#I wrote this really emotional and not because of what was said but bc of what was implied | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harrysfolklore · 5 months ago

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first win - op81

gif by @princemick <33

summary: the road to oscar’s first grand prix win. wc: 3.4K

folkie radio: OSC’S FIRST WIN 🥹🥹🥹 that race that so stressful but he did it and i’m so happy! fun fact: i wrote this fic last night bc i just FELT oscar was winning, i just added today’s race a few hours ago 😭 i hope you like it! leave feedback

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

February 5, 2023. Bahrain Grand Prix

Today was the big day. Oscar Piastri was set to make his Formula 1 debut as a McLaren driver.

You've talked about this countless of times, sharing dreams and fears, mapping out every step of his journey from karting to the pinnacle of motorsport.

Now, as you stood in the garage with the crowd's energy buzzing around you, it was hard to believe that moment had finally arrived.

Oscar was going through some pre-race talks with his team. You caught sight of him from a distance, his face a mask of focus and determination. When he spotted you, he broke into a smile, and for a brief moment, the tension seemed to melt away.

You make your way over to him as he finishes up with his team.

"Ready to set the track on fire, hotshot?" you tease, playfully tugging at the sleeve of his race suit.

Oscar grins, a mix of excitement and nerves dancing in his eyes. "Well, hopefully not literally. I don't think the team would appreciate a barbecued car on my first outing."

His chuckle is tinged with a hint of nervousness. You notice his hand fidgeting with the zipper of his race suit – a telltale sign of his pre-race jitters.

"Hey," you say softly, taking his hand. "Remember what we always say? You've earned this. You belong here."

"I know. It's just...," he took a deep breath, "It's really happening, isn't it? All those years of dreaming, and now..."

"And now you're about to drive the pants off everyone out there," you finish for him, your voice filled with confidence.

As the final call for drivers echoes through the garage, you both know it's time. Oscar's eyes lock with yours, a swirl of emotions passing between you. Without a word, he pulls you close, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss. It's brief but filled with emotion.

"For luck," you whisper as you part, your foreheads still touching.

"With you here, I've got all the luck I need," Oscar replies softly, his smile warm and genuine.

With a final squeeze of your hand, he heads to where he's needed. You watch him go, your heart racing with anticipation.

The race begins, and for the first 14 laps, everything seems to be going well. Oscar is holding his own, fighting in the midfield, showing flashes of the talent that got him here.

But on lap 15, your heart sinks as you see his car slow down, veering off the racing line. The team radio crackles with the devastating news: "Box, box. We have a steering issue. We need to retire the car."

You watch, helpless, as Oscar brings the car back to the pits. The disappointment is palpable as he climbs out, his debut cut short.

As soon as he's free from the debrief, you find him in his driver's room. His face is a mask of frustration and disappointment.

"Hey," you say softly, taking his hand. "You okay?"

Oscar sighs, squeezing your hand. "Not really. I just... I wanted to finish the race, you know? Show everyone what I could do."

You pull him into a hug. "And you will. This is just the first race, Oscar. There are plenty more to come."

July 9, 2023. British Grand Prix

Silverstone is one of the most special races in the calendar, and for Oscar it's even more special because England is his second home.

He really wanted to deliver a great result. So far, he hadn't been able to place above P8 and he desperately wanted to improve that.

"I know you're nervous about tomorrow," you said as you laid your head on his chest, feeling him tense, "But you're going to do great, baby."

Oscar wraps his arm around you, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your shoulder. "You really think so?" he asks, his voice a mix of hope and uncertainty.

You prop yourself up on your elbow to look at him. "I know so. You've been getting stronger with every race. The car's improving, and you're more comfortable with it. Plus, this is Silverstone - you know this track like the back of your hand."

He smiles, some of the tension leaving his face. "I do love this circuit."

"That's the spirit," you say, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Now get some sleep. You've got some racing to do in the morning."

The next day you watch from the garage, your heart swells with pride as Oscar delivers a perfect drive. As he crosses the finish line in P4, the garage erupts in cheers. It's his best result in Formula 1 to date, a performance that will silence any remaining doubters.

When he finally makes it back to the garage, helmet off and face beaming, you're there waiting. He sweeps you up in a hug, both of you laughing with joy.

"You did it!" you exclaim as he sets you down. "I told you you could do it!"

Oscar's eyes are shining with elation and pride. "We did it," he corrects you. "I couldn't have done this without your support."

September 24th, 2023. Japanese Grand Prix

You're perched on the edge of your couch, eyes glued to the TV screen, your heart racing as the lights go out at Suzuka. It's killing you not to be there in person, but work commitments had made the trip to Japan impossible.

Your mind flashes back to your conversation with Oscar yesterday after qualifying. His voice had been filled with excitement and a hint of disbelief as he told you about securing second place on the grid, right behind Max Verstappen.

"Can you believe it?" he had said, his words tumbling out in a rush. "P2! Right behind Max! I mean, I knew the car felt good, but this... this is incredible!"

You had matched his enthusiasm, your pride evident in your voice. "I told you you could do it! Just imagine what you could do in the race from there."

Now, as the race unfolds, you find yourself alternating between cheering out loud and holding your breath. When he crosses the finish line in third place, you leap off the couch, screaming in joy. His first podium and in just his 14th race.

You watch the podium ceremony with tears in your eyes, your heart swelling with pride as Oscar stands there, beaming, champagne in hand next to Max and Lando. It's a moment you've both dreamed about for so long.

It was killing you not to be there.

Hours pass, and you know Oscar must be caught up in team celebrations and media obligations. You're itching to talk to him, but you don't want to interrupt. Finally, just as you're considering going to bed, your phone rings.

"Hey, podium finisher," you answer, unable to keep the smile out of your voice.

"Hey yourself," Oscar replies, and you can hear the grin in his voice. "Sorry it took so long to call. It's been absolutely crazy here."

"Don't apologize! I'm just so incredibly proud of you, Oscar. You were amazing out there. Your first podium, it's a dream come true."

There's a moment of silence, and when Oscar speaks again, his voice is thick with emotion. "I just wish you could have been here. It doesn't feel quite complete without you."

"I know," you say softly. "I wish I could have been there too. But hey, this is just the first of many podiums, right? I'll be there for the next one."

"You bet it is," Oscar chuckles, "And you better be, I need someone to help me wash all this champagne out of my hair."

You laugh, feeling a mix of joy and longing. "I love you, Oscar. Enjoy your celebrations. You've earned it."

"I love you too," he replies warmly, "And I miss you, we have some celebration on our own to do."

October 8th, 2023. Qatar Grand Prix.

The heat in Qatar is suffocating, but the excitement in the air is even more intense. You're back in the paddock, determined not to miss another milestone in Oscar's career. Yesterday's sprint shootout had been a nail-biter, with Oscar securing pole position for the sprint race by mere hundredths of a second.

As the short-format race begins, you hold your breath. Oscar gets a perfect start, maintaining his lead into the first corner. As the final lap approaches, the McLaren garage is in shambles.

When Oscar crosses the finish line in first place, the explosion of joy is deafening. You're jumping up and down, tears streaming down your face as you watch him punch the air in triumph. He's done it - his first ever Formula 1 race win.

As Oscar pulls into parc fermé, you can see the emotion on his face even through his helmet. When he finally removes it, his smile is brighter than the Qatari sun. The team swarms him, and you hang back, letting him soak in this moment with the people who've worked so hard to make this possible.

When he finally breaks free and spots you, his face lights up even more. He rushes over, sweeping you into a tight embrace.

"You did it!" you exclaim, your voice muffled against his race suit. "Your first win, Oscar! I'm so proud of you!"

Oscar pulls back, his eyes shining with. "We did it," he corrects you, just as he did after Silverstone.

You laugh, wiping away happy tears. "Well this is just the beginning. Next stop, Grand Prix victory."

May 5, 2024. Miami Grand Prix.

The air in Oscar's driver's room is heavy with disappointment. You watch as he paces back and forth, still in his race suit, his face a mixture of frustration and barely contained anger.

The race had started so promisingly - Oscar had taken the lead early on and was driving beautifully. But then, a collision forced him into an unscheduled pit stop for a new front wing, dropping him down the order and out of contention for a podium finish.

"I had it," Oscar mutters, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "I was leading the race, I had the pace. If it wasn't for that idiot..."

You step closer, your heart aching for him. "I know, baby. You were driving amazingly out there."

Oscar stops pacing and looks at you, his eyes filled with disappointment. "It's not fair. We've worked so hard, the car was perfect, and then..."

He trails off, shaking his head. You close the distance between you, gently taking his hands in yours. "Hey, look at me," you say softly.

Oscar meets your gaze, and you can see the vulnerability behind his frustration.

"You're right, it's not fair," you continue. "But that's racing sometimes. What matters is how you come back from this. And you will come back from this, stronger than ever."

"I just... I wanted this so badly."

You pull him into a hug, feeling him slowly relax against you. "I know. And your time will come, Oscar. This doesn't change how talented you are or how hard you've worked. It's just a bump in the road."

May 26th, 2024. Monaco Grand Prix.

The streets of Monaco buzz with anticipation for one the most important races in the Formula 1 calendar. For Oscar, this was his second time racing in Monaco, and the excitement was palpable.

From your spot in the McLaren hospitality suite, you had the perfect view of the circuit. Oscar thought you were back home, watching from the living room, but you couldn't miss this race. You wanted to see him shine on this iconic track.

You had coordinated with the team to keep your presence a surprise. As Oscar has his last quiet moments in his driver room before the preparations started, you sent him a quick text: "Good luck, love. Drive fast, be safe. I'll be cheering you on from home!"

Oscar's response was immediate. "Thanks, babe. I miss you. Wish you were here, but I'll bring home a trophy for you."

You smiled, knowing that he was in for a big surprise.

The race began, and Oscar quickly settled into a rhythm. He defended his P2 position until the checkered flag waved.

The team erupted in cheers, and you felt tears of joy streaming down your face. It was his third podium finish, and it was in Monaco of all places.

Oscar climbed out of his car, waving to the cheering crowd, his face glowing with joy and relief. As he stood on the podium, spraying champagne and celebrating with Charles and Carlos, you made your way down to the team area.

When the podium celebrations were over, and Oscar was heading back to the garage, you waited for the perfect moment. As he turned the corner, you stepped out, catching his eye.

"Oscar!" you called out, your voice carrying over the noise of the paddock.

He froze, his eyes widening in surprise. "What are you doing here?" he exclaimed, a huge grin spreading across his face as he rushed over to you.

"I couldn't miss this. I had to see you race in Monaco," you threw your arms around him, laughing.

Oscar hugged you tightly, lifting you off your feet. "You sneaky little... I can't believe you're here!"

"Congratulations, baby. You were incredible out there," you pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes.

"This... this is amazing. Thank you for being here. It means everything to me."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," you replied, kissing him softly.

July 7th, 2024. British Grand Prix

Oscar had been more motivated than ever. After finishing second the previous week in Austria, he was eager to claim his first Grand Prix victory, and what better place than Silverstone.

He started strong, fighting his way to the front and eventually taking the lead. The team was buzzing with excitement; victory seemed within reach.

But then, disaster struck. A poorly timed pit stop strategy caused Oscar to lose crucial positions. Despite his best efforts, he crossed the finish line in P4. It was his best finish at Silverstone but not the victory he had hoped for.

Later that day back at Oscar's apartment you watched him pace back and forth. He finally stopped and leaned against the window, staring out into the night. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw was set in frustration. The silence was deafening.

"What's on your mind?" you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Oscar didn't turn around. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.

You stood up and walked over to him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "I know you're upset. But sometimes talking helps."

He sighed deeply and turned to face you, his eyes filled with frustration and disappointment. "I was leading the race. I could have won. My first victory, right here at Silverstone. And it slipped away because of a stupid strategy call."

You reached out and took his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. "It wasn't your fault, Oscar. You drove an amazing race. Everyone saw how talented you are."

"But it doesn't change the fact that I could have won," he said, his voice cracking with frustration. "I've been waiting for this moment my whole life, and it was right there. And now... I don't know when I'll get another chance like this."

You pulled him into a tight hug, feeling his body tense before he finally relaxed against you. "Your time will come. I know it will. You've shown everyone what you're capable of, and there will be other races, other chances. This is just one race in a long career."

Oscar pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I just wanted it so badly. To win here, in front of the home crowd... it would have meant everything."

"I know," you said softly. "And you'll get there. Maybe not today, but soon. And when you do, it'll be even sweeter because of everything you've gone through to get there."

July 21, 2024. Hungary Grand Prix

The Hungaroring buzzed with excitement as the cars lined up on the grid. Oscar, starting from the front row, felt a mixture of determination and nervous energy. As the lights went out, he got a perfect start, pulling away cleanly from the pack.

Lap after lap, Oscar maintained his lead. The team's excitement grew with each passing circuit. This could be it - his first Grand Prix victory.

However, as the race progressed, pit stop strategies began to shake up the order. After a particularly well-timed stop, Lando emerged just ahead of him. The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable.

Soon, team radio crackled to life. Reminding both drivers about strategies, and particularly asking Lando to give the position to Oscar, creating tension both on and off track.

In the final laps, Lando finally relented. He moved slightly wide in a corner, allowing Oscar to slip past. Oscar crossed the finish line first, claiming his maiden Grand Prix victory.

The team erupted in cheers, but the celebration felt somewhat muted. As Oscar climbed out of his car in parc fermé, his face was hard to read.

As you watched Oscar ascend the podium, your heart swelled with pride. Despite the complicated circumstances of his win, seeing him stand on the top step, the Australian national anthem playing in his honor, was a dream come true.

The champagne spray began, and you couldn't help but smile as Oscar, Lando, and Lewis doused each other in celebration. For a moment, the tension seemed to melt away as the three drivers laughed and enjoyed the moment.

As Oscar descended from the podium, his eyes immediately sought you out in the crowd. You managed to catch him just before he was whisked away for interviews.

"Congratulations, champ," you said, pulling him into a quick embrace.

Oscar hugged you tightly, his race suit still damp with champagne. "Thank you for being here," he murmured against your ear.

You pulled back, searching his face. "How are you feeling?"

A flicker of emotion crossed his features. "I'm not sure yet. I need to process everything."

"I understand," you nodded. "Go do your interviews. We'll talk properly later."

Oscar's eyes softened. He glanced around quickly, then leaned in and gave you a quick kiss. "Love you, see you after."

Hours later, after all the media obligations and team debriefs were over, Oscar finally made his way back to the McLaren hospitality area.

As he entered the room, his eyes immediately sought you out. You were there, beaming with pride, and the sight of you seemed to melt away some of his conflicted feelings.

"There's my champion," you said softly as he approached.

Oscar's face broke into a genuine smile, the first one since he'd crossed the finish line. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your neck.

"I did it," he murmured against your skin. "I actually did it."

You pulled back slightly to look at him, cupping his face in your hands. "You did. And I am so incredibly proud of you, Oscar."

His eyes searched yours, vulnerability evident in his gaze. "It wasn't exactly how I imagined my first win would be," he admitted.

"I know," you nodded, understanding in your voice. "But that doesn't make it any less of an achievement. You drove brilliantly today, from start to finish."

"I just wish... I wish it had been a clean fight to the end, you know?" Oscar sighed, leaning his forehead against yours, "Without the team orders and all that."

"Hey," you said, making him meet your eyes again. "This is Formula 1. It's rarely ever straightforward. What matters is that you proved yourself out there today. You're a Grand Prix winner now, and no one can take that away from you."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "When did you get so wise?"

"Oh, I've always been wise. You're just finally starting to notice," you teased, earning a chuckle from him.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For always being here, for believing in me even when things get complicated."

"Always," you promised, leaning in to kiss him softly.

The kiss deepened, both of you pouring your emotions into it - your pride and joy, his relief and love. When you finally parted, Oscar was smiling more brightly.

"So, Grand Prix winner," you grinned, "ready to go celebrate properly?"

1K notes · View notes

a-kaash-me-outside · 10 months ago

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˚₊‧ ᴡɪʟʟ ɪᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴀsᴜᴀʟ ɴᴏᴡ? ‧₊˚

♡ ft. geto, toji, gojo, higuruma, nanami ♡ total wc: 10.9k // nsfw minors dni! // ♡ contents: ౨ৎ 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 ౨ৎ, afab reader she/her pronouns, no smut in gojos or tojis im sorry, emotionally stunted men kinda but they grow isnt that nice (not talking abt higuruma and nanami god no), the aftermath of fwb caught feelings, consolation, emotional aftercare ig, lotta domestic fluff for higuruma and nanami's!!!! (everyone say ty @noosayog for nanami's bc she is the only reason i wrote his) ♡ listen along: casual by chappell roan ♡

- ᡣ𐭩 time passes and people change, and just because you fell first doesn't mean you don't get a happy ending + bonus continuation of higuruma's and nanami's ᡣ𐭩 -

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴇᴛᴏ [ 3 ʏᴇᴀʀs ]

on the list of people that you thought you’d see tonight, geto isn’t even in the top 100, not because of probability or likelihood, but solely based on the fact that you have not thought about this man in years. if you were asked the question from your future self, “holy shit, guess who we saw tonight?” you would’ve listed old friends, distant relatives, exes, minor celebrities, other flings, teachers from high school, people from stories you’ve only heard of, and then geto.

after that night, you really didn’t see barely any of him. a few posts on your feed: one 2 weeks after and another 2 months after that one when you remembered that you forgot to unfollow him. once on campus: him across a million tables getting lunch with some girl too long after your little thing for you to care about who she was to him at all. once at a mutual (though you didn’t know was mutual at the time) friend’s party close to graduation: you ran into him grabbing a drink from the cooler and neither of you said a single word to each other, just exchanged a very knowing glance.

fast forward a handful of years, with geto not on your mind during a single one of them, and you’re stunned, nearly speechless, as you recognize him across the bar. the track of which your mind is racing takes you stop after stop to thoughts and feelings you didn’t really ask to experience. they follow a curving roadmap in your mind of: why is he here? ↝ wow, he looks great ↝ does he live nearby still? ↝ that’s weird ↝ no, it isn’t weird, i still live here ↝ then what are the fucking chances that he’s here ↝ no, seriously he looks so good

he looks different though, you realize about 3 minutes into sneaking glances in his direction, in some way that you just can’t put your finger on right now. in your slightly tipsy state, you barely stop to ask yourself how you even clocked that it was him so quickly, how there was no hesitance in the recognition or questioning in the placing. he looks really fucking good.

in fact, now that all of the obligatory thoughts have come to a heed, that’s really the only thing that you can think about. how good he looks.

the events that happened that ended your situationship all of those years ago are nothing but outlines now; whatever you said or he said just sounds like underwater conversations. you can see the way that you left and you remember being dumbfounded, but everything else has lost its sting, like a story you’d recall to a friend of a friend in a setting much like the one you’re in. time has handled the memory the way that time does and as a result, when the two of you finally make eye contact after what feels like an hour of missed mutual glances, you offer a small wave. a wave that says, “i remember only knowing you in past tense. we are such different people now, i wonder what it would’ve been like if we met now instead.”

the wave was the first step, technically, sure, but he makes the literal first step. he departs from the conversation he’s been enthralled with for as long as you’ve been stealing glances and he weaves between people in the middle of their own stories before ending up in front of you.

when he does, he asks, as if he’s just randomly bumped into you rather than intentionally coming over, “shit… is that you?” he puts his hand on the back of your chair, thumb brushing your shoulder.

the friend that you’re with cocks their head, furrows their eyebrows, has no idea who this is or their connection to you, the timelines of their interactions with you spaced too far apart for one to know the other. geto notices this look, addresses it. “we used to…,” he pauses, “see each other? for a little bit.”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from your chest at the way he describes it. “yes, yes we did,” you nod. “back in college,” you explain a little further, “been a while.”

the interaction quiets, the two of you exchanging soft smiles instead of words, and your friend knows where this thing is going before either of you even do, so they bow their head, offer their seat to geto, and take their leave in the name of some bullshit excuse. he takes it without a second thought, asking you how you’ve been, laughing about the time that you saw each other at that party, and after an hour of just talking he says, “yeah, i actually thought about you the other day.”

you nearly choke on the drink he’s bought you. you rush to put it down. “you did?” you ask.

he nods. “i don’t even remember what prompted it. i think, maybe, i saw a photo of myself from college and how different i looked and how different i feel now and then just, out of nowhere, remembered how shitty i was to you.”

you don’t say anything in return, running your finger around the lip of your glass as you stare at him. you don’t know how to say that you don’t care anymore, that you haven’t thought of those days in years, that the surprise that you displayed a few seconds ago was completely genuine, because you were so convinced that neither of you had. it comes out something like a shrug and, “we were practically kids.”

he answers so quickly, “well, kids or not, i’m sorry.”

you laugh, gently so he won’t think you’re laughing at his apology. really, you’re laughing at the notion of apologizing for an act that no longer warrants forgiveness. you laugh at the thought of giving it anyways. you place your hand on top of his on the edge of the bar. “thank you,” you nod. he nods back.

when you let him take you back to his place for old times sake, you’re half-expecting the same person from the ghosts of memories from years ago, like all of the things he said at the bar were just a last ditch effort to usher the night in the exact direction that it’s heading in.

but he’s different now, just like he said he was before he apologized, and you can feel it in his movements and his actions. more confident, more intentional. he kisses you first and it doesn’t taste selfish. it doesn’t feel rushed to get to the main event. he savors it, holds your head in his hands, and doesn’t touch a single other inch of your body until he’s found the right combination of fingertip pressure and tongue that has you melting into his palm.

your mind flickers to the notion that these actions might be pre planned because they feel so meticulous and thought out, but that impression quickly dissolves when he sinks inside of you, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on yours as he does, his hand reaching down to cup your cheek, fingers nearly trembling against your jaw when he presses his hips completely against the insides of your thighs.

“shit,” he hisses, hands moving down to your waist, fingers light like feathers practically crawling against your skin, as if each print was so grateful it got to make contact with the softness below. when he grips into the fat of your hips, he’s careful, intentional or not, pressing his thumbs into the bone, but not letting his nails leave a single mark. it’s pressured, but comfortable.

he holds you in place, slowly pulling his hips back and he can’t help but look down between your legs, watching himself disappear inside of you, a creamy mess at the base, shallow breaths recycled in his chest.

“hey,” you say, eyes locked on the tenseness of his jaw and the way that he stops himself with sharp inhales. he finds your gaze in a second. “don’t hold out on me here.” you rest your arm on his bicep, fingers curling around wherever they can reach.

you can feel it under your palm, his muscle tensing as his pace picks up, rhythm consistent, but unrelenting. the breaths come out of you quickly and you’re unable to hold any sort of facade. “ah- shit, f-fuck,” you cry, “holy shit.” you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing harshly as strangled noises leave you without vetting a single one.

“n-no,” you shake your head, regretting it instantly as he slows down in response. you shake your head harder, “no, don’t stop, but- ah,” you groan, “your- you were- i meant,” you exhale a laugh, “let me hear you.”

his eyes widen slightly as he processes what you want from him, and then he listens. he leans down to kiss your lips and then your cheek and then your jaw and then your ear. yes, he’s fucking you better than you’ve ever been fucked in your entire life, but that’s not what makes you crumble. no, it’s his grunts and pants and breathy groans pressed right up against your skin.

you thread your fingers into his hair, twirling the ends of the locks between the tips, raking your nails down the base of his neck to the front, and then smoothing them down his chest. “more,” you mumble against him, and you’re not sure exactly what you mean, but he gives it to you, whatever it is. you’re certain he’d give you anything in the world right now if you just asked for it.

there’s a moment after when you’re lying there with him, shoulder pressed up against his, chest heaving, barely recovered, that you find yourself back in that college dorm. you don’t know why the tightness is rising in the hollow below your sternum, but it is. you remind yourself that you weren’t expecting anything from this anyway, so it doesn’t matter, but it does. you’re not sure if you just don’t want to be treated like that again or if it has something to do with geto being the one lying beside you.

when you turn your head to face him, he’s already looking at you. he doesn’t shy away in embarrassment, like it’s wrong that he’d be gazing at you after all of that. his features are steady, confident, strong. he smiles softly, brings his hand up to cup your cheek. “should we get breakfast in the morning?”

in the morning, you repeat in your head. you wait a beat, trying to come up with something to say, to proceed with caution or to discern his intentions or to at least not sound desperate, but all that comes out is, “in the morning?”

he nods, turning on his side so he can stare at you without his neck getting sore. he inches closer to you, kissing the top of your shoulder and then your temple. he drapes his arm over your stomach. “if that’s okay with you,” he says and then kisses you again.

“okay,” you nod back, lazy smile on your lips, eyelids heavy at the warmth surrounding you now as he pulls you closer to him. “yeah, sure,” you affirm, voice so soft and airy that the tightness in your chest is lifted away with the words, all that’s left is a hope you feel comfortable letting stick around.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴏᴊɪ [ 3 ᴍᴏɴᴛʜs ]

you are not expecting anyone. you have resigned yourself to a nice pair of pajamas and comfy socks and a warm cup of tea and a spot in the living room that you will only leave for a refill and bathroom breaks. you are tucked into the corner of your couch, back pressed up against the sturdy arm, legs crossed, and a throw blanket over your lap.

you are not expecting anyone, so the sound at the door should have felt a lot more jarring. well, it is jarring for a second, a few seconds actually, the echoing disruption bouncing off of the walls of your living room and back to you, but then the noises repeat themselves, like they’re on a looping track, and you realize that-

you know that knock. heavy-handed with a tight fist, back of the knuckles, not the tops. almost pittering out by the end of the three successions, like the first one is direct and assured, but the second and third don’t really bother keeping up. that knock almost makes you run to the door. if it were 3 months ago, you’d be skipping to the door.

but you hesitate for a few reasons. firstly because when the connection hits that you know that knock very well, you remind yourself to proceed with caution. secondly because it sounds the same but with a difference as small as a hairline fracture. you heard that knock far too many times during the span of a year and a half, and this one sounds almost completely identical, but there’s a half second pause between the first knock and the second knock and the raps feel less impatient.

you don’t have to look through the peephole to know who’s standing on the other side of the door, but you’re glad you do anyway. if for nothing else, it gives you a slight edge, you’re convinced, like you’ve seen him first, you have the upperhand now. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

toji hadn’t contacted you since he left that day. no texts. no calls. no showing up at your apartment at 3 am. nothing. you kept telling yourself that you’d hear from him. when that didn’t happen, you started telling yourself that you didn’t care if you heard from him. you’ve actually been waiting for this moment, replaying what it would look like if he came back, the things you’d say to him and how you’d say them.

now, looking out at him just standing there, you’re frozen. every scenario you’ve replayed in your head, all of the emotional venting and blow out screaming that you’ve rehearsed and you can’t recall a single scene. you think about leaving him out there, about telling him to go away through the door or just pretending like you’re not home.

“i can see the shadow of your feet under the door,” toji calls out, muffled by the barrier between you guys, and yet it still rings out through your entire body.

you slowly open the door. though, even if it took an entire hour to open the door, you’re not sure it would’ve mattered. you don’t think time is something that could’ve prepared you for seeing him. seeing him didn’t even prepare you for seeing him. you don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, folding your arms over your chest. you just wait.

“i-,” he starts, but then immediately stops, half sighs/half scoffs as he leans his chest forward, eyes scanning the inside of your apartment, for what exactly you’re not sure.

“what, toji?” you ask, voice stronger- and more annoyed- than you anticipate it being. you’re grateful for that. “why are you here?”

“shit, this is already hard enough for me t-,” he says, shaking his head, corner of his mouth tugging upward in frustration.

you narrow your eyes, cutting him off, “sorry, this is hard for you?” you feel like laughing or strangling him more than you do crying, which is a desired outcome in this situation, you suppose. “you know that you haven’t talked to me in three months, right? you haven’t talked to me?” you ask, and you can feel your pulse in your wrist and your chest now, because the lines are coming back to you slowly, one by one, circling your brain, fueling your confidence.

“yeah, no, of course i know that,” he combats, like you’re the one that’s being an asshole right now.

you smooth your fingertips against your eyes, blocking the sight of him out for just a second before gesturing with your hand as you ask, “are you going to answer my question or…?”

“look, i said that this is hard enough as it is for me to just be here,” he snaps, and if you were a little less annoyed, if he hadn’t come at this whole thing exactly how he was, you might’ve clocked the desperation in his voice or the uncertainty in his pupils.

“do you know how fucking stupid you sound right now?” you ask. it’s a rhetorical question.

one week after he left, you were certain he was going to come back. you and toji had gone a week without seeing each other or even speaking. you had even gone two weeks. sure, the conversation felt much more serious and, sure, really deep down you knew this time was different, but still, you held out dumb hope.

one month after he left and you realized this was not just him being weird and distant. this was something brand new that you had never had to deal with before. you were still trying to figure out how to navigate it when the two month realization hit: that maybe he wasn’t coming back at all, ever, maybe you had done something wrong. if he had shown back up on your doorstep during that time this conversation would’ve gone very differently you think.

but he didn’t. he showed up at month three when your reaction to random memories of toji were no longer tears and guilt, but laughter and bitterness. there weren’t many things that toji could say right now that would warrant anything more than you standing in your doorway for 4 minutes or less.

“i-,” he starts, but then sighs. he looks left, down the hallway of your building, eyes shifting from object to object out of your view.

“please don’t waste anymore of my time,” you reply and it’s softer than you intend. you thought it’d come out angrier. that seems like a theme for you tonight: everything sounding different in your head. when he doesn’t reply, you start a countdown, promising yourself that when you make it to 15, you’ll close the door in his face. you only make it to 13.

“i’m not here to waste your time,” he says, with no air of disgust or annoyance, the first halfway decent thing he’s said to you tonight. “i-,” he huffs again, “i’m here to say sorry. and-,” he hesitates.

you wait, just listening. the longer that he hesitates, the more time you have to think about what he might say and how you’re standing with your door open for the entire floor to hear your conversation. you’re not sure what’s worse, having this conversation in the confines of familiar grounds or the openness of neutrality.

“and ask… are you already seeing someone else?” he finishes.

you’re dumbfounded, blinking at him slowly before responding in the only way you can think of right now, “goodnight, toji.” you shake your head, cursing yourself for expecting anything more.

“no,” he rushes to say and then stumbles over the rest, “i- i tried to see somebody else, quite a bit of other people actually…”

you scoff, squinting at him, saying more sternly this time, with an added attestation of closing the door in his face, “goodnight, toji.”

he reaches out with a quick reflex, grabbing the door before you’ve barely even moved it. “wait, no, i- fuck,” he mutters, scrambling, “can i just come in?”

“so that was your plan then?” you drop your hand from the door. “to come back here unannounced, be shitty to me, ask if i’m sleeping with anyone, tell me that you’ve slept with lots of people, and then ask if you can come inside?” you ask.

“i didn’t have a plan-,” he replies.

“clearly,” you interject.

“but i’m trying,” he finishes, and you’re waiting for there to be more, to explain exactly how this constitutes as trying, because you don’t really see that here.

“fucking christ, toji, you’re going to have to try harder than whatever the fuck this is,” you sneer.

“we- we had a good thing,” he tries again. you don’t understand how every time he opens his mouth it gets worse and worse. why are you even entertaining this anymore?

“fuck you, man,” you scoff, and it feels like all of the anger has left your body, and in the void where it once was present is nothing but disinterest.

“no, not like that,” he backpedals. maybe if he would say more than four words at a time, or four better words at a time, then you wouldn’t have to keep filling in the blanks or being pissed off or- “for the last six months of our relationship, i didn’t sleep with anyone else,” he admits like it’s the answer to all of your problems. the word relationship burns at the forefront of your mind so hard that you don’t realize what he’s said for 10 whole seconds.

“i, so what?” your voice is unconvincing even to your own ears. you had slept with other people even 2 months before that last day. that wasn’t the issue. you guys were allowed to sleep with other people. you had an explicit conversation about the fact that you could sleep with other people, something along the lines of, hey, we can see other people right? yeah, we’re not fucking dating. okay, just checking.

the so what, you had already answered for yourself, inner voice replying to your own question, screaming, you guys were exclusive, unknowingly to each other, for 2 whole months before you confessed and he left.

his answer is much different. he says, “so nothing really. i just- i needed you to know that.”

“well, what the fuck do you want me to do with that?” you ask, and it comes out bitter and discouraged, but what you really mean is, please tell me what you want, please, can you just tell me that you missed me.

“whatever you want,” he answers instead.

you take a deep breath, a million emotions coursing through your veins and up your throat. “you know what?” you say, and it doesn’t sound angry, it sounds playful, “no, seriously,” you smile and then you laugh, “fuck you, toji.” you close your mouth like you’re done talking, like that’s all you needed to say, but your heart disagrees, forces more words out into the air no matter how hard your jaw is clenched shut.

“you show up here and you’re an asshole and then you’re decent and then you say shit like that and then- then i ask you what you fucking want from this, what you’re trying to play at here and you tell me whatever i want?” you say, exasperated.

“what i wanted was for you not to leave me three fucking months ago. that’s what i wanted,” you spit, “i wanted you to tell me this shit three fucking months ago before i sat alone, by myself, sad and then angry, and the entire time, fucking missing you, you fucking asshole. that’s what i wanted.”

and then it’s there, out in the open, airing for the two of you to witness and to face, and no matter what happens, you know you’ve done everything and said everything that you’ve needed to. he’s quiet for a few moments and you let him be, not tapping your foot or rolling your eyes or being pissed off, but just letting it play out. if this is the last time you ever see toji, why not just let it play out?

“okay,” he says, and it’s soft in a way you’ve only ever heard from him one time in your entire relationship. “i’m sorry.” he pauses. “i really don’t know how to do this,” he admits and you believe him. it feels different from when he told you something along those lines earlier, but you have a feeling that this is what he was trying to say all along.

“do what?” you push, because your mind is making assumptions, but if he’s going to prove anything to you, he needs to start now.

“ask for forgiveness?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud, “apologize? date someone?” you don’t say anything. you’re looking for something more concrete than that. it takes a handful of uncomfortable seconds before he says, “actually care about someone.”

“and do you?” you ask.

his lips press into a thin line, his eyes shift from left to right again. you can feel him getting antsy with the conversation and he’s barely said one vulnerable thing. you look at him, eyes soft and pleading, silently begging him that if he’s grown from this, you’ll let him back in, you swear, but you’ve been hurt before and you know what you’re worth, so you’re going to need some sort of evidence as collateral. “yeah,” he mumbles, but it’s audible. “you,” he says like it isn’t obvious, and it’s quiet and daunted, but you really appreciate the effort.

“okay,” you say, and that’s all you say.

“okay?” he questions, confused. “that’s it?”

“yup,” you say, but your small smile and the fact that you’re not slamming the door in his face again gives away a bit more than that.

“can i… come in?” he asks, hesitant, like he’s still being tested.

you shake your head, hand gripped onto the edge of the door. “no,” you say, scrunching up your nose and furrowing your eyebrows. “because if you come in here, we’re going to have sex,” you admit, half because it’s the truth and half just to see the look on his face. (it’s worth it.)

“wait,” he says, placing his palm flat against your door, but not moving it. his hand is now inside of your apartment, the only part of his body that’s made it past this invisible barrier of hallway and your place. “that sounds like a great thing. why am i not allowed in?”

“because this is me having self-control,” you explain, placing a hand on his shoulder and pushing the small portion of him that’s crossed the division back into the hallway. when you feel his skin against your pinky, soft fabric of that familiar shirt underneath your palm, you almost make a fool of yourself right after you say the word self-control, but you remind yourself what’s at stake here, what you really want.

“i came all the way out here to see you-,” he starts, but he doesn’t make a move to replace his hand on your door, letting his arm fall back to his side. it’s for the better, too, because you’re not sure how much more self-control you have already, no matter how much you tell yourself about longevity and whatever.

“if you really care,” you interrupt him, using his few vulnerable words against him, “and you weren't just trying to sleep with me tonight,” you pause, letting those words sink in, “you will go home and you will call me tomorrow morning and we will get breakfast- the least sexy meal of them all- and then maybe coffee if i enjoy hanging out with you outside of just having sex with you, and then we will go from there.”

“i-,” he starts to protest, but you cock your head. the truth is, if he said another word, reached out and touched your cheek or your hip or really anywhere on your body, if he kissed you, or just walked inside of your apartment and sat down on your couch, you wouldn’t have stopped him. you might even have gotten breakfast with him anyways. he doesn’t know that, you don’t think, but even if he does, he doesn’t act on it. he bows his head slightly, conceding, and says, “okay. i will just… talk to you… tomorrow… then.”

you nod. “goodnight, toji,” you say, hand on the door, closing it as slowly as you opened it.

“uh, yea, night,” he says back. you won’t tell anyone, and neither will he, about the stupidest small smile you see on his lips as he leaves your apartment that night or the fact that he wakes up extra early the next morning, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous dating is before he calls you at 9:30 on the dot.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ɢᴏᴊᴏ [ 3 ᴡᴇᴇᴋs ]

being away from ɢᴏᴊᴏ feels like detoxing. not from like hard drugs or alcohol, but… coffee.

like you know it’s not necessarily good for you, drinking it every day, but it’s a habit you’ve had for a while now and you just can’t seem to break it. it’s not really hurting anything in your day-to-day and you’ve been doing it for so long that it’s probably fine to just keep doing it.

but out of nowhere it hits you that maybe drinking coffee as much as you do is a waste of money and even if you don’t feel the negative effects constantly in your daily routine, you remind yourself of the times where you could distinctly feel the thump of your heart and the unsteady of your hands. you recall the time that you stayed up all night for the promise of a cup of coffee to get you through the day. in every memory that you’ve ever had in your entire college career, you’re holding a cup of coffee.

so one day you make the choice to stop. you stop buying coffee from coffee shops and pods for your coffee maker and cups from diners and accepting free ones from friends. you don’t really need a good cup of coffee as badly as you think you do. and it’s stupid, you think, because it’s just coffee. it doesn’t mean anything. just because you’ve been drinking it consistently for quite awhile doesn’t mean it has any sort of hold over you. it’s just coffee.

but then the headaches come and the irritation sets in and nights are hard, but for some reason mornings are unbearable, and you feel antsy all the time and you haven’t left your room in the past three days and the only thing you want is a cup of fucking coffee and you can’t relapse with coffee; it’s fucking coffee.

yeah, being away from gojo feels a lot like detoxing from coffee.

you try to just not see him. it’ll be easier for you if you just don’t see him, you tell yourself. you go out of your way to avoid his walking path on campus and you refuse to leave your dorm when you don’t absolutely need to in fear of bumping into him or worse, just seeing him from afar, and god forbid you even come within three streets of the corner where his apartment resides. you block his number and you delete social media off of your phone for the time being, too many mutual friends to make casualties, and you do not let yourself think about him. not falling asleep, not when you wake up, not while you’re doing homework, not in your dreams or in the shower, not when something reminds you of him, not when you see his favorite show on your recently watched, not when you really need a good cup of coffee.

and it works for a while.

but not forever.

three weeks into your detox and you’re doing such a good job at not thinking about gojo that you mix up his monday schedule with his tuesday schedule and on your way back to your dorm, you see him. if you keep walking at the same pace that you’re walking, you will collide with him. if neither of you do anything, one of you will get hurt.

you look down at your phone, hoping, in the forefront of your mind, that he didn’t see it was you. (in the back of your mind, you’re hoping that he’s the one to break the longest bout of silence the two of you have had since you met.) when you sneak a glance, he’s already almost reached you, jogging to catch up with you. “hey,” he calls out, just in case you haven’t seen him.

“hi,” you say, stopping in place and letting him approach you.

“i’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” he offers, like you wouldn’t have known that.

“oh, sorry, haven’t been on my phone,” you lie. he knows that you’re lying. he can tell that you’re lying, so you don’t really know why you lie in the first place. maybe to prove a point. maybe to make him feel bad.

“look, about…,” he trails off, trying to remember how long he’s been without you, “about that… day…,” he opts for instead.

you put your hand up, waving the topic off. you mean to say something like, don’t worry about it, see you later, but it comes out like, “we don’t have to talk about that here.” here. fucking here. if you would’ve left those four letters out, it would’ve been a perfect line to walk away with, but you don’t. your stupid coffee-craving brain tacks it on, hopeful.

“right,” he says, nodding, “should we get coffee maybe, then, or?”

it’s not out of the ordinary, or it didn’t used to be, but now it feels taboo. you want to snap and ask him if he’s sure, because coffee sounds a bit too much like a date for people that aren’t together, but you realize very quickly that the irritation from your coffee detox is maybe a little bit too much to hold in without any closure. “sure,” you agree, “i just got done with class so we cou-.”

“i know,” he says, because three weeks hasn’t erased your schedule from his brain either.

you order an iced tea. you’re still convinced you’re done with coffee for good. he looks surprised at your choice, like he’s never seen you order an iced tea before, because he hasn’t, but he doesn’t say anything. you sip on it throughout unpleasant pleasantries and it’s refreshing, but it’s lacking something. in fact, the longer that you drink this stupid drink that has caffeine anyways and isn’t as good, the irritation bubbles higher and higher until- “can i start?” you ask, tapping your fingers against the table in rhythmic succession.

“yeah, sure,” he says, bringing his coffee to his lips and taking a sip.

“if at any point in this conversation your answer to anything i have to say is that we weren’t together, i don’t think we should have this conversation,” you reason, and you mean it, but his reaction takes you aback. you notice the smallest flinch when you say weren’t.

“i wasn’t-,” he shakes his head, sighing, “no, i wasn’t going to say that.”

“okay,” you say, dragging your fingertips along the condensation on the side of your glass. “then what were you going to say?”

he thinks for a minute, like he didn’t assume that he’d get this far when he brought up the idea of coffee. “i wanted to stop you from leaving,” he says.

“but you didn’t,” you rebuttal.

“i didn’t,” he affirms. it’s quiet again. you can hear the scrape of the cups against the table as they’re picked up, drank from, and put back down. the chatter in the coffee shop drones over the sounds of hesitance and nerves. “i’m sorry,” he says after a while.

“so, do you think we were together?” you ask, “and be honest. i’ll know if you lie.” you search his face as he answers, and the only thing that comes up is another flinch when you talk in past tense again.

“yeah,” he says, honest. “being apart from you these past three weeks has been one of the shittiest things i’ve ever been through.”

“ever?” you ask, quirking your eyebrow, as if it isn’t somewhat true for you too.

he nods in response, continuing, “it’s been hard.” he pauses. “i’m sorry i was so shitty.”

“pretty shitty, yeah,” you agree, but you can’t hide how nice it feels to just talk with him again, to call him shitty and to sit across from him at a coffee shop table. “i’m sorry i ghosted you these past few weeks,” because it deserves to be said too.

“i really missed you,” he says, and he doesn’t hide from it. he looks you directly in your eyes and you can tell that he wants to reach across the table and hold your hand. you want that too.

“me or just, like, sleeping with me?” you ask, somewhat terrified of the answer, scanning his face for the truth once again.

he laughs softly and, try as you might, you can’t stop the fluttering in your stomach or the warmth in your cheeks hearing that for the first time in too long. “please, i haven’t thought about sleeping with you once,” he jokes.

“oh, no? not at all?” you ask, scoffing lightly, a tiny smirk threatening to break.

he forces a thoughtful frown, shakes his head dramatically and says, “can’t say that i have.” you’re laughing now, but through smile-squinted eyes you can still tell that he’s actually being genuine. “not really,” he says.

“so just me then?” you ask to make sure.

“just you,” he affirms. “a lot of just you.” you hum, content with his answer, but he gives you even more than thought he ever could, “i don’t want to just go back to the way things were. i don’t think that’s enough for me anymore.”

even though you’re sure a response like this would’ve sent waves of shock through your entire body, it doesn’t. it just feels right. you reply quickly, “good. i don’t think it’s enough for me either.” you reach across the table. the back of your hand brushes against his, and then past it. you wrap your fingers around the handle of his coffee cup and bring it to your lips.

he doesn’t protest or snatch it away from you or make a snarky comment. he places his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow against the surface of the table, and smiles at you. you take a sip from his mug, warmth spreading through every bit of your body.

why would you deprive yourself of coffee when it brings you so much comfort?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ʜɪɢᴜʀᴜᴍ�� [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

you’re not exactly sure how many times something has to happen before it becomes a theme.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“do you -huff- want to -huff- have kids someday?” higuruma asks from beneath you, palms resting on the tops of your knees, thumbs massaging up to the insides of your thighs.

you slow your bounces and then you stop them completely. you blink at him once and then twice. “that is a really wild thing to ask while you’re inside of someone,” you scoff, searching his face for any kind of tone indicator. is he being serious? is he just saying something to get a rise out of you? is this a kink thing?

he smirks, placing his hands on your hips, coaxing you to continue your movements, and you do. you lift yourself off of him, slowly at first, but then picking up speed as you chase the feeling you lost when he asked the question. you’re breathless when he asks again, the repeated question no longer stilling you. the second time around it feels almost normal. “do you?” he asks on his exhale.

you shake your head and then tilt it side to side, closing your eyes so all of the conflicting fast paced movements don’t dizzy you. “i- don’t- know-,” you huff, “maybe- conversation- for- a- different- setting.” each word is punctuated by the slap of your thighs against his hips. he nods, completely okay with that answer, and then just drops it.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“shit,” you say in realization, hips circling, fingers combing through his hair. you pull your head away from his shoulder, pushing yourself up to look him in the eyes. “wait, how did your meeting go today?” you ask, and this time neither of you miss a beat.

when he slows to think about it, you pick up his slack, rolling your hips, feeling the drag of him inside of you, a breathy moan floating up your chest. he answers over your noises, “really good actually.”

“everything as planned?” you ask further, genuinely just as invested in this as you are in the act.

he nods, smiling. “yeah, to a t,” he says, wrapping his arms around your lower back and pulling you against his chest. he kisses the side of your temple, holding you in place with a tight grip as he lifts his hips off of the bed, thrusting into you. “surprised you didn’t ask as soon as i came through the door.”

you shake your head against his shoulder, placing a soft kiss against his collarbone. “was thinking about it all day,” you explain. he fucks into you faster in response and it feels like a reward for caring about the things that are important to him. “but when- shit- when you got home…,” you grunt, “it completely- ah, fuck- completely slipped my- ah- mind, s-sorry.”

“ts alright, pretty.” he nudges his nose against your cheek, peeling your attention to his face. your cheek rests against his shoulder and you blink at him, focus dipping from the topic at hand as you feel that familiar tightening in your core. he can see it written all over your face, so he drops his head to kiss you, silently communicating that you don’t have to worry about finishing the conversation right now. he’ll bring it up again in a bit.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

“should we get married?” he asks, back up against the headboard, looking you directly in your eyes, gaze following yours as you rise and fall.

“you are not proposing to me while i’m riding you,” you say, shaking your head, but you don’t still or slow. conversations like this in a setting like this just don’t phase you anymore. honestly, it wouldn’t surprise you if he did propose right now. you’re not even sure you’d say no.

the corner of his lip tugs upward and he exhales a laugh as he leans forward the smallest bit to kiss you. “i’m not, i’m not,” he assures, “why? would you say no?”

you’re quiet for a minute, not because you don’t know the answer, but to keep him on his toes. you won’t lie to him, you don’t think, but you don’t want to come right out and say it. his questions are rhetorical anyways, half-jokes that he’s not expecting serious answers to; you’ve known higuruma well enough and long enough to be confident of that. you could’ve replied with an eye roll and a scoff and nothing else and he would’ve dropped it. instead, however, you answer, “course not. i’d say yes in a second.”

he nearly comes inside of you right there.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

maybe it becomes a theme when someone points it out.

you can’t tell if it’s intentional or not, the way that the two of you keep having these serious conversations during sex. you know that you don’t do it on purpose; things will just hit you during the repetitive motions and you worry you’ll forget them and you know that higuruma won’t judge you for just saying them, so you do. whether this is the case for him, you’re not sure.

but the interruptions just keep getting more casual. it starts with big conversations: weddings and promotions and thoughtful decisions, and then it’s like you just start remembering things in this position: work drama and mundane did you knows. it’s almost as if starting with big topics just made it seem so easy to talk about anything like this.

it didn’t help, you think, that it’s just always easy to talk about anything with higuruma. you guys have been together, officially together, for over four years now, and conversation, no matter the topic or severity or setting, is something you’ve never struggled with. you continue to not struggle with it, inside of the bedroom and out.

you’re not sure what about the position and the moment makes you so susceptible to remembering little things that you want to tell higuruma when he’s not around, and vice versa. in fact, you’re not even convinced that it’s something about the action that jogs your memory anyway, it’s probably just a really weird and common coincidence.

and then one night you can’t find your keys.

you’ve searched everywhere for them, in your car, in your bag, every nook of your room, the places where they normally are, higuruma’s coat pocket just in case, and then everywhere else in your guys’ apartment. they’re nowhere to be seen.

when higuruma walks through the front door, even from where you’re searching in the kitchen, you hear him let out an elongated, “woah.”

you pop your head into the doorway, “don’t say anything about the mess.” you can see his eyes resting on the overturned couch cushions and then on the various opened drawers. “hey,” you warn, pointing towards him as you walk quickly into the living room. you throw your arms around him tightly and give him a small greeting peck. it’s routine at this point; if you don’t do it your whole night feels off. “i said don’t say anything.”

he lets you hang off of his neck as he puts both hands up in surrender. “i didn’t say shit,” he says, pressing a kiss into the side of your neck, then moving his hands to your waist, “the fuck happened here though?” he laughs against your skin and you can feel the vibrations travel to your fingers and toes.

you pull away from him, shaking your head. now that you’re back in the living room, it’s like you have to start this room’s search over too. you start checking under the couch and in the hall closet. “lost my fucking keys,” you grumble, smoothing your palms over your face, “i swear i’ve looked everywhere. i just can’t remember where i left them when i got home.”

“did you check th-,” he asks, walking into the kitchen, grateful that you’re not in there with him or he knows you’d yell at him for the way his eyes go wide at the clutter and chaos everywhere.

you cut him off, “wherever you’re about to say, probably yes, ughhh. i’ve retraced my steps, i’ve looked in places that are fucking stupid to look in like every pair of shoes we own and in the fucking guest bedroom pillowcases. i’ve looked everywhere.”

from where he’s stood in the kitchen now, he can see you scrambling as you vent. he leans against the wall, “well, not everywhere or you would’ve found it by now.”

“i’ll kill you,” you say, eyes snapping up to meet his to show how serious you are.

he just laughs, “i’ve got a pretty good lawyer, you might not want to do that.”

“good legal can’t help you when you’re dead,” you snap, almost completely joking. he meets you back in the living room, helping you check all the places you’ve already checked.

15 minutes pass and then 35 and then he stops abruptly. “oh my god, i have an idea,” he says, and you look at him, hopeful. “you know when you usually remember things?”

your first reaction is joking annoyance, picking up a throw pillow and sending it his way. he catches it and sets it back down on the couch. “i’m serious!” he yell-laughs.

you throw another pillow at him as your second reaction sets in. “that’s not going to fucking work,” you say.

“how do you know?” he asks.

“because,” you say, trying to come up with a good answer other than just blind doubt, “because i don’t remember things while i’m riding you. it’s not a fucking superpower.”

“you don’t know that,” he jokes back and braces to be hit with another pillow. “okay, okay, but i’m being serious! besides, what’s the worst thing that can happen? you don’t remember and we’ve had sex, how horrible,” he reasons.

you let your arms fall, pillow in your hands resting against the tops of your thighs. you look at him, thinking, which, in hindsight, was a dumb thing to do, because higuruma can see the contemplation on your face.

eight minutes later and he’s inside of you and you’re the most embarrassed you’ve ever been.

“this is so stupid,” you mumble. you haven’t moved an inch after slowly lowering yourself onto him. you’re fully seated against his hips, hands smoothing over your face and then lingering there, covering.

he reaches up, fingers soft and kind as he wraps them around your wrists, pulling them away from your face. “ts not stupid,” he reassures, but you’re not convinced. you groan, turning to look away from him, but that just won’t do. he reaches up again, soft grip on your chin coaxing your gaze back to his. “hey,” he says softly, “just focus here, angel.”

you listen, somewhat, mind still flickering back to why you’re even riding him in the first place. “just enjoy yourself, okay,” he tries again, rolling his hips upwards, pressing himself inside of you as deep as he can. you close your eyes, and it’s quite easy to just focus on the feeling of being as full as you are right now. “good,” he whispers, “just like that.”

it doesn’t take long for you to lose yourself completely, moving on your own, letting the whimpers and whines take over any other thought you might think to say, chasing that feeling rather than worrying about whatever you’ve lost.

it all kinda clicks at once: where your keys are and why you always remember shit when you’re like this.

in the midst of everyday noise, so many things get lost: important and unimportant thoughts alike. but now you’re not worried about anything else. you don’t care about anything else right now. you don’t have to. you don’t want to. and in this state of letting everything go, mindless and blissful, some things slip back through the cracks.

you collapse onto higuruma’s chest, spent and happily aware of this new revelation that you have not, for once, shared in the middle of sex, but kept quiet as a come down surprise. you hum softly as he rubs up and down your back, hum again as he presses a kiss into your forehead. “m sorry it didn’t work, angel,” he murmurs.

you turn your head, ear pressed right against his heart as you gaze up at him. “i left them in the fridge,” you reveal, and he knits his eyebrows together.

you assume that he’s going to say something about how did you leave them in the fridge? or why are they there? but instead he questions, “what? and you didn’t tell me until now?” like you’ve harbored a life long secret. you laugh softly, snaking your hands up and scratching your nails against his scalp, playing with the ends of his hair. “don’t think this is going to get you out of it,” he says, “‘ts my favorite thing when you just blurt shit while you’re on me.”

you can feel the warmth in your cheeks and your chest as you breathe a laugh. “you’ve never told me that before,” you murmur.

“think it’s cute when you just can’t wait to tell me things,” he says, “feels more intimate than being inside of you.”

“ew,” you say, scrunching up your nose, even though you weirdly agree.

he just laughs in response. a few seconds of quiet comfort pass before he backtracks, “wait, why the fuck are your keys in the fridge?”

and you tell him all about it, about the day that you’ve had and how you remembered you hadn’t drank enough water so you were refilling your bottle from the pitcher in the fridge as soon as you got home from work, but your hands were full so you set your keys on top of the leftovers from yesterday, but then you had to go and set everything down and the fridge closed and by the time you left the kitchen you remembered you needed to do something else… and it just keeps going.

you tell him as you’re taking a shower and as you’re eating dinner together and as he’s brushing his teeth and you’re washing your face and laying in bed and setting your alarms. every room in the house is a mess, but you’ll deal with that later, you decide. you rest your chin on his shoulder. “and how was your day?” you ask, even though the clock reads much later than it should for how much sleep you both should get before you’re up early for work tomorrow.

nevermind that, he decides, and tells you all about it anyways.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ʙᴏɴᴜs! ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ [ ɴ/ᴀ ]

“can i ask you something and when i ask you, you’ll know i don’t mean anything bad by it at all because i love you more than everything in the world?” you ask, putting down your phone only after you’ve finished your sentence.

you wait a few seconds for nanami to take in what you’ve asked. he reaches over to the night stand for his bookmark and sticks it between the pages. he shuts it with an audible shuffling of paper and a sharp thump.

nanami has been with you long enough to not typically be surprised by your out of the blue… questions. (dronings? is there a word like droning but the connotation is more positive? like you talk at him a lot and he loves to hear the ramblings in your brain, but sometimes he is just trying to read his book before bed. whatever that word is.)

he places the book on his lap and then turns his chest towards you completely. you now have his full attention. “is that a yes?” you ask.

he inhales deeply, “if i say no, will you still ask it?”

you think on the answer to that question, really mulling it over before shaking your head. “no, i don’t think so.”

“then yes,” he smirks, “i suppose i have to say yes then.”

“great,” you say, tossing your phone onto your bedside table with a clunk. you sit up straighter, rocking forward to fully adjust your position on your side of the bed. you put your hand on his thigh and cross your legs, letting your knee rest on the side of his comforter covered hip. “do you ever regret not dating more?”

it definitely takes him by surprise. he thought you might drop another weirdly specific hypothetical about would he love you if… or request a glass of water even though you already told him tonight when he was getting into bed and he asked if you wanted one, that you did not.

now he’s the one mulling over your question and despite how nerve wracking it could be to wait for an answer to a what if that involves not you, you’re not anxious in the slightest. you’re quiet, just waiting for his answer, and when he finally speaks, you know exactly why you weren’t scared in the first place, “i’ve honestly never thought about it since i met you.”

“really?” you ask, and you’re mostly feeling very lucky that nanami is yours and you are his, but there is an underlying feeling of guilt that he’s unintentionally caused with this statement.

he nods. “sounds like you have though,” he says, and it’s not even a little bit judgmental. it sounds like he’s imploring you to keep talking, like he wants to hear exactly what you’re thinking, why you brought it up in the first place.

“i wouldn’t trade this security, this love, exactly what we have, you for anything in the world,” you start to explain, and it’s nothing but the truth, “but sometimes i just think about that first night when we were in that bar. the flirting, the risks, that feeling of not knowing where the night is going to end up. sometimes i think about that a little bit.”

he hums, thinking about that night, and after a few seconds of silence, he speaks up again, “first date nerves,” he nods, “now that i think about it, i miss those.”

you cock your head at him. that’s a weird part of dating to miss, you think, but then he explains further, “like when we went out on our first date and i didn’t know what you were going to wear or if you liked the restaurant i picked or if you’d let me pay for your food.”

“or if i’d take you back to mine,” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him, but really you’re burning inside. your cheeks feel warm just hearing about these feelings he’s never mentioned to you before.

“yeah, that too,” he laughs, getting back on track, “like, i’m still finding out new things about you all the time, but back then i was discovering who you were every second we were together, and that- that felt like…”

“like finding out soulmates were real?” you ask, because that’s what it felt like to you, that same exact phenomenon he’s describing. he smiles at you warmly, like you’ve just put to words what he felt he could only experience. “i know what you mean,” you smile.

he leans forward, cupping your cheek with his hand and guiding you towards him. he kisses you softly, placing his other hand on your other cheek and kissing you harder. “should we go on a first date again?” he asks against your lips, barely pulling away to speak.

you laugh, but when you pull away, you can tell he’s not joking. “what?” you ask, “what do you mean?” you’re already blushing though, already feeling the exact first date nerves he was just talking about.

“let’s go on a first date,” he repeats himself. “i’ll pick you up at your front door and i’ll choose the restaurant and it’ll be a surprise and i’ll ask you questions that i’d ask you on a first date even if i know the answers to all of them and more at this point.”

you’re smiling so big that your cheeks are sore as you nod fervently at the concept. “okay, yeah,” you agree.

“right, so we probably shouldn’t kiss or make out or sleep with each other until then to really play into the whole thing?” he teases, and you roll your eyes in response.

“you’re very funny, kento,” you say, leaning in, brushing your nose against his. he doesn’t even last a second, closing the gap with a small peck and then another and then another and then a much longer one and then he’s putting the book on his nightstand so he can pull you into his lap.

ᡣ�� •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

you get a text 5 minutes before 7 that nanami is going to be 3 minutes late picking you up. the text looks a little weird underneath a thread of:

>> nami <3 >> how’s work baby

<< read << if you love me you’ll come and pull the fire alarm to get me out of here early :) :) :)

>> nami <3 >> fine but that’s a class four felony in some cases. will you be providing legal assistance or should i look elsewhere????

<< read << how do u know that?? nerd!!!

>> nami <3 >> google tbh.

<< read << wow. first i have to stay at work all day alone and sad and now i get to know my bf isn’t sexy and off the dome smart about everything. :(

>> nami <3 >> goodbye.

<< read << :(

>> nami <3 >> i love you

<< read << :)

you bite back the urge to reply with something you’d say to him after knowing him for years. rereading the text and thinking back to your first date, it makes you giggle. actually, it makes you kinda nervous. you text back a polite no worries! take your time! and he replies with a heart and you truly feel like you’re dating for the first time again. you feel honest to god giddy.

arriving to the restaurant, you are genuinely surprised. you thought after knowing him as long as you have and having gone to as many restaurants with him as you have, you’d go back to somewhere nice you’ve already been. but that isn’t the case.

he drives you to a pop-up restaurant 20 minutes out of town that you’ve never even heard of, but is the cutest place you’ve ever been, and the entire time he can’t stop sneaking respectful glances at you. he won’t stop telling you how nice you look. he even apologizes for it by the sixth time, pushing your chair in at the restaurant saying, “i know i keep mentioning it, and i’m sorry, but if i said it every time i thought it, it’d be a never ending string.”

if he keeps this up, you’re going to feel like you’re cheating. this seriously feels like a first date, like you’ve been in a relationship for over 5 years and you’re also going on a first date and it’s really messing with your head, but you never want it to stop.

he stays true to his word, asking you questions he already knows the answers to, but hearing them again, they sound brand new. he doesn’t know if he’s just forgotten some of them or if the testaments of time have weathered your answers just enough to sound unfamiliar, but either way, he’s hanging on to every word.

by the end of the night, you’ve truly convinced yourself that there are stakes to this date, like if you play your cards wrong, you won’t get to keep seeing this incredible guy. he pays the whole bill, even though you insist on getting your meal or at the very least dessert. he says, “you can try next time too.” and you can’t breathe, you feel so lucky.

“i’m sorry if this seems forward, but i’d really like to keep seeing you tonight,” you say as the waiter takes away the paid bill, and your heart is thumping so violently against your chest, you swear he can feel it too.

he shakes his head, “perfectly forward,” he smiles, “your place or mine?” you break character for the first time tonight, giggling at the reality of the question, hiding behind your hand as you do. “what’s so funny?” he asks, but he’s grinning just as big as you are.

“just thinking about how dreary my life would be if i hadn’t gone on this first date,” you say, and it’s a little too meta, but he’ll let it slide, because he’s a bit flustered at the sentiment. “mine is great,” you answer, placing your hand on his, rubbing the tips of your fingers against his knuckles.

everything about the rest of the night feels like a first too. it feels like your first kiss in front of your front door. it feels like he’s seeing “your” apartment for the first time. it feels like you’re making out on your couch for the first time.

it feels like the first time he’s ever been inside of you.

when he pushes deeper into you, eyes on yours shut tight, you tell yourself that you want to pretend you’re on a first date every single day of your life. you can’t stop whimpering, pleading for him to never stop fucking you ever, please don’t stop, please never fucking stop.

you break character for the second time when you’re right on the edge. he keeps looking down at you with so much love in his eyes and his hands all over you feel like they know every inch of you, and you can’t stop yourself. you grab his face in your hands, “kento, baby, please, ‘m gonna- ‘m sorry, i- fuck, please. i love you, fuck,” you whine, and he can’t stop himself either, hips stuttering, head falling against your shoulder as he feels you clenching around him as he empties himself inside of you, murmuring how much he loves you right back.

the way you’ve been feeling all night: blissful and coy, it’s not because it’s a first date, it’s because he’s nanami. it’s because he’s orchestrated the entire night and no matter how “new” everything feels, the underlying foundation of that newness, and the reason everything feels so good, is familiarity and safety.

“i’m sorry that i-,” you breathe, but he stops you, reaching his hand up to drag his fingertips against your lips, and you laugh, pressing a soft kiss into them. “okay, okay,” you say, and he places his hand back down by his side. “done with the first date stuff, just want to be yours again,” you murmur.

he scoffs, light, and you can hear his smile in it. he falls over onto his back, pulling you into his chest and kissing the top of your head. “never weren’t,” he mumbles against your hair. “always will be,” he mumbles again, holding you tighter.

“good,” you say back, settling into his arms like that’s the only thing you know to be true in the entire world. you wouldn’t trade that truth for a million first dates.

sure, holding your breath at quick witted flirts and stolen glances is nice, but it’s a lot nicer just knowing that you will never be loved better and you will never love harder.

♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡ no bc the yelling really worked very well idk yell at me more to write a continuation for toji (maybe also gojo bc hes the only one i havent written even an inkling of smut for) idk i'm just thinking of so many scenes idk throw hcs at me in my inbox IDK! toji dating for the first time? got me fucked UP

ᡣ𐭩 ᴛᴀɢs ᡣ𐭩 @igocrazyeveryday @vernasce-blogs @minty86 @abrielletargaryen @pompompompompompompom @mysticrays @lilolpotato @thisisew @pnkoo @optimisticsandwichgladiator @ryumurin @cisseadven @multi-fandom-fanfic @noosayog @anxious-chick @mintleafwrites @(tried to tag some other folks but couldnt!!)

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto smut #toji smut #gojo smut #nanami x reader #nanami smut #higuruma x reader #higuruma x reader smut #higuruma smut #nanami x reader smut #jjk x reader smut #actually not really tbh theres no smut in tojis or gojos cant even lie #toriwritesshit

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elizaleclerc · 11 days ago

Note

hi! hope you're having a good day, could i request charles dating a reader who doesnt have friends? or just feels lonely in general.. it can be shy if you're not comfortable writing that! just some comfort🥹🥹 thank you!

false god 💋

"and i can't talk to you when you're like this. staring out the window like i'm not your favorite town"

summary: gf!reader and charles get into an argument after ferrari underperforms again.

song: false god by taylor swift

author's note: wrote this bc i had that song stuck in my head oops. no warnings really- just a bit of manipulation if u squint a little. (ALSO HI IM BACK <3)

word count: 2.2k

They all warned you about times like these. The girlfriends of the other drivers looked at you with wary eyes. Most of them vowed to never date a Ferrari driver, but your connection with Charles was unlike any other that you had before. Never date a driver in red because they love that team more than they’ll ever love you, you’d been told before. You always responded with nervous smiles and shaky laughs, hoping that in reality the other girls you had come to know were just playing some sick joke. Like this was all some sort of initiation into the clique that was girlfriends of F1 drivers.

None of their words felt true when you were next to Charles, his hands on your waist or your head cradled into his neck. Nothing had actually felt more right. You brushed off the warnings from the other girls and chose to focus on the love between you and Charles. You never brought any of this up to him, completely unwilling to cause any unnecessary drama between the close knit group you found yourself in. All of these people have known each other for years, and you were the latest addition.

In July, with three race weekends back to back, Ferrari’s dominant streak would be tested. Red Bull and McLaren were powering ahead with upgrades and race pace, and it appeared that the powerful scarlet team was falling behind.

You noticed the tension in Charles’s face after a bad qualifying pace or another bad race result. The boundaries were being stretched. You observed how Charles would brush away your hand at dinner or neglect to kiss you goodnight before bed. The last two weeks had been hell for you, and in the back of your mind you wondered if there was some truth in what the girls had said months ago. Maybe these Ferrari men are just too much to handle after all.

Before the third and final race of the triple header, Carmen, girlfriend of Mercedes driver George Russel, pulled you aside to have a chat. “I know things have been hard for you and Charles.”

You furrowed your brows, “What?” You laughed nervously. You hadn’t mentioned anything about the tensions between you and Charles recently. The only way Carmen and the other girls would have found out is if Charles was feeling the same way and he told them himself.

“Not that I’ve heard anything, just- you know. Ferrari has been falling behind, everyone can see it. And I know Charles cares for you, but that man has loved Ferrari since he could walk. When they don’t do well- when he doesn’t do well- he’s bound to take that out on the people around him.” Carmen easily articulated her explanation, which made your mind swirl even more as the small smile finally fell from your face.

You sighed, becoming flustered with the whole situation, and the warm sun beaming down caused a sheen across your forehead. “I just don’t know what to do.” You were unsure if Carmen was someone you could fully trust, as you hadn’t exactly made any super close friendships with them. The past couple of months, your whole focus has been Charles.

“Just know that it isn’t your fault. Before I dated George I dated a Ferrari driver. Their passion for the team and the intensity in their competitiveness makes them unlike any of the others.” She paused for a moment before she continued, “What you have to do is really try to read his emotions and find that balance of giving him space and being there to comfort him. Stand by him when he needs it, and back off if it seems too tense.”

“That sounds kinda hard,” You broke into a small smile, overwhelmed with the new information you had gained.

Carmen grabbed your hand, “It’ll be okay. If I do know one thing, it’s that Charles is falling for you. Through thick and thin, I think you guys can make it.”

A small wave of relief washed over you, “Thanks, Carmen.” As long as someone had faith in your abilities to handle Charles, you didn’t feel so alone.

As most of the fans expected, the Austrian Grand Prix did not go well for Ferrari. Your heart sank when Charles finished outside of the points for the third weekend in a row. It would greatly hinder his ability to fight for the championship. He needed nothing short of a miracle to come back now.

You knew Charles had been dealing with the press for the last couple of hours, and you didn’t meet back up in the paddock with him until it was time for the two of you to leave to go back to Monaco for the next week.

You sat in the passenger seat of his car as he drove in silence for a few minutes, navigating his way out of the paddock. Once the two of you had made it onto the main road, you decided to read where his head was at.

“I’m sorry my love,” you comforted him and grabbed his free hand, giving it a light squeeze. He sneaked his hand out from your grasp, resting it on the steering wheel. You couldn’t help but feel your stomach sink.

“It’s just ridiculous, we can’t seem to get anything together.” He huffed in frustration, and you wondered if he even realized he had pushed your hand away.

“Despite the strategy issues, I thought you had a really good drive today.” Maybe a compliment would help?

He scoffed, “I could’ve been better. I made too many mistakes, regardless of how scrambled our strategy was.”

You weren’t sure how to respond. You thought it was best for him to ruminate and think things out the rest of the way home. You had the rest of the drive to the airport, and then the whole plane ride to see if he was feeling any better. When you had to speak, you avoided any mention or talk about the race, or more specifically Charles’s performance.

On the plane, you flew back with Lando and Oscar. Oscar had a fabulous race, and almost won it all. Lando on the other hand fought with Max the whole race and ended up with a DNF. So the plane ride was full of mixed conversation and feelings. Oscar was proud of his win and complimented the McLaren strategy, while Lando aired out his grievances for Max’s intense competitiveness. Charles chimed in regularly to tell them they should consider themselves lucky to not have to deal with the Ferrari pitwall.

Still, you stayed silent, letting the three of them talk things through. You sat next to Charles in your seat but kept to yourself, trying to read your book but really you were listening to the conversation around you. Not once did Charles take your hand or give you a small peck on your cheek. As it appeared to Lando and Oscar, you and Charles didn’t even look like a couple at all.

You began to feel that aching pang of loneliness that you were so familiar with before you had met Charles. The feeling of having no one to speak to in a crowded room. You hated to appear shy and reserved, but didn’t want to push yourself to be outgoing. You had been dating Charles long enough that he knew one of your love languages was physical touch. You loved nothing more than small moments of affection, but in the past few weeks it seemed like he wanted nothing to do with you.

Charles opened the door to his apartment in Monaco, the moonlight being the only thing that shone on the furniture and pictures hanging on the walls. He languidly flicked on a couple of lamps, adorning the living room with a warm glow.

“You’ve been quiet.” He stated plainly, moving to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of water.

You took a moment to respond, “Well there’s not really much for me to say.”

Charles turned from the fridge to face you, and looked at your face, seeming to analyze the tone of your words. After he took a sip of his water he asked, “Are you alright?”

You laugh nervously, “I’ve been better.”

He furrowed his brows, “What’s the matter?”

“Cmon, Charles. You can’t be serious.” You knew you were treading dangerous waters, but this conversation was long overdue, and after the exhausting plane ride you felt yourself boiling over.

He looked back at you expectantly, not knowing what you were getting at.

“You haven’t noticed the way things have changed between us in the last three weeks? You haven’t noticed that when Ferrari starts struggling you push me aside?” Your voice was steady, but it shook slightly in a mix of nerves and frustration. In all the times you’ve let Charles air out his frustrations, you’ve held all of yours in.

His lips parted and you knew he was shocked but mostly confused. All of your questions were rhetorical, of course he hadn’t noticed. “You never hold my hand, you’ve stopped introducing me to your friends. I feel like the past few weeks I’ve only been someone for you to fuck to let your anger out.” You were really letting it out now, the words flowing out of you like they could no longer be contained.

“That’s not true.�� He persisted, walking out from behind the counter into the living room where you stood.

Tears pricked up in your eyes, “It doesn’t matter if it isn’t true, it’s what I feel.” You brought your hand to rest on your chest.

“Listen, you know I’m happy with what we have, I don’t want to change anything about it. But you know my career is important too. My loyalty to this team is important.” He tried to explain himself, but you ruffled your fingers through your hair in exasperation.

“I fucking knew it, they were right.” You mumbled to yourself, now pacing.

“Who was right?” Charles pressed.

“The other girls!” You raised your voice, “As soon as we got together and you were bringing me around the paddock, they warned me. They told me to never date a Ferrari driver. That you’ll always love that damn team more than you’ll love me. They said it so. many. times. And then Carmen told me yesterday that she knew we’ve been having problems and that the more Ferrari struggled the worse you would get.”

Tears fell down your cheeks as you continued, “I’ve tried, I’ve tried so hard. I’ve said all the right things, held your hand when you’re mad, tried to compliment you to make you feel better about yourself. None of that worked, you would still barely look at me.” Your breathing was heavy and your voice had become raspy with tears.

Charles moved closer to you, grabbing your trembling hands, “Come on, breathe my love.” You took a deep breath as he moved one of his hands to wipe away your tears. “I’ve never said anything to the other girls about us, I don’t know why they said those things to you.”

“But- the way you’ve been acting-” you sniffled, looking into his eyes that were filled with such care. You hadn’t seen that look in what felt like forever.

“I know, it’s been tough for me lately. I’ll take full responsibility for not treating you properly. You didn’t deserve any of that.” He gave your hand a slight squeeze, waiting a few moments before speaking again. “I do love this team, and I will push to be the best driver I can possibly be, but…” he swallowed, “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t falling for you. You are becoming more and more important to me by the minute, and I’d quit racing today if you asked me to.”

You let out a dry laugh, “You don’t mean that.”

“Every word.”

You were quiet, just looking in his eyes. You could tell he really did mean it. This thing between you and Charles was becoming more serious as the days passed. You knew that you were falling for him too, which is what made these past few weeks all the more confusing.

“If I could give you any more assurance, it’s that racing- this career- will never ever be a priority over you.” He leaned in to place a light kiss on your temple.

“I just hate to see you struggling like you have been. I like it when you’re all happy.” You curled your lips into a small smile, and he grinned back.

He shook his head slowly, “Trust me, I know.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your head on his chest. His lips kissed the top of your head, and everything felt right in the world again.

You pulled away, locking eyes with him. “It gets lonely sometimes, in the paddock. I feel like I’ve failed to make any genuine friends.”

He planted another kiss on your forehead, “Well, you could always keep to yourself. Be above any drama and gossip. You’d surely be the coolest one there. Then, when it’s all said and done, we have each other.”

You giggled into his kiss on your lips. Maybe you could eventually trust the other girls eventually, but their cold welcome to you was definitely unappreciated. But you had Charles, and more importantly, you trusted Charles. And you knew that bond wasn’t going away anytime soon.

#formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfic #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc

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astralis-ortus · 8 months ago

Text

love, am i home?

✱ bestfriend!bc × gn!reader

— how can you tell it's not simply an infatuation?

w.count → 0.6k genre → angst, one-sided love warnings → minor cussing, mention of alcohol but no described consumption a.n → honestly i don't even know what i wrote i am feeling feelings soooo yeah! also, there's a few mentions of bambam as the home owner lol ⋆ see masterlist

“do you reckon i’ll fall in love someday?’

chan’s odd, unprovoked question nearly made you choke on the strawberry-lychee juice you were trying so hard to savor. worse, your heart also took a hit from it—which, frankly, you should have been preparing yourself for from the day you realized that your hiking heart bpm whenever chan was sitting a little too close was not exactly a normal reaction between friends.

“yeah,” you barely managed to quip a reply, setting your half-empty paper cup on the coffee table across the tan leather couch before chan could send another unwarranted hit on your poor heart. “i mean, didn’t you have a few relationships before?”

well fuck—now he’s going to elaborate, isn’t he. good job, dumbass.

sometimes you wonder why you’re trying so hard to be a good friend when you do realize it will only further tighten the chains wrapped around your chest. does bambam have some alcohol in the fridge? also, where the fuck is he?

“fair point,” a long sigh escaped his lungs as chan fully leaned onto bambam’s ridiculously large sofa, eyes tracing whatever interesting shape he could find on the ceiling of their still-missing friend’s apartment, “but i wonder if those feelings were actually… love, you know? not merely infatuation?”

“i don’t, actually,” you playfully snickered, hoping the faint smile on your lips would help in numbing the dull ache spreading on your chest. “i mean, as far as my experience goes, i think it has always been love for me.”

“and how does that feel?”

“how?” the faint urgency in his voice pulled your line of gaze towards chan—unexpectedly meeting his pair of curious brown eyes, and you sighed. are you really going to say it?

you were preparing a joke, really. deflecting, avoiding his question, all that thing.

you really were.

and you know, with every part of your bones, you’re probably going to regret this.

“uh, well, it feels like…”

the butterflies when i see your name lit up my phone screen.

the odd twist in the pit of my stomach when i hear you talk about that new friend you made and how you thought they were beautiful.

the way my lips followed yours into a smile when you excitedly told me about a new song idea and how spring flooded my chest when you said it’s our little secret.

the sudden void when you told me you asked that new friend of yours to go out for dinner, and how my heart went numb when you brightly exclaimed that it would technically count as a first date.

an excruciatingly long roller coaster of emotions,

an endless hike under the scorching summer sun,

a long night staring at where the waves breaks,

and yet…

“it was home.”

“…home?”

“yeah,” you shrugged, fingers hiding inside the sleeves of your hoodie while you pull your knees closer to your chest, “home.”

“it’s everything that is good, everything that’s not quite there, and yet you can’t help but find yourself longing for every piece of it. you accept that it’s not going to be perfect and never will be, and yet you’re still willing to continuously nurture that feeling because, well, you love them, and even if it eventually didn’t work out… you’d still think it’s worth the effort to try.”

you don’t know what the silence between you now meant.

you don’t know, and probably would never want to find out.

you’d hate to know who he thinks about when he opens his mouth,

and you’d forever thank bambam for his impeccable timing with bags full of thai foods in his hand.

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Text

Kento Nanami and his wife losing their unborn child in Shibuya (major tw!)

Pairing: husband!Nanami x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,5k

Synopsis: It seemed like a normal evening when you passed out on the couch, not aware of Haruta sneaking into your shared apartment until he pierces his blade through your pregnant stomach. How will your husband react, finding out what happened to you?

Warning: MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING!, if you feel uncomfortable with child loss or it triggers you in some way, please don't read this, heavy violence, heaviest angst but comfort (bc Nanami is the best husband ever), didn't proofread this because it hurts my soul, please note that I never experienced something like that and wrote it out of stories from family and it might be bad

This is like the bad ending to Haruta seeking revenge on Nanami's heavy pregnant wife. You can find it here

Thank you @wifenanami for breaking our heart (I love your requests babe) 😭

Your mind is a blur when you open your aching lids against a harsh light. Damn, everything hurts, you feel like someone has stabbed you over and over again. Your stomach aches so bad…why? The last thing you remember is…

A toe-curling scream coming out of your own mouth. Hands that keep you from falling to the ground. Darkness, unimaginable agony, grief. But why? What happened? Out of instinct, your hands wander to your belly. Weren’t you at home passed out on the couch with your heavy belly laying on the side, waiting for your husband to come back to you?

You were, but there’s something else…

Suddenly, a wave of memories washes over you, memories that make your whole body tremble with overflooding emotions.

“I-I can’t feel her anymore. Shoko, I can’t feel her, she isn’t moving!”, you cry on top of your lungs, hands roaming around your blood-soaked stomach in a desperate attempt to find a heartbeat.

You weren’t fast enough. The minute that blond-haired man with the ugly ponytail stumbled into your apartment and shot a sword directly through your belly, you were lost at words, lost at actions, lost at control. As if frozen in place, you watched as he pierced through you over and over again, your blood spilling onto the cold marble floor, discolouring everything in your crimson blood within seconds.

And hers. Your precious daughter. It was only a matter of time said Shoko the other day. A matter of time until you’d be finally able to hold her in your arms, a matter of time to see your husband putting her to sleep.

But time ran out for both of you.

“Send my best wishes to your husband! Well, you probably can’t do that anymore though…See ya!”

You can’t remember what happened next. How did you even manage to let Shoko know that you’re injured? It doesn’t matter anyway. The look of pure horror on her face was enough for you to know that it’s too late.

“Y-you…you need to save her”, you hush, tears now taking your sight completely.

You are nothing but weak. Too weak to defend yourself, too fucking weak to even move an inch when someone attacks you.

Too weak to save the life of your daughter.

Your daughter…

“Tell me she’s okay”, you mumble into the light above you over and over like a prayer.

Maybe all of this was nothing but a bad dream. Maybe Shoko was really able to use her reversed technique on both you and your precious daughter. Maybe she’s laying in her father’s arms right now, safe and sound. Her father…where is your husband? Is he alright?

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I tried everything I could but…I couldn’t save her, she was already dead when I arrived…”

“No”, you interrupt her immediately.

You hold your breath. How often did you imagine what she might look like? Your little angel. Oh, you were so excited when you found out you’re expecting your first child back then, Kento was so overwhelmed that he even cried. She was the blessing in a world full of curses, your little ray on sunshine in the dark.

She…She can be dead…

“You were there, right? You saved both of us, right?”

Shoko leans down towards you. And for the first time since knowing her, you see her cry. Not only a single tear runs down her face, but a never-ending waterfall while she holds onto your shaky hand.

You feel numb, want to laugh and cry at the same time, want to scream and to stay silent all at once. This…This can’t be reality. This isn’t how it’s supposed to turn out. You’ve read enough books to know how happy endings work, that the people who deserve it will always find happiness.

“My darling.”

His voice catches you off guard, makes your glossy eyes widen and heartbeat pick up. This is him, without any doubt. Your husband is here.

Gently, he grabs your other hand and leans forwards.

Your breath hitches in an instant.

“Kento…”

Half of his body is burned, bruises cover his gorgeous face. But the worst thing is the unwavering sadness that gleams in his orbs. It hits you like a wall.

The things you saw, Shoko’s words.

Everything is true.

You lost your child at Shibuya.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). Everything is my fault. I should have saved you, I should have stayed with you, I should have killed him…I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry…”

And then he breaks down on the side of the bed you’re laying in, head pressed against the soft mattress while crying so horribly that you feel like dying right on the spot.

This, everything that happened…Everything is only your fault. You should have listened when he instructed you to stay at Jujutsu High, you should have locked the door like he always said. You are not only responsible for getting hurt, but also for losing the way too young life of your unborn daughter.

She had her whole life ahead of her. Her first steps, her first time saying “dada”, your precious husband buying her clothes, bringing her to school on her first day, comforting her when he first boy breaks her heart only to scare this poor boy to death…

You didn’t only kill her, but her whole future. And Kento’s on top.

“How are you feeling, love? Are you still in pain?”

You don’t even dare to look at him, numb eyes just staring at the ceiling. No, you don’t deserve this man kneeling in front of you, you don’t deserve him even talking to you.

“You should leave.”

Thick silence hangs in the air, Kento’s eyes darted towards you in sheer disbelief. Why would you ever suggest something like that? When he woke up, the first thing on his mind was you. When Shoko told him what happened, that your daughter died and she isn’t sure if you’ll make it, it felt as if a part of himself is vanishing. You, the love of his life, the baby both of you waited for…

“I will never leave your side, love. Not when we both need each other more than ever”, he replies as calmly as possible.

“Why would you say that when I’m the one who killed your daughter?”

Your words hit him with full force, tear the ground from under his feet. It already hurts enough to know you lost your little angel in than senseless battle to that disgusting creature. But hearing that you make yourself responsible for what happened, that you think he doesn’t want to be with you anymore…

“Look at me.”

Carefully, he cups your cheek with his large hand, forcing you to return his gaze. The empty look in your eyes makes him tear up all over again.

This is so unfair, so unbelievable cruel. Isn’t it enough that you’ve lost your child? Why are you plaguing your mind with blaming yourself for that tragedy, why are you even thinking he’ll leave you?

“Let me tell you from the bottom of my heart that I love you more than ever. Let me promise you that I’ll never leave your side, no matter how numb you feel, no matter how often the pain gets overwhelming. Let me tell you that we’ll get through this together. Because you are my wife, (y/n). And even though it rips me apart to know that we’ve lost our daughter to this fucker, I will always be thankful that you survived. You did so well. I’m beyond proud that you’ve managed to call Shoko, that you pushed through and fought for your life. I will NEVER blame you for what happened at Shibuya. And I will love you through everything.”

“Kento…I miss her so much”, you breathe against his hand with so much grief in your voice that it takes him all his strength so not break down all over again.

“I miss her too, darling. But she’s always with us, she’ll never leave our side”, he whispers gently.

“I don’t deserve you…You, you are injured yourself. What happened to you?”

“Nothing but a few scratches. Let me stay by your side, okay? I never want to leave you alone again, (y/n).”

You can’t contain yourself any longer, it seems like the world around you collapses as you let yourself fall into your husband’s arms. Everything is too much, all the grief, all the sadness seems to swallow you whole. But oh does it feel good to lay against his chest, to feel his fingertips stroke your hair gently.

“I will always stay by your side. And so does our little angel.”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopstick @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny @ruixrei @bam-bam-bam-bame-blog @lavenderdrxp @localhehecat @alicerhr @kayleegomez @belovedvamp@wifenanami @chilichopsticks @dlwlrmas-world @oikawarz

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reverie-starlight · 2 years ago

Note

For the MC returns fic you wrote, it's absolutely splendid. But I was wondering if I could ask for a part two with the dateables??

AHHH okayokay i'm so sorry this took so long, I have been so busy since school ended among other things, but here it is!!! and thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed part one <3

as always, gn!MC

disclaimer: I'm not that familiar writing the side characters' personalities, this is my first time writing for them, so please bear that in mind if you think they're a bit out of character. Also, I won't be doing a part three with the undateables (as much as I adore thirteen), bc I'm only on lesson 25 of the OG game :')

warnings: fluff!! slight reverse comfort in diavolo's bc if the game won't let him have a small breakdown, then I will, but it's like so minor. he cries a bit. poor baby deserves to let his emotions out a bit. his section got looonnnggg. slight making out in simeon's? nothing explicit, but definitely lots of kissing. blood mention in barbatos' but no gore or violence. he's just coming back from the dungeons bc I love him being just slightly unhinged. barbatos' is probably the most ooc because I had such a hard time trying to write his section, plus it got just a tad suggestive.

and once again, the details of MC's return are unspecified, just because I don't want to think too hard about it right now! did they complete the task and re-forge all 7 pacts again? did they just pop back into the present randomly? who knows? not me!

MC Returning to the Present: Dateables Edition

(aka MC goes back to the future... I missed out on that pun last time hehe)

After waking up in your room, where you rightfully belong in the present timeline, and getting through your teary reunion with the brothers, you were anxious to set out and find your lover.

You couldn't even text him to let him know you were back- with a shattered screen and an apparent dead battery, your D.D.D. had seen better days. The brothers offered to text the others to let them know of your return after they were done dog piling you, but you shook your head.

"I need to go see him now," you said, feeling guilty that you wanted to leave the warmth of their company so soon after finally having your chosen family back. You made a silent promise to them that you'd spend as much one-on-one time with them as they needed after this, but you were desperate to find him and they could tell. They could see on your face that you had been through a lot and just needed the comfort only a partner could provide.

So instead of fighting to keep you there with them a bit longer, they led you to the front hall and let you go find your beloved. You'd be back after all, you told them as much.

Solomon

As soon as you opened the door to run to Purgatory Hall, you walked right into a wall shaped like the sorcerer you were looking for.

"Solomon!" You gasped out, throwing your arms around him tightly.

"MC," he sighed in relief, cradling the back of your head with his hand, other arm around your waist, holding you just as tight. "I was so worried when you were nowhere to be found in the other timeline, I rushed here to see if you were back."

You hid your face in the crook of his neck, and blinked away a tear. "I made it, I don't really know what happened, it's all a blur, but I'm back now."

"You're back, you're okay..." he pulled back a bit to scan over your figure. "You are okay, yes? No injuries? No weird physical space-time abnormalities?"

You laughed a little breathlessly and shook your head. "No, I'm okay, my love."

He smiled fondly at you before glancing behind you, making you aware of your audience. The brothers were glaring daggers at your boyfriend, and you were sure that if Solomon wasn't, well... Solomon, any other human on the receiving end of those looks would perish.

"Guys, don't. He kept me safe when I was trapped back then. He took good care of me when I needed it, I swear."

You raised an eyebrow at them when they didn't immediately stand down, but they untensed after a second and just eyed him wearily.

Solomon smiled sheepishly. "Honestly, MC, you give me too much credit, but yes, I promise I kept them from getting into potentially catastrophically worse situations."

You returned his smile and squeezed his shoulder, tearing up again. "Don't be like that, you did far more for me than you realize..."

He knew you were referring to all the nights he held you in bed as you sobbed over the possibility of never getting back home, comforting you and acting as a distraction. If he weren't there, you honestly don't know what you would have done.

He sighed again, not wanting to get you too worked up right now. You looked like you were about to drop from exhaustion. His eyes lit up and he grabbed your hand.

"MC, why don't you let me cook for you tonight? A special treat in celebration of our return." The poor guy looked so hopeful that you almost gave in.

Before realizing that you wanted to live to see another day in the present.

"Oh, Solomon, that's very sweet, but you must be exhausted after everything as well! We can just go to Ristorante Six, or get take out..." the determined look in his eyes scared you and you glanced at the brothers for help.

"Nonsense, my love, you didn't let me cook for you once when we were living in Cocytus Hall, let me return the favour." Damn his persistence.

A few of the brothers snickered at that, probably picturing you frantically trying to keep your boyfriend out of the kitchen by any means necessary. It was then that they truly realized how many obstacles you had to overcome. You gave them another pleading look and finally Lucifer took pity on you.

"Actually, Solomon, it's Satan's turn to cook tonight, and we'd prefer to spend the evening with MC, so we insist that you join us for dinner. It'll give us a chance to go over some of the more... pressing details of what happened." His tone left no room for debate, so the sorcerer nodded.

"Oh... well alright, then, thank you for having me." He looked mildly disappointed but it didn't last long after you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

You let out a small sigh and silently thanked Lucifer as you walked further into the house again. You hooked an arm through Solomon's and went to sit with everyone else in the living room, finally feeling at ease for the first time in forever.

Diavolo

The second you were out of the house, you sprinted to the castle.

Normally you would be more courteous on the castle grounds, not wanting to piss off any of the nobles and have them think negatively of the Prince for choosing an ill-mannered human as a partner, but every rule of devildom etiquette left your mind as you ran through the halls.

You smiled at some passing servants as you slowed to catch your breath, wondering where he would be at this time of day. Finally you caught the eye of a servant you had gotten to know quite well during your visits and you visibly lit up as she greeted you.

"Hello, MC, it's lovely to see you again," she curtsied and you smiled kindly at her, insisting she didn't have to. She didn't seem shocked to see you, so you assumed everyone had tried to keep your disappearance a secret.

"Hello, it's lovely to see you, too... you wouldn't happen to know where the prince is, would you?"

She hummed and thought about it for a moment. "I believe I saw his personal butler bringing tea to his office not long ago... perhaps he's still there? He's been working in there far longer than he normally would, lately."

Your heart clenched at that, and you thanked her before running in the direction of his office.

You tried the knob, but it was locked, so you knocked frantically. It took a few moments, but finally it opened and there stood Diavolo. He had a welcome expression on his face, but you could immediately tell it wasn't genuine.

Until he realized it was you, that is.

All the pent up exhaustion you could see on his face melted away and he pulled you to him immediately. "You're back."

You closed the door with a gentle kick behind you as he dragged you further into the room. He lifted you up so that you were sitting on the edge of his desk, him in between your legs. His arms tightened around your waist before his hands trailed up to your shoulders, slid up your neck and finally rested on your cheeks. He rested his forehead against yours and let out a long, shaky, relieved sigh. Like the weight on his shoulders had just been lifted.

You let your own hands tangle in his hair and closed your eyes. "I'm back."

As you held him close, you started to feel him tremble slightly. You opened your eyes in panic, and your heart broke at the sight in front of you.

The future king of the devildom was doing his absolute best to hold back his tears, clinging to your shirt, his breathing unsteady. All because of you.

Your grip in his hair turned softer and you pressed your nose against his cheek, nuzzling into him. "It's okay, my love, I'm here. You don't have to hide from me, you can let it out," you whispered softly.

He listened to your words and immediately sank into your arms further, letting out a strangled sob. The tears that dropped from his face dampened your clothes but you didn't care at all. "Let it out, I'm here now."

You continued to soothe and shush him, all the while caressing his hair and kissing wherever you could reach. You knew Diavolo felt as though he had to remain strong all of the time, and honestly if you were in his position you'd probably feel the same. But since you started dating, you had been trying your best to let him know that he didn't have to be that way around you. He could let his walls down with you and never have to worry about being thought of as less.

A knock at the door made him tense up again and you looked at him in reassurance, silently letting him know you'd take care of it. He straightened up slightly, back still turned to the door, and nodded at you. "Come in," you called out.

You peeked over his shoulder and were pleasantly surprised (though you probably shouldn't have been) to see Barbatos standing there, composed as ever. When the butler saw your head sprouting from behind Diavolo's his eyes widened slightly before returning to normal.

"Hello, MC, welcome back."

You waved. "Hi Barbatos! I missed you."

He chuckled. "I must admit I missed you too. Young master, shall I prepare your room with fresh night clothes for MC as well? It's quite late."

You glanced at him and while he had dried his tears, his eyes were still rimmed with red and his nose was running. So he just nodded and said "Yes, thank you Barbatos. Could you possibly run us a bath, please?"

"Yes, my lord." He nodded at you once more with a knowing smile and closed the door behind him.

You looked back to your boyfriend and smiled. You gently kissed him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders again. "My love, I'm so happy to be back. I missed you more than anything."

He managed a smile and helped you down from his desk. "I was so worried about you, MC, I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't come back."

You squeezed his hand tightly as he lead you out of the office and down the hall that lead to his personal wing of the castle. "Well you don't have to think about that anymore."

He nodded and for the first time you've seen that night, and most likely in general since you've been gone, a genuine smile took over his face and his usual playfulness returned. "Will you spend the weekend here with me, MC?"

You nodded. "Of course, I was going to ask you if I could, anyway... oh! Diavolo..." you sheepishly looked at him and pulled out your D.D.D.. "Do you think we could get me a new one sometime this weekend?"

He laughed. "Of course, my dear. Is there anything else you need? Anything at all, just say the word."

"No," you started, opening the door to his room and flopping onto his bed. "Just you."

His smile turned soft and his eyes were filled with love. "That can surely be arranged."

Simeon

You knocked desperately on the front door of Purgatory Hall, hoping to see your boyfriend's face. All you wanted was to be wrapped up in his arms right about now.

Soon enough, you heard faint footsteps from behind the door and the sound of a lock unlatching. The door opened a crack and you looked down to see a certain blonde boy's wide eyes. Your own eyes widened in surprise, as you weren't expecting Luke to be up at this hour.

"MC?!" He exclaimed, opening the door wider and throwing himself at you for a hug.

You laughed a little and kneeled down to hug him properly. "Luke! I've missed you."

You both walked further into the entry hall and he refused to let go of you after the door closed. "We were so worried about you, MC! Are you alright? Did you get hurt?"

You patted him on the head. "I'm okay, buddy, promise. I'm glad to be back in our time."

Another pair of footsteps was heard as you and Luke had your little reunion. Your heart raced in excitement, recognizing the pattern of the footfall.

"Luke? Who was at the-"

You smiled as his words cut off and he stared at you, frozen and clearly shocked by your arrival. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "Hi, Simeon."

Your voice brought him out of his trance.

He rushed to you and held you close. Everything about your boyfriend was gentle- his tone, his smile, his disposition... his touch normally was, too, but in this moment he held you tighter than he ever had before.

And you clung to him just as tight.

He pulled away after a minute, just taking you in- making sure you were real. His eyes turned glassy as he fought back tears. "MC... you're here. You're okay."

You nodded and felt your own eyes well up a little. "I'm okay, Simeon. I'm even better now that I'm here."

He took a shaky breath and composed himself, nodding once and turning to Luke, who was bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Simeon, let's bring them to the parlor. We have so much to catch up on. We could watch a movie- oh! We could do some late night baking..."

The two of you shared a longing look as he rambled on about all the things you could do that night. There was a silent understanding between the two of you that you wanted some alone time, so he gave you a sly smile before addressing the boy.

"I know you're not going to like what I have to say, Luke, but it's getting late."

The angel frowned immediately and crossed his arms. "But Simeon, I want to spend time with MC!"

"I know, but you were already about to go to bed before answering the door. It's best to stay on schedule so you don't ruin your sleep cycle."

"But how is this any different than when you let me stay up late during our sleepovers?"

"Well..." he had a point. "I'm sure that MC is tired right now from their trip back. Time travel must be very draining, you know."

You stifled a laugh as Simeon grasped at straws to get more alone time with you and decided to help him out when he shot you a pleading look.

"Luke, how about we wake up early tomorrow and make breakfast together? Simeon's right, I'm exhausted and I want to be wide awake when we hang out. Does that sound okay? I'll spend the night and you can wake me up as soon as you wake up."

This seemed to satisfy him and he nodded, before hugging you one last time and running up to his room with a quick "Goodnight!"

You both waited for the sound of his door closing before his lips were on yours. You sighed into the kiss and wrapped your arms around his neck. It was soft and needy and longing. Exactly what the two of you needed. Your hands tugged at his hair and his hands roamed from your waist to your hips. His touch was back to being gentle.

You stayed like that for a bit, one hand trailing down to play with the hair on the nape of his neck.

When he pulled away after a while, a little breathless, he tugged you to his bedroom and let you rummage around through the drawer of your clothes he let you have for whenever you stayed the night.

When you were both changed and laying under his covers, cuddled up as close as possible, he kissed your temple. "I missed you so much, MC..." he whispered. "I was terrified that you would be harmed."

You turned on your side to face him properly. "I'm okay, Simeon. I just missed you a lot. You were there, you know... and you were almost the same. It was so hard for me to hold back from acting how I normally would with you..." you traced a finger along the bridge of his nose and then over his cheekbones. "I had to remember that it wasn't a version of you that knows me like you do. You were so close but so far."

He caressed your cheek with his knuckles and gazed at you with a loving smile. "Well I'm here, and it's me. I'm all yours, MC. You're okay."

If he was being honest, he felt like he could breathe again. Being away from you, knowing where- when- you were and not being able to help in any way was torture. Having you back safe and sound was the biggest blessing he could ever receive.

You leaned up to kiss him again and then rested your forehead against the crook of his neck. "I love you, Simeon."

"I love you too, MC. I'm so glad you're back."

Barbatos

Once you entered the castle, you immediately asked around to find out if anyone had seen him. The first few servants had no clue, but welcomed you back to the castle with a smile. It wasn't until the fifth servant you had run into that you got an idea of where he might be.

"I believe I saw him heading down to the dungeon about an hour ago. He's been spending a lot of time there lately- when he's not tending to the prince, of course. If you wait there, he should be about done with his... ah... appointment," he said.

"Thank you!" And then you were dashing to the top of the stairs leading to the dungeon. Just as you were about to descend the staircase, a familiar figure was ascending.

You both froze and stared at each other for a good few seconds, taking in the fact that he was in his demon form, covered in blood and carrying a bag. This certainly wasn't the reunion either of you were expecting.

However that didn't matter, because as you were too excited to finally have him back, you jumped into his arms, not caring about any blood on your already trashed clothes.

"Barbatos, I've missed you so much," you sighed in the crook of his neck.

He finally seemed to register was was happening and dropped the bag, wrapping his arms around you. His tail curled around your leg as well, a seemingly unconscious act. "MC... I've missed you, too." He said, slightly breathless. It wasn't often that anyone could catch him off guard, so you smiled slightly at your achievement.

Once he regained his composure, he immediately pulled back and looked you over for any injuries he could attend to. "Are you alright, my dear? Are you hurt? When did you get back?"

You cupped his cheeks and smiled up at him. "I'm alright. I got back about an hour ago, I just woke up in my room. I wanted to see you right away after I got done with the brothers," you said, and then ran a thumb under his eye.

"I'm happy you're back." He said, bringing up the hand with the less soiled glove to rest over your own. "I feel much more at ease now that you're here."

He'd never tell you how much of an understatement that was. He felt like everything was right again. His heart had been pounding in his chest ever since you made eye contact. He'd never tell you, but he was sure that you knew.

You smiled at him teasingly. "Have you been taking your nerves out on the prisoners? Is that why you're covered in blood?"

He chuckled. "It might be. Would that be so wrong? It's an effective way to relieve stress."

You snorted as he uncoiled his tail from your leg and brought your hands down to swing in between you both as you walked. "That's fair... Barbatos, would it be too much to ask if I could stay with you tonight?"

He squeezed your hand slightly. "Not at all, I was going to insist upon it. I still have things I must tend to tonight, but I need to clean myself off first. And while I'm at it, I will get you some new clothes. Then you should see the young master to let him know you're back."

You nodded at him and clung to his arm. One thing that hadn't changed from back then was how to the point and blunt he was. It was admirable, really. He smiled a bit as you walked, feeling perfectly content for the first time in a while.

Once you were both cleaned up and dressed in fresh clothing, you headed to Diavolo's office. You weren't nearly as nervous to see him as you were your boyfriend, but nerves still bubbled in your stomach. He was a close friend, after all.

Barbatos knocked and entered, signaling for you to wait a moment. You could hear muffled speech from the other side of the door before it opened again and he ushered you in.

Diavolo's eyes lit up. "MC, welcome back! You must be so glad to be home safe. I hope you're able to rest well tonight. We'll call a meeting tomorrow with everyone so you and Solomon can explain everything in detail. For now I expect you to take it easy for tonight."

You grinned at him. "Thank you, Diavolo. I'm happy to be back." You looked at Barbatos briefly to address him in a softer tone. "Should I wait in your room or the parlor?"

He was about to respond before Diavolo cut in. "Oh, Barbatos, you're dismissed for tonight. I'm just about done here, anyway."

The butler's eyes widened. "My lord?"

"You deserve to spend this time with them, take the night off."

"...Are you sure, my lord?"

He nodded and then looked at you pointedly. It was clear he was conveying along the lines of 'get him out of here, I can't convince him on my own'.

You smiled and bowed your head at him in thanks and gently tugged your boyfriend out of the office. "Come on, my love."

Once you were back in the hallway, he looked at you. "Are you hungry? I could bake for you, it's not too late yet."

You nodded. "That would be great, thank you..." you kissed him on the cheek as you walked, laughing slightly at his still-stunned expression.

Clearly he wasn't expecting much free time tonight, but with one glance at you, he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it. "When we're done in the kitchen, I think we should turn in for the night a bit early..." he leaned in close and brushed his lips against your cheek. "Does that sound alright with you, my love?"

You shuddered and nodded, looking up at him with an expression that matched his own. "That sounds perfect."

He was so happy to have you back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so happy to have this done!! it was genuinely so much fun to write... I'm sorry for Barb's section being so... short? and ooc? I had the hardest time figuring out how I wanted to portray him and I think I'm going to have to keep working on it cause I'm not 100% happy with it, but we'll see!

I also dug up some unrealized feelings I have for Diavolo with this fic, cause now I'm like totally head over heels for him.

all in all though, I hope you enjoyed!!

#obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me x reader #diavolo x reader #barbatos x reader #simeon x reader #solomon x reader #obey me mc #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon

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