your laptop is the only sound in the room, accompanied by the low hum of the AC and your boyfriends soft breathing beside you.

At least, it was soft.

Until he stirs with a quiet, grumbly sigh and moves to shift closer to you, who's sitting up against the headboard. He nudges his nose against your arm, still slightly slouched and sinking into the pillows.

"You're still watching without me?" he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You glance down at him. His eyes are barely open, lashes fluttering as he tries (and fails) to look alert.

"You fell asleep, baby," You whisper with a smile, brushing your fingers through his messy hair. "I didn't want to wake you."

Jake makes a noise that's somewhere between a pout and a groan, burrowing closer into your side. "I didn't mean to," he mutters.

"Jake, you can go to sleep." a small laugh slips from your lips.

"Nooo," he whines, voice muffled in your shirt. "I didn't see you all week. Wanna stay up with you."

"You are up with me," you tease softly, running your thumb along his cheekbone.

His eyes crack open again, squinting in the dim glow of the laptop screen. "No, I'm not. I'm... barely half conscious."

You stifle a laugh. "Hmm, then maybe you should sleep."

"Nooo." He clings to your side tighter, "I'm fine. I'm awake"

"You're absolutely not." you say, amused, but he's already shifting.

With a sudden burst of determination, Jake sits up straight, swaying slightly as the movement pulls him out of his warm cocoon. He blinks hard and gives his head a quick shake like he's trying to jolt the sleep out of his system. His hair flops, sticking out even more, and he looks so disoriented it makes you laugh.

"You're acting like a puppy." you giggle, eyes crinkling.

"I'm awake." he says stubbornly, despite the way his body slouches immediately.

You sit up without moving from your spot, placing a single hand on his chest and gently pushing him back down until he's flat against the bed again. For someone so determined he doesn't resist at all. He just looks up at you with droopy, love-struck eyes.

"Jakkeee..." you whisper, dragging his name out in a way that makes his heart ache a little, "go to sleep."

Your voice is soft, so warm and sweet, that for a second he wonders if he's dreaming. He blinks up at you, eyes fluttering, lips parting to argue, but nothing comes out.

Just as you think you've finally gotten him to sleep, rubbing your thumb up and down his chest, he opens his eyes again. He stares at you for a second, eyes blinking slow.

"..Will you go to sleep too?" he asks, barely louder than a whisper, and barely coherent. His hand moves to rest over yours. "I don't want to sleep without you... please...missed you."

Your heart squeezes, "Okay," you say softly and close your laptop without another word, setting it on your nightstand. The room darkens even more, the screens glow fading out, and you shift beneath the covers to turn to face him fully.

Jake moves the second you do. Like he was waiting for the green light.

He wraps himself around you almost immediately; his arms around your waist, one leg tangled with yours, and his face burying itself in the crook of your neck with a content sleepy hum. Like this is the exact place he's been trying to get to all night.

"I miss you..." he murmurs into your neck, the feeling of his voice vibrating against your skin makes you almost shiver.

You exhale a quiet laugh and start scratching his back in slow, comforting circles, feeling him melt against you with every breath. "I'm right here, dummy"

He only hums. Definitely didn't hear you. Too far gone in the feeling of you.

Within moments, his breathing evens out again. You feel his smile before you hear it: the smallest, sleepiest exhale of happiness against your skin.

He's finally in your arms after waiting for you for what felt like eternity. Wrapped up in you, he finally let's go.

──────────────────── .✦

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧!)ᯓ★

Taglist | @jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @chrrific @stvrriki @hyukabean @firstclassjaylee ...loading

Send an ask or comment to be added to my permanent taglist!

[confessionsandcreampies]

h. shinsou relationship headcanons

insanely observant—you don’t even have to say you’re upset. he can feel it before you enter the room. “rough day?” he murmurs, tugging you into his hoodie. “c’mere. just… exist with me for a minute.”

absolute catboy energy—stretches before speaking. will silently crawl into your lap. constantly sleepy but watching you with those half-lidded eyes like, “you gonna pet me or not?”

doesn’t initiate pda unless someone’s looking—then his hand’s on your waist. his arm’s slung over your shoulder. he kisses your cheek slow, glaring dead at whoever dared to breathe near you.

nap dates king—you fall asleep on his chest? he’s not moving. he lets you drool on him. literally smiles when you snore.

lowkey insecure, highkey in love—sometimes mumbles things like, “i don’t know what you see in me…” but when you kiss his jaw and say, “everything”? he goes quiet, soft. squeezes your hand tighter than ever.

his voice? weaponized—he’ll say the filthiest things so quietly. “look at you. shaking on my cock. that’s it, baby. give me another moan.” and you do. because what the hell else can you do with that voice?

lazy dominance—he’ll pin you down with one arm and just watch you squirm. “you can ride it, baby. go on. i’ve got time. let me feel you lose your mind.”

oral = hypnosis session—low growls. lazy tongue flicks. eye contact like he’s memorizing every twitch. “shit. you taste better than i dreamed.”

he lives to make you beg—“say please.” then kisses your thighs for 10 minutes without touching where you need him. “c’mon. just one word, sweetheart. you want me, don’t you?”

sex with him is slow, intimate, filthy—neck kisses. breathy praise. hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll leave. “i want you to feel this tomorrow. want you thinking about me every time you move.”

aftercare is silent, but so safe—he pulls you into his chest, rubs your back, and lets you fall asleep on his heartbeat. and in the dark, when he thinks you’re out? he whispers, “you’re everything to me.”

hitoshi shinsou is tired of the world, but never tired of you—you are his calm. his obsession. his favorite way to fall asleep.

[creepykuroneko]

A lot of people in the notes keep complaining that it's okay to have adult content that does not contain explicit sex scenes. I feel like they are 100% missing the whole point of this post.

Its true no piece of media NEEDS to have a sex scene in it, but if you know anything about conservative Puritan societies, you would be rooting for the sex scenes.

The LIE "we're protecting children" is the excuse used to beat down anyone and anything that doesn't fit into nice clean white, middle class, abled body, cishet, Christian values.

If you have not seen the documentary this film is not yet rated, I highly recommend doing so. It talks about Hollywood's double standards and hypocrisy when it comes to what type of violence and sex is considered acceptable in movies and what is not. Men masturbating on screen completely acceptable. Women masturbating on the screen unacceptable. Men having an orgasm on the camera a okay but a woman having an orgasm on the camera is a no no. Women being raped, beaten, tortured, and murdered is okay. Women having lesbian sex is not.

This horror movie is about a teenage girl who after being let down one too many times by society, starts to kill her rapists one by one? "Can't have that! It's too violent! How is that child appropriate?"

Don't even get me started on the fact that homophobes assume that being gay automatically makes you a sexual deviant. It doesn't matter if a movie/show has zero sex scenes in it, no "crude" or "offensive" humor, if there is a queer couple in it, that's basically an orgy in the eyes of conservatives. Andi Mack anyone? Bluey? I remember in a interview with Alex Hirsch, he talked about how in the Gravity Falls episode Love God, he originally wanted two elderly women to fall in love with each other, but the censors said absolutely not.

Movies that show black joy, black couples having a happy, intimate, romantic, sexual relationship are often put on the back burner. Keep in mind with how little representation Hollywood gives black voices, especially ones that are not harmful stereotypes, it's important for black people to see themselves represented in the media as being happy. Then you also have to acknowledge the fact that when black people make black movies for black audience, they get terrible funding, little to no advertising, and limited run in theaters. Regardless of if a black movie is meant to discuss social issues or it's just the campy movie that happens to star a all black cast, many non black people assume it's automatically political because its made by black people and feel that it would not be a all age is appropriate movie. Despite the fact that they know nothing about the movie and the reality that kids need to be taught about everything. We already know that children in elementary school already start to experience racism from their peers. So I assure you, watching racially diverse films it's the least of society's problem.

Horror is my absolute favorite genre. I'm not saying it's never problematic or you can't criticize it, there are movies that definitely deserve criticism. Sorry, stay with me here I'm about to break this down into two topics.

Horror is good for children. It helps give children a safe contained space to explore different issues, scenarios, and topics that can really help get the critical thinking going. A child reading a book about another child who gets kidnapped and is able to escape from their kidnapper because they figured out how to free themselves is actually good information. It's easy to laugh it off as it's not real life but let's be honest, we know that bad things happen in the real world all the time. Think about how many conservatives get angry when sex ed in schools is brought up because they think it's inappropriate for children to learn? They also don't like media that specifically gets into consent. It's because a lot of them turn out to be pedos themselves. They don't want the children they are abusing to catch on that they need to tell another adult about it.

Horror is the only genre I can think of that features the most physically and mentally diverse characters out there. Don't get me wrong, I'm well aware that the plots are usually ableist. Going back to some constructive criticism needs to be had. At the same time though I can think of over a dozen horror movies off the top of my head with real disabled actors in them. How many movies can you think off the top of your head that are not under the horror genre that feature disabled characters? The 1930 film freaks, features a cast of disabled characters. The film was banned for decades because it was considered "grotesque". When American Horror Story freak Show came out, it was very heavily influenced by Freaks. There's some really good interviews with the cast about how they don't find being called a freak offensive. They explained their disabilities, what their life is like, and what they want people to know about them. Despite the title, the cast is very open about sharing their voice and being open with their disabilities. You also have iconic horror actor like Javier Botet who is very open about the fact that he has Marfan syndrome. Botet does not necessarily do child friendly horror but a lot of kids do see his horror movies and love him. Oftentimes when I speak with families of a child with Marfan syndrome, Botet is the first real world example of a famous person with the same condition as the children. It absolutely makes children happy to see that their favorite monster on screen has the same disability as them. Granted this is not true for everyone with Marfan syndrome. I have met people with Marfan syndrome who hate the horror genre and that is okay. Have also met other people with marfan syndrome who love horror films and love seeing actors with the same disability as them.

Child media is so heavily censored as it is. Adult media does not need to be handled with kid gloves as well. Children should not be watching cocomelon because we already know it rots their brains, adults really don't need to be fed cocomelon-esque type of slop. Sorry/not sorry for going on a long rant there. We need diverse stories with diverse characters in them. Adults deserve to have good media that yeah touches on issues that make SOME people uncomfortable. To the person who experiences discomfort watching certain types of media, what exactly is it that makes you uncomfortable? If it's a burry your gays Trope or poc, disabled, and women's lives are disposable while the white man lives I can understand disappointment at seeing your life devalued time and again. If you are outrage though because we got to see the actresses nipple, the rapist priest got decapitated, a group of Native Americans are killing the group of white zombies who are trying to kill them, the white abled body cishet man is the only character to die, or God forbid we should see a black woman kissing an Asian woman, then you need to sit in the corner and unpack that.

hot take possibly? but i actually think it’s okay for things to be marketed for adults. it’s literally okay if things aren’t suitable for children. i feel like we are losing the plot

[thechaotictheoryy]

Control Me.

summary: Comeback breaking new records and reaching the ears of new listeners. To celebrate the staff decide to take the boys for a night out but all Yunho could think as the drinks start to sink in was you.

pairing: fem reader x idol! Jeong Yunho

genre: established relationship, romance, fluff, idol au, smut

word count: 3,267

warnings: alcohol consumption, making out, whiny drunk sub Yunho, dry humping, handjob, unprotected sex (don’t do this), slight BDSM (really just bondage nothing extreme), slight choking, fingering, Yunho is super sensitive (cums in his pants lol), begging kink?, reverse cowgirl, creampie, talks about subspace (Yunho has a subdrop and is very confused about it)

song rec: Pygma Girl by BIBI

a/n: just a little something before I start Under Pressure which I’ll have first chapter posted next weekend. This Yunho has been in my mind since this photos were released! Sorry for the late upload, hope you enjoy!

“Cheers to another great comeback!”

Everyone took their shots and Yunho hesitated but took his too. It was a week after Golden Hour Part 3 had been released and the first week of promotions were over. The boys had hit a few number ones on charts internationally and made number 2 on the Billboard 200. What also was shocking about their charting in Korea, they never had made it on the charts so high. The CEO was so proud of them, he decided to host a gathering at one of the restaurants near the company.

Yunho was very excited and always grateful but watching everyone happy and celebrating, he just wished you were able to be here with him. 

“Why do you look so down?” Wooyoung asked, pouring another shot. 

“I’m okay, I just..” He sighed. 

“If you want to go, you know you can”

“I do but she told me to have fun since it’s been stressful especially with tour coming up again” 

You and Yunho had been dating for almost two years… privately. He met you at the Riot Games Museum in LA, you were an intern there for the summer while he was there performing for KCON. You had let him know you were just there for a few months and would be back in Seoul that fall. Everything started off very slowly, you became good friends which turned into Yunho asking you on a date two months after your return to Korea.

Instead of a nice restaurant, he set up a nice romantic rooftop dinner. You understood that because of him being an idol that privacy was key and there were long talks with KQ before they agreed to let you continue dating in secret. Sometimes it did bother you that you couldn’t be open about your relationship but it’s also very nice to not have everyone in your business. 

Yunho wishes he could show you off because you deserve to be seen. 

Meeting each other's parents had to be the hardest point for you guys. His parents thought you wanted him for money and your parents thought that he was going to ruin you and have many fans attack you. Yunho reassured his parents that you were not like that and you proved that to them. 

Your parents’ relationship with Yunho is still on the rocks even after almost three years.

They don’t trust him. They care about your safety and they feel like in the end if it comes down to it, he chooses to save his career over saving you from drowning in the sea of online bullying and possible threats in real life. 

“Well drink up and get a little drunk, we don’t get too many nights like this” 

“You’re right,” Yunho nodded. 

One turned into two and two turned six. Yunho wasn’t a lightweight at all but he knew his limit. The soju beer mixture was making him very warm but he knew he fucked up when San pulled out a whiskey bottle. 

“I thought you kept that for display,” Hongjoong said, raising an eyebrow at San. 

“It’s a special night for us and it calls for some old fashion whiskey,” San smiled. 

Yunho didn’t know if he should mix but after some convincing from the BBT dancers, he took about 3 shots of the dark liquor and chugged another glass of beer. 

As he traced the top of the beer bottle while listening to Jongho talk about a crazy run in with a fan, all he could think about was you. 

Your scent. Your lips. Your beautiful eyes. Your laugh. 

He really missed you even though he had just seen you the night before. He wanted to do a lot with you that his drunk brain couldn’t put together at the moment. The boys started to notice his zoning out and looked at each other. 

“Yunhooo,” Wooyoung wrapped an arm around him. 

“Mm,” he muttered, then hiccupied. 

“Are you ready to go see Y/N?”

Yunho made eye contact so fast with the boys so fast and nodded so fast that they thought his head might fall off. All of them laughed and Hongjoong went to tell a manager to take Yunho to your apartment. It took about three of them to help Yunho in the car since he was about three seconds into falling on his face.

They did not need him to break his nose again. 

The ride to your place felt so long and dizzy for Yunho. He couldn’t wait to be near you and touch you. He hoped when you got to your door, you would open it and he would see you wearing his clothes. God did he love it when you wore one of his hoodies or shirts with nothing underneath. 

He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back into the passenger seat just hoping he didn’t puke before seeing you. 

Three knocks on the door and you hopped up from the couch, confused. You weren’t expecting this one this late but once you heard a “whoops” and hiccup, you knew it was Yunho coming from their get together but he didn’t text you saying he was on the way. You quickly went to throw on some shorts since you only had on Yunho’s spiderman shirt and boy shorts then went to unlock the door and saw Yunho slumped on his two managers who were holding up on each side. 

“Hey baby” Yunho slurred, smiling drunkenly at you. 

“Yunho” you crossed your arms. 

“You told me to have fun,” he whined. 

“Hey Y/N, he’s kind of heavy so where can we take him?” one of them said. 

“The couch is fine,” you said sweetly to them. 

They took a very whiny and giggly Yunho to the couch and carefully put him down. He waved at him as they left out and they shook their heads, waving back. 

“Thank you again guys,” you said, opening the door. 

“Make sure he reports to practice at noon tomorrow please” 

“Will do,” you gave them a thumbs up. 

You closed and locked the door, sighing. You turned to Yunho and he was laying down with his arm over his eyes. You walked over and squatted down by his head, running your fingers through his hair. 

“How much did you drink?”

“I lost count after the whiskey shots” 

“Jeong Yunho” 

“It’s San’s fault!” He removed his arm and looked at you. 

“You could have said no” , you flicked his forehead. 

“Ouch” he pouted. 

You both fell silent for a minute, just the sound of your air conditioning blowing and the water running into your fish’s tank. Yunho kept staring at you and you raised an eyebrow at him. He smiled warmly and his eyes showed some much admiration but they were also hazy from him not being sober. 

“What?” you asked. 

“Come here” 

He pulled you on top of him and you straddled him comfortably, laying your head on his chest. He started to rub your back and his hands felt so nice and warm. You thought all was nice and innocent till you felt his hands move down to your ass and give it a squeeze. 

“Yunho” 

“Please,” he muttered. 

His tone made you look up at him. He was pouty and ears were starting to turn red, you were also feeling his dick hardening on his thigh. Yunho only got this when he was either drunk or having a rough week and needed you to take care of him. He was always the dominant one when it came to your dynamic but you lived for moments where he let you be in control. 

You sat up and dragged a hand down his chest slowly, he whimpered as you traced around his right nipple. His hands moved back up to your hips and his grip tightened just a bit. 

“Babe I-”

You slide your hand back up and gently wrap your fingers around his neck and he gasps lightly. You leaned down and kissed him with him immediately kissing you back. He tasted mostly of whiskey and soju, you don’t know why but it kind of turned you on even though you weren’t too big on alcohol. To test out how sensitive he was, you grinded down on him. He moaned lightly in mouth and you took the opportunity to swirl your tongue around his and apply a little pressure on his neck from your grip. 

You felt him jerk while his hands tightened on your hips again then he stilled for a little bit, that only happens when he…

“Yunho, did you just cum?” you asked, pulling away slightly from his kiss. 

He stared at you as his face became more red. Yunho hasn’t come that soon in a long time, meaning around the first time you had sex with each other. You were a virgin at the time and he just couldn’t control himself, which was a given. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” you smiled and shook his head. 

“I-I’m not” 

“You totally are, come on” 

You got off of him and pulled him up, dragging him to your bedroom. You sat him down and tapped his legs so he could spread them then dropped down to your knees. You kept eye contact with him as you started to undo his pants.

“You know the last two outfits of this comeback have been driving me insane?”

“Y-Yeah? You didn’t say anything about it” 

“I had to control myself or I would have came down to the music show building and have you bend me over in the green room”

He moaned at that and from your small hand wrapping around his dick. His size always surprised  you because how could someone carry this around in their pants everyday. He was thick and a nice length, the veins being so prominent makes your mouth water.

“It also made me jealous”

“How?”

“All those girls getting to look at you all day while I’m here at home, only being to see on TV” you started to stroke him slowly, his cum from just a few moments ago making  your hand glide with ease. “How would you feel if I looked that good and you couldn’t get your hands on me right then and there, mm?”

“F-Fuck” he muttered as your hand moved faster. 

“Don’t cum”

“I-I”

“Yunho, I will stop and leave you here,” you said firmly. 

He whined and did his best to hold it in. He was still the effects from when he came five minutes ago, the overstimulation was killing him. He was trying to think of every possible thing to slow down the hot sensation coiling in his stomach again. 

He was a goner as you spit on his dick and moved even faster. 

“Shit!,” His body locked up a little as he came hard and some ended up on his shirt that you were wearing. You stopped and when he looked down at you after opening his eyes, you had a look of fire in your eyes. 

“Y/N.. I-”

“Clothes off and lay up against the headboard, don’t make me say it twice,” the dominance dripped off your voice. You got up and walked into the bathroom. Yunho moved quickly with excitement but also slight fear. You weren’t too rough with him when he did something you didn’t approve of. He was still kind of drunk but the two times of him cumming, he felt a little floaty but somewhat felt like he was sobering up little by little. 

You walked back out, naked with two sets of handcuffs in your hand. Yunho sucked in some air, looking at you and he never gets tired of seeing you like this. He felt his dick start to get hard again, you laughed a little at it. You walked over and motioned him to put his hands out, he obeyed and you cuffed each of his wrists to the bed posts on the sides of your bed. 

“Since you can’t listen, no touching tonight. If you don’t cum again until after I do.. I think about uncuffing you”

He nodded and blinked slowly. Yunho couldn’t describe the feeling running through his head but this isn’t the first time this has happened to him while you guys have had sex. You didn’t want to tell him that he fell into subspace before and that it’s happening again because you didn’t exactly know how it would take that.

Hell, you didn’t know Yunho was okay with being submissive sometimes until the first time it happened. You know Yunho isn’t an overly masculine man but at the end of the day, he is a man and some aren’t comfortable talking about things in that nature. You wanted him to come to you if he ever had questions about it but for now, Yunho just felt like it was a nice place in his head that he drifted off to when you made him feel good. 

You climbed on top of him, straddling but then you leaned back slightly so he had a good view of your soaked pussy. He groaned at the slight, trying to reach forward but the handcuffs held him place. 

“Don’t move baby,” you said as you moved your fingers down and started to rub your clit. You slowly pressed two fingers inside, keeping eye contact with him. All Yunho could do was sit there and watch. His whines made you wetter and his begs to touch you made you feel so good because you had some much power over him right now. You turned around so your back was facing him and you grabbed his dick, lining it up with your entrance.  

“Remember, don’t cum till I say so,” You looked at him over your shoulder and smirked slightly. Yunho nodded slowly and watched you. The overwhelming pleasure running through his body was so overwhelming he couldn’t form words to speak. 

You slowly slid down, hissing at the stretch. You knew it would be a little painful even though you tried to stretch yourself out before then. Your fingers weren’t as long or thick as Yunho’s. He moaned as you bottomed out on top of him. Even though his brain was kind of melted, he tried not to cum again and closed his eyes. You started with slow rolls, taking your time to adjust to his size like you always have to. Once you relaxed, your slow rolls turned into bouncing at a subtle pace with hands planted on his stomach. 

“Baby please,” Yunho whined, opening his eyes a little. “F-Faster”

“You think you deserve it?” you smirked. 

“P-Please, I’ll be good” He groaned. “I-I’ll be perfect for you” 

Fuck, you never thought seeing someone like Yunho beg like this would become a kink. You knew it had become one because even when he’s innocently begging for you to come eat with him after a practice or to stay five minutes on a game level he’s trying to finish, it makes your core flutter. 

You decided to turn around and face him, sliding off a little then sliding back down on him. You wrapped a hand around his throat as you began to bounce on his dick once more, he moaned as he tried to kiss you. You love riding him because it feels like he reaches places so much deeper. 

You kissed and licked around his ear, whispering sweet nothings as you bounced harder. You could feel him shaking slightly under your fingers and you could tell he was close again, little did he know that band in your stomach was about to snap any second. You kissed him deeply and he kissed back, trying to keep up. 

“I’m close,” he whined in your mouth. 

“It’s okay, me too,” you moaned. 

After two more digs at your g-spot, you came so hard on top of him. Your body shook as you tried to ride it out, gasping into his mouth. Yunho came a few seconds after you for the third time tonight but instead of the usual panting and groans he usually does. 

He was whimpering. 

You looked down at him as you pulled away. His eyes were a bit more dilated than usual and he was a bit non-verbal. He was dropping.

“Yunho baby”

He just kept whimpering then closed his eyes. You slide off his dick carefully, rushing to take the cuffs off his wrists. You laid beside him and pulled him into your chest, he immediately wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. You played in his hair then rubbed his back slowly all over. He let out a sigh and you saw his eyes flutter open. You looked down at him and sighed in relief.

“What was that?” His tone raspy. 

“Probably the mix of your drinking then the intensity from cumming three times probably made your body go into shock” 

“No,” he cuddled into your chest deeper. “That was different, I didn’t know where I was. It was like I was floating on a cloud then I fell and kept falling” 

“I’ll tell you in the morning, okay? Just rest for a little then we’ll shower” 

Yunho didn’t press it but he nodded. He was really curious about what that feeling was. 

You were in the kitchen, making breakfast while Yunho was getting ready to head to practice. He always left some clothes at your place in case he couldn’t run back to the dorms. You started to plate when you heard his footsteps and you felt his arms wrap around your waist, placing a kiss on your temple. 

“Smells good”

“I know you need the protein beforehand so just a simple omelet and bacon this morning”

“Always attentive,” he pecked your lips then walked to your refrigerator, grabbing the orange juice. You took your plates over to the table while he brought over the two glasses of orange juice he made for both of you. 

You two ate  in a comfortable silence for a few minutes till you saw his eyebrows furrowed together a little and you knew what he was about to talk about. 

“It’s called subspace,” you said, hesitantly. 

“Subspace?”

“It’s a place you go to when you feel overwhelming pleasure, kind of like a floaty feeling” 

“So when I said I felt like I was on a cloud? I was in subspace”

You nodded. He looked down at his food and you could tell he was processing. 

“Why did I feel like I was falling? What even triggers a subspace?” he asked, concerned. 

“Before I answer that, Yunho please know it doesn’t make you any less of a man”

“I know that, it just scared me for a bit because I didn’t really have control of my body like the feeling of it” 

“Understood,” you nodded. “You had experienced a subdrop, I think it was because of you cumming three times last night when you haven’t before. Also being drunk and tied up added on to it.” 

“Got it,” he nodded. 

“Would you rather not be submissive anymore? I don’t mind really”

“It’s not that,” he blushed. “I enjoyed last night really,” he looked away. 

“You’re so cute,” you laughed. 

“I’m heading to practice now,” he rolled his eyes, playfully and getting up. He leaned down and pecked your lips a few times. You smiled as he kissed your cheeks then your forehead. 

“Come over after my schedules today, I’ll probably be a bit busy after today because of tour starting soon”

“Sure thing” 

“I love you” 

“I love you too”

[thetarotyapper]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ what qualities should you be seeking in a romantic partner ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

this pac is divided into two parts – the good qualities and the bad qualities. the good qualities will be talking about the characteristics you should be seeking in a romantic partner, and the bad qualities will be talking about the characteristics you should avoid/be aware of regarding a romantic interest.

paid services 18+ paid services tarot community ko-fi

(how to pick a card? observe the given options and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. scroll down to read your message!! remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates! (ps.- if you feel drawn to more than one card/image/pile, feel free to read the others too!! if the chosen pile doesn't relate to you, feel free to choose another. the choice is yours<3)

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pile I ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

my lovely pile 1, i feel like you’ve always been compromising yourself when it comes to love/relationships and i feel like the people you were interested in have always been intimidated by your success, one way or the other. i feel like people haven’t been honest with you and they’ve never really guided you - even as a friend. it’s like people want to see you lose your stance and fall down, you know? in this reading, i will talk about the good qualities and the bad qualities you should look out for. i hope you take care, and now let’s get to your reading<3

ᝰ.ᐟ good qualities

1. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is gentle and patient with you. they shouldn’t be someone who gets angry at you for the silliest things. your person should be someone who values your emotions and understands where you’re coming from, instead of always making you guilty for being sensitive.

2. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is honest and helps you see the truth. they shouldn’t be someone who blindly supports you, no. they should have your back and guide you mindfully. because i’m seeing here that you find it hard to accept things, so you should seek qualities of someone who helps you realise and accept things.

3. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is faithful and transparent.

4. you should seek the qualities of someone who is as ambitious as you and who lets you be yourself. you shouldn’t compromise yourself for the sake of this relationship, and if your person truly loved you, they wouldn’t ask you to change.

5. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who matches your drive and your dedication.

6. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who helps you grow and helps you face challenges. they should be proud of your achievements and should not feel intimidated by your success.

ᝰ.ᐟ bad qualities

1. you should be aware if the person always tries to be “above” you. i’m seeing here that people might try to put you down just to look better and feel good about themselves- so please be aware if someone tries to do that. it can be revealed in the form of jokes, actions or whatever; but if you see this behaviour, please look out for yourself.

2. you should be aware if a person is being too bold or too “pushy”, as in like if they do not respect your boundaries. i am also getting a feeling here that you might be attracted to older partners, so this is something you should be mindful about because they might constantly try to dominate you and never let you have your say in a relationship.

3. you should be aware if the person is not ambitious. always make sure they have a plan, as some might just “go with the flow” but they do not have a set goal and sometimes the pressure to earn/carry the relationship might fall on you.

4. you should be aware if the person is too friendly with other people - because i’m seeing here that they might have commitment issues and they might have a lot of friends with benefits.

5. you should be aware if the person is not able to endure and forgive your mistakes. no one is perfect, so they should understand that and learn how to work with their feelings. they shouldn’t be someone who gets angry very easily, basically.

6. you should be aware if the person is not honest and transparent. they might be hiding something from you, or they are bad communicators.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pile II ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

my lovely pile 2, i’m seeing here that many of you might have an “i can fix them” mindset, and let me tell you this babe - it’s not good for you. i hope i don’t come off as rude, but like please know that being with someone who doesn’t value your feelings isn’t going to help you grow. protect your energy and your peace, and the right love will naturally flow to you. in this reading, i will talk about the good qualities and the bad qualities you should look out for. i hope you take care, and now let’s get to your reading<3

ᝰ.ᐟ good qualities

1. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is willing to try out new things and is not afraid of change.

2. they should be able to navigate through their feelings and they should know how to breathe through any tension. they should handle difficult situations with ease and they shouldn’t blame you for everything - especially if something goes south.

3. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who knows how to balance things out in their life and someone who has an optimistic mindset. this person should be an inspiration to you and they should bring you out of dark times. you should seek the qualities of someone who will heal you, basically.

4. you should seek the qualities of someone who pays attention to your needs and someone who gets along with your family.

5. you should seek the qualities of someone who is very loyal to you and who does not doubt your relationship. there should be trust and certainty within the relationship, and this person should be confident about their feelings for you.

6. you should seek the qualities of someone who will nurture you and isn’t afraid to show you off.

ᝰ.ᐟ bad qualities

1. you should be aware if the person is not able to control the emotions. please avoid individuals who do not have good self control.

2. you should be aware if the person is too show-offy. like if the person only flexes their wealth and their succes, please avoid them. it shows that they are too full of themselves and that they only care about their stature.

3. you should be aware if a person is not able to make sacrifices. if they are not willing to give up something (that is especially unhealthy) for you, then please be mindful.

4. you should be aware if a person is being too defensive and doesn’t open up easily. i mean i get it, it’s not easy to open up to people - especially if you’re meeting them for the first time. but if their attitude doesn’t change, please do not strain yourself and work on the relationship if they aren’t valuing your efforts.

5. you should be aware if the person is not honest about their feelings and always keeps you hanging.

6. you should be aware if there are a lot of misunderstandings in the beginning of your relationship as this could lead to stress and conflict. your person should know how to balance their emotions, and if they’re having a hard time doing so, please be aware.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pile III ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

my lovely pile 3, i have a feeling that you’ve been with individuals who are very self-centred and egoistic. these individual might have only cared about their feelings and they have never had your back in situations where you needed them the most. i’m seeing here that you might have felt demotivated and felt like you were not seen in your relationships. in this reading, i will talk about the good qualities and the bad qualities you should look out for. i hope you take care, and now let’s get to your reading<3

ᝰ.ᐟ good qualities

1. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who remembers the smallest details about you. the person should look at something you like and go, “omg they (you) would have loved this!”

2. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who has your back and someone who will stand up for you, no matter what. they should be like a role model to you, and they should help you be realistic.

3. you should seek the qualities of someone who is going to inspire you and someone who is going to motivate you.

4. you should seek the qualities of someone who will let go of things you don’t like, and i’m seeing here that you’ll not ask them to let go of something that means a lot to them. maybe you’d ask them to let go of bad habits, and they should be able to do that. of course we can’t expect them to leave something entirely, but every small step counts.

5. you should seek the qualities of someone who is willing to take risks and is not afraid of change and is willing to let go of undesirable things.

6. you should seek the qualities of someone who is courageous and adventurous. another thing i’m seeing here is that you should seek the qualities of someone who is good at problem solving.

ᝰ.ᐟ bad qualities

1. you should be aware if a person is too prideful - especially if they try to make you look smaller than them. honestly, i’m seeing here that your person might be someone who is very talented and they are gaining reasonable recognition for their work, but if they are too full of themselves, and if they feel like they are better than everyone, then please be aware of this.

2. you should be aware if a person is taking on too many responsibilities and does not prioritise your feelings and your time, as well as your energy.

3. you should be aware if a person is too confident in themselves, especially if they come off as egoistic.

4. you should be aware if the person is being too kind, because there might be a malicious intention behind that kindness.

5. you should be aware if a person is going through a lot of mood swings. i’m also seen here that if the person is constantly looking happy and optimistic, it is fake. because i’m seeing here that since they know people will behave according to their emotions (especially since they have a lot of people admiring their work), they will take advantage of this - if that even makes sense. for example, if you are trying to pursue something with a member or a pretty well known band, that person might pretend to be all nice and happy because they know that they have an influence on people (their fans) and they might use this “happy facade” to gain something from the fans - maybe more recognition. but here’s the truth, their feelings and their emotions are completely different from what they portray. of course not everyone can be happy all the time and sometimes we need to pretend - but the feelings aren’t genuine from their side. ugh this was such a bad example, but i hope i made sense here!!

6. you should be aware if the person does not take care of their physical and their emotional health. you should be aware if they are neglecting self-care.

hiii loves, i hope this reading finds you in good health, and i hope you are doing well. i am not really satisfied with this reading as i feel like i could’ve done more, but i’m struggling to find time and i’m finding it so hard to manage my personal life as well as my professional life. i’m trying my best but i feel like it’s not enough. but i’m still pushing through, so that’s something 😅. i would be so glad if you could like my post and re-blog it, and please let me know which pile you picked - i would love to hear your thoughts and know if this reading resonated with you!! take care of yourself, and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3

ps - thank you so much to the lovely person who gave me the idea of doing this reading!! i truly appreciate you taking the time out of your day and letting me know which reading you preferred🥰❤️

(note - tarot & oracle cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, feelings and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!)

જ⁀➴ all credit for the pictures/dividers goes to their rightful owners and creators