#I’m just saying just because he may have sucked as a partner doesn’t mean the internet being cruel isn’t also true idk

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐘 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FAKE DATE SATORU GOJO WITH REAL FEELINGS? ❞

✧ pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader

✧ summary: you can't help but say yes when your longtime crush asks you to be his fake girlfriend for a year to get the gojo clan to stop arranging marriage proposals for him. but little did you know, he would be doing both of you a favor.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is the same age as gojo, set during s1 of jjk, fake dating hijinks, drunk! gojo, jealous! reader + gojo, implied satosugu (sorta, i see it more in a soulmate way, whether its platonic or romantic), switch! gojo, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), creampie, naoya makes an appearance, gojo clan elders suck, gojo's made up clan responsibilities,

✧ wc: 16,043

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 6 has been sold to @chuluoyi and an anon!

“C’mon, you don’t know until you try, sweetheart,” 

You run at your temples, you didn’t need to feel burgeoning ache of a headache forming to know it was coming — but you knew it would whenever you met with this blue eyed idiot, “Satoru, the last time you said that, you nearly got me killed,” you didn’t care to re-live him sending you on a mission meant for him to take a grade 1 one curse, only to end up fighting two other grade 2 curses along with it. 

You were lucky you made it by the skin of your teeth — and lucky that Shoko woke up when you showed up at her door, half dead. 

“And this time, there’s no risk of death,” he grins, stirring his sugary drink that counts more as sugar than a drink, “that shows great personal growth, don’t ya think?” 

“I think this conversation shows that just because you’re the strongest doesn’t mean you have an ounce of common sense,” you mutter, as you sip at your drink of choice, “Gojo, I can’t marry you — for one, there would be a risk of death — yours,” 

“Eh you wouldn’t be able to kill me — you’re far too—“ and you raise an eyebrow, daring him to finish that sentence, “kind,” 

You rolled your eyes, “One of the traits you’re looking for in your future partner?” 

“The thing is, you wouldn’t have to marry me at all — it would be a big sham!” He said with a thumbs up, as if that made it any better at all, “just for a couple weeks so I can fool the Gojo Clan into complacency and to stop the search for my future spouse — you’d be sparing the hundreds, no thousands, of possible candidates from facing the burden of my rejection,” 

“And I suppose the fact that the clan would get off your back is just a fringe benefit?” You sigh, “Gojo, why don’t you just tell them you don’t want to get married?” 

“I’ve tried — but the stubborn old geezers won’t budge — I’m caught between a rock and a hard place — and you know me,” his lips curl, “I’m a lover, not a fighter,” 

Yup, you have a headache now. 

“What would we have to do to convince them we were together?” 

Why were you considering this? 

“Dates, a few public outings, meeting the geezers because they would insist, and you would need to show your face around the clan compound,” he lists off, sipping at his drink, “there may be other things, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” You may jump off a bridge by the time this is over and done with, “what do you say?” 

“I have two questions,” and he leaned back in his chair, back and forth, impatience personified, “how long would we have to do it?” You didn’t want to be stuck in this arrangement for an undisclosed amount of time, but the second question was far more important, “ And why me?” 

“Three months, maybe longer,” you gape at him, “I can pay you?” you raise an eyebrow, “I will pay you,” you sigh, “and choosing you was easy because—“ 

“If you make some sort of joke about me being single, I don’t care if you have infinity, I’ll find a way to murder you,” you grumble. 

“Because you’re a sorcerer, you’re from a minor clan — so you’re an acceptable choice, and I trust you — you’re one of my closest friends,” he adds, for once his words are deprived of any humor. 

And that answer was…almost worse than the joke. The word “friend” stuck in your side like a thorn you could never pull out, festering and growing until it had become a part of you — that ached only when you thought of it. 

Your feelings for him, they were still there? You thought you had discarded them years ago, thought it was safe for you to move back to Tokyo from Kyoto, thought you had finally left that childhood crush behind — dead and buried — but here it was, still stubbornly clinging to life. 

And now it would thrive with new roots, stems, leaves, and buds if you agreed to this. 

He said your name, “Well?” 

He remains as inscrutable as always, But you could never say no to him, could you? “Okay, fine,” it would also help you out in the form of another problem of Naoya Zenin who had been nothing but persistent since you came back…but you didn’t want to dwell on that. Your eyes find Gojo’s again — as they always did. 

It was why you had left for Kyoto in the first place. 

“Is this really necessary?” you grumbled, as the servants that served the Gojo clan fussed over your clothes — it was a traditional kimono in the colors of your clan — a deep indigo, embroidered with white koi fish that swam along the fabric, embroidered with waves. You supposed you were only grateful that Gojo didn’t leave you to get dressed yourself. 

Gojo watched as they adjusted the obi around your waist, and your eyes remained fixed ahead, but your gaze couldn’t help but wander to him. Satoru Gojo was always unfairly gorgeous — there was a reason people fawned over him even when he had just rolled out of bed without even a once over at his appearance — but those same people probably would have passed out if they saw him as he was now. 

His formal wear was a sky blue — the same as his eyes, a coat draped over his shoulders and loose trousers of snow white that was a nod to hair of the same color. His hair remained unkempt as it always was. 

“Gonna change into that but not comb your hair?” You remark, and he smirks, running a hand through his hair. 

“Well I think if I start being too well behaved, they’ll know it’s fake,” and the word sticks in your chest like a dagger between the ribs, as the servants finally finish with your clothes, and you sigh. 

You straighten yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror, “How is it only been a couple hours and I’m already exhausted?” 

“The suffocating grip of old geezers and their backwards traditions would do that to you,” but his eyes linger on you, “but lucky for you sweetheart, it seems to suit you,” 

“Do you have to call me that?” You murmur, cheeks warming, as you pretend to busy yourself with adjusting your clothes in the mirror. 

“You have to get used to it,” his footsteps draw closer, heart battering against your ribcage as he does — surely, it would break free of its bony cage by the end of this, as he slides a shiny pendant around your neck — a sliver infinity with a singular small blue gem glinting in the middle — “after all, you are mine now, aren’t you?” 

“Gojo, this is—“ 

“Satoru,” he reminds you, as his fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the necklace, “how will it look if someone overhears you calling me by my last name in private?” And your fingers brush against the necklace, toying with the pendant as you positioned it properly, “do you like it? I had it made especially,” 

Especially — the lack of ‘for you,’ stuck out to you, as you force a smile on your lips, “it’s perfect — it will definitely sell the act,” and your eyes can’t find his as he adjusts his sunglasses, “I’m surprised you’re not wearing your blindfold,” you turn to face him, “doesn’t it drain you not to wear it?” 

“I can wear sunglasses sometimes — usually I get strange looks if I wear a blindfold in normal society — and here,” he pulls off the glasses as his cerulean irises seem to pierce your very form, “it reminds these old men who holds the cards here,” it was already hard enough for you to meet Gojo’s gaze as it was, it always felt as if he could stare right through you — and now, it felt as it your entire soul was beholden to him, “and as a bonus,” he draws close again, as he holds out his hand for your own. You resist the urge to bite your lip, inside giving your hand as he wished, and he lifts to his lips, before tilting his head to press the back of his hand to your cheek, “now I can look at my beautiful girlfriend unobstructed by these pesky eye coverings,” 

You scoff, “You always have something to say, don’t you?” As you try and fail to move your hand away, “Gojo—“ 

“A good escort should never let their lady walk in without their hand being held, don’t you think?” And you sigh, as he leads you out of the frying pan and into the fire  — you only hoped you wouldn’t be burned — your eyes sliding to Gojo again, fingers toying with the fabric over your chest — in more than one way. 

“So you’ve gotten yourself a partner, eh, boy?” the elderly man sits with his eyes closed as he sips his tea, steam rolling off the surface in droves, but he seemed unbothered by the heat — perhaps because of the steam coming out of his ears, “I’m shocked,” you kept your gaze down, only had greeting him upon entering — stating your name and clan, before kneeling beside Satoru on a cushion. 

“Shocked that someone like me could ever find my match? I know I’m truly one of a kind,” lips curled in that smirk that seemed to annoy almost everyone Satoru Gojo knew — including you — but no one showed the level of irritation that this man showed. 

Gojo may be the head of the Gojo clan — but you supposed there were still people he had to answer too, if only due to age and tradition — the two very things Gojo hated the most. 

“Why bother respecting those for aging when they haven’t done anything for me to respect?” he had said flippantly to Yaga one day during a lesson, “I rather die young than live to the age of these old coots without accomplishing a damn thing,” and then Yaga firmly smacked Gojo on the head right after, for disrespecting Gakuganji during the sister school exchange event. 

And you had a feeling this meeting was about to go as well as that class did. 

“Is this serious? Have you proposed?” and you have to keep a straight face, but your cheeks burn. 

“Now, don’t embarrass me and my girlfriend,” his fingers intertwined with yours, “but this is serious — she’s the only woman I want to marry — and I’ll do anything to accomplish that,” he leans forward with a smile, squeezing your hand, “because I love her, and I only will ever love her,” 

His gaze slides from Gojo to you, eyes boring into your skull, “and do you feel the same?” 

You never have been one for lying — lying was an uncomfortable feeling that twisted and turned in your stomach like questionable leftovers that you took a gamble on eating, ones that wanted to come out the same way it went in. But you had learned with time because sometimes it was necessary for a sorcerer to lie, and when it was between telling a lie or dying, you’re forced to become quite adept at things you hate. 

And you had learned, as you meet his hardened look, the best lies had some truth ingrained in them. 

“I do, Satoru and I went to Jujutsu Tech together, and he’s the only man I ever loved,” perhaps it was too much truth, as you forced your voice to be steady, “he’s frustrating, irritating, full of himself—“ 

“You don’t have to be that honest—“ Satoru grumbled. 

“But he’s also selfless, unendingly kind, a great teacher, and a good person, maybe even the best person I know,” you can’t bear to look at Satoru, “and he’s the only man I want to call my husband,” 

The silence lingers in the room for a moment before the old man grunts, “I’ll believe it when I see it,” 

“What kind of answer was that?” You asked as Satoru walked you back to the room, his fingers still laced with yours. 

“It means we have to make him believe it — but he’ll at least stop arranging these meetings for me with prospectives,” 

You raise an eyebrow, “and what will make him believe it?” 

He smirks, as he tugs you a little closer, fingers under your chin, “I could kiss you right now, might sell the act,” 

“No one can see us,” 

“Someone’s always watching,” he murmurs, leaning far too close as your breath catches, eyes widening before they flutter shut and you wait. But instead his lips brush your forehead, followed by a flick, “gotcha,” 

Your eyes snap open in a glare, “Gojo!” And he’s cackling. 

“Satoru,” he corrects, as his hand leaves yours as he opens the sliding door to the room, “you coming?” 

You pout, rubbing your forehead, as you brush past him — this was going to be a long few weeks. 

“Why do I even have to go to this?” You were being led through a bustling mall, his arm around your waist, as if to prevent you from escaping (good idea). Your lips twisted in a grimace, you allowed him to drag you along, knowing him, he would carry you over his shoulder without a hint of shame (you don’t think he even contained the word shame in his own vernacular), “can’t you go and wear a ring and go by yourself?” 

“A ring is not as good as having you on my arm now is it?” he bumps you with his hip, “plus, we’re not engaged yet, unless this is a proposal,” he raises an eyebrow, and your cheeks burn. 

“Shut up, I’d never propose to you,” he laughs, but it’s almost strained.

“Never propose to me like that right? Because I deserve a better proposal than that,” he sighs, leading you into a store, “come on, we have to find you a nice outfit for the wedding,” 

You glance at the store, your jaw dropping, “Gojo, this store is so expensive, I can’t afford this—“ 

He lowers his sunglasses just to show you that he’s rolling his eyes, “Who said you’re paying, Princess?” You stare at him, slack jawed, while a salesperson comes up to the two of you — though she’s clearly only interested in one of you. 

“Hi, what can I help you with finding today?” her lips curled in a smile, as she twirled a strand of her around her fingers, “I’d be more than happy to assist you,” her gaze completely fixed on Gojo, without the slightest hint of acknowledgment for you to spare. 

You bite back a scowl, plastering on a fake smile, as you lean into Gojo, “My boyfriend is looking to buy me an outfit for a wedding we’re attending — baby, could you tell her what style you want me to wear?” 

Gojo glances at you, a flicker of surprise that is quickly covered up by a smirk, his arm tightening around your waist, “Yes, I have to make sure my sweetheart is looking her best — so can you please find these styles of dresses for me?” You can’t help the smile on your lips as the salesperson shuffles away, lips a thin line rather than the grin she once had. 

“Didn’t know you were the jealous type,” Gojo chuckles, and you roll your eyes, hoping your expression didn’t give your heart away, the feelings you had stuffed into a crevice of your chest that threatened to burst. 

So you choose to turn it on him instead, as you meet his gaze with a small smirk, “I don’t like people taking what’s mine,” 

But he only takes it in stride, only as Gojo can, “I’m yours, huh?” 

You shrug, choosing to hurt yourself rather than let him do it, “at least for the next two to three months,” and your gaze snaps away and looks to the saleswoman as she comes back with a selection, “if you get to choose my dress, I get to choose a suit for you, deal?” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, but smiles, “Anything for you, princess.” 

“You just wanted to see me model for you, didn’t you?” Gojo emerges from the changing room in a black button down and white suit coat with a matching white tie — as he tilts his head, “I would say my best suit is my birthday suit,” and you grimace, “oh c’mon, it was a good joke, although—“ 

“Don’t say it’s true,” you lean back, phone in hand as you snap a picture as you did for the last three, “I love to see that self confidence of yours has grown into full blown arrogance,” 

“How can I not be arrogant when I see you snapping pictures of me?” He crosses his arms, the fabric taut and straining over his chest, the top button undone, showing off the adam’s apple that bobs in his throat, “it’s definitely a step up from when you ignored me,” 

You snap from your thoughts, “When did I ignore you?” 

“When we graduated Jujutsu Tech, you’d spend time with Nanami or spend a weekend with Shoko, but whenever I was around, you wouldn’t even reply to a text,” your eyes fall to the floor, chewing your lip, “it wasn’t always like that — I thought we were close,”

It was true — but it wasn’t because you hated him. It was the opposite. You had tried to be his friend, but the more you were his friend, the more it hurt — hurt to see him smile at you like everyone else, hurt to see him with his eyes on the one he wanted, and with his arm around Suguru. 

And you really didn’t hate Suguru —  it was the opposite really — you thought they were perfect, a person who grounded him, made him a better person, and with a much tighter grip on reality than Gojo did — perhaps too tight. Too tight that it shattered apart in his hands, the pieces too far gone to pick out — and too far gone to save him. 

You tried to be there for him — knock on his door when you knew he was home and force him to shower while you and Shoko cleaned up his room. You stayed even when Shoko had long left, holding his hand as he hid his tears from you with his back turned, and you didn’t admit you could hear his nearly silent tears. But eventually, it turned into movie nights, meals shared, and even grocery runs. 

And it became harder and harder to hide how you felt — each minute spent with him was another drop in a bucket that was already overflowing to begin with. At first it had been a crush — an unattainable crush that you were happy to leave at just that. But eventually, it became so much more — you had fallen in love with him, when you really shouldn’t have. Because he didn’t need a partner — he needed a friend. 

“Gojo, I didn’t ignore you—“ 

“I’ve called you sweetheart, did your number change and then magically change back when you came back to Tokyo?” 

But once he had pulled himself together, you were graduating and you requested to be put in Kyoto — your excuse being you were tired being in the city — but to Satoru, you gave no excuse, you quietly left without a word. Because you were really tired of having your heart broken — so you needed space, and you were willing to do anything to get it. 

“Gojo, I didn’t really talk much to Nanami or Shoko when I left either, I just needed space—“ 

“Space from what?” You sighed, parting your lips when his phone rings. He checks it before taking it, “another mission? Yeah, I can leave tonight,” you bit your lip, “send Ijichi to take me to the airport. Yeah, ok,” and he hangs up, “we’ll have to cut this short. I have to go overseas,” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

“Probably just a few days. I’ll be back soon,” you bite your lip, and he tilts his head, “you worried about me, Princess?” 

You flush, opening and closing your mouth, “I am,” and he blinks, seemingly surprised, “come back safe. Text me to let me know when you land,” 

His lips curl, as he ruffles your hair, “I will — and I’ll be back soon enough. Promise,” and he pauses, “you want a souvenir?” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“I want to,” he cuts you off, and your cheeks warm. 

And just then, he gets a text, “Ijichi Is almost here. I’ll have him drop you back first,” and he turns to change out of his clothes.

“Satoru,” you catch him by the sleeve, and he pauses, “I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you after all of that. It had nothing to do with you, there was just a lot going on—“ he says your name, but you shake your head, “but it won’t happen again, I promise,”

“Good,” he steps back into the changing room, a grin on his lips, “I wouldn’t let you get away this time anyway, sweetheart.” 

“Gojo?” You say again, and he tilts his head, “get the indigo suit,” 

He grins, “and you have good taste, well, of course you do,” he holds the door open, “I am your boyfriend after all.” 

And the door of the fitting room swings shut, and you hope he’s not looking at you, as your cheeks burn, your heart squeezing in spite of every thought of your mind telling not to go there — not to go down that road, but you should have known, the moment you said yes to this plan—

You were already there. 

You had never known that the buzz of your phone could make you more happy — or anxious. 

But it had been over the course of the last few days. Because you’re probably an idiot, but that wasn’t the point. 

how bad of an idea would it be for me to try this Karanga and Chapati place that Yuta recommended? 

You snorted, Satoru, the last time you had curry — that wasn’t even that spicy, you couldn’t taste anything for a week.

Another buzz, But Yuta said it’s not so bad

You roll your eyes, imagining the pout he undoubtedly has on his lips — Yuta has never seen you cry over a bowl of curry — stick with your desserts, and you chuckle as you add: you may be the strongest but you have the weakest taste buds 

It takes some time for another response to come — and when it does, you realize a grave error on your part was made: never point out any flaw to this idiot because he will take it as a challenge. 

This is Yuta — Gojo-sensei tried it and he’s now in the bathroom. He told me to tell you he’d text you later. 

This was how the last few days flew by — texts with updates about his mission, his work, and his check-ins with Yuta. And the night before he was flying back, just as you were cooking dinner, he called you— 

“Gojo? Isn’t it 2:00 AM there right now?” 

“You learned the time difference for me?” you heard his words slur over the other line, “Sweethearttttt,” I went out with Yuta and Miguel, and I may have gotten a littttttle tipsy,” 

“Isn’t it like 2:00 AM there?” 

He clicks his tongue, “Miguel challenged me to a drinking contest,” and you groan, rubbing a hand down your face, “but they got me back into my hotel room, even though I’m not tired,” he mumbles, as you hear the crinkle of his bedsheets and the rustling of his comforter. 

“Have you drank water? How much alcohol did you have?” 

“Are you worried about me?” he giggles, before sighing, “I’m glad,” 

“Why are you glad?” You hold the phone between your cheek and shoulder as you stir the pan with your dinner currently in it. 

“Because it means you care about me,” he murmurs, “everyone who cares about me always leaves,” he gives a small bitter chuckle, “maybe it’s better for you not to care about me. It’s dangerous to care about someone like me — the type to die young or live far too long,” 

“Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he mutters, voice growing thick with sleep, “call me Satoru,” and his soft snores fill your ear as he falls into the sandman’s grasp — a small reprieve from his feelings — while you were left to dwell in them. 

All this time you had been thinking how you felt, what you were dealing with, what you wanted — and all these years and you hadn’t thought about how your actions made him felt. You thought he was beyond any hurt you could possibly inflict — his infinity meant that he was leagues above anywhere you could possibly reach — but it didn’t. 

He wasn’t. He was a person — and when had you stopped treating him as one? 

You texted Yuta: make sure your sensei is lying on his side and make him drink some water. And don’t let Miguel goad him into drinking ever again. 

Yuta: got it. sorry about that sensei — gojo wouldn’t listen

You scoffed, chuckling at how Yuta called you sensei but did not afford Gojo the same courtesy. 

You stayed on the phone with Gojo, hearing Yuta come in and persuading him to drink some water, before he fell back asleep, but even in his drunken state, he wouldn’t give up his phone — Yuta snapping a picture and sending it to you. You laughed when you saw it — loml with a dozen hearts and a picture of you in your obi, clearly taken when you weren’t looking, but it wasn’t those things that made you laugh — it was the way Gojo clung to his phone, fingers wrapped around it desperately, as he slept. 

You stayed on the phone with him all night, even when you went to bed — of course just to make sure he’s fine — the call waking you when it disconnected after reaching the max call time. Your eyes flutter open, glancing at the time — 5:00 AM. And almost like clockwork, your phone rings again, Gojo’s number flashing on your screen. 

You pick up, “Mm, hello?” you yawn, “finally awake sleeping beauty?” 

“Glad you finally decided to acknowledge my beauty,” his voice is gravelly, thick with sleep, and god, you can’t help but imagine waking to this voice every day — “ugh I have a headache,” he murmurs, the crumple you hear must be him burying his face in his pillow because the next question he asks is muffled, “why were we on the phone?” 

“You called me last night after drinking, and refused to hang up after Yuta helped you get settled,” you chuckle, as you hear his groan over the phone, “I got a new contact picture for you out of it, love of my life,” 

“Glad you’re finally on board,” he mutters, growing quiet, “why didn’t you hang up?” 

You pause, “what do you mean?” You ask slowly. 

“You could’ve hung up at any time, but you stayed on the phone, even when you fell asleep,” his voice was soft, “why?” 

“I just,” you bit your lip, you couldn’t lie to him, at least not completely, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you didn’t want to hang up — so I didn’t,” 

He’s silent for a moment, and you almost wish you could sink into the Earth — but he only says, “okay, now what’s the plan for the day, Princess?” 

Your lips curl, “Well my day has not really began yet since it’s 5:00 AM here, so I’m probably going to sleep for several hours and wake up at an hour that is not bereft of god,” 

“You really couldn’t just say ‘ungodly?’” He snorts. 

“Well, 5:00 AM makes me wax poetic, what can I say?” Another yawn parts your lips, “I’m going to sleep,” 

But he doesn’t hang up, “I’ll be here, sweetheart.”  

You glanced at the time, he’s late. 

Well, he wouldn’t be Gojo if he didn’t make an entrance. You slumped on the couch — even if he was getting home from his mission, there was no guarantee he’d stop by your place to see you. He might want to just go home — or stop by Jujutsu Tech, or be anywhere else. You couldn’t have expectations — expectations were only a  way to be disappointed, a drop from soaring that would only be met with the impact of the cold, unforgiving ground. 

Especially expectations from a fake relationship. You lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling — why were being such an idiot about this? The TV drones on in the background, illuminating the dark of the living room, as you sit barely paying attention to a random rom com you had picked. 

Maybe it was because Satoru had spent the rest of today on the phone with you, even through a security check (warning the security officers not to hang up his call) and at the gate. And then every day after that, he had called and texted you like clockwork — stupid things— good morning and good night, random memes that made him think of you, pictures of his day (including ones of him messing with his students), questions of what sweet you wanted from the shop he had decided to frequent, calls about your day and his own, and hours long conversations about nothing at all. Maybe because you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke to you — or maybe it was because you were just down bad. 

It was probably the latter. 

You take a throw pillow and pull it over your face. What were you thinking? Falling for your old crush and fake boyfriend a night before a wedding was a trope in a bad rom com that you spent your weekend night watching — it shouldn’t be how you feel. 

“That’s a nice look,” you jump, pulling the pillow away, to be met with Gojo’s gaze hidden behind another pair of sunglasses, “honey, I’m home,” 

You bite back your smile, “one, this isn’t your home, and two, how did you get inside?” 

“It’s pretty easy when you can teleport, you should try it sometime,” he sits beside you, more like collapses as he falls into the couch, his head resting against the top, “although if someone moved in with me, it’d be much easier,” and you laugh. 

“Shouldn’t you ask a girl out before you ask her to move in?” he shrugs, his arm resting across the top of the couch. 

“I’m anything but traditional,” he sighs, glancing at the TV, “what are we watching?” 

“A bad rom com,” 

He snorts, “watching it to mercilessly pick it apart?” And you raise an eyebrow, “what? I did stay awake for some of those movies— it was some of my favorite memories during that time and some of the only times I could actually sleep,” 

“Yeah, it was a nice way for both of us to turn our brains off for a bit,” you glanced at him, “thought it’d be nice for us too,” his gaze slides to you curiously, “I know there’s been a lot on your mind — with itadori and the special grades,” 

He sighs, running fingers through his hair,  “Yeah, old geezers seem to cause problems in all parts of my life,” you snort, “can’t believe they’d try to do away with Itadori while I was gone,” 

“They don’t see anyone as innocent — they see whether you’re an asset or a threat, unfortunately, they see Itadori not as the former,” you shake your head, as your eyes stare at the movie flashing on the screen, but you don’t really watch, “they’re too far gone to see the innocence of children,” 

“You sound like Kento,” and your eyes meet his, his cerulean gaze already on you, his sunglasses discarded on your coffee table. 

“Funny, thought I sounded like you,” he blinks a moment, “Satoru, you’re all about preserving the youth of children — that’s why you saved Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji — even when you had every reason not to,” 

“How could I not? Youth belongs to the young after all,” a wistful smile on his lips, “i don’t want the same to happen to them that happened to us,” 

“To us,” you repeat, a sharp pain sticks between your ribs at the flash of Haibara’s smile and the whisper of Suguru’s laugh, “more like to them,” 

“Yeah,” a silence falling over the two of you as the white noise of the TV filled the quiet, “but sometimes I think we went down along with them,” 

You shake your head, “I think a part of us did — a part of us will stay there—“ frozen in time and seeping like poison in our bones, “but we’re still here,” you risk to toe the line you’d never cross, your fingers brushing his, “and it’s not over for us,” 

And his eyes flicker to your fingers threaded with his, as his fingers squeeze yours slowly, the corner of his lips quirk upwards, as you stretch and sit up, fingers falling away from his, a yawn on your lips, “should we get some sleep?” 

“Come on, let’s finish the movie,” he murmurs, even though sleep seems to weigh heavily on his body, eyelids fluttering shut as he turns to you, cheek pressed against the couch, “hey,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t the movies that let me relax,” and you can hear the unspoken meaning in those words — but that was the problem. 

It was unspoken. 

Your fingers twitch, wanting nothing more than to brush your fingers against his cheek — but you can’t. 

You’d allowed yourself to toe the line you’d long drawn in the sand that you’d built into a wall — you had even allowed yourself to stir a few bricks from its place, but you couldn’t cross it. Not now. 

Your eyes are growing heavy. Maybe not ever. 

Your neck hurts. 

The first thought you have as you rouse into aching consciousness. Why was it so bright? Did you forget to draw your curtains? You draw an arm over your face, already dreading the waking hours, until you realize it’s your day off, and you sigh, relaxing into your bed. 

Or what you thought was your bed. 

Except your bed couldn’t move, nor could it pull you closer. But now something or someone was, an arm around your waist with movement behind you that made breath warm your ear. And you probably would have screamed, if you hadn’t heard the familiar voice whisper your name in your ear. 

Gojo. 

Gojo??? 

Your head slowly turned to be met with the strongest sorcerer very much passed out, half behind you, half on top of you — his blue eyes hidden under his eyelids for once instead of any covering that he used to protect himself. His snowy white locks brushed against your skin, the close proximity doing nothing to alleviate your feelings — you had only hoped you could see one flaw, one ick, and maybe you’d be done. But on Satoru Gojo? The man born to be perfect — the same one who sang karaoke for the first time as a teen only to be so incredible that it moved your server to tears? 

You really should have fucking known better. 

Your breath caught, and you wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment—if no one had, you would surely be the first case. You were always a trail blazer. 

And you tried to shift again, if only to maneuver yourself out of this situation, but he moved along with you, seeking out the contact he was losing. And this only ended with him lying on top of you, his head buried in the crook of your neck, and his legs straddling one of your legs— and then you felt it — a very distinct bulge pressed against your thigh. 

Fuck. Your. Life. 

He mumbled in his sleep, nose brushing against the hollow of your neck, drawing another shiver from your body. You had a rare opportunity to touch him — didn’t you, no infinity between the two of you — just him and you. You were in a position probably many desired to be in — admirers and enemies alike (neither category being mutually exclusive). You supposed old habits die hard — and so did old crushes. 

Could you let yourself enjoy this for a moment? Enjoy the feeling, no matter how real it never would be? Maybe it was wrong, but — your eyes fluttered shut as your arm wrapped loosely around Gojo — you certainly didn’t want to be the one to wake up first. 

And you weren’t — your eyes flutter open to movement, and your eyes meet cerulean eyes, lips parted in surprise, “Morning,” he manages, a flush of pink coloring his cheeks, “did we fall asleep?” 

“I guess we did,” you bite your lip, “are you going to—” 

And he blinks, before scrambling off of you, “Sorry,” he mumbles, as he turns away to fidget with his phone. 

“Guess that was one very boring movie,” you murmur. 

“Or I was in a very comfortable bed,” he replies with a smirk that turns to a grimace. 

“What is it?” 

“Naoya Zenin is making an appearance at the wedding we’re attending tomorrow,” and you groan, as he raises an eyebrow, “how many proposals had he made you?” 

You scoff, “Proposals? More like propositions,” you shake your head, already aching from the sleep you had barely shaken off and now it had graduated to a shooting pain that made your eye twitch at the thought of that man, “he’s offered to do me the ‘honor’ of being the next heir’s husband half a dozen times. If he ever becomes the head of the Zenin clan, I may help Maki annihilate them myself,” 

Naoya Zenin — the most pretentious and egocentric man you had the displeasure of meeting. Even his pretty face could do nothing to fix his hideous personality ridden with misogyny, hatred, and spite. And you’d been offered his hand in marriage half a dozen times due to your lineage in a lesser known clan family with a unique cursed energy. It was a strategic move to try and secure his place — as was every move he made — he had no room for anyone he deemed useless to his plan. 

Unfortunately, you did not fall into that special category.

“That won’t happen,” Gojo replies, texting on his phone, “plus, he’s too weak to force that to happen — not to mention he’s a first class prick,” 

“You say that, but you basically propositioned me,” you teased, as his eyes flit up from his phone, as you rise from the couch, “quite the proposal you came to me with,” 

He pauses a moment, a small smile on his lips, “one, i don’t recall proposing, and trust me that’s something I’d remember,” and you roll your eyes, “and two, aren’t you just as bad, since you said yes, sweetheart?” 

“Can you blame a girl wanting a little extra money?” And he locks his phone, drawing close, your breath catching as he lets himself linger for a second too long. 

“Can you blame a man for wanting a beautiful and intelligent woman?” And he’s leaning close, but he leans back, only grabbing his coat from the couch, still slung over as it had been. He spares you a smirk at your bewildered expression, “close your mouth, you’ll catch flies, princess, and what a shame that would be,” you scowl, and he laughs as he heads to the door, slipping on his shoes, with a final glance and grin thrown over his shoulder as he opened your door, “I’ll see you tomorrow night.” 

Right. Tomorrow. The wedding. 

Fuck. You were so screwed. 

KNOCK. KNOCK. 

Fuck. You scrambled from your vanity as you finished putting the finishing touches on your look for tonight. You didn’t think Satoru Gojo of all people could ever be on time, but you supposed there was a first time for everything. 

You slipped the dress over your head, careful not to smear your makeup or mess up your hair. You were starting to regret not having the Gojo family’s attendants get you ready for this event, if only so you could have turned your mind off for this time. But you knew all too well that your mind could never give you a break — with all of that free time came free real estate for your anxiety to set up camp and put down roots for all the things that could possibly go wrong. So it was better this way, as you reach for the ties on the back of your dress — of course, maybe if you had let yourself be helped, you could actually have someone to tie your corset back on this dress. 

Another knock. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear Gojo’s muffled voice through the door, “you’re not planning on standing me up are you?” 

You stumble your way to the door, clutching the back of your dress, as you take a breath and throw it open, “Can you tie the back of my dress?” 

Fuck. He looked gorgeous. His hair was parted and combed off to the side, a deep blue suit coat and a crisp white collared shirt tucked into a matching suit pant. A pair of sunglasses were tucked into the chest pocket of his jacket in front of a white pocket square. 

“No hello, ‘can you tie my dress?’” Gojo tilts his head, his eyes graze over your appearance, as he steps inside and closes the door behind him, “turn around,” And you do, fingers still clutching at the fabric at the back of your dress, cheeks burning as you do, “gonna have to let go, and let me help you, sweetheart,” 

You slowly let go, but his warm fingers brush against the skin of your bare back as he holds the dress up from slipping, carefully lacing the corset, “I was right, blue is your color,” he murmurs, as he tugs lightly at the strings, “let me know when it’s tight enough,” 

“It’s good now,” you sigh — though the corset wasn’t as tight as your chest now, you face him now, trying to adjust your hair. 

“Let me,” one hand cups your chin gently, your breath catching and you can only hope he can’t feel your pulse through your skin. His fingers run through your soft tresses, your eyes unable to meet his — but you wonder if he can see right through you anyway — “you’ve never been good at asking for help,” 

“Look who’s talking,” you glare at him, as he chuckles, “well, I asked you didn’t I?” 

“Why did you ask me?” You raise an eyebrow, “I’m sure you could have asked anyone,” 

“Well, I didn’t want just anyone,” he murmurs, fingers tracing the blush you had lined your cheeks with, “I wanted you,” 

“Why?” And he parts his lips, a soft smile that pulls at his features — was it a hint of pink across his cheeks. 

“Because—“ and your phone goes off — a reminder with the time of the wedding. And the moment’s broken, as reality settles over you again, “We’ll be late,” 

“I don’t mind being late,” and a heat burns from his touch, from the tips of your fingers to the his fingers leave your cheek, warmth fading as quickly as it came, but he offers his hand, “but if it’s for you, I can be on time,” and your fingers find his, interlacing, before he tugs you close, his arm around your waist, “as long as you stay by my side.”

You never were one for weddings. At least not one like this. 

A stuffy event held in an extravagant manner — a large banquet hall for the reception, but now the guests roamed the gardens the hall opened out into — lush greenery serving as a perfect backdrop for this wedding — a distant branch of the Zenin family was marrying, which meant all of the main clans were invited to attend. Including several elders of the Gojo clan. 

And now you were being subjected to this as well — several dozen eyes on you — all due to the man whose arm you were on. His arm wrapped almost protectively around your waist, his lips nearly brushed against your ear when he whispered in it, letting you know just exactly who was coming over. 

“I didn’t think you were one to care for remembering these things,” you wave at the couple that just left the two of you, his fingers grazing the skin behind your ear as he tucked a stray strand behind it. 

“I usually don’t care, but I know it’d make you uncomfortable otherwise, especially among all these people,” he smirks, his fingers finding yours, and squeezing, “plus, we need to make a good impression, don’t we?” 

“I think we’re making an impression just by being together,” you murmur, and he raises an eyebrow, “everyone’s staring — didn’t you notice?” and he shrugs, a sly smile on his lips. 

“Didn’t notice,” he tilts his head, his eyes fixed on you, “I was too busy looking elsewhere, I guess,” 

Your cheeks burn, but as your lips part to respond, you see him walking over to the discreet corner you had parked yourselves in,  “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, your fingers tightening around his. 

Naoya Zenin strides over in a black yukata kimono, his silver hair pushed back, his lips twisted in a slimy smile that made your skin crawl, your name leaving his lips, “it’s been far too long, you’re looking lovely,” his eyes raked over you like hot coals, “though the company you keep—” 

“Has improved markedly,” Satoru’s lips curl in a grin, “do you have business with my girlfriend?” 

Naoya raises an eyebrow, “Girlfriend?” 

Satoru’s arm tightens around your waist, “I didn’t realize you went hard of hearing — I know your hair had started to go, but your hearing too—” you hid your snort poorly, Naoya’s sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. 

“I’m younger than you are, and my hair is bleached,” he snaps, “or are those six eyes not sharp enough to see that as well? They certainly aren’t enough for you to have found Suguru Geto before he caused a war,” 

And Satoru’s hurt is imperceptible — a hint of hurt that only shows in the tightness of his jaw for a millisecond, before he’s only giving another laugh. 

“At least I am already the head of my clan, because even if I were without my six eyes,” he smirks, but a certain meanness pulls at his features, “I’m still not as weak as you are—”

Naoya’s expression sours, curdled into a foul scowl, “What did you—” 

“Alright,” you hold up your hands, “Let’s save the dick measuring contest for later, okay? This is a wedding, let’s not cause a scene, ok?” you glance between the two of them, and Satoru pouts — while Naoya seems all too pleased, a grin broken across his lips. 

“This is why you’re the perfect woman — you know how to mediate between men’s egos, and—” 

“Naoya, I said let’s not cause a scene, and you’re two steps away from me causing one right now,” you snap, “I wasn’t interested the first dozen times you asked me when I was single, so why would you think I’d be interested now, when I have a boyfriend?” 

His face flushes red, and you’re not sure whether it’s in anger or embarrassment, “I doubt you’re even really a couple,” he hisses, “I know all about the proposals that this idiot has been getting and the pressure to marry,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I’m sure you’ll come running to me once he’s done using you—“ 

Satoru surges forward, but you press a hand against his chest, “We don’t need to justify our relationship to you, so think what you want — but even if Satoru and I break up, I rather die single than ever spend a minute with you,” and you look at Satoru, your gaze softening, “and I rather spend be single for the rest of my life than spend another minute without him,” and you slide your eyes back to Naoya, his fists clenched, as you lean in, “so fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the staff begin to wave everyone into their seats, and the wedding begins. The two of you sit, a silence falling over as others take their seats beside you. A subtle tension as music filled the air and the wedding proceedings began—but you could have cared less— god what the fuck had you said to Naoya? How had Gojo taken it? Does he know how you feel? Does he think it’s an act? 

Then his fingers find yours, “Thank you,” he whispers softly, managing only those two words before the wedding begins. 

And it dawns on you — it wasn’t what you said, it was the fact you had defended him, your heart aches, it was the fact you had defended him when Naoya insulted Suguru. 

Your eyes stay fixed forward as the ceremony begins — it was never about you — as you pulled your fingers away from him. 

Like it always never was. 

The wedding ceremony goes by — as does the reception, without much to-do. The only silver lining is that there’s far too much small talk for the two of you to have a moment to talk alone, especially when the two of you spot the Gojo clan elders side-eyeing you from the table of old folks, not to mention Naoya hovering around that same table, the same scowl on his face. The only remark that Satoru whispered as the two of you floated by the table pointedly, a smirk on his lips as he waved and held you close to his side — “one quick hollow purple could solve my problems,” 

You gave a forced chuckle at that — unfortunately not yours. 

And finally, the two of you head home — in relative silence, the drive being short to Gojo’s apartment, where your car was parked. You sigh as he pulls in, “I’ll head out I guess—” 

“Why don’t you just stay the night?” and your gaze snaps to his, the first time all night, “it’s really late, and I have a guest room—” 

“My apartment isn’t—” 

“Your apartment isn’t far, but I thought we could…talk,” and your heart gallops to a start — talking was the last thing you wanted to do. 

“What is there to talk about?” And his fingers brush against your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. 

“Maybe about why you can’t meet my eyes?” You huff, looking away. 

“Can you blame me? Your blue eyes are freaky,” you grumble, and you can hear the judgment in the silence, a first for Gojo,  “Gojo, what do you want me to say?” 

He stays quiet for a moment, “You don’t have to say anything, just come inside,” So you do — following him inside, the silence hanging over you like a guillotine waiting to slice, “Thank you for what you said—“ 

The door clicks behind him, as you stop, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you’re shaking your head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, I was just—“ 

“But what you said—“ 

“I said what I had to—“ 

“You didn’t have to say all that, Princess,” his voice grows soft, “you know you didn’t,” and he’s drawing closer across his living room. 

“He was upsetting you,” you murmur, eyes unable to find his again, falling instead to his plush carpet laid against his hardwood, “I couldn’t stand by and let him — I know it hurt when he brought up Suguru—“ 

“Suguru?” he repeats, and your eyes find his, finally, and you find his brow furrowed, “is that what you think I was thanking you for?” 

“What else would you—“ and he’s stepping even closer, your breath stuck in your throat as his fingertips graze your cheek again, “Satoru—“ 

“Did I mention how beautiful you looked tonight?” he murmurs, a soft chuckle in his voice, “you always look beautiful, but tonight in particular, I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” 

“You don’t have to—“ 

“That’s just it, I don’t have to,” his palm slides against your cheek, “I want to — I want to when it’s you,” 

“But, i can’t do this, not like this,” tears burn at the corners of your eyes, water threatening to spill out of a too full glass that had been full for far too long, “not when it will give me—“ you cut yourself off before you cut your own heart out, but he’s only forcing the scalpel back into your hand. 

“Give you what?” 

And you can’t turn back now — you’d turned from this road far too many times, sprinted in the opposite direction only to end up here again — you needed to do this, even if it lead to a dead end cliff, “Give me the wrong idea,” and you’re turning away, but his hand catches you by the wrist, “stop, I—“ 

“It’s not the wrong idea,” and you stop. 

No, it was. It was, right? 

“Satoru—“ and his fingers find your own, as he steps closer, “please, don’t—“ 

“If you want me to really stop and forget about this, I will,” he murmurs, “I’ll turn around and open the door and let you go home right now, sweetheart. I won’t bring this up again,” but you don’t move away, you don’t say anything, so he continues, “but if you don’t want that, and you want the same thing I do—“ 

“And what is it that you want?” And you hear his soft chuckle, his cheek brushing against you, as his fingers tuck your hair behind your ear. 

“I thought that was obvious, but I guess I’ll have to spell it out for you,” he squeezes your hand, as he guides your face to look back at him, his lips curled in a small smile, “I want you,” 

Your breath is shaky, no, no — he doesn’t mean that, “No you don’t,” 

He tilts his head, “You don’t think I don’t know what I want?” 

“Satoru, I don’t want to be a substitute for others—“ 

And his hands are sliding around your middle, pulling you closer, “You think I could ever think of you as a second choice?” 

“But—“ and every doubt from when you were younger wells up, every fear of not being enough — but they are erased away, crumbled into dust, by the way he looks at you — entire multitudes of skies all made to look at you. 

“You keep finding reasons not to do this,” and his fingers skim your cheek, before resting under your chin, “but have you tried finding a reason why we should?” 

“Satoru—“ you can’t help but lean into his touch — god, he was a temptation personified — everything you ever wanted, even when you tried not to want it. These feelings were never fake — so why not give in? Just this once. Your fingers slide against his cheek, and you can feel his skin burn under your touch, “do you have any idea what you do to me?”

“No, sweetheart,” he leans in even closer, your breaths becoming one, “but I’d love to find out,” 

His lips brush yours — it’s chaste, hesitant, testing the waters — he tastes like sugar, and you almost laugh — he tastes like the frosting from the wedding cake that he had swiped a slice of on the way out that he finished before you two had reached his car. His eyes flutter open for half a second, before your lips are crashing to his this time — a new record for addiction? A second maybe and you were too far gone. 

His hands cup your cheeks, one sliding to the back of your neck, as the other slides down to your waist to pull you ever closer. 

“Did you find it out?” You murmur between kisses, lips meeting and parting if only to allow you both a breath. And his snowy eyelashes flutter, as his lips quirk upwards. 

“Think I need another,” and his lips swallow any coherent thoughts you have, his hands slipping down your sides, lips parting again, “another,” he murmurs, a kiss, “another,” 

“How many do you need?” you ask breathlessly, a chuckle caught in your throat, and his lips press desperate kisses along your jaw, a smirk against your skin. 

“Is infinity an answer?” And you laugh, “have to take responsibility — I’m addicted to you,” 

“And if I’m addicted?” His hands squeeze your hips, drawing a gasp from your lips. 

“I’d be more than happy to take responsibility for you, Princess — always have,” 

Your heart beats against the bars of its cage, threatening to burst out — but you couldn’t — not without knowing, “And if you break my heart?”

“I won’t ever break your heart,” he leans down to press butterfly kisses to your cheek, “but even if I do, I’ll put it back together,” 

“Promise?” You murmur, and his lips meet yours again, and again, as he’s leading you towards his bedroom, his fingers running through your hair.

And the door to his bedroom swings shut, “Promise.”  

“How long are you going to tease me?” you’re grumbling, cheeks hot and eyes averted, the back of your hand pressed against your lips, as Satoru presses needy kisses along your neckline of your dress. 

He looks up at you through his snowy lashes, and you don’t know if you want to slap the smile off his lips or kiss it off, “You’ve been teasing me for years, you can’t give me this time, sweetheart?” His teeth graze the juncture of your neck and shoulder, “plus, do y’know how fun it is to watch you squirm?” 

Slap. It’s definitely a slap. 

“You’re insufferable,” and he smirks when your breath catches when his lips ghost over the swell of your chest. 

“Yet you’re the one who's under me—“ and you try to get up only for him to pin you back down, a pout on his lips, “alright, alright, can’t blame me for wanting to see you squirm, Princess, how many chances will I get?” 

“Only this one if you keep this up,” and he’s finding your lips in a languid kiss, an apology with no words, a smile filled with affection that only made it hard for you to feign annoyance. 

“Then I better make this count,” he’s gently helping you up, turning you around to undo your corset strings — but you wonder if he’s undoing it or tangling it, “why did we choose a dress with such a complicated back?” It’s his turn to grumble and it only draws a giggle from you. 

“Surprised you haven’t hollow purple’d it by now,” 

“Trust me if you weren’t in it, I would have,” he sighs, as the fabric begins to loosen up, slipping off your shoulders. 

“And here I thought you were good at everything,” you chuckle as he helps you shimmy out of the dress, the fabric falling away from you in a small pool around your ankles. Pools of blue rake over your exposed body, raising goosebumps in its wake, as your arms reflexively try to cover yourself, but his hands find your own, easing them away. 

“I’m good at what counts, Princess,” he kisses your wrist, pulse jumping under his touch, nose brushing against it, he hovers over you, as he undoes his tie, fingers tugging at the knot, as he undoes the top button of his shirt, “and I’ll show you.” 

~~~~

Satoru had dreamed of this — of you and him. He knew when he realized it — although it was too late when he did. Maybe it was the night before you left — the night after graduation — before you left — you had fallen asleep watching the movie you had put on. Your lips parted and mouth ajar, your eyes fluttered shut, and you were out. He had leaned over to grab his phone to snap a picture to tease you with later, only for your fingers to grab onto him, your head on his shoulder, a quiet murmur of his name. 

“Satoru,” — not Gojo, as you had always called him. And he knew he wanted to hear you say it again and again. His fingers brushed a stray strand of hair away, his head leaning against yours.

Suguru was everything to him for a time — he had come to Satoru at a time where he thought no one else would ever be able to understand him. No one else would be able to reach him — because how does a person reach for a god? But here you were — and the way your head rested on his shoulder and your lips said his name made him want nothing more than you by his side. 

And when you left — you didn’t reply to his messages, you disappeared, just like everyone else did in his life. He was always left alone in the end — maybe it was his fate. 

But then you came back — came back almost right after Suguru left for good. And that part of his heart that was meant for you began to thrive again and again — as he spent more time with you. 

And god, when his clan started to pressure him to find someone to marry — he wrote them off as he always did. He thought he could ride out the ridiculous proposals and dates they had arranged for him — but as he thought more about who he wanted to spend his time with, who he wanted to see after a tiring mission, and who he couldn’t imagine being without —- 

And he realized it was you. 

“Satoru, don’t tease me,” you pouted, teeth bearing down on your bottom lip, legs spread for him, his eyes flirting between your all too cute expression and the growing wet patch on your panties, “fuck, please—“ 

“Gonna have to tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he presses a wet kiss to your inner thigh, his arm hooked under your knee, your foot pressed against his back, “where do you want me?” 

“You fuck-er—“ the last syllable is a gasp as he kisses your sensitive clit through your soaked underwear, “Toru—“ a whine leaves your throat. 

Fuck, you’re so cute, his fingers toy with the elastic of your panties — and all of this was worth it, worth it to see if these feelings were what he thought they were, worth it to make you smile, and worth to end up with you. 

“How can I refuse you when you say my name like that?” he’s tugging your underwear away, exposing your sipping cunt to a rush of air and his warm breath, “all this f’me, baby?” You mumble something he can’t quite make out, “what was that?” 

Your glassy eyes look up at him, blown wide with lust, “Only f’you, Satoru,” fuck, his dick twitches — he could bust just looking at you. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, “g’nna make me cum just with your words,” but he diverts his attention to your needy cunt, his long fingers graze over your pussy, collecting the precum on his fingertips, before he pinches your clit. 

“Toru,” you squirm, as he grins down at you, all too pleased. 

“Imagine if the elders could see you like this — spread out for me like a good little wife,” he’s leaning down to kiss your fluttering folds, leaning back for you to see the shiny pre that clings to his lips that his pink tongue darts out to clean off, “sweetest thing I’ve tasted,” 

“Please, Toru, fuck—“ and finally his finger is circling your hole, before sinking in knuckle deep — fuck, you were fucking tight — he could melt from your warmth, pulling him in like a siren to a drunken sailor, “oh my god,” 

“You don’t have to call me ‘god,’ princess,” and he earns a glare from you that fades into an open mouthed moan as he begins to pump his finger in and out, “so good for me,” and he’s adding another finger, the wet squelch of your cunt growing louder, as he reaches a hand down to graze against his erection if only for a little relief. 

He wishes he could memorize the way you looked right now — perfect little lips parted for him, his name and soft pants the only sounds you could manage to make, your back arching into his touch, and the way you moaned when his lips found their way around your clit. 

His tongue circles your clit at first before his lips suck at the hard pearl, fingers parting your dripping folds, finally finding that spot that had your walls giving that telltale spasm, “Toru, I’m close—g’nna cum—“ you whimper, his fingers pistoning in and out of your cunt as he sucks hard at your clit, and you cum, hard, around his fingers, drenching his face and finger alike, as he fucks you through your orgasm. 

You’re beautiful — lips parted and chest heaving, as you moan his name again, “good girl,” he’s murmuring, as your eyes flutter open, to watch him lick his lips and fingers clean, “might get addicted to how you taste, sweetheart,” 

And you’re boneless, but still you’re still reaching for him, pulling him into a languid kiss, his cock twitching as he shifts himself over you, hands pressed into the mattress, his clothed cock rubbing against your drenched folds. 

“Wanna make you feel good,” you mumble against his lips, and he’s pulling back an inch — but unknowingly, he’s given you a mile, as you flip him onto his back. 

You’re a vision — your perked up nipples visible through your bra, halfway slipping off your shoulders as it is, hair a lovely mess, and pretty lips kiss ruined. 

“My turn,” and your lips burn a trail down his jaw, along the curve of his neck and the cut of his collarbone. You take your time, if only to pay him back in full for all the teasing he did, “didn’t know you taste so sweet, Toru,” your tongue drags up his chest, “must be all the sugar you eat,” 

And your lips smile against his abs at the sharp gasp he fails to stifle, “I’ll have you know I’m very sweet—“ and your fingers graze over his clothed erection — his hips buck up into your touch, “I’m known for it,” he hisses, as a giggle escapes your lips. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure almost everyone would care to disagree,” the tip of his cock strains against the fabric, the dark wet patch growing larger the more your thumb beared down on it, “but I wouldn’t be one of them,” and you’re dragging the fabric down his hips, freeing his cock, your eyes nearly hypnotized by the slight of it, thick beads of precum dripping from the slit, before your gaze finds his again, softening, “because I know how much you do for others — and how much you’ve lost because of it,” you kiss his inner thigh softly, nose brushing against the skin. 

“As long I don’t lose you,” he says softly, “I think I’ll be okay,” 

And your fingers find their way around the base of his cock, drawing a ragged gasp from his lips, before you lean down and flick your tongue against his leaking tip, “I’m not going anywhere, Toru.” 

Your tongue drags a thick stripe up his cock, before beginning to trace along one of his veins, your fingers slipping up to use his pre to rub up and down his length. Your thumb teases his slit, and a hiss leaves his lips, a smirk against his dick. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, you know exactly what you’re doing to me,” his cheeks burn, dusted with pink surely — as he watches you lick the precum that dripped down your fingers onto your wrist, “knew that mouth would be s’fucking good—“ 

“Turns out you don’t shut up even in bed,” and that earns you a cheeky grin that parts into an ‘o’ as his dick sinks into your mouth. He swears he was closer to death than he was when Toji nearly killed him — not that he’d like to remember that man in this moment — but you’d surely be the death of him, and you would be — if he had to spend another second without you in his life. 

Fuck, he looks down at you, eyes half shut, his white knuckled fingers gripping the sheets — you’re gorgeous as you swallow him whole — sucking and licking, nose brushing against his pubes as your eyes water, as you bob along his length from tip to base and back again. 

“S’good for me, so pretty, fuck—” he groans, when his tip brushes against your throat, his fingers finding your scalp to try and ease you off,  I’m s’close princess, g’nna cum—” But your hands only slide to his ass to hold yourself against him, as his dick twitches in your mouth, and your fingers drift to his sack while your tongue flicks along his slit and he’s done. He’s cumming down your throat, hot release painting your mouth.

He’s watching you with half lidded eyes pull away from him— a string of cum and spit strung between your lips and his dick, before beginning to drip from the corner of your mouth. And fuck, it’s enough to make him hard all over again. You lean over him, wiping the release from your lips, as you kiss up his body. 

“Now who’s good at everything?” and he huffs out a chuckle. 

“I stand corrected — actually, don’t think I’ll be standing for a while after that but—” and he’s finding your lips in a kiss, tasting himself you, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, as your fingers find his erection again, stroking it, before he’s flipped you onto your back. He runs a hand through his snowy locks, a smile on his lips, “don’t think you’ll be doing much standing after this either,” 

“So full of yourself,” you roll your eyes. 

“That’s what you’re going to be full of in a second—” 

“Oh my god—” and your laugh dies on your lips as he starts to tease your entrance with the head of his cock, “Toru,” you whine, as he watches your needy cunt flutter around nothing as he drags his length up and down your dripping hole, watching your releases mix, “please—” 

“So polite,” he hums, as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips, “now how can I refuse that?” and he begins to sink his length into your cunt, warm walls nearly pulling his cock in deeper, as he groans your name, “s’perfect, s’good for me, princess, made for me,” and inch by inch, until he’s finally bottoming out. 

“Toru, ngh, s’big—” you gasp, lips parted in a silent moan, as you pull him even closer, face buried in the crook of his neck, but his fingers tugging your hair to show your face. 

“Let me see you,” he murmurs, as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss as he continues to thrust into you — his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch and skin slapping echoing in his ears. A gasp parting your lips as you pull apart, your head thrown back in a moan as your walls flutter around him as his tip breaches that one spot inside you. 

“Haa, I’m close, Toru,” you groan, and he’s nodding, his fingers reaching between your bodies to find your clit. 

“Cum for me, pretty girl,” and you do — cumming hard, as he notches himself deep inside you, before spilling inside you, his hot release deep in your pussy. He’s moaning your name, as your bodies slow and his fingers cup your cheek gently, and his lips find yours. 

He slowly rolls off of you, your warmth leaving him for a moment, before he’s pulling you close again, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Is this a dream?” you mumble, eyes fluttering shut, and a small chuckle leaves his lips, legs entangled. 

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, “If it is, I hope I never wake up, Princess.” 

Your body aches — that’s your first thought as you stir into consciousness. Fuck, why does you feel so sore? Your eyes try to flutter open, but the sunlight blinds you — a soft groan leaves your lips. You shift, as you stretch, your back aching and muscles tight, but then someone moves behind you, an arm wrapping around your waist. 

Your eyes shoot open, as your head slowly turns to find looking at Satoru. A gasp is caught in your lips. 

Fuck, it was real.  

You slowly turn to face him, his soft breaths leaving his pink lips — god he’s so gorgeous. His pretty white eyelashes resting against his skin, lips parted ever so slightly, and his snowy hair askew and mussed. Your fingers ghost over his cheek lightly — how many people have seen him asleep like this? How many had seen him with his guard down? You knew he didn’t sleep nearly enough, you were surprised he was still asleep — but, your cheeks burned, you both did spend half the night awake. 

But there were more pressing things to think about — what did this mean? You chew on your bottom lip, he had said he wanted you — but what did he want? Just last night? Or something more. 

“I can’t sleep with your thoughts grinding so much,” he mumbles, heat rushing to your cheeks, he’s burying his face in the crook of your neck, “why are you awake so early?” His nose brushes against your neck, his lips pressing softly against your pulse. 

“I just woke up,” you murmur, a small shiver running up your spine, as you relax into his touch, your fingers running through his soft locks, “did all my thinking wake you?” 

“Yes, and you’ll have to compensate me,” and you snort. 

“You’re rich, like old money rich,” he’s pressing sweet kisses to your skin, heat climbing up your body. 

“Money isn’t what I want,” he nuzzles you, nose brushing against the skin of your neck, “wonder what other ways you can repay me,” 

You chuckle, humming at his touch — god even the simplest of touches has your logic up in ash, “I’m sure you can figure out some other methods of payment,” 

And his lips find yours again — it’s a lazy morning kiss, soft and slow, but not bereft of any of the passion from the night before. His fingers slide down your body, as he pulls you impossibly closer. 

“My preferred method of payment wouldn’t have us leaving this room until tomorrow morning,” his lips curl in a smirk, “but I’ll collect my charge tonight — how about I make us breakfast?” 

“You can make breakfast?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“I know how to scramble an egg,” he shrugs, and you snort only for him to pout, and you smile, your fingers brushing against his cheek, before your thumb runs down his lips. 

“How about we make breakfast together?” 

“Was that really your first time making tamagoyaki?” you raise an eyebrow, as you pick up a piece of the rolled omelet between your chopsticks.

“Promise,” and you bite it — it was perfect — the texture, the taste, the seasoning. And you stare at him, an eyebrow raised. 

“Either you’re lying or you really are good at everything,” you mutter, and he grins, as he takes a bite of his food — a sweeter tamagoyaki he had made for himself, far too smug for his own good. 

“I think I proved that last night, Princess,” and you nearly choke on your food. And you chew thoughtfully — you two hadn’t even breached what last night meant yet. You had simply been dancing around it, or at least you had. You didn’t want to be the one to bring it up — or rather, you picked up another piece of tamagoyaki up, you didn’t know how to, “what’s going on in that head of yours?” 

And your eyes snap up, “What do you mean?” 

He tilts his head, “You’re not hard to read — you keep thinking about something,” and his lips curl, “last night?” Your hesitation gives you away — and he only smiles wider, “should I refresh your memory?” And your cheeks are burning, and he chuckles, “come on, sweetheart, let’s just talk,” 

You bite your lip — you needed to do this, you couldn’t run away from how you felt, not again  — your fingers fidgeting with your chopsticks, before you place them down on your bowl, “What did last night mean?” 

And his lips curl, but this smile he has is softer, “What do you think sweetheart? Do you think I’m really the—“ And his phone rings, and he picks up his phone, eyes flickering to the caller, and you wave him off, “you can take the call,”

He sighs, “One second,” he gets up to speak, and he hangs up a few minutes later, “text me a location,” 

“Who was that?” And he’s shaking his head, a sigh on his lips, his hand on the back of his neck. 

“The ever breathing and ever irritating geezers want me to meet them to speak about something involving the clan,” he meets your gaze, a flicker of an emotion in his eyes — a drop of water that disappears into the sea as quickly as it formed, “and it’s a good opportunity for me to discuss something I have been wanting to speak with them about,” 

“Something?” and his lips quirk in a small smile. 

“I’ll be back soon enough to explain, sweetheart,” he walks over to you, “will you wait here for me? Think I’ll be able to come back faster if I know you’re here waiting for me,” 

And you can’t help the small flutter your treacherous heart gives, “The great Satoru Gojo will rush for me?” 

“Oh, he would rush day and night if it meant he could come home to you,” and his fingers find your cheek, drawn like a magnet — why was it you could never look away from him? Even in a crowd, your eyes always found his gaze. 

And you’d go to him — like a moth to a flame, “I think I’d prefer just Satoru,” you lean into his touch, your hand over his, “I do owe him after all,” 

“You do,” he leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead, before he’s pulling away, a smile on his lips, “consider that a deposit.” 

You didn’t know what to do with yourself. 

Alone in Satoru’s place — you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He had left right after breakfast, and he told you where the TV was, books, and told you could order anything or use anything you needed. But, this place was so him — each place you went, there was just another reminder of him that seemed trail after you, but at the same time, without him, it was like a shell of a place — no soul present. 

And you supposed the soul wasn’t present. 

You ended up back in the bedroom, crawling back under the covers. Fuck, they even smelled of him — you squeezed your eyes shut.

You really didn’t know what you were doing — did you? 

You laid on your back. What were you supposed to make of what happened last night and this morning for that matter? Was this real now? A real relationship with Satoru — you turned over on your stomach, pulling the covers over your head — you could barely imagine it. 

And your phone goes off, as you reach for it blindly on the nightstand. But it wasn’t the white haired sorcerer you hoped it was — your eyebrows knit together — at least you didn’t think it was. A text from a number you don’t recognize — and a picture to top it off from the preview. 

You nearly deleted it — only to spot a familiar mop of white in the picture. 

Your blood runs cold at the sight. Satoru? He was at a restaurant with — a woman? You didn’t recognize her, but his hand held hers, picture taken mid laugh. Your cheeks burn — no, no — there had to be an explanation. 

A text now — Want to see what your boyfriend does in his spare time? Is he done using you now? 

There’s only one person who’d text like that. 

Naoya, how fuck did you even get this picture? You stare at the photo — have you fallen so far in your clan that you have the time to stalk Satoru now? 

He replied, it’s not my fault that they are dining in a Zenin owned business. 

Another picture — Satoru and her were hugging, his arm around her waist, far too close to be friendly. 

You don’t think — you call him. It rings and rings, but no answer — the cut to voicemail makes your heart sink. 

Another text — even if you don’t believe me, do you think this will be the last of your problems? When you’re Satoru Gojo, anyone close to you will have a target on their back — if only to use your blood to paint one on his head. 

You knew you couldn’t trust this. You knew there was an explanation. You knew Satoru wouldn’t do this to you. 

But even still, you wished you could tell your heart that. 

“What is this?” Satoru was led to a table at the restaurant the old geezers had chosen — but there were no wrinkly old cranks in sight. Instead, there was a woman. 

“Are you Satoru Gojo?” And he raises an eyebrow, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“The one and only, now I don’t suppose the old fools of the Gojo clan turned into a woman — so who are you?” She swirls the glass in her hand, before downing the liquid in one go. 

“Figures they had to lie to get you here — seems like we’ve been set up,” she gestures to the chair in front of her, “I’m Airi,” and he takes a reluctant seat, “I was told this was a meeting for us to meet for a potential engagement,” and he scoffs, he should have figured it was something like this, “but judging by the look on your face, you didn’t know that,” 

“I was expecting to meet 

I suppose we’re on the same page,” 

He tilts his head, “Really?” 

“Gojo, you may be a catch, but to me, you’re nothing more than a potential knife to my neck,” she places her glass down, leaning back in her chair, “and plus, I have someone I’m interested in,” and her eyes slide down, “and judging by the bite mark on your neck, you do too,” 

He pays it no mind, a laugh leaving his lips at the thought of you waiting for him at his apartment, “I do,” and he sighs, pushing his chair out, before getting to his feet. “and I have to get back to her,” 

She follows suit pushing out her own chair, rising, a waiter walking by, and she trips. It’s a reflex, he catches her by the wrist and by the waist, steadying her. 

“Sorry,” she pulls away immediately, looking back for the waiter, before biting her tongue, “fucking waiter tripped me,” the two of them glance around, but see no one, “I’ll have to talk to my grandfather’s advisors about this. No one trips the granddaughter of Naobito Zenin,” she mutters, and Satoru’s eyes snap to her. 

“You’re a Zenin?” And it clicks, the wedding, “who arranged this meeting?” 

She tilts her head, “My father, but he heard about this from my cousin, Naoya—“ 

He checks his phone — and he sees a missed call from you. 

Fuck. It was a set-up — in both ways. 

“I have to go,” and he can only hope you wouldn’t do the same to him when he came back. 

Satoru calls you, but you don’t pick up. You can’t bring yourself to stare back at the photo he had set as his contact photo — the picture Yuta had taken of him clutching at his phone with your picture on his screen. 

You needed to talk to him in person. 

And it’s not long before he’s back home — practically teleporting at your feet. 

You swear, stumbling and he grabs you, tugging you close, “Got you,” he smiles, tugging off his blindfold for you to see his eyes — the startling blue that you still couldn’t navigate without drowning in its depths, “does that mean I can keep you?” and you want to pull away, you want to run, but you can’t help but melt into his touch, your fingers gently clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“That depends on whether I’m the only person you’ve said that to,” and you look up at him, his brow furrowed, “and held like this,” 

“The meeting today, it was supposed to be with the elders — I was going to discuss our relationship again but—“ you show him the pictures on your phone, and his brow knit together, “how did you—“ and he doesn’t finish his sentence before he realizes, “it was a set-up,” 

“I know,” and relief washes over features for a moment, but your eyes can’t meet his, your lips a thin line. 

And he glances at the photo again, seeing the one where he’s holding Airi, “She tripped, sweetheart, trust me—“ his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing the length of your cheek, “I don’t want to hold anyone but you,” 

“I know Naoya and the Gojo clan probably set this up,” you whisper, leaning into his touch, “but—” you pull away from him, every step away from him a fissure in the foundation of this bridge built, “I don’t think I can do this anymore,” 

And he’s blinking, “Why?” 

“I’m not good enough,” you’re shaking your head, stepping back as he steps forward, “I hurt you by leaving, and I was this close to doing it again—” 

“But you didn’t—” 

“And your clan doesn’t want us together, and I don’t know, I feel even if we’re together,” the words that leave your lips break your heart and his, we’ll only hurt each other in the end,” 

“Why do you always push me away when we get close?” 

“No I don’t—” 

“You don’t think the sorcerer that’s an expert at pushing others away — wouldn’t know if he’s getting pushed away?” 

“This isn’t working out,” you cut him off, as the slice cuts through thin air — but it’s not your head that goes rolling — it’s his heart, “we should stop — I think your clan has been convinced,”

He’s silent for a moment, before he replies, “well, I haven’t been convinced,” 

You scoff, his hands by his side, as his quiet footsteps approach you, “convinced of what?” 

“Convinced that,” he stops in front of you, “you don’t feel the same way I do,” Your breath catches, as his fingers find your cheek, “all these years, sweetheart, and you didn’t know?” 

“But,” you can’t process this, it doesn’t make sense, “but Suguru—“ 

“Was important to me yes,” he murmurs, “but it’s been years, and it doesn’t mean I can’t have deep feelings for someone else — especially when I’ve had them for over a decade,” 

“You—“ was this real? As he stood before you, in his living room low lights, sunlight streaming in from his windows, “what?” 

He laughs, “Didn’t know it was possible to render you speechless, sweetheart — guess there’s a first time for everything,” he steps over your missteps with the same ease he does everything, “I really do have to spell everything out for you, don’t I?” The back of his fingers ghost over your cheek, “I’m in love with you—“ 

“No,” you’re shaking your head, and his face falls, “Satoru, we can’t—“ 

“But—“ 

“Your clan doesn’t approve of me, they won’t stop trying to break us up, and I could put you in danger,” you murmur, “they could use me against you — just like Suguru did,” you couldn’t bear the thought of that, “and is that worth it? Worth it for something that may not be real?” You ask the question you’re afraid of asking him — of asking yourself — “was it ever real?” 

And he’s still trying to reach for you, despite it all — he knows it’s dangerous to be around him, he knows anyone close to him is in danger — and that’s why he was okay when you left. If only you’d be safe — but he knew that if he always played it safe, he would never be happy, “It’s real to me,” 

“It’s not to me,” you turn towards the door, “I’m sorry.” 

And this time he doesn’t stop you. 

It’s for the best. 

That’s what you tell yourself. The same thing you say when you’re leaving his place. The same thing you say the next morning you wake up with only a pain in your chest and a dull ache in your head. The same thing when you accept a long mission overseas. 

It was for the best. 

Then why — then why did you think of him? Each and every day, every minute, every second. But it was for the best. He was safer without you, it was easier without you, it was better — better and yet each day seemed to drag when you couldn’t talk to him. And your notes were filled with unsent texts to him — and your mind was filled with nothing but memories. 

And you couldn’t touch memories nor could you talk to them. 

Several months later, you’re sitting in a plane, watching the animation of the plane fly back towards Tokyo. You had been checking in with Yaga several times a month, but you hadn’t heard a thing from Satoru. 

Or rather, Gojo. Not that you expected to — not after what you did. 

And soon enough, you’re arriving home — heading inside your home to find a bunch of your mail had fallen out of your mailbox, knocked out of the rickety box from the storm the night before. You pick up the drenched mail between two fingers that was stuck to the sides of your walls, as you fumble with your keys to open the door. Your suitcase and mail fall to the fall as you close the door behind you, sighing. 

Fuck. You were home. 

You dragged your suitcase inside, picking up the mail off the floor. You collapsed on your couch, tossing the wet envelopes onto the table — when a name catches your eye. 

Gojo? 

You pick up an envelope — the frilly envelope doing nothing to protect the contents inside — you barely can make out any of the text, except the faint inked kanji of his name. 

You gingerly open the envelope, peeling out the insides — and your heart drops. 

Is this an invitation? The faint text was blurred and smudged from the rain — the contents all but faded and you could only make out three things — ““marriage,” today’s date, and bits and pieces of what you thought was an address. 

Satoru was…getting married? 

It felt like logic had fled your mind and panic took its place — as you looked up the parts of the address that you were able to decipher. And you found it — it was a popular venue not far from here. 

You didn’t think — you grabbed your keys and drove. 

You couldn’t let him get married, no, no — you had made a mistake when you left. You thought he was better off, you thought it was for the best — but it wasn’t. It couldn’t be when your chest hurt like this — felt as if your heart was splitting in two with a sword stuck between your ribs. It couldn’t be because you pushed him away because you were scared — scared of getting hurt again, scared of hurting him, scared of being with the only person you ever had loved. 

Basically, you pulled up to the venue, you were an idiot. 

You hadn’t changed, you hadn’t showered off your who knows how long of a flight, and now you were on the steps of a wedding venue that Satoru was getting married at. You froze before the doors. 

You couldn’t do this. He didn’t deserve to have his day ruined by you — not when you had ruined enough. If he had found someone else to spend his life with — whether it was arranged or not, he deserved to be happy. 

Even if it wasn’t with you. 

So you step down — walking off a distance to watch when the couple emerged — which judging by how dark it was and how staff were already almost done setting up — would be any minute now. 

So you wait. 

And finally when the doors swing open, you steel yourself — knowing it would do nothing, nothing to shield you from the pain of seeing—and your eyes find the groom. 

That wasn’t Satoru. 

He certainly had the white hair, but he did not have his blue eyes — he had a lovely bride regardless, who looked at him the way you had always looked at Satoru. Was that the look you had hidden away for so many years? And why were you still hiding? 

And your eyes find Satoru almost instantly — as fast as his eyes find you seemingly, as your name escapes his lips — as he parts through the crowd to your side. He’s wearing the other suit he had tried on — the white suit that had been your second favorite — his white locks parted and combed to the side, but still impossibly unkempt as they always were. 

“You got my invitation?” you blink, tilting your head. 

“But you—what?” and his brow furrows. 

“Don’t tell me you lost your ability to read and speak while overseas, princess,” and a small chuckle escapes your lips as you shake your head, wringing your hands. 

“Satoru, the invitation was wet because of the rain, I thought—” your voice wavers, glancing away as your cheeks burn, “I thought you were getting married.” 

He raises an eyebrow, lips curling, “And you were about to burst in and object?” 

You roll your eyes, but even so you can’t meet his gaze,  “Satoru—” 

His smile only grows wider, “What were you going to say? A passionate speech about how you’re still—” And you’re tugging him close by the collar, and his breath catches, your name leaving his lips. 

“I’m in love with you, Satoru,” your voice is steady as you speak, your hand sliding to his cheek, “I always have been — I was just afraid to admit it, I didn’t want to hurt you — whether it was by my own hand or not,” and his brow furrows, but you continue, “but I’m not scared anymore — because it hurts more to be nothing than something with you—” 

And his lips find yours. It’s everything you want — because it's him, he’s everything you’d ever wanted, and everything you’d ever want. You want the way his arm slides around your waist to pull you closer, you want the way his hand cups your cheek, you want the way his lips smile against yours, and you’d want his past, present, and future. And you’d do anything to keep it. 

“Promise you’ll never leave like that again?” he murmurs, his arm tightening around your waist as he says the words, his forehead pressed against yours, “I already have abandonment issues,” and you chuckle, your fingers finding his cheek. 

“I promise,” you murmur, “I’m sorry I left — both times I left, and there won’t ever be a third,” 

And he smiles, “You proposing to me, sweetheart? I’m not one to rush into things, gotta take me out on a proper date first,” 

“How about tonight?” you find his lips again, the taste of sugar on his lips — undoubtedly from indulging in a slice or several of wedding cake. 

“So soon?” he hums,and his gaze softens, as he presses a kiss to your forehead, “someone’s eager,” and your fingers intertwine with his, squeezing his, as you would a million times more,

“Well, you don’t know until you try.” 

✧ a/n: ahhh another celebration fic done!! this one was lowkey a struggle towards the end so i hope this turned out okay. it's beyond me understanding if it did or not lmao. i hope you guys enjoy ahhh -- gotta probably put up a poll to decide the next celebration fic this weekend :) (it's only because i'm horribly indecisive).

✧ taglist: @yunjinabla, @weluvsza, @yamaguccitadashi, @gojobbg, @soulofoz, @hfdkhjghjkghfj, @forest-fruits-jam, @cerene-dipity, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @reaperxdeath, @octopishisahybridanimal, @hanlay, @whereflowerswenttodie, @tsukimefuku, @numbing3scapism, @arcswonderland, @kirashuu, @fushitoru, @spider-fan72, @jayathelostdragon, @sunflowmaryam, @satorusmochis, @catsgomurp, @simply-a-s1mp, @kentocalls, @weluvsza, @lucy-xv0202, @mazzd4, @dontshuugo, @zz-snow-zz

[goldsainz]

❝ NSFW ALPHABET ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . aemond targaryen x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . MINORS DNI! smut (unprotected sex, slight sub/dom dynamics, voyeurism, mummy kink (but not really), cum play, rough fucking), lewd language, slight mention of aemond’s first visit to the brothel, touch-starved aemond, barely proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . aemond’s behaviour in the bedroom.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . ignore that the man in the picture has dark hair, it’s hard finding good quality aesthetic pictures😔 requests are open for aemond (he’s a bad man but he’s my man okay… like i respect a good villain i’m sorry) (but also hate him cause why you beefing with lucerys and rhaenys…). anyway, happy reading i hope you all enjoy this!

[ word count: 2,6k ]

A — AFTERCARE . . . what they're like after sex!

Aemond doesn’t really know what aftercare truly entails, he learns how to be better at it with you. He will clean you if a mess is made, can run a bath if necessary, and then lay down with you. It takes time for him to cuddle, but eventually he caves in. He may not say it but he craves that affection and security by knowing you're so close to him. 

B — BODY PART . . . their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner's!

THEIRS . . . His torso. It might be a weird thing to love about himself , but he most loves it because you cling around his waist and place your head against his chest. He is incredibly toned, just a mass of hard muscle but he can see the comfort you find in it. Another thing he loves is seeing the marks you leave on him, he’s prouder of those than any scar he receives while battling.

YOURS . . . He adores your tits. Adores watching the way they move when you’re breathing in those tight dresses you always complain about, he also adores resting his head on them and seeking comfort in the soft flesh. Aemond peppers kisses on them so much you have to resort to wearing high-neck dresses to hide the marks, which in turn means getting even more because your husband cannot control himself. 

C — CUM . . . anything to do with cum, basically!

This man is messy. He does not care where he cums, whether it's your face and chest when you suck him off or deep inside you, he’s a mess. You need to clean yourself thoroughly after being with him because he leaves you covered in it. He knows he could be more controlled with it, but something about you being sticky from his cum makes him feral and thus he cannot be any other way. He likes to takes his hand and spread over your body, placing his cum-covered hand and placing it between your lips and has you suck on them.

D — DIRTY SECRET . . . pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs!

Aemond wants to fuck you with an audience. He craves staking his claim over you for all the realms to see, to have the world see but never know how good you feel. Have you moan his name, make you desperate for him, while the others boil with envy at the connection the two of you have. Though, as much as the imagery makes him hard, he is far too possessive to ever really dare do it. 

E — EXPERIENCE . . . how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?

He has little to no experience. Aegon dragged him to a brothel once, but he didn't learn much from and rather steered away from that world. Still, Aemond loves to learn and study so he gathered whatever knowledge he could from books and then put them into practice when he married you. He learned all the little things that made you squirm, how to get certain noises from you, and how to take care of you. With time, he became an expert and you were always left more than satisfied from your activities. 

F — FAVOURITE POSITION . . . this goes without saying!

Mating press is his preferred position. He gets everything he wants from it, the intimacy from being able to see you and the dominance of having you pressed against him, willing to take whatever he gives you. The skin-to-skin contact, the intimate eye-contact and deep penetration makes him adore this position. It is raw and primal, all the things Aemond longs for when being intimate. 

G — GOOFY . . . are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.

Aemond prefers it to be a serious moment. He finds that passion is what's most important during the act, with him willing you to submit to him while he takes charge. If something humorous occurs he won't be deterred by it, most likely indulging in what happened and slowly bringing the mood back into a more serious atmosphere. Truthfully, he’s not a person to joke around much and the bedroom will not be the place to start doing so. 

H — HAIR . . . how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

Probably as well groomed as the times allow him to be. He finds it to be more comfortable, to be finely polished all-around, he’s a bit of a perfectionist and any thing that is not up to measure he detest. Have you seen how beautiful his locks are? That does not end in just the hair on his head. As for the carpet matching the drapes, his hair is that beautiful silver shade of white all over. 

I — INTIMACY . . . how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.

He wants to be romantic, but he resorts to small shows of affection. He is deeply passionate but it does not come from a romantic place, more so an urge to claim you. In his head he wishes to be more romantic, to show his love for you in the sheets, but since he does not know how to properly do so he refrains from trying. Not that you seem to mind, you also lean into the more primitive ways he fucks you, rough and senselessly. Intimacy is displayed by the way he holds you, the eye contact you make (eyepatch off, he trusts you so he is totally bare), and the deep kisses he gives you.

J — JACK OFF . . . masturbation headcanon!

Only when he is away from you. His touch does not even begin to compare to yours, his hand is not as soft as yours or even as gentle. He much rather prefers to build up his need for you and  just wait to fuck you than the mediocre orgasm he could get with his own hand. 

K — KINK . . . one or more of their kinks!

Mommy kink… look at him and try to argue that. That man needs an affectionate touch, one that slightly resembles a child. It takes him a while to really lean into it, perhaps he does not outwardly call you “mommy” but his actions and the way he almost whines when you run your hands through his hair, he’s definitely thinking about calling you mommy so bad. Another kink he has is voyeurism, as previously mentioned, he fantasises way too much about that scenario. He has taken you in places where you could’ve gotten caught, that rush makes it all the more sweeter for Aemond. Being a dominant is also something he indulges in more, making you be his only and have you all to himself. That eagerness you have to submit to him, the look you give him almost like he’s a God? He could almost melt on the spot.   

L — LOCATION . . . favourite places to do the deed!

Anywhere where he can have you spread, eager for his touch and he can touch every single inch of your skin. He is not picky of the surface in which he fucks you on, Aemond is always ready to be inside you. While he prefers your bed because of its comfortability, he is actually not as picky as one might think. There was one time where he was in the council room, and he sneakily dragged you in and ravaged you on the council’s table. You trying to stifle your rooms, the risk of possibly getting caught and the rush he got from fucking you in a room that was not meant for such an act, it was all too much to bear. He sometimes dreams about that evening, wishing to repeat it.

M — MOTIVATION . . . what turns them on, gets them going!

Everything about you attracts him, but those moments when you act like a brat and give him attitude? Aemond does not know what to do with himself. In his mind all that he can muster up is the need to put you in your place, but not because he’s mad at you, never that; because he loves to be the one to tame you. Your combative attitude is reserved just for him, to the realm you're the picture of grace but to him? Sometimes you cross the line, if you weren’t his wife he’d surely punish you… and he does, but in a most pleasurable way. 

N — NO . . . something they wouldn't do, turn offs!

Anything that involves sharing. You’re only his, no other being deserves to be even looked by you, much less touched. He also wants you to be sound of mind when you’re intimate, if you’re drunk or asleep, he is not pursuing any sexual desires. Though when you’re drunk you’re much bolder, he is only amused by it not aroused. 

O — ORAL . . . preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

He quite likes being the receiver. There is nothing alike to the sight of you on your knees, pleasuring him as if it was your only duty. Aemond doesn’t mind being the one to go on his knees, with an eager tongue and the prize of your breathy moans. It is much harder for him to submit to you which is why he’d much rather you pleasure him. Even you like being under his mercy, giving him that dominance that he so craves. 

P — PACE . . . are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.

Aemond is usually fast and rough, he fuck you so hard you can feel him for days and leaves your insides aching. He usually worries about his harshness, seeing you limp right after tugs at his heart. Yet, when he’s pounding in you and you scream for more, he forgets about most of those thoughts. He can be slow and sensual if he wishes, taking his time and making you cry for his touch, he sometimes needs that reassurance that you want him just as much as he wants you.

Q — QUICKIE . . . their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.

He thoroughly enjoys a good quickie. It gives him a moment to relieve his stress, to have some semblance of comfort. Whether it’s his study or against one of the library shelves, he aches to have you even for just mere minutes. Aemond likes them so because it is a taste of what he will surely have later, it almost makes him need you and your touch more. It is safe to say he approves of quickies. 

R — RISK . . . are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.

Taking risks is something he loves. He is always eager to try out a new position or christen a new place in the Red Keep. Aemond wants to try all that there is to partake in at least once, some he does again and some he swears to keep hidden, never to be mentioned again. Is he slightly too feral about all things related to sex? Mayhaps, but you enjoy it just as much as he does. 

S — STAMINA . . . how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?

Aemond is a skilled swordsman, his stamina is off the roofs. He trains for hours on end, making himself the perfect warrior, it is not surprising that all that pent up energy is used on you and your bedroom activities. He can easily go for 2 - 5 rounds, lasting for about 8 minutes when he is inside you… though if he is needier, it could take just a few minutes. It is almost impossible to exhaust him, in fact, you’re sure he could be rustling all day between the sheets but as much as you love your husband, there is so much your body can take. 

T — TOYS . . . do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?

He has some, but they are rare. It is not like he doesn’t like the, but he prefers you reaching your peak solely by his hand than another object. Besides, there are not many sexual toys to begin with. Not unless he visits a brothel or has them shipped from Essos.

U — UNFAIR . . . how much they like to tease!

Biggest tease on all of Westeros. He’s making you beg like there is a reward for it, has you squirming and whining for him to touch you more and to stop touching (though that is not what you truly want). He builds up your desire until you cannot form a coherent thought anymore. Aemond takes his time kissing your body, brushing his fingers against your bundle of nerves. He needs you to give yourself wholly to him, tears in your eyes as you beg him to claim you. 

V — VOLUME . . . how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.

Not really loud, he lets out rough grunts and breathy gasps when he ruts inside you or his cock is in your mouth, but that’s as far as it goes. He much prefers listening to the sounds you make, attentive to the way your body expresses all that you feel because of him. Aemond lets out a deep groan when he spills himself inside you, that is the moment he makes the most sound.  

W — WILD CARD . . . a random headcanon for the character!

Aemond once tried to coax you to let him touch you while riding on dragonback. It was a short trip above King’s Landing and he had decided to take you with him to spend more time together, and he took the opportunity to propose a wild idea (he still thinks it wasn’t that wild). But you only looked at him as if he were crazy, shaking your head side-to-side and turning down his proposition. There were many things you were willing to try, but this was too out there. You didn’t feel totally secure in the air to do such an activity, even if it was only touching. Also, poor Vhagar, she doesn’t deserve to be witness to such depravity… She just wanted to fly peacefully for once!

X — X-RAY . . . let's see what's going on under those clothes!

Around 14 cm or 5,5 inches. Though what makes him more impressive is how girthy he is. He hits all the right spots inside you, filling you to the brim. Aemond becomes so greatly skilled that there is no way you can complain about anything. 

Y — YEARNING . . . how high is their sex drive?

He is insatiable. Thinks about all the ways he wants to ravage you at least once a day. If you’re near him? That man is about to risk it all, lose all honours he has just to have a taste of you. Aemond needs to get off you, honestly, he is almost too attracted to you. He needs to have you at least once a day, he doesn't care about anything. You’re on your period? That man simply does not care. You are not feeling well? He knows something that could cheer you up. Nothing could deter him from being intimate with him. 

Z — ZZZ . . . how quickly they fall asleep after sex!

Only falls asleep once he knows you are, he likes to pretend it's for your safety but truly he enjoys watching you be so calm around him. Sleep does not come easy to him, usually plagued by nightmares and thus avoids fully giving himself to the darkness. But being with you helps, your body wrapped by his, hugging you tightly and caressing your hair. He admires your sleeping form and how beautiful you are, that soothes him. The best sleep he has ever gotten has been with you in his arms, no doubt about that. 

[paperbackribs]

tags: steddie, nsfw, the homoeroticism of knowing you could treat them better

🥵🍆💦

"Okay," Robin smirks at Eddie as she pops the open button on the microwave in Steve’s kitchen, "But you understand how pathetically gay you sound right now, yes?" She pulls out a fragrant paper bag of popcorn; she says that she likes to have an extra bag before retiring after one of their movie nights.

Eddie scowls, forgetting that Steve's in the next room as he becomes revved up over a pet peeve that is less pet and more a wild animal, "It's not gay to appreciate a work of art." He gestures wildly, the lights above catch on his heavy silver rings, "It's not gay to understand that a sweet, beautiful boy is tragically unloved."

Robin snorts, pulling open the edges of the paper bag, releasing a plume of buttery steam, "No, pretty sure that's pretty gay. Next thing I know you'll declare 'no homo' while sucking his dick."

"I'd suck his dick better than Brittany or Betta or Betsy or whatever her name was," Eddie declares, sore at the memory of Steve's broken brow as he'd explained that his latest date had ridden his face and then gave him a pat on his shoulder, explaining that it was a nice time but not to expect a callback.

What an idiot, Eddie fumes to himself, neglecting to notice the shifting shadows in the hallway behind him; who doesn't enjoy a man who vehemently and vocally declares his love for going down on his partners? Eddie would kill for a partner willing to suck him dry.

Eddie may have blamed the deficiency on the female of the species, but Steve had allowed Eddie in the inner sanctum a few months ago: letting him know that it wasn’t only Robin and Eddie who were vehement friends of Dorothy, even if it was only Steve who enjoyed the full spectrum of the rainbow. And while B-whatever-her-name-was may be the source of Eddie’s ire right now, he knows that Steve has had likewise lousy luck with men whenever they’d ventured for their weekend nights out to Indy.

Each and every time Eddie had to endure Steve’s sad face a week or two later as he’d admitted that he thought his night’s partner may be up for more than just a brief bit of fun. And each and every time he’s been left dumbfounded because—

Eddie pulls at his hair, trying to work it out because—

Well. He can only imagine that every single person that’s walked away from Steve’s beautiful lips couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a fucking canon with the intelligence left over in their little pea brains. Because Steve Harrington is a goddamn catch and every one of them has let him escape their grasp.

Eddie’s too busy scowling down at his Reeboks to see Robin look over his shoulder and softly laugh. She scoops a handful of popcorn into her mouth as she swiftly leaves the kitchen, calling out, “I’m claiming the spare bedroom tonight—the one at the far end—see ya.”

Eddie looks up at the last minute, wondering at her sudden exit.

The air shifts again but Eddie doesn’t realise it until Steve’s right behind him. "Her name was Bella," Seve says in a low caress, close enough that his warm breath rustles Eddie's loose curls.

He stops, frozen, the touch of Steve's words making Eddie ache for something that he's wanted for such a very long time even as he’s unwilling to allow himself to think that Steve could mean anything by leaning in so close. But he can’t help but shiver, a tiny movement that brings his lips against Steve's sharp jaw, nearly stuttering, "Who?"

Strong arms wrap around him, bringing the broad planes of Steve’s chest against Eddie’s back, blunt fingers coming up to grip his jaw, directing Eddie’s lips to just under Steve’s.

Eddie freezes again in desperation, every single fantasy converging at once to break his brain and body while he tries to understand that the arms, hands and fingers wrapped around him are not an invention of a daydream.

"I’m saying,” Steve says patiently, eyeing Eddie with a dark gaze over his firm grip, "That I want you. Not Brittany or Betta or Betsy."

Eddie swallows around the knot in his throat.

"Just you," Steve repeats, a steady weight holding down his words that has Eddie’s gaze flying up to meet the hard pressure of hazel eyes bearing down on him. A force that has Eddie’s heart knocking heavily against his ribs, his breath shuddering against his frame, pressing taut and bullying against the thin of Eddie’s skin as he meets Steve’s expectant gaze.

And suddenly Eddie is angry.

Furious.

He’s had to endure weeks and months of listening to Steve be sad. Listening to Steve tell of glum exploits where women and men haven’t appreciated his freely-given love. Where it hadn’t mattered how quickly and devotedly Steve would put himself forward, that his partner would pat him on the back and distance him or herself after.

Eddie is furious and he glares at Steve’s beautiful hazel eyes, so close to his own and suddenly wide at the clear fury in Eddie’s eyes. Steve stumbles back, “What…” But Eddie lowers himself decisively, knees falling to the ground with a clear thump and thighs spreading as he knows with a deep conviction that he’s finally interpreting Steve’s actions correctly.

He looks up with dark eyes and presses into the tentative hand that falls against Eddie’s nape; Steve’s brows pull together, doubt drawing at them, “Eddie…”

Eddie glares up at Steve with all the strength of emotion running through him like the swift currents of a river. “No Steve, that’s it. That’s fucking it.”

He determinedly wraps his fingers around the zipper of Steve’s Levi’s and, as Steve chokes out his name again, Eddie glares up at him, daring Steve to take his prize away. “No, I’m done. You’ve given me permission now. You’ve given me a sliver of hope, and you’re not fucking taking it away.”

Eddie swiftly draws down the zipper, pulling down denim and soft cotton until Steve’s already hard cock bobs in front of him and he reaches forward quickly, hand already at its base and mouth open as he’s about to swallow him down but Steve’s hand buries itself in Eddie’s curls, gripping him tight.

“Do you want me?” Steve breathes and Eddie somehow finds it in himself to glower deeper, scowling up at Steve while refusing to speak. Inching forward until the tip of Steve’s cock hovers over Eddie’s open mouth. Steve curses and a heavy pearl of fluid drops from the tip to Eddie’s outstretched tongue. Eyes closing in contentment, he hears Steve choke as Eddie almost hums around the welcome flavour.

“Right,” Steve rasps roughly before pushing forward to rest against Eddie’s lips, he traces the heavy beads from his weeping slit against the petals of his mouth, breath running ragged before pressing further.

Eddie gasps, stretching his lips wide and pushing in and forward to embrace the cock intruding his mouth. His lashes flutter as he finally has the heavy weight of Steve’s cock resting on his tongue, stretching his mouth obscenely open before peering up to check where Steve’s at.

He needn’t have worried because Steve’s own mouth is hanging open with eyes darkly trained on Eddie. “So fucking pretty,” Steve gasps, gripping Eddie’s head to pull him closer. Choking Eddie as he moans, “Yes, fucking, yes, baby. Take it.” And Eddie does. Gratefully. Happily. Fucking swallows and devours and pistons back and forward until the bitter musk dripping from Steve’s dick is greedily consumed, taken within.

Steve cries out, throbbing powerfully and pouring into Eddie. Spilling and overflowing, fucking against his face until beads flood and stream out of his mouth. Eddie lets out a long, guttural and broken sound, grateful for the blessing that Steve fills him with.

He’s so consumed with the feel of Steve in him, surrounding him, that he barely registers the hardness in his own black denim until Steve drops to his knees too, meeting Eddie face to face before falling forward, fingers working his zipper open and mouth swallowing him whole.

Eddie gasps at the sudden sensation of the hot welcoming cavern of Steve’s mouth. He bucks, lightning shooting up his spine and overwhelmed at the attention as he thrusts once, twice and another before shuddering as he releases into Steve’s warm embrace.

Gasping, Eddie’s head falls forward to stare down at Steve in wonderment. In clear awe as he stares down at the beautiful boy in his lap. Mind blissed but still a niggle worries at the back of his mind, enough to have his hand reaching forward to Steve’s face, cupping his cheek and bringing him up to meet Eddie.

“Sweetheart,” the endearment drops from Eddie’s mouth without his permission.

Steve’s lips tug up, spreading in a grin and widening his eyes, “You want me, don’t you?” He asks, almost breathless.

“Yes. Fucking yes.” Eddie has nothing but honesty to his name at this point.

Steve smiles. Smug and fucking so proud of himself. He leans forward, “Then take me,” he whispers.

And Eddie does.

❤️ More steddie here

[theyluvkarolina]

౨ৎ GOODBYE MY BRITISH SWEETHEART ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Loving Lando is like how the Earth circles the sun. In absolute awe and admiration. But the Earth is slowly destroying itself in the presence of this star. The rays of this sun are burning away at this Earth’s ozone layer, maybe even going as far into this Earth’s core.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Lando Norris x Fem!Driver!Reader

FACE CLAIM ౨ৎ Amna Al Qubaisi

WARNINGS ౨ৎ fighting, misogyny (not by the grid or lando), reader is self conscious

A/N ౨ৎ God. Whenever I hear this song and think about Lando, all i think about is him and Luisiha. :( Again, I made this not in a SMAU format i’m used to. I decided to make the reader replace Daniel for the fic (I STILL LOVE HIM I PROMISE 😭😭)I hope you still like it! Tbh, I feel like I didn't do this request justice. If I have a chance some point in time, I might rewrite it.

1K EVENT MASTERLIST

1.3K words!

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f1 ✔︎

♡ liked by mclaren, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and others

f1 Lando wins it in Miami, winning his first race! Congratulations! 👏

tagged ; landonorris

3,219 comments

username1 LANNNDOOOO

username2 lando has finally landed 🥹

username3 HE FINALLY DID IT!!

carlosainz55 ✔︎ congratulations cabrón! Welcome to the winners side 😉

→ landonorris ✔︎ glad to finally be part of the club 👊

maxverstappen1 ✔︎ lando nowins no more 👏

→ landonorris ✔︎ haha funny 😒

georgerussel63 ✔︎ congrats mate!!

username5 has anyone noticed that y/n hasen’t liked or commented? :(

→ username6 ik!! usually she is always the first or second person to do both whenever he gets podium…

username7 no because did anyone see how y/n was staring at Lando with his trophy??

→ username8 I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE. → username9 she looked at him like he was ripping her heart out 🙁 → username10 I mean, y/n has been in f1 for what, 2 more years than him and still no win. I know it's just eating her up inside. → username11 I hope she gets her win soon and shuts up the misogynists. → username12 it sucks that the team did a absolute shit strategy when the safety car stopped her and made lando gain her stop.. but I’m still happy for him!!

y/n_l/n ✔︎

♡ liked by visacashapprb, yukitsunoda, sophiafloersch and others

y/n_l/n Miami ? Done ✅

tagged ; visacashapprb

2,350 comments

username13 she didn’t even post her podium photo :(

→ username14 if i were her i wouldn’t either.

username15 can she idk, be happy for lando?

→ username16 no way you are suggesting this girl be happy after she lost her chance to overtake lando because of the safety car, taking away what may be the second woman to win a f1 race next to Desiré Wilson, after years of misogyny, and men telling her she doesn’t have a place in motorport along with other women. → username17 god how i love you @ username16. SOMONE ACTUALLY USES THEIR BRAIN

visacashapprb ✔︎ wonderful work as per usual!

→ username18 for someone who has been in f1 for 8 years? hell no. → username19 someone is jelly → username20 they aren’t jealous they are just stating a fact 😂 → username21 the fact that they are saying how she should be winning stuff after 8 years? → username22 obviously. since she came she hasn’t won anything → username23 lance stroll, kevin magnussen, and nico hulkenburg are calling buddy and they are saying your misogyny is showing. 💀 → username24 LMAOOAOA YOU GO @ username23

TWITTER

In Person

Saying that the end of the race was a disappointment was an understatement. For the past eight years, it only felt like the world was out to get you.

The constant criticism, misogyny, the occasional car failures, Lance Stroll's grotesque driving skills, and now, Lando winning his first Grand Prix but with the cost of you losing your position due to a shitty strategy mistake. It's frustrating, to say the least.

Being in love with Lando has its ups and downs. And as of right now? A hard low. As his partner, you want to kiss him all over his sunkissed face, going over each birthmark with tenderness. Congratulate him. Tell him how proud you are of him for finally achieving what he has been aiming for years. Ruffle those chestnut curls that you love dearly as you both stand on the podium, covered in sticky champagne as the fizzy liquid cascades over you, creating a tingling sensation on your skin you both embrace, the rainbows of confetti dancing in the air to the ground, trophy in his hands.

Yet, as a driver, you despise him. That haunting smile that glances over now and then, that sterling silver trophy dazzling in the light, blinding you as if it were the shining teeth of someone laughingly mocking you. God, how you hated it.

After closing the door to the driver's room, you swiftly remove the carbon fiber helmet, peeling off the balaclava that clings to my face, leaving my hair matted against my skin. With a surge of frustration, you glance angrily at the helmet before flinging the helmet to the ground, the sound reverberating through the room. Your breathing quivers as you gaze at the floor before ultimately slumping against the wall adjacent to the door, back against it. Running a hand through your damp hair, you rub my temple, feeling the weight of the day's events.

How did you get to this point? 

“Where in the world have you been, you muppet? You just up and left after the national anthems.” Lando's voice broke you out of your trance as he stood by the door, remembering you didn't lock the door. "I didn't even get to spray the champagne on you like usual." He adds with a frown.

"Not now, Lando." You stated looking down at your hands as you picked the skin around your nails to cope. His face still held a frown, yet he raised a brow at your tone.

"Not now?" He repeats, almost confused by your comment. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

"I said not now, Lando," You repeat, my voice growing more insistent. "I just need some space right now."

Lando's expression softens as he takes a step closer, concern evident in his eyes. "Hey, come on. You can talk to me. I know today didn't go as planned, but we can work through this together." 

My frustration boils over, and I finally look up to meet his gaze. "You don't get it, do you? This could have been my chance. My chance to finally prove that I belong here. Actually- no, not me, but every woman. That we won't be not some- some girls here for some representation to make F1 seem better but to show that we belong here! That we are as good as men! And that shitty strategy screwed me over, and now it seems like I am a shit driver..." You snap in exasperation.

“I never tried to say that I understand.” Lando glared. His expression hardens, and he takes a step back, hurt evident in his eyes. "You know that's not true. You're an incredibly talented driver, and one bad race doesn't define you."

You scoff, feeling the weight of his words but unable to fully accept them. "Easy for you to say. This ‘one bad race’ has been multiple races. You've had your moment of glory today. You got the lavish celebration you’ve been wanting.“

You scoff, feeling the weight of his words but unable to fully accept them. "Easy for you to say. This ‘one bad race’ has been multiple races. You've had your moment of glory today. You got the lavish celebration you’ve been wanting.“

Lando shakes his head, his frustration creeping into his voice. "This isn't about me. It's about us! I want you to succeed just as much as I want to succeed. We’re a team, even if we are on other racing teams. But pushing me away and shutting me out won't solve anything. What’s with all this?“

“Don’t you get it, Lando?! You’re perfect now! You have fans who love you, you have a secure seat, and you have a win now Lando! All you need is a championship! You don’t have people telling you that you don’t belong here because you have talent. You have people who support you even when your team makes a stupid mistake and they still defend you! The second I do something wrong, even when it's team orders, I'm belittled and told to go back to do my "role" as a housewife! God, I can't even get time to be with my boyfriend or friends before getting screamed at by middle-aged men that I'm a 'grid fucker' and that I had sex to get to where I am!"

Lando’s face falls at your words, a mix of offense and hurt flashing in his eyes. “You think I don’t understand pressure? I get it, alright? I get that it’s different for you, and it’s unfair. But pushing everyone away, pushing me away, isn’t the answer.”

You stand up, your body tense with the weight of your frustration and sadness. “I’m not pushing you away, Lando. I’m trying to cope with the fact that no matter what I do, it’s never enough. And seeing you succeed, seeing everyone praise you, it just… it just makes it harder.”

Lando steps closer, his voice softer now. “I want to help you, but I can’t if you won’t let me in. We’re supposed to be in this together. Isn’t that what we promised each other?”

You look at him, your heart aching at the sight of his earnest expression. “It’s not that simple. I can’t keep pretending that everything’s okay when it’s not. And I can’t stand beside you, smiling, when I feel like I’m drowning.”

He reaches out to touch your arm, but you pull away. “Please, don’t. I need to find my way through this, Lando. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly comparing myself to you.”

Lando’s eyes widen with realization. “You’re breaking up with me.”

A lump forms in your throat, tears welling up. “Don't put it like that..” I start. Lando tries to talk but I beat him to it. "I'm... not necessarily breaking up with you. It's more of a... "Goodbye"."

"That's technically still breaking up with me," Lando mutters, a tiny, barely noticeable smile cracking through onto his lips at the light attempt at a joke to ease the growing tension. I let out a tearful giggle.

Lando’s smile crumples into a frown and he takes a shaky breath. “I love you. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You aren't losing me... I love you too,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “But right now, love isn’t enough. I need to stand on my own two feet, without always feeling like I’m in your shadow.”

He looks away, blinking rapidly, trying to hide the growing tears in his greenish-blue eyes. “This isn’t how I wanted today to end. I wanted today to be happy. For us both.”

“Neither did I,” you say softly, placing a hand on his cheek, moving his head to look at you while you skim your fingers over his birthmarks. “But sometimes, things don’t go as planned.”

There’s a long, painful silence between you, filled with all the things left unsaid. Finally, Lando nods, his eyes shining with unshed tears, leaning over to press a tender kiss onto your forehead. 

“Goodbye, then,” Lando whispers. 

In response, you bend forward, placing your lips against his own, kissing him softly, both our lips brushing lightly as if savoring the moment for what may be the last time experiencing such a feeling.

“Goodbye.” You replied, voice narrowly above a whisper.

𝐀/𝐍 2 : Ending tbh is kinda cringey but oh well it felt right in the moment 😫

[hwsing]

more nsfw for england please (i dont really need anything specific i just wanna know ur take on him) 🙏

what the brit’s like in bed

notes: 18+, reader is afab and gender neutral. includes: england (arthur kirkland) as always, reblogs are appreciated!

cw: this is more blabbing than a coherent fic; discussion of arthur present and past. reader is described like they’re mortal for the majority of this. arthur is perverted; both soft and hard sex mentioned, very light bondage, blowjobs and cunninglings, mostly dom!arthur, phone sex, panty stealing, voice kink, roleplay, mention of spanking, daddy kink, body worship, praise. wc: about 1.6k. not proof read

in the modern day, arthur is… old. even if you hc him to still look like a twink, (cant say i agree but moving on,) spiritually and mentally he is old. he’s seen many many things — including quite a bit of sex. he’s by no means a stranger to it; don’t let his prudish attitude these days fool you. he’s gone through quite a few eras of his life where he viewed sex far more carelessly than he does now. although, even know, i dont think he’s quite uptight about it as one would think.. it’s just that he has standards now. he’d probably put it like that. whereas, back in the day, he probably viewed sex as something of a conquest. now, he sees it more as a connection between two (or more — although i do think he’s monogamous) people. that connection doesn’t have to be love — sometimes, it’s just a need for another body. arthur is a romantic deep down, though. likely because there’s been so many eras in his life when he was anything but romantic, he can’t help but crave it nowadays.

that being said, arthur now 100% believes in making love. i’m talking the whole 10 yards; he’ll hold your hands as he rocks his hips into yours, meticulous about fucking you deep and slow, even cooing at you. his heart feels heavier than it ever has before when you look up at him so sweetly; he almost always makes you cum at least once or twice before you even have sex with his fingers and mouth — both to tease you a bit and to prep you to be easier to fuck. as much as arthur often treats you like glass, he can’t help but take advantage of your dependence on him during times like this.

maybe it’s something left over from his olden days. something in him that craves ego and control; but……. how is he supposed to not get a bit of a power treat as he coaxes you onto your knees, having tied your wrists together with his belt, leaving you to sit obediently looking up at him? his face always feels so hot as he gets so much attention, but you’ll hardly see a peak of a blush as you suck him off. he especially likes when he’s still in his office wear clothes. the suits and all that, you know, the sleek shoes… really sets in the mood for him. if he’s feeling particularly mean that day, he’ll even suggest you get yourself off on his shoe as you sit there. watching you shyly try to grind yourself on his shoe, only to start pathetically rutting when you finally get close; he almost forgets his cock is shoved down your throat as he cums, his hards keeping your head there for a moment as you whine, forcing you to swallow his load. i already wrote about how he likes to go down on his partner here, so go read that if you havent yet <3

arthur is a pretty busy guy. he’s more involved in his country’s politics than some of the other nations, which leads to him working a lot… sometimes overseas. or, worse, you guys are already a long distance couple as it is (don’t worry, though. regardless, he’ll want you to move in by year three, and that’s the long guess; when arthur is in love, he’s in love.) basically, there’s bound to be times when you’re away from each other quite a bit. arthur would probably rather die than show himself as clingy — ugh, even thinking about it makes his brow furrow. and so, he may or may not have discreetly taken a pair of used underwear with him… just for when he really needs it! he’s not some perverted demon, okay? he can use his own imagination… it’s just… it’s so much easier with your used panties wrapped around his cock as he pumps… of course he took a sniff first to help him really picture the scene — stop, he’s not weird! the next night, though, he’s likely to call you up. first, it’s a pretty normal call, but he transitions the conversation to what he wants with a surprising amount of smoothness. maybe it’s just his voice that can easily coax you to do as he wants — oh, right. if you have a thing for his voice at all — and i meant at all, he will pick up on it and 100% use it against you.

he’s bigger on dirty talk than he’d like to admit. he just can’t help it — especially over the phone, what else is he supposed to do?!! his usually stable voice is almost breathy as he tells you what to do; he’s guiding you through the entire thing. if you whine at all about how you can’t do it like he can, he’s so quick to encourage you. various petnames like love, darling, and good girl/boy/etc are falling off his tongue as he coos you. it makes his heart flutter and dick twitch when you’re the needy one.

he’s always going to tease you about it a bit, especially if you’re shy about it. he’ll show faux sympathy for the way you blush and look away, grasping your face back to look at him; “what ever could have you so worked up like this, i wonder?” he’ll ask, tilting his head as he looks at you with a knowing, smug smile tugging at his thin lips. when you murmur about how he shouldn’t tease, he’ll claim that he was only asking an honest question. he’ll encourage you, saying that if there’s you want, you’ll have to use your words. when you inevitably say you want him to fuck you, or that you want his cock, he’ll chuckle, the cheekiest blush dusting lightly over his cheeks. “oh, that’s what you’re after, is it?” he muses, unbuckling his belt. “ask for it properly, then.”

as you can imagine, arthur quite like titles. he doesn’t think it’s something he really needs, but when you whimper for daddy or even sir, perhaps master if the situation calls for it, he almost cums every time. arthur tries pretty hard to stay as the one in control, but you make it awfully hard for him to not bend you over the kitchen table and take you when you start to use the term so causally. in private, of course. he’d probably die if you ever called him that in public. he definitely thinks its a very… intimate matter, so it would catch him quite off guard for you to say it outside of the bedroom but still inside the comfort of your own home. he’ll look over at you, jaw clenching as he sees your pretend innocence, smiling at him as if you only called him dear. what a tease — he can’t have that, of course. seems like you’ll need some discipline.

on a lighter note, arthur really does love your body, whatever that may look like. at his age, any sense of a physical type has sort of faded, anyways. he’ll take his time to kiss all over you, groping you ad sweetly as one can as he tells you how beautiful you are. he can find it a bit difficult to express how much he loves you sometimes, but he’s adamant on making sure you can feel how much he cherishes you during such intimate moments. he finds himself quite flustered if you ever do it back; kissing along his neck as you unbutton his shirt, whispering about how much you need him while palming his cock, telling him how good he makes you feel; he thinks about it for weeks after, though. totally worth it.

i almost forgot! arthur is a very creative and imaginative person. while he does always imagine you as you, some of the sexual power dynamics that develop in the relationship can’t help but make him wonder… what if you were his servant? he’ll get you a maid or butler outfit or whatever you want — it’ll be a slightly more skimpy version, of course, but still realistic enough for him to have his fantasy. the scene would probably go something like; you’re his new servant, who’s a bit of a mess but means well. he comes home from a particularly stressful day at work, and after you spill the tea you were going to serve him, he spanks you as punishment. he gets really into it — of course, lots of aftercare, don’t even worry about that. he’ll be a bit apologetic about the marks lingering on the flesh of your ass for the days to come, but he also definitely feels a certain type of way about it. he doesn’t love any obvious marks — not today, anyways. punk arthur and pirate arthur were probably more into hickies littering their partners neck, but modern arthur thinks it’s trashy… so secret marks like this, that no one else but him can see? when you sit down and wince a little, and he’s the only one that knows why? woo!

[luvonmes-blog]

hey y’all… so ik i’ve disappeared for a while and dw i am gonna drop that stiles fic!! but i’ve re-entered my avatar phase and i have some head-cannons🤭🤭🤭

contains: all the Sully men, avatar!Jake, agedup!Neteyam, agedup!Lo’ak, smut, explicit descriptions of smut, me being horny for the Sully men😔 i have no shame

————————————————————————

Jake

i’m a firm believer that lo’ak and neteyam are so close in age BECAUSE jake was obviously a human right?? and before him and neytiri met she was just living the simple life and jake came along then BAM introduced her to new shit.

just imagine like you and jake are about to mate and since avatars mate for life he knows for a fact you’re a virgin and that just does something to him so he’s showing you new shit so he goes down on you and that opens the floodgates

his potty mouth definitely rubbed off on you

to me avatars low key look like cats (their noses!!) and act like them too and i feel like we’ve all agreed they purr but jake definitely takes that to a new level.

like he just lets himself go completely

like imagine he’s fucking you in missionary, head buried in your neck whispering all types of nasty shit you’ve never heard before (“fuck you’re so good for me” “so fuckin’ tight” “lettin me fuck you so good”) and he’s just purringg

vibrates through his whole body

we all know he whines but the first time he teaches you to ride him??? can’t help himself

like you’re trying your best, pace sporadic, movements jerky but you feel so good that it’s all he can do

holds onto your hips sucking on your boobs absolutely whining into your chest

first time he teaches you about giving head??

he can’t help but fuck your mouth

WHAT WAS HE SUPPOSED TO DO??? you looked so cute staring up at him all wide eyed he couldn’t help himself

it’s ok though he made it up, fucked you so good you couldn’t even walk straight (no seriously mo’at was concerned)

i wanna be fucked by jake sully so bad😔

Neteyam

this boy right here??? soft dom all the way

he couldn’t hurt a fly how tf could he do that to his partner????

grunts, not a whiner like his daddy but he doesn’t moan either

grunts and groans

PRAISE!!!

whether he’s praising you or you praising him he loves it sm

growing up with a father who’s a dream walker he’s definitely heard some shit about jakes life before he was an avatar

once heard his dad talking about something called “head” upon further investigation (asking norm) he had taken this amazing and i mean AMAZING idea to you

took you guys a while to figure it out but once you do???

has never nutted so fast in his entire life

like i mean he barely had time to register he was cumming just long thick ropes being pushed down your throat

play with his balls??? he’s a goner. lick them, suck them and if you pull just a little bit he’ll yelp🤭

wanna get your way?

sit him down in your shared hut, rub his shoulders get him real comfortable then put his dick in your mouth

he’ll agree to anything (his hands buried in your hair pulling just a little bit “yes! yes i’ll do it- anything- just please, please keep going”)

wanna fuck him so bad it hurts💔

Lo’ak

LIKE FATHER LIKE MF SON!!!

a whiner, beggar, moaner all the er’s

he’s so loud too omfg

when i say beggar i mean BEGS

like his life fucking depends on it. he can’t help himself (“please jus- please! i’ll do anything, please, please, please” drool coming out his mouth)

moans. long drawn out ones too. especially when he’s cumming can’t help it he just feels so good

was definitely there when teyam heard about the whole head thing. took it back to you too and somehow you just caught on so fast

shakes when you give him head. i mean tremors through his whole body whining about how good it feels

favorite position is cowgirl why you may ask? TITTIES!!!

boob guy all the way he loves them sm so when you’re riding him he gets to suck on them. his eyes def roll back

cums too fast. poor baby can’t help it. it just happens and he tries to warn you he tries so hard (“baby slow down please. i’m gonna- you’re gonna make me- fuck!” whines all the way through it)

his tip is so sensitive. you don’t even have to suck him off completely suck on his tip and he’s a goner

his ears too!!! bite his ear just a little bit when you’re riding him and he’s bucking up into you trying so hard not to cum.

dw even if he finishes too fast he never leaves you hanging

he figured if you can go down on him he can go down on you ofc there’s some differences but he learned and he learned well

is lo’ak my favorite? yes. do i wanna fuck him so bad? also yes.

[poyoofthestars]

Dimensional Mischief (feat. Owl Falls AU)

“Change can be difficult, but it's how we grow. It can be the hardest thing to realize you can't hold on to something forever. Sometimes, you have to let it go; but, of the things you let go, you'd be surprised what makes its way back to you.”

- Anne Boonchuy

“We’re all okay now, Mets!” Magolor, the Captain of the Lor Starcutter, and the Ogre of Kitakami, shouted at their partner, whom was actually just behind them. “Magsie, you keep forgetting that I’m just behind you?”

“Harsh”

“It’s true though”

“Oh come on! There’s just this influx of dimensional energy in some… parody(?) of dimension 46/‘!” Magolor replied, to which Meta just heads to the control panel and asks, “Are you ready?” “Let’s go.” they replied.

Few moments later….

“And here we are! What the ****?” Magolor says, while exiting and realizing that they are in a… forest with eyes.. “I don’t feel comfortable all of a sudden….” they mumbled, feeling uneasy. Their partner was also the same.

“Let’s just… go that way! There’s a light! Maybe we’ll find someone.. and avoid the storm.”

“Agreed”

Stanford Pines had just faked his brother’s death and believed in his own lie. And honestly? He doesn’t know what Stan’s been up to or where he is. But Bill would not stop tormenting him to reopen the portal, to which he had zero intentions to. He decided to continue on to his research, and pay off his mortgage.

What he never expected was that two anomalies would come knocking at his door… then again there’s a storm coming.

Magolor did not want to get caught in the storm as they didn’t really have a place to stay in, because they only had the Lor open the portal directly to Gravity Falls. They thought there wouldn’t be a storm, but they were proven to be wrong. Luckily, their partner, Meta Knight, had found a ridiculously barricaded home.

“Welp, let’s knock on the door… ask the person on let us in their house… or is this a military base?” Magolor jokingly asked Meta, whom only rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Suck it up. One day I’ll get back at you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Just knock on the damn door already”

“How’d do people do it again?” Magolor wondered, then just knocked lightly on the door saying, “Knock, knock, knockin’ on Hooty’s door!”

Meta Knight groans and hoped that whoever was in there, would let them in already. And he got that wish in the worst way possible, a person aiming a crossbow at them both.

“Who’s there?! Have you come to steal my eyes?!”

“Woah, chill. Quick question, why’d you adorn your place with the Ciphers’ eye. Also mind letting us in? There’s a storm coming in.”

Ford did let them in, albeit suspicious of the floating one. He said Cipher didn’t he? He was praying that they weren’t related to him. That accursed triangle.

“Who are you? How do you know of Bill?” Ford decided to be the one to press for answers out of these two anomalies(?).

“Uh, who’s Bill?” Floaty (that’s what he mentally decided to call him) replies confused.

“Bill Cipher. Yellow triangle? One eye?”

“What? Ponpon…. Oh! Euclid and Scalene Cipher!”

“Who?” Ford and the other one asked.

“Euclydians that I knew! At least before the massacre… damn may they rest in peace.”

“You mean the one world where everything was 2D?”

“Yeppers!”

“Did any of you make a deal with Bill?”

“Hell naw”

“No?”

Magolor had enough. This guy was suspicious. The amount of questions he asked about the Ciphers was on its own, suspicious. He knew something or is the reason why they went here with Meta Knight in the first place. A trans-universal gateway or simply put, a portal, going haywire.

“Say, mind if I ask this time?”

Ford only remained silent.

“I’m gonna take that as a yes”

Meta already knew that their theyfriend was suspicious of their host. So he let them do the talking.

“Name?”

“Stanford Pines, you?

“Magolor Clawthorne”

“Sir Meta Knight of Planet Popstar”

“Do you have a portal in here?”

“….No”

Magolor raised an eyebrow. They slowly drew a spell circle to summon their potions belt. They knew that bringing their cudgel would only make things worse. But when they looked around, there was a picture of a person that looked like Stanford. Immediately connecting the dots, they asked, “Do you have a sibling?”

Ford was stunned. How did this strange being find that out? Even worse, they might find out about the portal beneath the cabin. Probing Magolor may get him somewhere. “What makes you ask?”

“Because of the picture behind you.. it seems old, did you lose them recently?”

“Yes.”

“To a portal, am I right?”

Meta Knight grins underneath his mask. Magolor had successfully gotten something out. Ford, on the other hand, internally groans. Why and how does he know these things?! Turns out, Magolor had opened a probing potion when they summoned the belt earlier.

Few hours have passed since Magolor had hit the jackpot. Ford eventually relented and showed them both the portal, Magolor quickly recognized said portal. The portal is not active nor does it have the fuel to operate. So they left it alone.

They soon head back up to the cabin’s living room, where Magolor and Meta realized, Ford was the problem. He pushed away the only person that could have helped him. Hell, he didn’t even try to get his brother back.

“Say, Ford. Do you regret it? Pushing him away?” Magolor asks, to which they were surprised by the response of “no”

“Why have you done it anyway?” Meta Knight questions.

“Because he ruined my life! My chance to go to West Coast Tech!”

“Now there’s the problem. Did it never occur to you what he might’ve felt? …Being alone?”

“Of course, he was fine with it!”

“Are you sure of that yourself? Or is it just blind affirmation? And take it from me, you don’t want to live with regrets.”

“If, let’s say I regret it. What would happen?”

“Things that you could’ve done, things that could’ve said. And when they’re gone, pain, sadness, and anger at yourself when the last thing you did with them was go out nd leave them alone. Only, when you come back, they’re gone. Never to be seen again. Put your self in their shoes and maybe you’ll find out.”

They go silent for a while.

Ford replies, “Well if I was Stanley, I wouldn’t have doomed my whole life.”

“Why not change?” They transformed into their other form and moved a flap towards themselves saying, “It’s difficult, but it’s how we all grow. It is hard to realize that you can’t cling onto something forever.” Magolor then takes out the Teal Mask, clutching it hard, “But of everything you let go, let go of grudges. They are painful to hold.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

AU by @alicecatfan-2007

Divider is not mine check my rb for source.

Reblog > Likes

[shewhowas39]

Title: "Hard to Concentrate" Rating: Explicit Pairing: Spawn Astarion x female Durge/OC (my girl June) Words: 4.3k Summary: Astarion is bored and ants attention. June is trying to concentrate on a spell. Whatever is a man to do? (this is pure smut, a little fluffy, not even a hint of angst, late act 3)

A/N: this is set in the same universe as my longfic, Juniper & Starlight. it's going to be ages before that fic hits act 3, but that doesn't mean we can't have some fun. you don't need to read J&S to follow along with this. but if you do read J&S, this may contain some spoilery previews of things to come.

***

PREVIEW

“Remind me again what you’re doing,” he says, picking at his fingernails. 

June flexes her fingers and the Steel Watcher turns one direction and then the other.  “Gale showed me some illusion spells. If we’re going into the Foundry tomorrow, I figure it’d be real useful to be able to create believable distractions. Just trying to get this perfect.”

“Right.” He watches for another moment before walking up to stand behind her chair. “June?”

"Yeah?”

“I’m bored.”

She huffs out a little laugh.  “You don’t gotta stay here with me, you know. You’re free to go out and have some fun if you want.”

“But I want to have fun with you.”

“I’d like that, too, but getting an illusion just right takes time. Especially when it ain’t my strong suit. I don’t want us getting caught because my Steel Watcher looks off.”

“It looks good! Perfect! I’d never know it wasn’t the real thing! You’re a master illusionist, my love. Gale wishes he could do illusions as well as you.”

“You’re just saying that because you want attention.”

“Yes.”

June laughs, but then she writes something down in her spellbook and goes back to manipulating the illusion, adjusting the placement of a few of the construct’s bolts. 

Astarion’s hands begin to play with her dark blond curls, carefully moving his fingers through them, pausing to massage her scalp in a way that makes her sigh with pleasure. Slowly, he slides his hands down her neck. He kneads at her shoulders, working at the stress-induced knots he can always find there. He can feel June relaxing beneath his touch. Then his hands slip lower, down her chest and into the cups of her bodice.

The press of his fingers on her nipples causes June to jump and her illusion to flicker briefly.

“Astarion!” she protests with a giggle.

“Hm?” He tries to sound innocent even as he lowers his mouth to suck on the pointed tip of her ear. 

“Oh…” The Steel Watcher flickers again as June’s pale cheeks turn a very fetching shade of pink. She swallows, then gently tilts away, swatting at him and his wandering hands. “You’re insatiable lately.”

She’s not wrong. Since defeating Cazador and reigniting the physical part of their relationship, Astarion is hardly able to keep his hands off of June. For the first time in two hundred years, he is able to enjoy sex without the heavy feelings of shame that once accompanied it, with a partner who takes his wants and desires and boundaries seriously. It isn’t as if his complicated relationship with physical intimacy has been magically repaired, but each day with her brings a little bit of progress. 

And, by the gods, it feels so good to be able to make love to her and then smile and laugh and bask in the afterglow. It’s what he wanted for so long, and now that he has it, he cannot get enough.

It doesn’t help that he finds June so bloody sexy. He always has, but lately, it seems like anything and everything about her can set him off: those big, blue eyes blinking at him, the way she gets so excited to talk about historical events anyone else would find dull, the ink stains on her hands after she has transcribed a new spell…

Hells, two days ago he found his trousers growing tight because of the way she yawned. It’s ridiculous and intoxicating, this constant desire for her. 

Which is why it is especially cruel that she is here, being so obscenely delectable, and not paying attention to him. He needs to change that. Immediately

[hms-lurking-latinist]

That's such a cool idea abt the terror character asks dkskjcs. this will be so much fun to witness, thank you for doing this!!

These two white men, please 🥰

excellent thank you!

1.

As I look at this guy my brain keeps trying to place him in different time periods. “This man is from World War II,” it keeps saying. “He is a Roman centurion. He is in a 60s band.” Oh I know why - it’s because of his hair - in the study of Roman art they teach you to identify the Emperor Augustus by the comma-shaped lock of hair on his forehead and this guy has the same hair. Presumably irrelevant to the Terror character, unless he leads a precocious mutiny or something. Wait there is a mutiny isn’t there? Does he?? Is he an Octavian figure??? If he is I need to watch this show.

Gonna guess he is here to do the sailing rather than the science. It must really suck to sign on to do sailing and then the ice freezes solid and you cannot sail at all. I mean I guess that sucks regardless of what you signed on to do.

I like his little moustache but it looks very short - maybe it’s new? Maybe he was clean-shaven pre-Arctic.

Could not guess rank whatsoever. But if he’s an officer he’s a youngish one.

Personality-wise he has the expression of distress that they all seem to share, but other than that I’m gonna guess: not unpopular with his shipmates, but may end up doing cannibalism if he lives long enough. I doubt he does though. He has “dies 1/3 of the way through” energy. Long enough for you to get attached, but not much longer.

2.

Wow that is the human embodiment of indigestion. He is straight up not having a good time. Is he eating one of the numerous things they eat that people should not eat, or is he just naturally like that?

Is he a ship’s doctor? I’m vaguely remembering seeing a ship’s doctor that was rather like that.

Or maybe he just has appalling Victorian teeth that he doesn’t want anyone to see. Or someone is telling a story he thinks unsuitable for the company. Or he just saw his ex sit down at the next table with a new partner. (OK maybe not that one.)

I’m going to guess that his life involves a lot of situations along those lines, and that he dies about halfway through - thereby living long enough to fail to save a number of lives (if he is a ship’s doctor) and then to include his own.

[popcornforone]

Monday Moods

A Pre-Outbreak Joel Miller Fan Fic

I was struggling what as to what I could write next. You all know I have so many in draft but I had a few people go oooh a new Joel… So here we are posting about Joel before his world fell apart. It’s been a while since I’ve written him. I do have another Joel in draft but I’m just not feeling it at the moment.

Synopsis: Your night shift is over & Sarah is off to school, what can you & Joel do to make this less of a moody Monday.

Word count:2550

Warnings: DO NOT READ IF TOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18! PURE SMUT piv sex, stimulation, licking, nipple sucking, teasing, swearing. Slight age gap but not huge, mentions of loss of virginity. This is also based on Pedros Joel & it is before the events of the show. Basically it’s full on sex.

Thanks as always for the read peoples, it’s always really appreciated. All feedback is always welcome, it’s helps me grow as a writer. Enjoy.

“I hate Mondays” slam the front door goes. Sarah might have marched her way out of the house onto the school bus, but she left part of the Monday mood behind with her. Your night shift means you’re already cranky ready for 4 nights off, before the next shift rotation starts. It’s only the sight of your partner coming downstairs that makes you smile. Not even the decaf coffee has done that.

“Was Sarah mean to you?” Joel asks sounding genuinely concerned that the two of you may have fallen out & it’s not even 8am. You’re not her mum. He can see the glazed eyes staring back at him. They are trying to care & be alive for him, but he can tell you’ve just had it now, they need a rest. He slurps on his orange Juice straight from the carton as he leans on the kitchen counter. His morning hair all over the place, not even brushed.

“You’d hate Mondays too if you had double math at the age of 15” you say with a frown as he drinks. He clocks your stern look. The free hand apologising as he then starts to hunt for a glass.

“Fair point, it’s why they teach them advanced math, isn’t math just enough?”

“Clearly not” you reply slurping your coffee, trying not to smirk at his remark. You want to be tired but not angry when you got to bed in a little while. “How many shifts have you got today?” You genuinely ask your lover with care. You’re slowly becoming a bit more like you.

“Just the two, first one doesn’t start until

Mid-day,so I’ve got time to spend with the other special girl in my life” he says as he comes across to you, kissing up your arm.

You look around.

“I don’t see a special girl in here” you joke letting him pepper you with kisses. A nip here or there, making you shudder.

“Well that’s because all the curtains are pulled & there’s no mirror to reflect your special face back at you” his juice & breakfast are no longer what he had an appetite for. His smile insinuating he wants much more than that.

“Joel? really? now?”

“Yes now or it won’t be til I’m dirty & sweaty tonight” he says. His neck kisses always make you give in. You’ve always been putty in his hands.

“Maybe I prefer you like that”

“I think you do, my specialty is to be as scruffy & rough as you want me”

“Speaking of which baby, your T-shirt’s inside out” you chuckle.

You fling your arms around Joel & your lips meet his. He might be rough & rougged, but those hands that he always has to clean, make you feel like the dirtiest thing of all. At just His touch, you feel like you were 17 again, the age you were when he first asked you to babysit his 4 year old 11 years ago. He still gives you butterflies each time he kisses you, like when you first saw him. A teenager with a fantasy when he would drive you home. You were not the reason for Sarah mum leaving but once you came back from college each summer, it was hard for him to not ignore you. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time.

The kiss breaks & he then stands up & you wrap your legs around him. “I know where this is heading mr miller” you giggle as you bite his ear lobe.

“If you keep biting my earlobe, we won’t even get to bed baby.”

“Well the lounge curtains are still pulled” you raise an eyebrows & Joel reverses into his arm chair before he lowers himself into it. This arm chair is where he watches the big games on a Sunday from. You cook him dinner & then leave for your night shift safe in the knowledge that American football will be the only thing distracting him those nights. His hands even if he wanted them to, don’t wonder else where, only on you.

The rattle of his belt being undone is a noise that always makes you smile. Joel’s never one for foreplay. A few words here & there but if he’s even slightly in the mood, you can guarantee that sex is on its way. You stand up for a few seconds to remove your work trousers & knickers, you wore your pink lace ones to work as a treat for you, but you see the smile creep across Joel’s face when you fling them at him.

“I brought you those last year for Valentine’s Day”

“That you did baby”

“I do believe…” he says as he glides his trousers & his briefs around his ankles & beacons you to come take your seat in his lap again”… that I made you lick yourself out of them that night”

“I would never do that Joel Miller” you exclaim in reply as you smile. It was a wonderful night of love making, thank you to high school for a week long residential trip, so Sarah couldn’t hear the two of you having sex all night. But your mind is back in the present when you see him cock his two fingers at you calling you over . The other hand is leisurely stroking his length looking at you naked from the waist down, wondering just how wet he still makes you. The tip leaking already, as you lick your own bottom lip. You are about to be more than satisfied.

You put your hands on the back of his arm chair & position yourself ready to lower onto his lap & his throbbing meaty cock. When you were still at college & you dated other boys while you were there, none of them had what Joel did, none of them made you scream in pleasure like him either. They all wanted a long blow job, & never finished you off when they’d cum far too soon. You’d had a taste of a manly moody Miller & now it was yours every day if you wanted it. Right now being filled by him is all that’s on your mind. He slowly nudges at your entrance, his length gliding through your arousal. He tuts & shakes his head mischievously.

“I have no idea why I buy lube baby, you’re always so wet for me darling, so eager, so ready” it’s growled from the back of the throat these words as he lowers you into his cock.

“Fuck… me.. Joel” you whimper, as you adjust to his size & the way it stretches you. Your body wanting to cum straight away & make you explode all over him, but you slowly regain your composure. Your eyes filled with desire when you open them & look at the man you love. His eyes light up from seeing your own enjoyment of this moment. The smile across his face is one of desire. Your hands graze across his jaw line. Each prickle of his hair making you want to get lost in your kisses again.

“So tight baby, made for me this pussy, you saved your Cherry for me all those years ago, & im always very grateful for that” Joel lightly slaps your bum which makes you gasp, before his hands go for your hips. They grip on to you ready for you to start to grind & rive on this cock.

“Only you Joel, only you” you gasp as you start moving now you’re comfortable. Your own hands trialing his T-shirt with the other messing up his morning hair even more. He might have had a hair cut recently but it’s still thick & lots to play with. “Your T-shirt is still inside out baby” you groan as you lean in to take his lips again. Succulent & full of love.

Joel’s not bothered. He’s not saying much at all. A few just like that & oh fucks escape when it’s not heavy breathing & panting from him. He’s watching your body roll onto him. Showing your pelvis work, wondering how he got so lucky to have you & that a girl like you would be bothered by him at all, especially when they were younger. Desire takes over him & his lips leave your mouth & the kisses pepper your own jaw line making you whine more. Your body grinding down on his cock more, enjoying all the pleasure he is providing as you drag him through your walls. But your moans get louder. One simple lick up your neck as he tastes your sweat send your body into convulsions of pleasure. A tongue that often satisfies you by lapping at your cunt for hours is now gliding up you neck.

“J…J…Joel…” it’s a groan, it’s deep & it’s filled with lust as he starts his next neck lick, your bodies nerves driven into override. It has him gasping before he licks down your neck & starts to suck the crook of your neck before he kisses your collar & shoulder. You clamp around him & he hisses, the excitement building up inside him as well.

“Ooh my love” Joel is in charge & is admiring how well you take his firm thrusts. Each one firmer, more fervent, faster & becoming more frenzied. He’s lost in your body, He finally removes your top from the hem upwards over your head, your hair still tied up. His head straight away burys into your cleavage the bra makes, as you unhook in from the back for him. You cry out once your breasts are free as he take your nipple into his mouth sucking it, like he would an ice pop. Your hand goes to your clit, furiously after friction, feeling insane that your man makes you want to do everything with him still after all these years.

“Yes Joel, yes” you moan “don’t stop, don’t stop, never stop” you’re losing control as you grip onto his arm. “Oh fuck fuck fuck fuck”. His mouth might be occupied with your breasts moving onto the next one, but he’s pulsing more, getting even harder, holding you so tight. Your body bouncing, feeling his penis get harder if that was possible as it hits that spot inside you, the one that when he finds it shocks your system. Makes you bounce more. Makes your hands grip around whatever they are on. He briefly comes away from your chest to growl.

“Fuck year baby” it’s deep & longing his words before he latches back into your tit. Like all men Joel enjoys all types of sex, but there is something about sucking your nipples & teasing your breasts that Joel adores. They aren’t the biggest breasts in the world, but they are more than a handful. & if someone held a gun to Joel’s head & asked what was his ultimate turn on he would say his head buried in your chest. You may not have any kids of your own but you know any you & Joel might one day have will not offer the satisfaction or feeling that this man’s lips do as they suck at your erect nipples. It makes you get lost in your own mind as your body crushes him & pushes him back into the arm chair even more.

“God Joel fuck”

“Oooh baby”

“Joel… Joel… fuck yes yes yes”

“Come on daring”

“Ooooh fuck”

All these word flow out of your mouths as the thrusting reaches its climax & you let go as Joel nibbles your nipple, drenching his penis, your walls fluttering around as they clamp around him, the follow up motion he fills you, breaking away from your breast. His own eyes rolling into the back of his head as he cums. Both of your body’s shaking in desire, longing looks no longer being met by each other. The smell of lust in the air, which the only sound is of you both breathing heavily as you come down from cumming so hard & ferociously.

You eventually rest your head on Joel shoulder, before looking up into his big brown eyes while he strokes your naked back, he is still inside you. You sigh looking at him before you tenderly kiss his lips. He strokes your hair with his spare hand.

“Joel?”

“Yes my darling?”

You giggle “your T-shirts now not only very sweaty but inside out still” you smile before you kiss him again.

“Ha” Joel laughs. “Maybe I wanted it that way, so then when I turn it around your sweat that dropped on me will be closer to my skin” he does a mischievous look at you.

“That is disgusting Joel Miller” you scoff & try & look shocked at what he’s said but you can’t hide that this turns you on slightly.

“Well maybe I will go change” he says as he slowly help you off him & makes sure your steady on his feet before he pulls his briefs trouser back up, which we’re still around his ankles. “But I’m not gonna shower, I want to smell of you when I sweat.” Before you can protests he’s put his large thumb over your mouth to silence you “thought you liked me sweaty & dirty?” He says before embracing your lips. His tongue not even asking permission, gliding to meet your own before he then finally removes his tshirt.

Time passes & you have showered & slept while Joel has left for work. You’re in the kitchen backing cookies when Sarah gets home. She looks stressed.

“Is it still a Monday Miller mood?” You ask her as you hear the bag slump down in the hall way.

“Urghhh”comes the cry from Sarah. “Advanced math is hell why do…” she’s interrupted by the smell of you baking cookies. “Are you making…” her head pops around the door frame. She sees your frazzled state. You’re held together by your nap,shower & sex. Your hair is no longer tied up & is frizzy & you are in your baggy shorts & one of Joel’s T-shirts for comfort.

“You know you sounded just like your dad when you started asking about advanced math” you say which makes her laugh.

“& you…” she says as she comes & sits at the counter ready to offer a hand knowing you are making her favourite cookies to get her out of her moody Monday “look like dad, your T-shirts inside out” you hadn’t even noticed the grey top wasn’t on properly.

“Well I guess that means I fit right in” you say as you pass her the bowl to stir.

“That you do”

“That you do” it’s echoed after Sarah said it as Joel is standing in the door way admiring you both getting on. You both turn & smile, before Sarah’s goes to hug her dad. Even at 15 a daughter needs a hug from her dad.

“How is my special girl?” He asks as he stroke Sarah’s hair.”did she have a good Monday?”

“She’s fine” Sarah’s replies & then she smiles at you & winks like her dad does “& im okay too”.

[rosefinnigen]

What made you want to gain weigfht? Like how and why did you do it? I just want to know what you did when you started it.

So, my feedism story like a lot of people’s starts in childhood, but we’re going to skip all that because it’s stuff everyone’s heard before.

To tell this story, I first have to tell you about my first year of college. Imagine you’re me, you’ve been best friends with the same boy since the seventh grade, lowkey a little bit in love with him. The two of you go to the same college. First year, you live alone. He gets new friends. You… don’t.

He gets a boyfriend. We’ll call him goldfish boy. You, being 18 and stupid, start fooling around with his boyfriend.

Goldfish boy turns out to be a total piece of shit. What could have been a “hey, we fucked up, let’s come clean and stop doing that” turns into him blackmailing you, lying to you, and assaulting you more than once. To top that off, at the end of your months long affair, he tells you he was never attracted to you in the first place. (??????) Fun, right?

Couple of years of total celibacy. COVID happens, and goldfish boy ends up dying from something totally unrelated. COVID lockdown lifts, you go back to school, meet new people. Get a new roommate who you hit it off with really well. We can call them Summer.

Summer is really shy about their body — they were bullied really heavily for being fat, and a lot of their romantic relationships as an adult involved being fetishized contrary to their wishes. For summer, your compliments on their body occur as threats, and their reactions and attitudes subsequently make it hard for you to think about your own body without a vague sense of anxiety. Super awesome, right?

For totally unrelated reasons that relationship also goes up in flames. Meanwhile, you start working at a convenience store, and one of your coworkers is a grungy thirty-something with commitment issues. We’ll call him Slush.

Slush is a disaster of a man. He’s exactly the right combination of funny and chill to reel you in, and you’re the exact combination of reckless and traumatized to ignore the fact that he’s got three kids he’s not allowed to see and always smells like a basement. You put yourself in sexual situations you don’t actually want to be in because it’s the only way you know how to receive any form of intimacy. Amazing, right?

After the third time you hook up with Slush, you remember Goldfish boy, you remember Summer, and you think, “ya know, I’d really prefer not to repeat either of those experiences. At this point, either this person (a) simply doesn’t care I’m fat, (b) hates it but is gritting their teeth through it because I’m easy, or (c) is genuinely into it.” So you ask Slush, hey, which is it?

Slush, being a commitment-phobe, freaks out. He says “woah, I thought we weren’t doing labels” or some shit, and stops talking to you for a while.

(Later, after you gain about 25 pounds, you hook up again and he spends a solid half an hour going absolutely feral over your softer belly and thighs. So yeah, Slush MAY have been freaked out when you accidentally guessed correctly that he might have been into your fatness. Which, I mean, I guess is sort of understandable? But also hilarious, in an incredibly frustrating way.)

Anyway, because of all of these events combined, you finally have enough. You think, “man, fuck this tiptoeing around my weight thing. I’ve always been fat, I’ve always LIKED being fat, and I’m sick of wondering whether someone’s going to be a dick to me about it. So screw it, let’s go find some people who will actually celebrate this shit rather than hiding their attraction.”

And that’s basically the sequence of events that led to me joining tumblr, gaining 25 pounds, and falling in love with my amazing partner along the way. It kind of sucked getting here, if I’m honest, but now that I’m here, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. It’s amazing what a difference being really, truly loved and loving in return can make 🩷

…I also just realized you might have been asking *how* I started gaining weight, as in, methods? And tbh the answer is I don’t have a method. I eat what I want when I want to, and, well, sometimes I want a pizza every night for three weeks straight, lol.

Hope that answered your question, and thanks for the ask!

[narrators-journal]

Hyoga x fem!Reader headcanons

Another Ao3 ask! This one's for Dr. Stone, so I tried not to push myself too bad to just test the waters on whether I want to write for it again. And...admittedly, I don't think I'm up for scenarios for this fandom yet. I'm getting there, but it still sucks the soul out of me to write something super long for this fandom...

Hope it’s still enjoyable tho!

CW: foreplay mentioned, rough sex, edging, sexual sadism mentioned. Nothing explicit, but they’re brought up.

Hyoga is a pretty cold person. He's generally just ruthless and he's not too strong on his morality.

So, he doesn't strike me as someone who easily goes into serious relationships.

Somewhat for the reason that his standards are just, very high for a partner, and somewhat because he's just. An asshole sometimes.

He generally just has the vibe that he's sooner to use someone than to love them and do what he does out of the goodness of his heart.

So, any real sex with Hyoga would likely be more of a situation-ship than anything else.

Maybe he would grow to care for you, maybe not, but either way the most likely start to your relationship would be less romantic than you might hope.

That's not to say the sex wouldn't be at least fun.

Sure, it might not be the most romantic of hook-ups, but Hyoga's got a bit of pride to him, so I don't think he could bear to be garbage in bed no matter how selfish or deranged he may be.

In fact, despite his deranged hopes for the new world and moral flexibility that might lead you to believe he's a selfish, mean partner. Hyoga would, at least, not be opposed to slower sex.

After all, you don't need to jackhammer a girl to be sadistic, all you need is some time and dedication.

Granted, Hyoga can be quick and rough, but it's more fun for him to slowly torment his partner. Watch her devolve into a mewling, moaning, squirming mess pleading for a break.

He achieves this with a surprising taste for foreplay.

As sharp tongued in bed as he is in public, more than happy to edge a girl into madness, and with the cold selfishness of wanting his own way with no real care for opinions, Hyoga prides himself on how he can unravel a woman into utter putty in bed.

That being said, he doesn't submit almost at all. Even in positions like cowgirl he keeps a majority of the control.

Also, with his ego, any woman he sleeps with would be expected to worship his body as well as plead for him. It mostly depends on the mood he's in that day.

The trade off for this enjoyment of thorough sex is that when you and him do have a quicky, he's probably going to be more worried about his orgasm than yours.

It's a give and take if you sleep with Hyoga. You give up an overtly emotional relationship for a man who can turn you into jello for at least a day after, and that's even without needing his dick.

[starshideyourfics]

You Are Here - part 1

September 11, 2001 — Gander, Newfoundland, Canada

“Sorry, is this seat open?”

Eddie’s head snaps up, putting aside his book. They’ve been sitting on the tarmac in the middle of nowhere for hours, long enough that the sun has set, with no one explaining exactly why, and it’s not like he has much of his book left. It was supposed to last well-past when he landed in Chicago, but that wasn’t gonna happen, so he’s not that irritated at being interrupted.

He’s even less irritated when he sees that the question asker is the most beautiful man he’s even seen: golden skin dotted with moles, thick chestnut hair highlighted by the summer sun, a pointed Roman nose supporting wire-rimmed glasses, all wrapped up in charcoal slacks and a periwinkle button-down.

After his brain finishes short-circuiting, Eddie snaps his dangling mouth shut, composes himself, and says, “Sorry, can you repeat that? It’s been a weird day,” Eddie asks.

The man gives a weak chuckle. “It really has. Sorry, it’s just that after they started giving out free booze, things have gotten rowdy in the back and I’ve got case files I need to go over.” To emphasize his point, he holds up a briefcase and shrugs.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” Eddie says, moving his bag out of the empty seat next to him. He feels like an idiot, but at least Jeff and Frankie are sleeping behind him and unable to witness his flailing. And he’s pretty sure Gareth is one of the loud drunks at the back if their most recent singalong is anything to go by—it explains the short Iron Maiden interlude. But it means his bandmates aren’t giving him shit for his brain turning to mush in the face of this beautiful normie.

“Thanks,” the guy says, slipping into the seat and holding out his hand, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Eddie. Glad I could offer you refuge in this trying time.” His heart jumps when Steve full-on giggles at his lame joke.

But Steve sobers pretty quickly. “I just wish someone would tell us what’s happening. I’ve got my cellphone, and a handful of international minutes left, but I’d guess we’re too far away from any cell towers out here anyway… Have you heard anything up here in business class?” And isn’t that the real kick in the head? Eddie Munson is sitting in Business Class on an international flight after his band went on their first European tour, wearing ripped black jeans and a ratty old hoodie since he always gets cold when he flies, and Steve is clearly some kind of lawyer or banker or something sitting back in economy. And yet, here they are.

“The flight attendants have been whispering together, and the pilots have been out of the cockpit a couple times, but they’re doing a really good job keeping it all hush-hush. It’s not like there’s much we can do being stranded out here with a bunch of other planes. I’m sure you won’t get in trouble with your boss,” Eddie says, testing the waters and fishing for information.

“Oh, no, I’m not worried about that. I don’t have any court dates too soon.” Yes, totally right about the lawyer thing, Eddie thinks. “It’s just, my partner was flying today, too, back home from Boston. I hope she’s not all tangled up in this.” And he’s straight and in a relationship, of course, Eddie adds, because there’s no way a guy as good-looking as Steve isn’t pinned down. That doesn’t stop Eddie from checking his left hand and finding no ring.

“Sorry, that sucks. Everyone I know flying today is on this plane with me,” Eddie says softly with a gesture over his shoulder at his sleeping friends. “Our manager is probably freaking out right now, so hopefully we get back in the air soon. Or they let us off, and we can work together to track down a phone.”

“I’d like that,” Steve says with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Just then, a flight attendant comes over the intercom and says, “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have finally been cleared to deplane. You may take your carryon items; checked luggage will remain in the hold. The flight crew will be handing out blankets and pillows as you exit the plane.”

Eddie and Steve turn to each other with wide eyes. “Guess it’s time to track down that phone,” Steve says, worry and hope warring in his expression.

And Eddie can’t help it—hates seeing that worry, knows it all too well from growing up in an unstable home—and he takes Steve’s hand and says, “It’ll be okay. There’s gotta be a bank of pay phones in there. And maybe someone will finally tell us what’s going on.” He squeezes Steve’s fingers.

Steve squeezes back.

part 2

[randomsebs]

I am not trying to be mean when I say this. I completely agree with you and think that AW is a horrible person. But the more attention she gets the longer she’s going to stick around. If we’d stopped talking about her a year ago, Sebastian would’ve been rid of her a long time ago. Please keep this in mind as you’re tagging your posts and engaging in discourse.

I understand and agree with your frustration. I, however, am at a point where I am drained from the situation. She is truly someone who makes me sick to my stomach. She has lurked on blogs like a maniac from the very beginning. She has engaged in stalker behavior and has targeted any fan of his who doesn’t worship the ground she walks on. And even worse than that, she’s encouraged many of his unhinged fans who just want his validation to do the same. She is cruel, shallow, thin skinned, lazy, and egotistical.

And while I pity Sebastian somewhat, I am also deeply upset with him for even agreeing to be part of this in the first place. I enjoy him and his career and am tired of freaks tying every move he makes to her. The idea of him even being associated with a person like her sullies him for me. I will always wish well for him; he deserves joy, peace, and success. That being said, we cannot infantilize him. He is a grown man in his forties. He may be blinded by an obsession with his career, but he is not an innocent child. This man has been in Hollywood for twenty years. He knows the game and is playing it, too. That DOES NOT make him a bad man. But we have to acknowledge that while he may be under duress because of this situation, he is still, to a certain extent, a willing participant.

I also don’t think she’s brainwashing him. That would require her to actually be his partner, and she’s really not. She’s a job to him, and you can tell. I still think that she is and always has tried to force more on him, but I don’t see him budging.

So all of this to say: she sucks. I’m over it. And the more we talk about her, the longer she’ll stay around. And the more we infantilize him, the more we run the risk of not only not being taken seriously for our point of view, but also him allowing her to stick around longer for spite. He is a Leo, after all, and a Leo will lean into the thing they’re being criticized for just to prove a point, even if it makes them miserable. And if it’s something that they know people are right about, they will lean into it even harder to feel as though they’ve “won.”

Wow , this is well said. Thank you for this.

I have an Instagram account, which I tried to take a break on but the drama just keeps me coming back. I created this blog to share about it , and I completely understand.

I have friends who I can talk to about it (without giving her attention since it’s in a group chat) and so on.

I also believe if he truly wins anymore big awards this year/next year, she will stay longer. You’re absolutely correct though about it.

I think she also has a secret Tumblr page to stalk blogs that talk badly about her, or that just creates weird scenarios with her and Sebastian. She gives me that vibe, she’s a weird stalker.

My Instagram has all the proof and such so here’s the user: Margarita69_1982

I’m probably not going to post on there anymore anyways because it is a lot to handle, along with receiving many threats from their crazy fans. But I do post on my stories, she never views them so I highly doubt she even knows it’s about herself anyways.

This situation does give me headaches not to mention anxiety for the future. This woman is whacked and to think that she’s famous? It’s only because her parents are rich, she wants to make that known. Her and Sebastian have nothing in common honestly (if they do it’s probably 1 thing).

[leejenowrld]

and kind of as an addendum — if you’re so scared of being unloved/unworthy and in essence determined to see the worst of things, the only person who can really decide to fix things is you — you have to want to change, and no amount of reassurance from other people will fix that unless you’re willing to take those steps. mc clearly isn’t there yet — she avoids things and spirals pretty damn far, and even if mark was the most perfect person ever, unless she’s genuinely willing to go the distance, there’s only so much he can do. it sucks. like it sucks ass. but if she decides to ghost him instead of communicating w him, it just goes to show that she’s not ready — and she has work to do on her own if she wants to actually be in a healthy relationship w mark

mc ghosting isn’t a thing i’ve said that will fully happen though!!! like it could but you’ll just have to wait and see how part 5 will be written. i was just trying to mess with you guys lol sorry (it’s a bad trait😭) but i wanted to respond to your ask as i find it interesting and there’s a few things i want to point out and address!! <33

i get what you’re saying, and yeah, there’s truth in the idea that if someone is stuck in a mindset of unworthiness, the only person who can truly pull them out of it is themselves. but i think it’s also worth noting that change—especially when it’s tied to deeply rooted insecurities and fears—isn’t linear, and it’s not something you can flip a switch on overnight. mc is flawed, no doubt about that, but her actions aren’t coming from a place of malicious intent; they’re coming from fear, from the weight of years of feeling like she’s not enough. does she make mistakes? absolutely. but i think just because she may be ghosting or shutting down entirely doesn’t mean she’s ‘not ready’ to be in a healthy relationship or to find love.

the thing is, being in a relationship doesn’t mean you have to be completely fixed or free of all your issues. relationships aren’t about perfection; they’re about growth, learning, and having someone who helps you see beyond the worst parts of yourself. mark isn’t just some perfect savior who’s there to fix her—he’s her partner. someone who, yes, deserves communication and effort, but also someone who understands that healing isn’t always straightforward. if she were to shut him, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be with him; it means she’s overwhelmed, scared of hurting him, and probably scared of being hurt herself.

if anything, if mc were to ghost or spiral it’s a sign of how much she cares. it’s not the right way to handle things, and she absolutely has work to do—both in how she sees herself and in how she navigates her relationships—but that doesn’t mean she’s incapable of being in one. people don’t come into relationships fully formed. growth often happens alongside love, not outside of it. i’m such a strong believer in that due to personal experiences.

so while i do agree that reassurance alone can’t fix everything, i think it’s reductive that hypothetically mc has to fully ‘fix herself’ before she can be in a relationship with mark. part of the beauty of their connection is that mark sees her, flaws and all, and still chooses to stand by her, encouraging her to face those fears instead of running from them. the real question isn’t whether she’s ‘ready’ for a relationship but whether she’s willing to let herself be vulnerable enough to grow into it—and that’s something that takes time, missteps, and, honestly, a lot of love.

also i do believe that yn is someone who tries :( even if her way, which might not look obvious but that doesn’t mean the effort isn’t there. she really did try to make him happy at the end of chapter 4, remember, she was the one who made the first move to making their relationship official