#and you said who cares i want to keep doing it

[trisockatops]

You can be trans and push transphobic ideals. Being trans is not a get-out-of-bigotry free card. Being trans doesn't mean you don't need to introspect on your beliefs and where they came from. Being trans doesn't make you immune to propaganda. Being trans doesn't make you inherently accepting or open-minded.

I don't think you're a trans ally until you accept trans people who don't want to transition. And I don't just mean medically.

I mean trans men who look indistinguishable from cis women and trans women who look indistinguishable from cis men and they're happy like that. Who have no intention of changing their style, presentation, or even pronouns.

Some women don't look like the stereotypical idea of "woman" and it's the same for men. But they're still men and women. I need you to understand that gender has no bearing on appearance and people's comfort in their own bodies is more important than the fictional idea of what manhood and womanhood looks like.

And, yes, some people can't transition due to disability or funds or whatever and they're included in this, yes. But you need to accept people who don't want to either. Who willingly make the choice to not transition in any way because that's how they're the most comfortable.

A trans person who doesn't transition is just as much their gender as anyone else of that same gender. Please get that through your head.

To any trans men who don't want to transition or change their appearance in any way: You're a man. You've always been a man. You will always be a man.

To any trans women who don't want to transition or change their appearance in any way: You're a woman. You've always been a woman. You will always be a woman.

The way your body looks doesn't matter in the slightest, your gender is real and legitimate and valid regardless of any other factors.

[lostfracturess]

say it again — satoru gojo x f!reader

you've been married to satoru gojo for so long, but you've kept it quiet, so you can imagine his satisfaction at finally hearing you call him "husband" in public.

You've managed to keep your marriage to Satoru Gojo under wraps for nearly two year now. It isn't that you're ashamed—far from it.

Being married to one of the most powerful sorcerers simply comes with complications, especially given his clan's tendency to meddle in everything.

So you both agreed to keep it quiet. No flashy announcements, no public displays, just you and him. Sure, it means wearing your ring on a chain under your clothes and careful planning for your living arrangements, but it's worth it for the peace and quiet.

That is, until you slip up at the most mundane possible moment.

You're both at an official appointment regarding some property documentation. The clerk has been droning on about paperwork when she asks about your relationship to Satoru for the forms.

"Oh, he's my husband," you reply absently, still scanning the documents in front of you.

The scratching of Satoru's pen stops abruptly. You look up to find him staring at you with the most ridiculous expression—somewhere between absolutely delighted and utterly self-satisfied.

"What was that?" he asks, a grin spreading across his face.

You blink, realizing what you've just said. "I mean—"

"No, no, say it again." His eyes are practically shining now. "What am I to you?"

"Satoru," you warn, very aware of the confused clerk watching your exchange.

"Come on," he says, leaning closer. "One more time. What am I?"

"We're in public," you hiss, but you can feel your cheeks warming under his gaze.

"Please?" He bats his eyelashes at you in that ridiculous way of his. "For your beloved husband?"

"You're impossible," you mutter, but you can't help the small smile tugging at your lips.

"Impossibly charming? Impossibly handsome? Impossibly perfect as your husband?"

The clerk clears her throat. "Should I... put down 'married' then?"

"Yes!" Satoru answers before you can. "Put down that I am this wonderful person's husband. Their spouse. Their better half. Their—"

"She gets it," you cut him off.

But Satoru isn't done. For the rest of the appointment, he manages to work the word "husband" into nearly every sentence. "As her husband, I think we should sign here." "My lovely spouse and I would like copies of that." "Do you need both myself and my better half to initial this?"

By the time you leave the office, you're ready to strangle him.

"You're enjoying this way too much," you say as you walk to the car.

"Can you blame me?" He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. "It's not every day I get to hear you call me your husband in public. Usually it's all 'this is Satoru' or 'we're together' or my personal favorite, 'yes, I do unfortunately know him.'"

You roll your eyes, but can't help leaning into him. "You know why we keep it quiet."

"I know, I know. The clan would be insufferable." He presses a kiss to your temple. "But maybe we should tell them anyway? Can you imagine their faces when they find out we've been married this whole time?"

"They'll have our heads for this."

"Perhaps. But you have to admit, the thought is tempting. No more sneaking around, no more hiding that ring." He catches your hand, thumb brushing over where your ring should be. "I want everyone to know exactly who you are to me. And what I am to you. What was it again?"

"Don't push your luck."

"Come on," he coaxes, "just say it once more."

You pretend to consider it. "And what do I get out of this?"

"My eternal love and devotion?" He gives you a long look. "And I'll do the dishes for a week."

"You're supposed to do those anyway," you point out, but he's already pulling you closer, that insufferable smirk of his growing wider.

"Say it again, love," he says, and the way he looks at you then—eyes soft and full of adoration—makes your breath catch in your throat.

All your defenses melt away under that gaze, the one he reserves just for you, the one that makes you forget why you ever try to deny him anything.

"Husband," you breathe, and feel him tense slightly against you.

"Just like that," he whispers. "Though I prefer when you add my name to it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself."

"That's what I do best," he says. "Besides, my darling wife, I think you secretly love it when I am."

The way he says 'wife' sends a shiver down your spine—something you know he notices from the satisfied look in his eyes. "You're impossible."

"Impossibly yours," he corrects, and despite his playful tone, there's something sincere in his gaze. "What do you say? Ready to scandalize some elders?"

Looking at him now, you can't remember why you ever wanted to keep this secret. "With you? Always."

He doesn't wait for more, just leans in and captures your lips with his, and you think maybe going public isn't such a terrible idea after all.

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

[sceletaflores]

well, all right i’m bad, but then you’re no prize either…

pair: joel miller x fem!reader

wc: 8.6k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no ellie, general violence (only referenced), age gap (56/26), swearing, so many spacers lmao, not quite friends to lovers and not quite enemies to lovers but a weird other thing, kinda mean!joel for a good sec, dressing wounds, joel miller TUMMY, loss of virginity (reader is a virgin but she's not completely oblivious and weirdly infantile about it lmao), fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex whoops, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, porn with a tiny plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: well, i finally caved y’all. baby’s first tlou fic! this literally took me forever to write and even longer to post cause i was so terrified LMAO so please give me some grace if it’s shit and he’s ooc and timelines are a little fuzzy cause i barely know what i’m doing. thank you chickens love you mwah mwah mwah. kisses!

dividers by lovely @saradika-graphics!

joel found a lodge house…

You don’t know what you did to make Joel Miller hate you so much.

He's never outright said it, but you know it’s there—in every sharp glance, every clipped word, every deliberate avoidance.

Besides, his silence is worse than anything he could say. A quiet condemnation that settles in your chest like stone.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, that you don’t care what he thinks, but the truth is harder to swallow.

You do care—more than you want to admit. His approval, his respect, hell, even a sliver of kindness from him feels like an impossible prize you’ll never win.

And you hate yourself for wanting it. For needing it.

It's not just the weight of his disdain that eats at you, it's the not knowing why. God, do you wish you could ask him why.

What did you do to make him look at you like you’re some necessary evil he has to tolerate. Why does he hold some unspoken grudge that's manifested itself into something you couldn't dream of ever comprehending.

But the thought of confronting Joel feels like standing on the edge of a cliff, staring down into a void that might swallow you whole.

So instead, you do what you've always done. You keep your distance, try to match his indifference with your own, and tell yourself it’s better this way.

You were young when the outbreak hit, six years old.

You’re sure that’s part of it. That that’s how Joel sees you, as some bumbling, naive child who’s more of a hassle than anything else.

Another mouth to feed, another back to watch, baggage.

You've been with him for almost seven months now, traveling side by side when you may have well been miles apart. Trekking through abandoned cities, overgrown highways, and every godforsaken patch of wilderness in between.

In the beginning, you did everything you could to prove him wrong.

You pushed yourself past your limits, hunted, scavenged, fought, kept up. You did everything that needed to be done without hesitation.

All to show that you were more than what he made you out to be. It never seemed to matter much.

After you lost your parents in the early days of the outbreak, it was just you and your sister. She taught you everything you know, taught you how to survive.

It's because of her that you know how to shoot a rifle, how to skin a rabbit, how to start a fire with nothing but sticks and dried moss, how to snap bones and locate which vital arteries bleed out the quickest.

It's because of her that you've been able to hone some sick skill in the maiming of clickers.

A skill you never thought you'd need to use on her.

You were supposed to be safe in the QZ. You weren't supposed to be fifteen years old, aiming a gun at the one person you had left.

Your own flesh and blood wasn't supposed to be the very first in a long list of red tallies under your belt.

It’s been years and you’ve still never forgotten that day. December 19th, 2012, the date burned into your brain like someone took a branding iron to the tissue.

You can’t count the amount of times you’ve been ripped from your sleep drenched in a cold sweat with the tail end of a scream tearing at the skin of your throat.

The image of what was left of your sister, slumped on the ground lifeless as her blood painted the wall behind her flashing behind your closed eyelids. The sound of her last labored breath ringing in your ears louder than any shotgun blast.

You ran that same night, with the weight of her death on your shoulders.

Your entire world spinning out around you as you clawed through barbed wire fencing, not caring where you were going or what would happen to you—just needing to escape.

There was nothing left for you to do after that but survive. And that’s what you did, for years, scraping by in a world that had already chewed you up and spit you out a mangled mess.

You learned how to be ruthless because of it.

How to harden yourself against the loss, the pain, the brutality. But there were cracks, too. Cracks you hid well, buried deep beneath layers of stubbornness and distance.

The endless days blurred into each other. Empty houses, hollow streets. A life reduced to scavenging, hiding, and the occasional, fleeting moment of human connection that inevitably ended in loss. 

And then you found yourself with Joel.

You hadn’t exactly found him, though. More like crashed into his orbit by accident.

A few desperate days spent scavenging through the ruins of a small town, a chance encounter that left you both wary and unwilling to turn your backs.

But, inexplicably, you somehow became part of his traveling routine.

He wasn’t like any of the others you’d met before. At first, you thought he might be different. A man who seemed broken, but different nonetheless.

As the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you began to see the truth. Joel Miller wasn’t concerned with you. He didn’t need you. And, more than that, he didn’t want you around. 

You didn’t know what to do with that.

It’s a bitter kind of irony. You’ve survived all this time completely on your own, fought tooth and nail to stay alive, but with him, you might just crumble.

Joel found a lodge house. It's a small, weathered place tucked away in the dense trees of the wood surrounding it.

He only deemed it suitable after an extensive perimeter check and a thorough sweep of the interior.

It's not much—just another run-down place in the middle of nowhere—but for the first time in what feels like forever, it’s a roof over your head for the night.

The walls are sturdy, though the windows are cracked and half of the floorboards creak like they're about to give out at any moment.

You explored the second floor alone, creeping through the desolate rooms and taking in all that was left behind.

Old family photographs covered in thick layers of dust, worn clothes riddled with holes still hung in the few closets you stumble across.

The oddest of all was an old jewelry box tucked away in a dresser draw, tarnished silver dull and muddy.

The sound of familiar footsteps comes from somewhere behind you. The door creaks open slowly.

Joel. Of course.

He clears his throat, the sound abrasive in the quiet of the house.  

“Fire’s low,” he says, voice rough from its lack of use today.

You don’t turn around, not yet. You take the box in your gloved hand, running your fingers across the intricate design of the lid, touch trailing over winding vines and small roses.

“Okay,” you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I’ll grab some more wood later.”

Another beat of silence. Then, “It’s gettin’ cold out, I’ll go.”

Your fingers pause their ministrations, moving to flip the lid open. Empty.

“Suit yourself,” you reply after a moment, your tone just as neutral as his.

Joel doesn’t leave right away. You hear the floorboards groan beneath his weight, his presence lingering in the doorway. 

You wonder what he’s waiting for, or if he’s waiting at all.

Finally, he speaks. “Don’t touch anything.”

With that he turns and leaves the room, you wait until you can’t hear his footsteps trailing down the stairs anymore to let out the scoff festering in your chest.

You snap the jewelry lid shut with a little more force than necessary. “Asshole.”

Joel's been gone for a while now. Longer than it takes to chop a few logs for firewood.

You came down from the upstairs a few minutes after hearing the tell-tale sound of the heavy door opening and closing. The main room is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the dwindling fire.

You're perched on an old armchair near the entrance, peering out the dirty window that has the best view of the treeline as you nervously pick the skin around your nails.

You tell yourself not to worry. He’s probably fine, he’s been doing this a lot longer than you. And if Joel is anything, it’s annoyingly competent.

Still, a nagging doubt itches at the back of your mind. It's been at least half an hour, maybe more.

You’re just about to grab your own pack and go looking for him when the front door creaks open.

Joel stumbles inside, the frigid evening air rushing in behind him before he slams the door shut. At first glance, he looks fine—no more haggard than usual. 

But then you notice the way he favors his left side, the way his free hand is pressed against his ribs, blood seeping through his fingers and staining his torn undershirt.

You’re on your feet in an instant.

“Fuck,” you say, voice sharper than you expected. “What the hell happened?”

“Raiders.” Is the only explanation you get as he tries to brush past you like it’s nothing. The stiff way he moves and the tightens of his jaw betray him. “S’just a scratch.”

“Bullshit,” you snap, stepping in front of him and blocking his path to the fire. “Sit. Now.”

He gives you a look, one of those deep, withering glares you’ve seen him use to intimidate countless others into submission. But you stand your ground, chin raised and jaw set–defiant. 

His stubbornness finally meeting its match in your own. 

Finally, with a low growl of frustration, he drops onto the couch. “Happy now?”

"Not until you let me take care of that." You motion toward his side, where the blood is still spreading.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, lolling his head back to rest more heavily on the couch.

“Sure you are,” you snap, crossing the room to rifle through your bag. “And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

"Said I’m fine," he bites through gritted teeth, but you’re already moving, heading back to him with the first aid kit from your pack.

"You want to bleed out on this ugly-ass couch? Be my guest," you shoot back, dropping to your knees in front of him. "Otherwise, shut up and let me help."

Joel surprisingly doesn’t argue any further, just sighs heavily and reluctantly sinks further into the couch cushions.

You push the front of his jacket open to slide it off his shoulders as gently as you can, peeling back the layer of his flannel next.

The smell of blood hits you immediately.

The gash is about five inches long, trailing the span of his ribcage. It’s deep—but not fatal—just an angry red and oozing blood.

Definitely not the simple 'scratch' he made it out to be.

Your stomach churns at the sight, but you push it down. No time for that.

“Jesus, Joel,” you mutter under your breath, reaching for the alcohol in your kit. “You really know how to underplay a situation, huh?”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you with those dark, calculating eyes of his. Always watching, always assessing.

It’s unnerving, but you focus on the task at hand, grabbing a clean cloth and soaking it with alcohol.

“This is gonna hurt,” you warn, though there’s a part of you that doesn’t mind the idea of causing him a little discomfort.

A petty, vindictive part that still stings from all the scorn he’s thrown your way.

“Just get it over with,” Joel grits out, his voice low and gravelly.

You don’t give him any more warnings as you wipe the soaked cloth over the wound. He flinches, a harsh curse slipping through clenched teeth, but he doesn’t pull away.

You work as quickly as you can, wiping away the blood and dirt with steady hands, your movements as gentle as possible given the situation.

You let out an annoyed huff when the torn fabric of his shirt gets in the way of your hands for a second time.

You lean back on your heels, glancing up at Joel. “You need to take your shirt off.”

Joel raises a brow at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “That really necessary?”

“Yes, it’s necessary, Joel,” you huff, already losing patience. “Unless you want me to sit here and cut around every thread of this ratty thing while you bleed out, then by all means—”

He sighs heavily, cutting you off as he shifts forward and grabs the hem of his shirt. He tugs at the fabric, grunting in pain each time it strains his ribs.

You roll your eyes at how slow he’s moving, and your patience—already worn thin by the day's events—snaps.

“Jesus Christ, let me help,” you huff, reaching forward and grabbing the fabric.

Joel jerks back slightly, his hand shooting up to stop yours mid-motion. “I got it,” he growls, a sharp edge in his voice.

You glare at him, your hand still caught in his grip. His palm is calloused, his hold firm enough to make your pulse jump unexpectedly. 

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, locked in a silent standoff.

Then he releases your hand and pulls the shirt over his head himself, wincing as the movement pulls at his side.

You wait with your arms crossed, trying to ignore the awkward flutter of nerves in your stomach as the fabric peels away to reveal his chest.

Joel’s broad, solid frame isn’t new to you. You’ve seen him shirtless before—brief glimpses when bathing in rivers or changing in run down houses between stops.

But this time feels different, more intimate somehow.

You’re staring, and you know it.

The firelight cast shadows over his skin, illuminating old scars, faint lines of muscle, the barely there jut of his stomach over the hem of his jeans.

You had been getting more game kills recently, two hunters are always better than one.

Joel clears his throat, dragging your focus back to the present. “You gonna gawk all night, or can we move this along?”

You snap out of it, scowling to cover your embarrassment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

You finish cleaning the gash and grab the small needle and thread lying next to you.

“This’ll hurt worse than the alcohol,” you say, threading the needle easily.

Joel snorts, a rare sound. “Figures.”

The needle pierces his skin, and this time, you catch the smallest hitch in his breath. He doesn’t make a sound, but his jaw tightens, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

His hands grip the edge of the couch hard enough that his knuckles turn white with it, but he doesn’t tell you to stop or slow down.

He’s too damn proud for that.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his leg as you position yourself to work from a better angle. You feel his eyes on you, that intense, scrutinizing stare that makes your skin prickle.

“You’ve done this before,” Joel says after a moment, his tone less sharp than before. It’s not quite a question, more of an observation.

You shrug, keeping your hands steady. “Of course I have.”

“Who taught you?”

The question catches you off guard, Joel’s never shown much interest in what your life was before you met him. You glance up briefly, catching his gaze. There’s no malice there, no judgment—just curiosity.

You swallow hard, dragging your eyes back to stitches, half way done now. “My sister.”

You don’t elaborate and Joel doesn’t push.

Maybe it’s the sudden tightness in your tone or the look you know must be clouding your face that keeps him quiet.

You finish off the stitching, tearing the thin strand of thread with your hands before you’re leaning away again.

“Good as new,” you say, dabbing some more alcohol on your own hands to disinfect. “Try not to tear these open anytime soon.”

Joel leans back, strong arms spread across the back of the couch, his face unreadable as he peers down at the fresh stitching on his side. 

“Could’ve done it myself,” he mutters, but the edge in his voice is gone, replaced with something softer, almost resigned. 

You roll your eyes with a scoff, not even trying to hide your irritation as you rise from the floor. “Sure you could’ve, right before you passed out. You’re welcome by the way.”

You gather your supplies and turn to head back to your bag, but Joel’s voice stops you in your tracks.

“You’re always like this, y’know,” he says, and the words carry that same gravelly drawl, but there’s something new there—something heavier.

You pause, your hands tightening around the kit in your grasp. “Like what?”

“Pushy. Stubborn,” he replies, his tone cutting, though it lacks the usual venom. “Like you’ve got somethin’ to prove all the damn time.”

You whip around, your patience officially gone. “You think I’m stubborn?” you shoot back, your voice rising. “Coming from the guy who would rather bleed out on a fucking couch than admit he needs help?”

Joel’s jaw tightens, and his hands flex against the couch cushions, but you don’t stop. Not now. Not after months of this.

“I’ve been busting my ass since day one to prove that I’m not dead weight to you. I’ve fought for us, for you. And for what? Just to get more of your bullshit attitude?”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” Joel snaps, pushing himself upright despite the obvious strain it puts on his freshly stitched wound. “You don’t know a goddamn thing about me.”

“Because you won’t let me!” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising. “All you do is look at me like I’m some burden you can’t wait to get rid of.”

Joel’s glare sharpens, his lips parting as if to respond, but you cut him off.

You really can’t stop yourself now that you started, all the anger and frustration reaching a fever pitch hot enough to burst the tight lid you’ve kept on your emotions.

“If I’m such a hassle, why didn’t you just leave me back there, huh? Why didn’t you just walk away like I know you wanted to?”

Joel’s breathing is heavier now,  his broad chest rising and falling as his dark eyes bore into yours.

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, he stands, and the sheer size of him forces you to tilt your chin up slightly to keep your glare fixed on his face.

“You think I wanted this, kid?” he growls, his voice low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together. “You think I wanted to be responsible for someone else? To have someone else’s fuckin’ life on me?”

“Don’t call me kid,” you spit, shoving a finger into his chest, ignoring the way his jaw ticks at the contact. “I’m not a fucking kid.”

He scoffs, casting his eyes to the ceiling disbelievingly. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Fuck you, Joel,” you growl, fists clenching at your side. “If you hate me that much, why the hell are you still here? Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off the second you met me?”

“Because I couldn’t!” Joel snaps, booming voice filling the small space.

The confession slips out like it pains him. His fists clench at his sides, and for a moment, he looks like he might break something.

You’ve never been scared of Joel, even though you’ve seen first hand just how scary he can be.

Now, as he looms in front of you, eyes blazing and jaw working furiously beneath his skin, it’s the closest to scared you’ve felt.

“I’ve seen you out there,” he continues, tone low and dark. “You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish. You’re too damn stubborn to just stop, and I’m not gonna let you go so you can run off and get yourself fuckin’ killed.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, his words hitting far too close to home.

“I’m just trying to survive, Joel,” you snap, your voice shaking. “That’s what we do, isn’t it? Survive.”

“Survive,” Joel repeats bitterly, his gaze burning into yours. “That what you call it? Throwin’ yourself into every goddamn fight, gettin’ stabbed and shot right fuckin’ in front of me and expecting me to brush that shit off?”

You let out a humorless laugh, nodding your head exasperatedly. “Yes, yes I do expect you to just brush it off, because that’s what you always do.” 

“Well I can’t,” he grates out, taking a step closer. “I can’t ‘cause despite whatever it is that you may think about me, I don’t hate you. I care about you too damn much and that's my goddamn problem.”

That shuts you up, your mouth snapping closed with a sharp click of your teeth as you stare at him, shocked.

Joel holds your gaze, lips pressed into a thin line. “That what you wanted to hear?”

It’s in that moment that the fire finally fizzles out, the dull hiss of it the only sound left in the room.

You’re quiet for a beat, stunned into silence. The heat of his anger, his frustration, it radiates off him, and you realize suddenly that this isn’t just about you. 

It never was.

“Then show me,” you challenge softly, your heart pounding in your chest. “Show me that you don’t hate me.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his head cocking to the side as he searches your face for a sign. You don’t say anything, you only square your shoulders and raise your chin, your eyes just as hard as his own.

“I want you to prove it.”

The tension snaps like a rubber band stretched too far. 

You shouldn’t—this shouldn’t—happen. Not like this. Not after everything that’s been said.

But when Joel’s lips crash against yours, hot and desperate and urgent, it makes everything blur into nothing. 

It’s not gentle, not soft—this is anger and longing and frustration all wrapped into one. It’s messy, frantic, like a fight that’s been brewing for too long.

He grips your arm, pulling you closer, almost too roughly, but it feels like it’s everything you’ve both been avoiding.

His other hand moves to cup the back of your neck, grounding you as his lips press harder against yours, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this single moment.

You respond just as fiercely, nails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you kiss him back with all the pent-up emotion that’s been simmering beneath the surface.

The coarse hair of his beard scrapes against the skin of your chin deliciously, the scent of blood and firewood filling your senses as his arm wraps around your waist, dragging you impossibly closer.

Close enough that you can feel the wild beat of his heart booming against your chest.

You pull away for a second, breathless, both of you looking at each other, your eyes wide and pupils blown.

“Goddamn it,” Joel mutters, his voice thick with frustration and something else you can’t place. He presses his forehead to yours, the deep brown of his eyes dark than before. “What the hell are we doing?”

You don’t have an answer. You’re not sure if you even want one.

You reach for him again, arms looping around his neck to drag his mouth back to yours.

This kiss is nothing like the first, it isn’t a clash of frustration–it’s filthier, rawer. A near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

Joel groans into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that sends a shiver racing down your spine. His teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp.

He takes advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

The taste of him—salt and iron and something distinctly Joel—makes your head spin. 

Your fingers knot into the chocolaty curls at the nape of his neck, surprisingly soft to the touch. His own hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t decide where he wants to touch you most.

“Joel—” His name spills from your lips like a plea, and he answers with a deep, guttural noise that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His tongue follows the path of his teeth, soothing the bites with lazy, deliberate strokes that make your knees weak.

You’re moving before you even realize it. Joel dragging you across the room and down onto the couch with him, using the strength he’s built up after all these years to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

“Joel,” you gasp again, rearing back enough to break the kiss. “Your stitches–”

He cuts you off with a sharp nip to the sensitive spot behind your ear, tearing a high whine from your throat. “Can hardly feel ‘em.”

You make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined by the way you tilt your head to give his wandering lips more room. His hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

His fingers splay wide across your skin, his palm callused and rough. His pinky just barely brushes the underside of your breast, and you’re suddenly rearing back. 

“Wait,” you say, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel’s hands immediately loosen their grip on your hips, his brows knitting together in concern. “You okay?”

You nod quickly, your heart pounding in your chest. “I just...I need to tell you something.”

His jaw tightens slightly, but he stays quiet, waiting for you to speak.

You take a beat, chewing at the skin of your bottom lip nervously.

“I’ve never...” You pause, swallowing hard as your cheeks heat up. “I’ve never done this before. I mean, I’ve never been with anyone like this.”

Joel pulls back slightly, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. For a moment, you think he might pull away completely, but then he exhales a long, slow breath.

“Christ,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re tellin’ me this now?”

“I didn’t exactly plan for this to happen,” you snap back, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. “It’s not like I had the luxury of a high school sweetheart to pop my cherry out here.”

Joel’s gaze softens at your tone, and he reaches out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hey, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.”

You glance away, suddenly feeling self-conscious under the weight of his stare. “I just...I wanted you to know. But I want this, Joel. I want you.”

His thumb stills against your cheek, and he swallows hard, his adam’s apple bobbing as he considers your words.

“I don’t...” He pauses, the most hesitant you’ve ever heard him. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s the most vulnerable he’s been around you, round eyes shining with something so raw and so earnest it makes your heart ache in your chest. 

“You won’t,” you insist, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your stomach. “I trust you.”

Joel’s jaw clenches, and for a moment, he looks like he’s going to argue. But then he nods, his shoulders relaxing as he cups the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch again.

“At least let me do this right,” he murmurs, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it. “Not here. Not on some goddamn couch.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the tenderness in his tone. “What?”

“Upstairs,” he says, his thumb tracing lazy circles against the side of your neck. “There’s a bed up there. It ain’t much, but it’s better than this.”

You can’t do anything but nod, your pulse racing beneath your skin fast enough to combat the cold night air seeping through the walls.

“Okay,” you say softly, voice barely above a whisper. “Upstairs.”

Joel stands, gently pulling you to feet and taking your hand in his. He leads you upstairs, each step feeling heavier with anticipation. The small bedroom is dimly lit, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through a broken blind. 

The bed isn’t much—an old mattress on a worn frame, covered with a patched-up blanket—but it doesn’t matter.

Joel shuts the door behind you, the sound of the latch clicking into place sending a shiver down your spine.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “You say the word, and we stop. No questions asked.”

Your throat tightens at the sincerity in his tone, the way he’s giving you an out even though you can see the strain in every line of his body, the way his hands flex at his sides like he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But you don’t hesitate.

You step closer, placing your hands on his bare chest. You bite back a smile at the goosebumps that break out all along his skin at your touch. 

“Jesus, Miller,” you mumble teasingly, nails lightly scratching through the salt and pepper hair scattered along his chest. “How long are you gonna drag this out before you get it through your thick skull that I want to fuck you?”

"Christ." Joel huffs, shaking his head as the corners of his lips turn up in a small grin. “Like I fuckin’ said,” he starts, big hands kneading the meat of your hips. “Pushy.”

Joel walks you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, and you fall onto it with a soft gasp.

He follows you immediately, crawling over you, his body covering yours, his weight a comforting pressure. “I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, his lips brushing yours. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear.”

His fingers are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with a practiced ease that has your pulse racing. His lips follow the path of his hands, each touch a branding mark, each kiss leaving you wanting more.

“Pretty girl,” he mutters softly, pressing a kiss right between the valley of your breasts.

You feel his cock stirring against your stomach, and it makes the ache between your legs flare to life, the weight of it, the hardness of it, driving you crazy with need. 

You want him so badly you can barely think straight, but when his lips graze over your collarbone, you can’t stop the quiet whine that escapes your throat.

Joel growls in response, a sound that resonates deep in his chest, and you know then that he’s as far gone as you are. His hands slide down to the waistband of your pants, tugging them down your legs with urgency. 

As your skin is exposed to the cool air, you can feel the heat of his gaze on you, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

“You’re fuckin' perfect,” he mutters, his voice thick with desire.

Joel's hands find your thighs, parting them with a deliberate slowness that makes your breath catch in your throat. He positions himself between your legs, his body weight pressing you into the mattress, his chest rising and falling with the same frantic rhythm as yours. 

The anticipation is almost unbearable as his fingers trace the line of your panties, the fabric damp with want.

“Jesus, she’s drippin’ for me already,” he mutters, voice rough, as he slides the material to the side, his thumb brushing over the sensitive swell of your clit.

Your body jerks at the contact, a desperate sound escaping your lips, but Joel doesn’t relent.

“You touch yourself down here, baby?” he asks, working tortuously slow circles over your clit.

"Please," you beg, your hands grasping at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

He looks up at you, his gaze dark and filled with an intensity that makes your stomach tighten. “Asked you a question, honey.”

You whine, high and loud in your throat as your thighs clench desperately around his wrist. “Yes, I touch myself.”

Joel’s lips curl into a satisfied grin, sliding his thick index finger through the messy wetness to slip inside your clenching hole, making you gasp. Your hands grasp at the sheets, pulling at them as if they can anchor you to the moment.

“Good girl,” he breathes, eyes darkening at the broken moan that bursts from your lips. “When’s the last time you touched yourself?”

Your brain feels hazy as you search for the answer, pleasure clouding your mind slow and sweet as molasses. “A–a few nights ago.”

Joel hums idly, slipping a second finger alongside the first. The stretch has you whining, his fingers a lot more to take than your own.

Your hands come up to claw at his shoulders, relishing in the way his broad muscle ripples and shifts beneath your greedy palms.

“Joel,” you whine, hips canting down against his hand impatiently.

He just shushes you softly, free hand brushing soothing circles along the skin of your inner thigh. “I know, honey,” he mutters, the pace fingers speeding up. “But I gotta get her nice and ready if you wanna take my cock.”

The gush of your pussy around his fingers is loud in the stillness of the room, a filthy wet noise that burns your ears each time he plunges them into your aching hole.

“I am ready.” Your breath hitches as your body begins to tremble beneath him. “Please, Joel—fuck—please, I need—”

“Need what?” His voice is thick with dark amusement, but there's a hunger in his eyes that has your stomach twisting. “Tell me, baby. What do you need?”

“I need you,” you rasp, your nails digging little crescent moons into his skin, your body pleading for release. “I need you inside me.”

Your hands grab at his hair, pulling him back up to meet your lips in a feverish kiss. 

The pressure of his body on yours, the way his hard cock grinds against your trembling thigh, drives you to the brink of madness. 

Your hands trail down his chest, past the waistband of his jeans, finally reaching the bulge straining against the fabric.

Joel groans when you rub him through his pants, feeling his cock twitch in response. He pulls back, breathing heavily, his lips curling into a smirk. 

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice thick with lust. “You want my cock in this pretty pussy? Want me to show you how good it feels to be fucked?”

“God, yes,” you answer, desperation lacing your tone as your hand moves to unbuckle his jeans. “Want it so bad.”

He lets you push his pants down just enough to free his cock, and you gasp, your eyes drawn to the way his length stands, thick and hard, just waiting for you. The tip flushed an angry red, drooling pre-come onto the scratchy sheets.

Joel pulls his fingers from you, using his hands spreading your legs wider, positioning himself between them with such careful precision that you can barely stand it.

The head of his cock drags through the mess between your legs, slipping all the way down till it catches on your soaked entrance.

Joel pauses, looking down at you, waiting for your signal, but the only answer you give is a pleading whimper, your hands pulling at his shoulders, urging him to move.

His mouth captures yours once again as he slowly slides into you, the stretch of his cock filling you steadily, making you gasp into his mouth. 

The slow burn of him carving a place for himself inside of you is almost too much, your body trembling as you adjust to the feeling of him.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel mutters against your lips. “You’re so tight, so fuckin’ perfect for me.”

As he sinks deeper into you, his thick cock finally buried to the hilt inside of you, the feeling is overwhelming. You gasp, nails digging into his back as the pain slowly shifts into pleasure.

Joel groans into your mouth, his hands moving to your hips, guiding you as he rocks gently against you. 

The rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as if he's savoring every inch of you. Your body quivers beneath him, every inch of your skin tingling with sensation. You clutch at him, your legs tightening around his waist, needing more, wanting more.

"That's it," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "Take it, baby."

You screw your eyes shut tightly, trying to steady yourself as he thrusts deeper, harder. The angle shifts just enough to make your breath catch in your throat. 

Every stroke feels like it’s hitting the deepest part of you, sparking heat in places you never knew could burn so hot.

"Fuck," you gasp, the sensation too overwhelming, too much in the best way. "Joel... please..."

"Please what, sweetheart?" He pulls back slightly, teasing you with a slow roll of his hips before driving back in with a grunt.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, urging him to move faster, harder. "Don’t stop," you breathe, your voice trembling. "I need you to fuck me, Joel. Faster. Harder. Please."

The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room as Joel finally picks up the pace, each thrust harder and deeper than the last.

Your back arches off the bed, chest pressing flush to his as your body coils tighter and tighter, already so close to the edge.

Joel reaches up to take your wrist in his, dragging your hand down to press flat against your lower stomach.

“Feel that?” he asks breathlessly, the speed of his hips knocking the dingy bed frame into the wall with every thrust. “You feel how deep I am?”

His own hand blankets yours, pushing down so you can feel the way his cock punches up against your palm on the next thrust.

Your pussy clenches desperately around him at the feeling, your slick lips dropping open on a loud moan.

You can barely hold on. The heat in your stomach tightens, coiling painfully as your free hand scrambles to find purchase on his skin. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

He grits his teeth, his jaw clenched as he drives deeper, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Come for me, baby," he growls, his voice dark and commanding. "Let me feel it."

With a strangled cry, you finally release, your body clenching around him, every nerve igniting in a white-hot explosion of pleasure. 

You’re lost in it, your world spinning, your senses overwhelmed by the sensation of Joel’s body pounding into yours, the way his cock brushes against that sweet spot behind your clit enough to make sparks go off behind your eyelids.

Joel pulls out of your velvety warmth, hand coming up to fist his dripping length until he’s bowing over you tightly and coming with a deep groan of your name.

His release paints your stomach with milky strands of white, rope after rope of warm come claiming you in a way no one has before.

He finally collapses against you with one last shuddering breath, both of you breathing heavily, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet aftermath.

For a few moments, neither of you speaks, the only sounds are the soft creak of the bed and the quiet hum of your racing hearts. 

Joel rests his head against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin, and you can feel the tension begin to slip away, the weight of everything that’s happened between you both settling into something new—something different, but still there.

Your hand slips down the sweaty expanse of your stomach, your fingers swiping through the sticky mess of his release curiously.

“Christ, quit that,” Joel groans, tearing his eyes away from the sight to press his forehead against your shoulder.

“Why?” you hum, brow raised in amusement as you drop your hand back to the mattress. “Can you even get it up again?”

Joel pinches your side hard enough to make you squeal, your body flinching away from him as a surprised laugh bubbles from your chest.

“Watch it,” he warns, though there’s no bite to his tone. You only laugh in response.

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, wrapped in each other as crickets chirp from outside the window.

Then Joel clears his throat, fingers idly tracing different shapes on the skin of your hip as he gathers the courage to speak.

A circle, a square, a diamond, a circle, a heart, a heart, a heart.

“I’m…” he starts, trailing off softly. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a real fuckin’ prick, and you didn’t deserve it. You never did.”

You turn your own gaze to his chest, hand coming up so you can trail your fingers along the jagged scar decorating his shoulder. Your touch featherlight over the rough patch of skin.

All the anger seeps from your body, a heavy weight gone until you feel so light you could float off the mattress and into the cold night air.

“It’s okay,” you whisper softly, so soft you think it gets lost in the quiet darkness of the room. “I understand now.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you both just lay there, tangled in each other, not worrying about the world outside, about the chaos that waits. 

Just you, him, and the soft glow of moonlight.

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: should i add joel to my taglist...i do kinda want to write more for him in the future but i'm not sure yet...lmk chickens <3 bee tee dubs sorry the ending absolutely sucks i could not for the life of me figure out how to end this LMAO

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - The Royal Wedding

In which you and Max tie the knot.

Warnings: just fluff. a bit of anxiety talk but nothing Max can't fix. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 5k

- The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 3 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 4 - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Bonus Sessions - Master List

After getting engaged, there were two things that you and Max almost immediately agreed upon: first, because so much of both of your lives were already available for public consumption, you wanted to protect the peace and privacy of your wedding as much as possible. And second, you didn’t want to wait until the next summer break to get married. 

Growing up, it was a cliche fact but a fact all the same, that you often thought of what you wanted your wedding to be like. You were even very much guilty of having secret wedding Pinterest boards set up all through high school and college. But the moment the even presented itself in real life, you suddenly felt choked by the weight of what a big wedding could entail. 

It had been Max that had suggested the solution in the end, his idea passed by you casually one night as you walked hand in hand back to your hotel after dinner before the race in Italy. He had sensed your hesitation around hosting such a big, over the top wedding that everyone seemed to assume you wanted. The spark in your eye faded just a bit when Alex and Carmen had started talking about wedding venues and guest lists and he hadn’t missed the way your shoulders hitched up a bit more towards your ears as you listened to your friends ramble. 

“What if we just eloped?” He works to keep his tone causal, not wanting to give away how appealing that idea sounds to him. He wants you to choose the kind and scale of wedding you want all on your own because he knows you’d do anything for him, right down to agreeing to plan a wedding that doesn’t suit you at all. 

You stop dead in your tracks, Birkin bag swinging wildly at your elbow from the sudden halt. “What?” 

Max sticks his hands deep in the pockets of his khakis, giving you a knowing smile. “You heard me. What if we just said ‘fuck this’ and ran off to the beach and got married by some old fishing captain. Captains can legally marry people, right? That’s a thing?” 

Not for the first time in your relationship, you’re stunned into silence at something your soon-to-be husband says. For a moment all you can do is blink at him, trying to figure out if he’s fucking with you or not. “You’d…you’d want that?” 

Max steps forward, earnest look on his handsome face. “Baby,” He murmurs, framing both sides of your face with his strong hands. “Baby, I’d marry you in an alley way in the middle of New York City. I don’t care where or how, all I care about is that we come out at the end of this married and tied together for life. I don’t care about the wedding, I care about the marriage.” 

Max watches as your pupils blow wide, shy smile tugging at your lips. “That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

Max’s forehead rests on yours and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “Well, it’s true. I want you to have the wedding of your dreams because I know that will make you happy but other than that, I don’t care.” 

He’d do anything to make sure you were happy, knowing it was just this side of obsessive the way he took you into consideration with every decision he made. Standing opposite of the man who consumed your entire soul, your stomach dipped low, the pleasant swooping sensation something you’ve become accustomed to over the last year. “I just feel so overwhelmed. Both of our lives are already so public and under scrutiny. I want this to be something that we can cherish without any of the potential tarnish of what it means to be so public.” 

You shake your head, feeling a little silly and what you’re feeling. “I love our lives and know we’re privileged to live like this but sometimes I just want to have something that’s just ours. I want to share our love and relationship with everyone but maybe we could just shield some of it from the world?” 

An idea forms in Max’s head then. “What if we eloped somewhere just the two of us and then have a party to celebrate with everyone after?” 

You nod, “Have is quietly ours for a while before sharing the news with everyone?” 

Max reaches for you, enjoying the way you press against him with ease. It’s a warm Italian summer night, the scent of perfumed flowers and left over sunshine hung heavy in the air and you wanted to snap this moment into something that stayed with you forever. Max’s hands heavy on your hips, digging into the flesh there as if he can’t get enough of you despite not leaving your side for the last 24 hours. 

Ever since getting engaged, you’d hated spending any length of time away from Max, almost like your soul had already started to twin itself to him. It made leaving difficult but returning was always so sweet. You had this weekend in Italy before you had to leave on another trip but you’d been considering ramping down your travel over the next few months. But, that was another conversation for another day. 

“Where would we go? And when?” The more you thought bout it, the more the thought of what Max was suggesting appealed to you. 

Max releases you before taking your hand as you two start back towards your hotel, feeling a bit lighter at seemingly solving the problem that had been weighing on you for a few days. 

“We could do it this winter? There’s always a total shut down of everything that week between Christmas and New Years. We’d see our families for Christmas and escape saying we were just taking a trip the two of us.” 

You grin up at him, liking where he was going with this. 

yourpersonalinsta posted

129,938 likes liked by yourdad, assistantshannon, maxverstappen1, and others yourpersonalisnta sun, sand, and a very cute finace kikagomes is this that place in Mexico you were talking about?! It looks so pretty! >>>yourpersonalinsta yes!!! it is gorgeous. you and P need to come here some day. alexandrasaintmleux gorgeous gorgeous girl >>>yourpersonalinsta love you bby user029 dream life fr user0092 looks like paradise! tell max congrats on his 5th title for us!!

December, 2025 

The warm ocean breeze fluttered through the wide open doors of the villa behind you as the bright December sun heated your skin where you laid on a lounge chair. Next to you, Max was sprawled out on on the chair next to you, snoring softly as he took what you thought might just be his third nap of the day. 

Ever since the pair of you had arrived in Mexico a few days ago, you hand’t done much beyond sleep, eat, and fuck. The 2025 season had been the most stressful, chaotic, out of control season Max had ever had and while he had managed to clinch the championship on in Abu Dhabi from Lando, but it had been a difficult ride to get there. So when Christmas had been celebrated and you had jumped on the jet to fly from Monaco over to Mexico, you couldn’t help but continually breathe a sigh of relief. 

The fight had truly weighed on Max, the hollows underneath his eyes growing more and more prominent as the race weeks ticked by. The only relief he had gotten had been your midseason trip to Thailand when he had proposed. When Jensen had asked him what had gotten him through the difficult second half of the season during an interview after he won the championship, his immediate answer had simply been you. 

Much to the disappointment of your fans, you had decided to really ramp down the amount of travel and work you had done following the summer break. Max had been resident at first, not even wanting to entertain he conversation at first when you had brought it up shortly after it had been decided you were going to elope. He didn’t want to even think of you putting your career on hold for him, to take care of him, to follow him. Not because he didn’t want you around. It was the exact opposite. Just the thought of you spending more time traveling with him instead of the insane schedule you’d been keeping over the last year had relief flooding through him. While he was tired from his schedule and the pressure of winning a 5th consecutive world title, he knew you were tired too. There were many times you both went weeks without setting foot in your shared apartment and sometimes you’d go weeks between seeing each other too. 

No, it wasn’t because he didn’t want you around. It was because he didn’t want you to resent him one day down the line that you had given up your career for him. He couldn’t bare the thought of being the cause of any resentment or heartache for you and despite how much he wanted you by his side every possible moment. 

In the end, reason had won out as you had explained that you weren’t taking a break because of him. He was certainly part of it, but like him, you were exhausted. You reminded Max of Brazil last year, how you had slept for so long the day after the race there that Max had postponed your flights home for another week he was so worried about you getting sick. 

You had done a few interviews since the engagement, mostly with people in the motorsport world: Susie and Toto Wolff, Natalie Pinkham, and of course Lewis being your biggest interviews. In addition, you had done some post race interviews and coverage for F1TV, which allowed you to have even more of a reason to be in the paddock week in and week out. You weren’t sure where your podcast was going in the future, but for now, you were content with the schedule and where you were professionally, despite what some of your critics might be whispering. 

All of this works through your mind as Max begins to stir beside you. His eyes blink open eventually and when they do, they immediately find you. “Hi baby.” He whispers, voice rough with sleep. 

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You grin, setting your book down beside you as Max rolls over onto his side, creating some space for you on the oversized lounge chair, beckoning you to join him. 

As you snuggle deeper into his chest, Max slots his thigh between your legs and slips his top arm over your waist, pulling you closer. “You looked deep in thought. Everything okay?” He murmurs before his lips ghost over your cheek. 

“Hmmm, of course. Just thinking about this year and how good it feels to just breathe.” 

Max could tell when you got in one of your thinking moods just by the way your body language shifted. In those few moments between when he had woken up and you had noticed his eyes open, he had watched you staring out over the villa’s lawn. Your shoulders were relaxed, the usual pinch between your brows completely absent and with legs crossed at your ankles as you read your book, you had looked the picture of relaxed. 

“You still feeling okay about tomorrow?” 

Just the thought of what tomorrow would bring made your heart rate pitch up a bit. The first morning after your arrival, you and Max had gone over to the concierge in the main reception building to tell them of your plans for an elopement. They had, of course, been ecstatic and ready to help you in whatever way you wanted. After a few hours of discussion, you had everything planned and the concierge snapped into action. 

“I am…unless you’re not?” It occurs to you that Max has been awfully quiet this morning, a soft reflective mood taking over his usual energetic attitude and suddenly, anxiety pinches in your chest. You desperately search Max’s face for any sign of hesitation or regret, not knowing what you’d do if he suddenly got cold feet before tomorrow. 

Max shakes his head before pulling you even closer, fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hip, covered only by the little string of your bikini that you’ve been living in since you got here. “Lifeje, stop that. You know I would have married you the moment after I proposed to you months ago.” 

Something settles in you at his words, having just needed that little bit of reassurance from him. As hard as you tired and as much as Max made sure to never leave any doubt in your mind that he was all in with you, you sometimes still found your anxiety getting the best of you. Scenarios about how Max was having second thoughts, how he didn’t really want to marry you, how this was all in your head sometimes ran rampant in your head. You were getting better at controlling them, especially after he had proposed but that was the funny thing about anxiety, you couldn’t always control it. 

“I know.” You whisper, fingers trailing up and down his toned arm that was wrapped around you tightly. 

“Anxiety?” It was almost spooky how well Max could read you from just a shift in your tone of voice. All you could do was nod, suddenly feeling silly. Max rolled his hips into yours, pulling your lower half closer. “Do you feel what you do to me?” He asked, pressing his already half hard cock into your center. “Do you feel what you do to me just laying here? All you have to do is look at me and I’m a goner. There isn’t a single second thought in my mind, love.” 

“I’m sorry I’m hard to love sometimes.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as Max lifts your chin so he can have a better look at you. “I’m sorry you have to constantly reassure me despite not giving me any reason to doubt you. I know  it can’t be easy.” 

You had spent most of your adult life being told how difficult you were to love. How hard it was to deal with the constant reassurance you needed when the anxiety crept in, telling you you weren’t good enough. It was unnerving sometimes when Max loved you so easily and effortlessly because how did he find it so easy to do when no one else before him had? 

Max pulls back so he can get a good look in those pretty eyes of yours. It made him rage internally knowing how insecure you were. Not because he faulted you. Oh, absolutely not. He raged at the people that made you feel like you were inferior and hard to love because that was something that he simply didn’t see. Loving you and being with you was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life. 

“I want you to listen to me, okay?” He waits, brows raised, until you nod. “I will gladly spend the rest of my life telling you how much I worship you whenever and however you need or want me to. When I take those vows tomorrow, I mean it with every bit of my soul, schatje. For worse or better, you’re mine and I’m yours from tomorrow on, okay? You are not hard to love and I am so lucky I get the privilege of telling you every single day how much I love you.” 

Your mind settles a bit at his words as you let the sensation of having Max so close to you wash over your anxious nerves. “How did I get so lucky to have you?” 

“Oh, sweet girl it’s not you that’s lucky.” Max leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips as you sigh into him. “I’m the lucky one that somehow coincided you to love me back.” 

There were only two people in your lives besides you and Max that knew what you two were really doing in Mexico. GP because Max was physically incapable of keeping anything from his race engineer and your assistant Shannon. GP had called Max out on his sudden change in demeanor in Italy after the decision to elope had been made, asking Max what had happened in the previous 12 hours to make him not so grumpy when he showed up to the track that morning. Max being a terrible liar when it came to GP had been unable to think quick enough to come up with an excuse and when he had simply looked at GP with a deer in the headlights look, he had fessed up and spilled the beans. When you had found out that Max had told GP you had sworn the race engineer to total secrecy, telling him you’d cut off a very important body part of his if it got leaked. 

Shannon was the other person that knew and it was only because you had needed help with choosing and figuring out how to sneakily order, tailor, and pack a wedding gown without anyone getting wind of it. You knew if the paparazzi had caught sight of you leaving a bridal boutique with a dress in hand nearly a year before you had told everyone else that you were planning on getting married, people would talk. So, with Max’s approval, you had enlisted the help of your personal assistant who had honestly turned into one of your closest friends over the time that she had worked with you.

 It had been Shannon that helped you choose the dress that you wore the morning you married Max, the white lace clinging to every curve and valley of your body. It was just going to be the two of you, the officiant, and the photographer there and the utter quiet and simplicity of getting ready in complete silence and peace was something you would cherish for the rest of your life. Max had left the villa about an hour ago, telling you he had a few errands to run before the officiant would turn up for the ceremony. What kind of errands could he be doing in the middle of a luxury resort in the middle of the Mexican jungle, you had no idea but you hadn’t asked any questions because you wanted the time alone to get ready. 

You’re just slipping on the second thin strap up over your shoulder when there’s a knock at the villa door moments before it swings open. Max comes bustling in, wearing the khaki pants and white linen shirt you had chosen for the beach nuptials. He’s got a fresh haircut and shaved face, his bright blue eyes looking for you the moment he walks in the door. In his hand dangles a little black bag with silver ties that doesn’t look big enough to hold much more than a small box or two. 

“Lifeje, where are -” Max stops in his tracks when you round the corner out of the bedroom and he sees you for the first time. His hand goes straight to his sternum, rubbing at the place that is suddenly aching at the mere sight of you. He had thought he’d been prepared to see you in your wedding dress but what he saw in front of him made every coherent thought tumble right out of his head. If he had thought you were the prettiest woman he’d ever seen before, seeing you standing there before him in the white lace dress with it’s plunging neckline and fabric clinging to your every curve, just confirmed that he was the luckiest person in the entire world. “Christ.” He whispers, unable to move from the spot he’s rooted to. 

You let out a little uncertain giggle, tucking a piece of hair that you had left out of the sleek low bun you had styled your hair in for the day behind your ear. “Do I look okay?” 

Max finds the ability to move then, crossing the room in just a few strides, suddenly needing nothing more than to touch you. He had to know what that lace felt like under his fingers, had to know if your skin looked as radiant up close as it did when he had first walked into the villa. 

“I am so glad I wrote my vows down because there is no way I’m remembering anything while I look at you.” He croaks, voice becoming totally unreliable with emotion just seeing you dressed like this solely for him brings up. “I’ve never seen anyone more beautiful in my entire life, schatje. ” 

And it was the truth. Max had never seen anyone as gorgeous as you were standing there in that white dress, veil tucked into the top of your bun so it cascaded down over your shoulders. The dress pools at your feet and dips low in the back, showing off the tanned and toned body you work so hard for. At your ears wink the diamonds Max had gotten you for Christmas just a week earlier. A diamond and sapphire necklace set in platinum sits at your throat, also a gift from Max for your one year anniversary earlier in the year. Seeing you wearing the jewels that he’s bought for you does something to Max, a possessive streak proudly zipping through him at the thought of you dripping in expensive baubles that he’s bought you. 

“What’s in the bag?” You ask as Max settles his hands low on your hips, still checking you out with absolutely no shame whatsoever. 

He seems to remember that there’s something else in the room other than you then, holding the bag out to you with a sly grin on his face. “I know we said our wedding bands were going to be our presents to each other but I saw this the other day when we were out shopping in that little jewelry store and had to go back to get it.” 

You raise a brow but know better than to argue about Max spoiling you. It’s a lost cause at this point and you settled for just accepting the pretty things he liked to give you simply because he loved seeing you in them a long time ago. You take the bag from his hands and reaching in, you pull out a long, slender velvet box. 

When you open the box, you barely stifle a gasp at the delicate bracelet sitting on the black satin. It’s the diamond and pearl tennis bracelet set in platinum that you had casually looked at yesterday when you and Max had gone into town to do some shopping and had mentioned in an off handed comment that you had liked how the pearls and diamonds worked so well together, although you had ultimately decided not to get it because of the price tag and the fact that you thought you’d never have anywhere to wear it. 

“Max.” You whisper, gaze darting up from the box to Max’s own eager look. “It’s…it’s so pretty I don’t have the words. You spoil me.” 

“And I’m going to continue to spoil you for the rest of our lives, lifeje. Now, can I put it on you so you can be dripping in diamonds for our wedding day, please?” 

You laugh a little, somehow unsure of how you got this lucky to be here in Mexico marrying the man that literally worships the ground you walk on. 

“Now, I understand that you both have written your vows for each other. Max, would you like to go first?” 

Later that afternoon, the two of you stand barefoot on the beach, a gentle breeze teasing the veil at the back of your head, while the officiant the hotel recommended stands before you. The atmosphere could not be more perfect. The sun hangs low in the sky, sunset just an hour or two away so the golden rays cascade over you and Max. Behind you, the photographer you hired snaps discreetly away. The fact that it’s just the four of you on the beach witnessing this could not have been more perfect. 

Max stands opposite you, large hands swallowing your smaller ones, and takes a deep breath. You can see the emotion playing plainly on his face and know he’s going to have a hard time getting through these words. For the outside world, Max Verstappen is a hardened competitor that takes no shit and will do anything to win. But here? On the beach with just you and 2 others as he professes his love and adoration to you, he’s as soft as kitten and almost more emotional than you are. 

He couldn’t have been happier at his decision to write down the words to his vows because the emotions that swirled in him then, as he stands there looking at you in your wedding dress is so overwhelming he can barely put together a coherent thought. Here he was, the man that has won five world championships and zips around a race track at 200 miles per hour regularly, completely unable to speak he’s so happy. 

The paper is a bit crumpled when he pulls it out of the pocket of his khakis but it’s fine all the same. He clears his throat nervously and then begins. “When Melissa suggested I go on your podcast, she said it would be an amazing PR opportunity for me. I think I told her no five times but on that sixth time, I agreed because GP said he thought I’d like you and then he sent me that interview. And then I walked into that studio on that cold, rainy April and have never thanked GP and Melissa so fast. That first time I saw you, I felt my entire world shift beneath my feet. Having the childhood I did ruined the idea of love for me for most of my life but the moment you waltzed into my life, schatje, I knew that you were going to show me how wrong I’d been. I love you endlessly and will forever be thankful that you’ve shown me what the meaning of real, true, unconditional love is.” Max takes a breath, swiping at an errant tear that falls down his cheek. 

Across from him, you grip at his hands, desperately trying to commit this entire moment to memory. You’re endlessly glad you both had written your vows so you’d be able to look back and remember what was said today on this beach. 

“I promise to love, honor, cherish, and spoil you,” He pauses when you chuckle and roll your eyes, but just squeezes your hand before continuing on. “Whatever you need, you’ll have. Whatever you want, it’s yours. I promise to spend the rest of my life making sure you never want for anything ever again, both material wants but also emotional wants. You are my number one priority from here on out and I vow to never ever stop living up to these promises. I never believed in soulmates until I saw you for the first time and words can’t accurately describe how much I love you. Having the title of your husband is worth a million and one world champion titles and I promise to spend the rest of my days proving that to you.” 

The emotions ripple over you as Max concludes his vows. The officiant turns to you, dipping his head to let you know it’s now your turn. Max squeezes your hands together and you drown in the watercolor blue eyes looking back at you for a moment. 

“I stopped believing in soulmates a long time ago. That is until you walked into that recording studio and looked at me like you’d known me for our entire lives. I tried so hard not to get ahead of myself for so long, but it was that first time you flew me down to Miami two weeks after meeting you that I knew. I knew that you were it for me, that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. We’ve been through so much in such a short time and I know there are so many people that are going to think we’re criminally insane for doing this. But it’s nearly impossible to put into words what you’ve done to my soul in such a short time, Max. I know it’s beyond cliche but you’ve altered who I am at my very core. I’ve never been with someone so unwaveringly supportive of everything that I am and everything that I do.” You draw in a shaky breath then, needing a moment before you can make the rest of your words materialize. 

“I promise to love you so unconditionally and strongly for the rest of my life. I promise to be by your side during the highs and lows of your career, on and off the track. The life we live is so fast and so difficult sometimes but just knowing that you’re on the other side of that plane ride, waiting for me to come home to you, makes everything we do worth it. I promise to give you whatever you need no matter how difficult it may be. You are my life now and I will spend the rest of my life showing up for you. Soulmates are real and you’re mine. I’m so thankful that I found you, Max. I love you.” 

A quiet settles between you and Max then, the vows cementing the bond you’ve been building since that first day in the recording studio. The officiant and photographer seem to sense it too, their soft smiles playing on their lips as they give the vows that were just exchanged a chance to sink in for each of you. 

Rings are exchanged and before you’re able to get a handle on things, the officiant declares you and Max husband and wife. The feeling of sheer relief and excitement washes over both you and Max as you’re told to seal the vows with a kiss. And what a kiss it is. Max pours his entire soul into the first kiss he shares with you as your husband. Everything he said in his vows being repeated by the way his lips cover yours, working over your mouth in such a way that has your knees buckling. 

“I love you so much, wife.” Max murmurs against your lips just before breaking the first of many kisses between husband and wife. 

maxverstappen1 posted

1,309,292 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, assistant shannon, and others maxverstappen1 she's stuck with me forever now danielricciardo EXCUSE ME BUT WHAT THE FUCK user028 did they ELOPE??? Without telling ANYONE??? OH MY GOD??? HELLO??? user448 somehow, this feels very on brand for the both of them >>>user432 i was just thinking the same thing. charlesleclerc I'm sorry, WHAT??? yourpersonalinsta love you, husband >>>user0299 oh my god, i cannot be normal about this landonorris kinda heartbroken I didn't get to be the flower boy, ngl >>>user998 this is such a lando comment oscarpiastri wow! didn't even know you were engaged! congrats. man! >>>user332 why is this the most Oscar Piastri comment I've ever read??? >>>user948 HAHA OSCAR

yourpersonalinsta posted

1,029,398 likes liked by yourdad, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta wife>>>fiance user0298 the HAND PLACEMENT in that last photo. Max, my maaaan. user918 they eloped and didn't tell a single soul. i fucking love this so hard. kikagomes OH. MY. GOD. Congratulations gorgeous girl!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta love you pretty girl! user8892 my man wins his 5th world championship and then gets married in secret, max is winning at life rn assistantshannon so happy for you boss lady. you and max deserve the world. love you!!! >>>yourpersonalinsa so thankful i had your help with this, sweet girl. user827 are we just going to ignore the TATTOO on Max's wrist??? HER??? >>>user0291 oh my god oh my god

tag list: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland

[natalievoncatte]

Kara heard a distinctive hollow pop as she approached Lena’s apartment. The doorman had been gracious enough to let her up, informing her that Miss Luthor was expecting her. She knocked on the door and listened intently. The soft clink of a bottle being set on a table and rather gentle passing of Lena’s feet on the hardwood floor. Kara resisted the urge to peer through the door.

When it swung in, she wished she’d had the chance to prepare herself. Lena was visibly distraught, eyes red rimmed from crying and cheeks puffy. She was dressed down in a a sweater and leggings, and couldn’t meet Kara’s gaze with her own.

It hurt. Seeing her like this physically hurt, gouging a dull ache into her chest. Her first instinct was to reach out and scoop the smaller woman into a tight hug, make her safe, to wall her in with her arms. Kara fought it down and sighed.

“You… don’t look so good.”

“Come in,” Lena said, her voice soft and flat. “If you want to hang out with a monster, that is.”

Lena turned and trudged back into the apartment as if she was walking to the gallows. She fell back into the couch and grabbed the wine bottle from the table, long since having abandoned the pretext of glasses.

“You’re not a monster, Lena.”

She stared at the bottle and took a long pull from it, the wine sloshing around the bottom.

“Yeah I am. You ever watch Godzilla movies?”

Kara blinked. “What?”

“Godzilla. Giant radioactive lizard.”

“Of course.”

Lena snorted a bitter laugh. “Monsters are born too large, too strong, too tall. That is their tragedy. Or something like that. Director of the movie said it. That’s me. I’m not trying to hurt anyone, it’s just in my blood. It’s who I am and I’ll never escape it.”

“That’s not true,” Lena said, softly.

She looked around the apartment, shocked to find dishes piled in the sink and two more empty wine bottles lined up on the kitchen island.

Kara quickly moved to the couch. Lena offered no resistance as Kara took the bottle. Lena stared as Kara took a long, glugging pull.

“There. Now you’re not drinking alone.”

Lena smiled weakly. Kara didn’t mind the taste of the wine but as far as getting her drunk, it was like pouring it down the drain. If she could keep Lena from alcohol poisoning, it was worth it. Kara felt a tug in her chest. Lena looked so soft, her big eyes wet with tears.

“I only wanted to help.”

“You did, Lena. You saved the world.”

“Children, Kara. Sick kids, dying because of me.”

“That’s not true, Lena. Edge is cooking the data, you know that. We’re going to clear your name and I’m going to help.”

“I’m so tired, Kara. My own brother tries to murder me once a week because I won’t help him try to take over the world. I keep getting kidnapped by my insane family and aliens and God knows who else and I’m tired. That woman today almost killed me. One of these times there won’t be someone to jump in front of the bullet and it’ll be my time.”

“That won’t happen.”

Lena shook her head, failing to fight back the tears. “I’m so tired of being everyone’s monster.”

“You’re not a monster to me, Lena. You are so good. You work so hard and care so much, and people don’t even know about your work at the children’s hospital, the reading to the kids. You’re a saint.”

Lena looked at her sharply. “How did you know about that?”

Kara thought, FUCK.

She fiddled with her glasses, knowing it was a tell.

“I um, well I am a reporter. I won’t tell anyone, I know you don’t want publicity.”

“Kara, I’m confused. I put a lot of effort into making sure no one knows I do that, so the kids don’t have to deal with the bullshit my life brings. Have you been following me?”

Kara licked her lips.

Just holding back the truth isn’t make it a lie, did it?

“More like keeping tabs, just to… keep you safe. To watch your back.”

Lena looked horrified. Kara’s chest seized and she thought for a moment that she’d gone too far.

“Kara, I don’t want you doing that. If Edge or my brother come after me and you’re in the way, they’ll kill you. You can’t risk that, you don’t deserve it.”

Lena grabbed her hands. “Listen to me, Kara. I have a target on my back. I have a price on my head. Sooner or later my number is going to be up and I’d rather die than have you be the one to catch the bullet. I just want you to be okay.”

“They won’t get you.”

Lena pressed her eyes shut and choked back a sob. “Yeah, they will. I’m living on borrowed time. It’s just a matter of the odds, in the end. Next time James won’t be there to take a bullet for me and Supergirl will be too busy and I’ll just be another monster on obituary page until-“

“Stop it!” Kara barked, shocked at the sharp snap of her own voice. “Stop it. I won’t let them.”

Lena’s eyes snapped open and she stared at Kara, more than a little shocked. Her hands tensed, closing tightly around Kara’s.

“Don’t put that on yourself. I’m not you’re responsibly and I don’t want you risking your life for me. It’s just not worth it.”

“You are worth it,” Kara insisted, shaking her hands a little as she leaned in. “You are, and I won’t accept that you’re not.”

“I love that you believe in me so much.”

Kara’s heart did a backflip. Love? She loved it? Lena was looking at her with such a softness in her eyes, and Kara scolded herself that she was drunk, that she might say things she didn’t intend or didn’t want to slip out.

“But,” Lena said, “you’re just one person, you can’t save me from this.”

Kara’s jaw set as she bit down on this pressure growing inside her, as if something had taken root in her chest and grown and grown inside until it made her ribs creak and her heart ache and it would split her open if she didn’t let it out.

She wasn’t drunk. She was lucid, clearheaded, but Lena was gazing into her soul with tear-filled eyes and she looked so small and vulnerable and resigned, like she was just waiting for her turn at the headsman’s axe.

Kara couldn’t take it. She couldn’t fucking take it, and the words came so easily she scarcely knew how she’d held it in for so long.

“I can protect you, Lena. I’m Supergirl. I can do anything.”

Lena’s soft expression twisted into a scowl.

“Bad time for a joke, Kara.”

Tenderly, as gently as she could, Kara guided Lena’s hand to her glasses.

“Go ahead.”

Lena hesitated, chewing her lip, eyes flicking strangely, gaze surveying Kara’s face- looking at her eyes, her scar, and in a way that pulled at Kara’s heart, her lips.

Slowly, carefully, Lena pulled the glasses free, visibly surprised by their weight.

“They’re lined with lead. It helps with sensory overload.”

Lena raised her now shaking hand and her thumb grazed Kara’s ear as she reached back to unclasp the clip holding Kara’s hair, allowing honeyed tresses to spill free across her shoulders and down her back.

“Look at me, Lena.”

Lena looked. Her expression flickered from pained annoyance to shock to something Kara couldn’t quite identify.

“You lied to me,” Lena whispered.

Kara bit back some lame excuse, like I never said I wasn’t Supergirl.

“I did, and I’m sorry. If this means your feelings about me have changed, that’s okay, but I won’t stop protecting you. I won’t let Morgan Edge or your brother or anyone hurt you. Never you.”

Kara’s jaw trembled as she spoke and her heart was racing.

Lena’s was doing the same, beating too fast in her chest. Kara carefully put her hands on Lena’s shoulders.

“Easy,” she said. “I know this is a shock.”

“When you caught me after… when you saved me from Lillian… when you… the helicopter… that was you?”

“Always, Lena. I’ll never let you fall.”

“Kara?” Lena whispered.

She was staring, but rather than meet Kara’s gaze, she was looking lower, eyes fixed on Kara’s lips. Kara’s gut did a backflip at the way Lena was looking at her, mouth slightly parted, flushed, her heart racing.

If Kara was human, she might pick up on those things, or she might not. She might be confused or briefly wonder if Lena was really looking at her the way it seemed she was.

Kara Danvers was not human. She could look up and see particles dancing across the atmosphere in hues for which humans had no names because their eyes were blinded to them. She could hear the rapid beating of Lena’s heart and see the heat blooming on her skin and taste on her tongue the tangy, pleasant musk of the pheromones Lena was emitting, and she could do it all so fast that her mind processed it so quickly that it could barely be measured. When Lena began to lean towards her, she watched it happen in curious slow motion.

When Lena kissed her, it was an explosion of sensation. Not just the soft warmth of her lips but her scent, her real scent breath the perfumes and sharp tang of wine smell, the pure scent of Lena herself. The soft sigh that broke from Lena’s lips was a symphony, and Lena’s hands on Kara’s flanks was like a blast of firecrackers running under her skin to ignite a sudden flare of warmth low in her hips.

Lena was kissing her. Kara was kissing her back, consuming every aspect of the contact in perfect detail, burning it into her solar-powered Kryptonian mind where it would live in perfect detail for the rest of forever.

She gently, oh so gently, pushed Lena back.

“Lena, stop.”

“Oh,” Lena murmured, her face falling. “I didn’t… I’m sorry… I thought… I misread…”

“No, no Lena it’s not that I promise, you’re drunk. You’ve had too much to drink and I can’t let you do anything while you’re like this, I couldn’t take it if you wake up tomorrow and…”

Lena blinked back tears.

“Oh my God. You really are a superhero, aren’t you?”

“I’m just being decent.”

Lena smiled sadly. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well, you’ve got me, Lena. You’re not getting rid of me.”

Lena actually laughed, a bitter little chuckle that made her look away in embarrassment.

“I can imagine Lex seething if he found out about this.”

“Alex is going to kill me.”

Lena giggled. “Oh my God.”

“What, um, what is this, exactly?” said Kara, her voice cracking with tension. “I mean, you kissed me.”

“I did,” Lena said, guarded. “I’ve wanted to for so long. How does the saying go? In vino, veritas?”

“In wine there is truth,” said Kara.

“Yeah.”

“Lena, we’re going to get through this, I promise, and I will always protect you. Always. Right now I need to protect you from the hangover you’re going to have tomorrow. I’m putting you to bed, and I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t have to, but I need to know you’re safe, and you can’t get any safer than Supergirl crashing on your couch.”

Lena blurted, “I could have her in my bed.”

Kara thought her soul might leave her body.

“Not when you’ve had this much to drink.”

“God, you are amazing,” Lena sighed.

Kara nodded. “If you say so.”

It took a while for Kara to actually get Lena into her bed. Lena was suddenly taken with an extreme tiredness and Kara let her lean on her as they walked down the hall, fighting the urge singing in her veins, demanding that she pick her up and just carry her.

She may have been Supergirl, but even she had limits.

Once Lena was curled up in blankets and safe, Kara puttered around the apartment, doing the dishes, cleaning a little before she fell back on the expansive sofa to sleep.

When the warm morning sun woke her, she sat up and found Lena staring at her.

“I didn’t dream that. You’re really here.”

Kara rose from the couch and approached her tentatively.

“Yeah. I’m really here. Lena, if you’re angry with me because…”

Lena cut her off, darting forward to plant a soft kiss right on her lips. Kara froze as her brain essentially rebooted.

“Oh,” said Kara.

Lena smiled softly. She still looked bedraggled and had clearly been crying, but the smirk on her lips was everything.

[sillyuin]

hi <3! was wondering if i can get svt reaction to yn being completely oblivious to them flirting with her? subtle things like while she’s just ranting about her day they’d move closer to her and she’d absentmindedly put her hand on their chest to push them away still running her mouth, just completely unaware of what’s happening. and even the most obvious things like compliments or physical touch, yn is blind to it and it’s so frustrating to them

so yeah, hope you see this! ❤️

Hi! I'm sorry for being so late 😭 i've been very busy with job and housework, but it's finally here.

Svt reacts: Flirting vs clueless s/o. Who will win?

Yuin's note: barely proofread. I'ts 1 am and I'm tired.

Seungcheol. Staring at your face.

I mean, he likes to just stare at you as if he's watching the prettiest person in the world, but when Seungcheol wants to be especially flirty, he stares at you fondly and smiling with the whole intention to make your heart skip a beat, he even glances at your lips, as if he were trying to say something. Most of the time that's enough to make you really, really shy but when is not... Geez, he has to breathe in and ends up pouting a little (Probably one or two pecks will make him feel better).

Jeonghan. Teasing.

Is like his default love language, making harmless jokes to see you flustered all over him is just so fun to watch. But, is he really just trying to be a teaser, or is there something else behind? "I took the chair, but you can sit on my lap" he said one day, sitting at your desktop, with the most mischievous smile possible. But you didn't fall for his charm and as you kept your annoyed face, he stood up and sighed "Okay, all yours". And you better be ready because he's not forgetting so easy, and will keep teasing you just a little (yeah, a little) more than usual.

Joshua. Back hugging.

When Joshua wants your attention only and only for him, he goes where you are to hug you from the back, resting his chin on your shoulders and crossing his arms around your waist. Oh, he loves it so much is so tender, but he gets lowkey hurt when you don't react in any way because, how come you don't realize his intentions? Is really doing the dishes way more important than his warm hugs? Now, this is personal and Joshua won’t let you go, take it as a punishment for being so clueless (reward or punishment?).

Jun. Tickles.

For him, tickles is the perfect excuse to be closer to you. It's so obvious that hurts lol. Most of the time you melt in his touch, and you both end up laughing and sharing some kisses, but sometimes you're minding your business, too busy to realize that Jun wants to get your attention. Better get ready because you'll have a pouty little cat going around the apartment, and will NOT forget your offense unless you give him extra cuddles before bed.

Hoshi. Random "facts".

At the least appropriate time, he would come to find you. "Did you know that there is a minimum number of kisses that a person should receive per day to be healthy?" he says with a very serious expression on his face. And there you are, standing in the middle of the living room while you're brushing your teeth; your soulless expression says all. Hoshi turns around and pretends nothing happened, but in his mind, he's sitting in the corner staring at the walls.

Wonwoo. Making compliments out of nowhere.

He likes to pour you with sweet words, like how much he appreciates your homemade food, or that you did it great at work. From time to time, he thinks is fun to be a little sassy and his praises are very, very intentional. “New gloss?” he says, grinning at you “It looks good” and for some frigging reason you just start talking about how you got it? Babe, Wonu doesn’t care that much that you bought it because your favorite gloss wasn’t on stock, but now he feels a little shy to speak and just lets you tell the whole story.

Woozi. Playing with your hair.

When it comes to be openly flirty, Woozi tends to be a little coy. You rarely notice it since it's very common for him to be around you, caressing your hair and playing with the strands in complete silence. So when you get distracted he places a strand behind your ear, exposing your neck. But when he's so close to place a kiss, you jump like a scared kitten. "No! It tickles!" Woozi looks down, defeated, as you move away. "Sorry, be right back" and he locks himself in his room for the next hour.

Minghao. Holding your hand.

He thinks your hands are more than just pretty. Hao likes to take one of them when you're sitting by his side, scrolling on your phone or watching TV. He's so subtle that most of the times you don't feel how he traces your hand with his fingers and when you realize, it’s because your hands are intertwined and he’s holding his laughter. “How low you’ve been like this?” but Minghao just giggles. You end up doing the same and then resume your activity, letting him laughing low in embarrassment and biting his lips as a sign of frustration.

Mingyu. Resting on your lap.

He's very straightforward when it comes to flirting with you. Mingyu likes to wait patiently for you to sit on the couch or the bed and then he goes, at first making some (pretty obvious) questions "What are you doing?" "Is that a new book?" and as you're talking, his hands rest on your thigh, gently stroking your skin with his thumb, but you're so immerse in the topic and he goes completely unnoticed... And before you even notice, there's a flustered Mingyu resting his head on your lap, tracing small circles on your thigh as if he had been punished.

Dokyeom. Taking photos.

He already has a folder with your name and an unhealthy number of photos; Seokmin just never gets tired, you're so used to it that most of the time don't realize that he's actually trying to hit on you. "Just let me take a picture, you look so beautiful today!" And after giving him an awkward smile, you're getting back to your stuff.  Seokmin is a bit disappointed but with a bunch of new photos of his precious person, so is not that bad (at least is what he says to himself trying to not lose his mind).

Seungkwan. Scolding.

I know, it may sound like a bit harsh but when he's scolding you, Seungkwan tries to make it as tender as possible, it doesn't feel like scolding and actually, he uses this as a cheap excuse to be extra lovely. "Don't sleep too late, you're getting dark circles" he says in a soft voice while caressing your checks "you're too pretty for that, don't you think?". He waits for you to take the bait and when you laugh on him, saying that he's being a little dramatic, Seungkwan doesn't hide his disappointment. "Okay, keep watching your series" he says getting up from the couch "but don't you dare to complain later!"

Vernon. Placing his arm on your shoulders.

A classic that never dies and his favorite, Vernon likes to do it all the time: when watching movies, chatting, watching videos together; is a like a very subtle invitation to get closer to him, and somehow, most of the time you’re just minding your business and leave him waiting for you to notice. And yeah, he’s very patient, but everything has a limit. "Come here, babe" then he places his hand on your shoulder and brings you closer to his chest. And don't you dare to move, because there's no way he let you go now.

Dino. Calling your name.

Usually, he calls you by pet names or your name in diminutive, reserving the use of your name for special occasions. However, it doesn't always end the way he expected. “Did I do something wrong?” you ask him just after he called you by your name, and when Chan sees your big doe eyes, his smile fades. “Is just that… I feel like you’re mad at me”. At this point his intentions doesn’t matter anymore, he just hugs you and tries not cry in his disappointment.

[soleilapproves]

you condition your roommate, Gojo Satoru, into expecting a forehead kiss every time he leaves for work.

Notes: gender neutral reader

masterlist (tumblr isn’t letting me paste the link </3)

It all started on a Monday morning.

You had read about classical conditioning the night before- when a stimulus is linked to an action that is done routinely. You were feeling cheeky so you decided to test it out on your roommate who you knew had been trying to ask you out for the longest time.

You’ve been waiting for him to explicitly say how he feels but he’s chickened out way too many times. So as revenge, you played mind games with him. You’d be lying if you said that it wasn’t satisfying to see his shocked expression.

“Satoru, before you leave-“ you skipped to him before he could grab the door handle, and grabbed his arm to turn him towards you.

“-don’t forget this.” You pulled his tie down and kissed his forehead.

The white haired man’s eyebrows reached high enough to almost touch his hairline. “Wha-“

You pushed him out before he could utter another word. “Bye, you’ll be late!”

Soon after that fateful morning, you’d kiss his forehead before work. It became so ingrained in both your routines that he’d simply walk up to you while you were making breakfast and you’d slip him a quick peck.

You almost conditioned yourself to it too. Whenever Satoru would move his hair away from his forehead, your mind would automatically make you lean in towards him. It confused him the first couple times you did it and then you caught yourself on after that. You were the one playing mind games. Not him.

It had been three weeks of giving him forehead kisses when you decided to stop the action.

Your morning started the same way as it always did- you woke up, showered, made your coffee, and then sat down to eat your breakfast. However, it was the opposite for Satoru. He had slept late the night before and woke up with only fifteen minutes to get ready so to say that the apartment looked like it was hit by a hurricane was an understatement.

You saw a flash of white go towards the fridge as you calmly stirred the berries in your oatmeal. “Huh, I was wondering if you had taken the day off.”

“I didn’t. Manager Yaga gave me some intern’s report last minute and I had to correct the whole thing. I was up until three am.” You felt bad over how he was rushing to spread jam on his toast so you pulled out a tumbler and began to prepare his coffee as he liked it (so sweet that a hypoglycemic person could be cured).

You could see the effects of sleep deprivation on him- tie crooked, bag half-zipped, shirt tucked out of his slacks and of course, crumbs of bread all of his face. The man looked like a walking mess.

You walked him to the door, handing his tumbler over to him and muttering a small ‘goodbye’ as he shoved his feet in his black leather loafers.

You were about to close the door on him when he stopped you. “Did you forget something?” You innocently asked as you leaned your head to the side while folding your arms.

“No, you did.” He haphazardly moved his hair away from the center of his forehead and pointed at it.

“Why are you doing that?” You wanted to laugh at him so bad but you pinched your arm to prevent it. “What do you mean? You always kiss my forehead.”

“Yeah, but I don’t feel like doing it anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to keep doing it?”

“Yes, I’m way too used to it!” You almost jolted at his urgency. The man was clearly yearning for a forehead kiss.

“But why? It’s weird- only couples do something like that. I don’t know why I did it in the first place.”

“Wow, NOW you care if it’s something couples do?”

Gojo sighed and rubbed his temples with his forefinger and thumb. “Look, I’m really late right now and I don’t have time to explain myself. All I’m gonna say is this- you, me, date at seven tonight. And you best believe I won’t be late for that. Now give me my kiss.”

Your face was flushed after his sudden boldness and you quickly leaned in to press your lips against his sweaty forehead (you had worked him up with your little prank). “I’ll be waiting.” You grinned.

And he had walked right into your trap.

Gojo scoffed at you before closing the door with a small slam. You began jumping as soon as he was out of your vision but your celebration was soon stopped when the door opened

“What now?” You groaned.

The man simply pulled you towards him by your elbow and left a sweet kiss on your cheek. “This.”

—

Trust me when I say that playing mind games like this is a lot of fun. My ex situationship can’t listen to Childish Gambino without thinking of me 🙏

[ahqkas]

the night had worn on longer than you expected—one drink after another, endless conversations, and a pounding music that reverberated in your bones. now, as you stumbled through the front door of your apartment, the weight of exhaustion was heavy on your shoulders. your head felt like it was made of lead, your limbs sore, and your mind foggy with the aftereffects of a night that, while fun, had drained every last bit of energy from you. all you wanted was to sink into the comfort of your bed.

you glanced up at JASON TODD, your boyfriend, who was standing a few steps behind you, his brow furrowed in concern. he’d been quiet, observant, as usual, letting you enjoy the night while silently keeping an eye on you for any troubles. but now, the way his gaze softened at the sight of your exhaustion spoke volumes. you knew he was ready to take care of you.

“hey,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper, “let me help you with that.”

you didn’t even need to ask what he meant. he could tell, just from the subtle way you tugged at the edge of your makeup, that you were too tired to deal with it yourself. his eyes softened, and before you could protest, he was already guiding you toward the bathroom.

once you were inside, jason gently pushed the door closed behind him, the dim light from the bathroom casting a warm glow over the space. he leaned against the counter, his green eyes following your every movement. you tried to muster the strength to undress your makeup, but your hands were uncoordinated, your tiredness making the simple task feel impossible. the smudged eyeliner, the lipstick that had begun to fade unevenly—it all felt like too much.

jason noticed your struggle, and without a word, he stepped closer, his presence a comforting weight against the overwhelming fatigue that clung to you.

“let me do it,” he said quietly, his voice soothing. “you don’t have to do a thing.”

his calloused hands, always steady, reached for your face with a tenderness that caught you off guard. you had gotten used to his strength, to his commanding presence when he was on the job, but now, in this quiet moment, you were reminded of the softer side of him. the part of him that wanted nothing more than to take care of you.

his fingers were gentle as they cupped your chin, lifting it just slightly to study your face. he gave you a small, reassuring smile, his thumb brushing across your bottom lip.

“i’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” he murmured before he dipped a cotton pad into the micellar water, pressing it gently to your skin.

you closed your eyes at the first cool sensation against your face, letting out a soft sigh of relief. his movements were soft, each swipe of the cotton pad sweeping away the remnants of the night. slowly, gently, jason worked his way across your face, always careful not to tug at your skin. he started at your eyes, where the mascara had long since smudged, his fingers soft as he carefully wiped away the stubborn eyeliner and mascara, knowing how sensitive that area was. the way he worked with such care made your heart ache a little.

“you’re really good at this,” you murmured, half-amused by how effortless he made it look.

jason chuckled softly, his lips curling into a small smile as he continued to cleanse your face. “i’m with you every single night,” he said, the hint of humor in his voice making the whole situation feel more intimate, more personal than anything else. “i guess i picked up a few tricks.”

you opened your eyes, catching his own. he was staring at you with a look so soft, so filled with affection, that it made your heart swell. you weren’t sure if it was the exhaustion or something deeper, but in that moment, you felt seen. in a way that you hadn’t expected, in a way that was rare. jason had always been there for you—through the highs and the lows, through the good and the bad. but here, now, in the quiet of the bathroom, he was taking care of you in the simplest, most intimate way. and it felt like everything.

“such a pretty girl,” he said quietly, his hands finally pulling away from your face once it was clean and bare of all the smudges.

you were left staring at him with hearts and twinkles in your eyes.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[aquaticmercy]

Portals

Summary : You teach Bucky how to open portals using a sling ring. Turns out, he’s a menace with that thing.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x sorceress!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Lots of fluff. Cursing. Implied sex if you squint. Wong is your bestie. Bucky loves you so much???

Word count : 2.1k

Note : I just keep making fics with superpowered! Reader lol. Enjoy!!!

You first met Bucky a few days after the Battle against Thanos.

You were among the Kamar-Taj sorcerers who had fought against then Mad Titan’s army, and now you found yourself volunteering in the makeshift infirmary set up in upstate New York. It had been running non-stop for three exhausting days, treating the wounded heroes and civilians alike.

Your job wasn’t glamorous, but it was important— mending smaller wounds—cuts, bruises, and the occasional fractured bone—with a bit of magic, leaving the more complex cases to professionals like Christine Palmer and Stephen Strange. Magic was powerful, but it had physical limitations. 

You were wiping your hands clean after finishing a quick healing spell when you spotted him.

Bucky Barnes was standing near the edge of the tent, his long hair brushing his shoulders, looking curiously around the room. Perhaps it reminded him of the infirmaries he was used to finding himself in, back in the 1940s. He wasn’t there for himself, but to accompany Sam Wilson, who was sitting on a cot while Christine examined a nasty gash on his arm, making sure it didn't get infected.

You weren’t sure what drew your attention to him. Maybe it was the way that he stood like he was always ready for battle. Maybe he was just… your type. Either way, you knew you wanted to talk to him.

Besides, you both have been through hell. Maybe a little lighthearted flirting could improve the mood. 

You nudged Strange, who was muttering something under his breath about a ruptured spleen.

“Psst,” you whispered, glancing toward the corner of the tent.

“What?” he grumbled without looking up, clearly a bit annoyed, but also a little amused. He had learned to anticipate your little antics. He would never admit it, but you did make life a little more interesting.

“Introduce me to him.” You tilted your head toward Bucky, trying to sound nonchalant.

Strange finally glanced up, following your line of sight. “Barnes?” His eyebrows rose in surprise, then furrowed. “I barely know him.”

“Do I look like I care?” you shot back, tilting your head in a silent plea. “Please?”

Strange sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was fighting a smile. “Fine,” he said, closing the chart with an exaggerated snap. “but if this distracts you from stitching people back together, I’m putting you on night guard duty for the next week.”

“Thank you,” you shot back with a grin. He waved it off as walked with you toward Bucky.

When you reached him, Strange made the introduction short and sweet. “Barnes, this is our librarian. Apparently, she thinks now’s a good time to meet new people.” He glanced at you, “And she’s very persistent, so you’re stuck now.”

Bucky blinked, clearly surprised, before turning to you with a polite smile. “Hi.”

—

Your first date was a quiet dinner in New York. Your second was a walk through the city, where Bucky told you stories about Brooklyn in the 40s, and you told him how you found yourself studying magic. By the third date, he was making you laugh so hard you spilled iced coffee all over yourself. From then on, you knew you were in too deep.

It wasn’t long until you were sneaking Bucky into Kamar-Taj during your breaks, showing him small, inconsequential tricks with magic, and stealing kisses in the hidden alcoves of the library. 

He had an almost childlike wonder for sorcery, and you couldn’t help but enjoy the way his eyes lit up whenever you showed him something new.

It was romantic. It was thrilling. Until Wong caught the two of you kissing behind a row of ancient texts on chaos magic. 

“Really?” Wong said flatly, arms crossed as you and Bucky hastily pulled apart, “are you both sixteen again?”

“Please don’t tell Strange,” you blurted out, “or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Wong raised an eyebrow. “I’ll consider it,” he replied.

Later, over tea, Wong brought it up again, his tone a bit more curious. “You’re not planning on quitting your job to go be an Avenger with Barnes, are you?” he asked, sipping his chai. “Because I am not taking over as head librarian again. That was the worst three months of my life.”

You snorted into your tea. “Relax, Wong,” you assured him with a laugh. “I actually like my job. You see, unlike some people, I can actually read.”

Wong didn’t even hesitate, flicking you lightly on the forehead with a spark of magic.

—

Being the librarian of Kamar-Taj meant that your schedule was, at best, unpredictable. One moment, you were cataloging ancient tomes; the next, you were stopping a novice from accidentally summoning a fire demon. Bucky understood your responsibilities, but as more magic users went rogue, you started sneaking him in less and less.

One day, when you laid awake in your bed with him on your side, he muttered something about stupid witches and goddamn evil sorcerers, cussing them out for taking you away from him. You could see how much he hated waiting for you to have free time.

So you came up with a brilliant plan. 

“You want me to learn magic?” Bucky’s skeptical voice echoed in the library as you handed him a sling ring.

“Just this one thing,” you said, wrapping your arms around him from behind. “So you can come to me instead of waiting for me to come to you.” 

He raised an eyebrow, half-expecting some trick. “What’s the catch?” 

“The catch,” you said, “is that you actually have to practice.”

It took him a while to get started, to a point where you weren’t sure if he’d even be able to do it at all. 

Sling rings required focus, visualisation, and precision— and Bucky wasn’t exactly used to magical tools. “Maybe I’m just more of a hit-stuff kinda guy,” he grumbled after his fourth failed attempt at opening a portal.

“Focus, babe,” you teased. “Picture where you want to go. Feel it.”

To his credit, he practiced religiously during his visits, and eventually, it clicked. The first time he successfully opened a portal to your exact location, he was so pleased with himself that he barely noticed that he had scared America Chavez in the process.

“Nailed it,” he said, beaming with pride.

What you hadn’t anticipated was how much he’d use it once he got the hang of it. 

The first time he surprised you, you were in the middle of shelving some ancient leather bound books. They held an ancient power, one that could destroy the world if it got into the wrong hands. 

Suddenly, A golden portal shimmered to life in front of you. You yelped as Bucky’s head poked through.

“Hey, doll,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t just scared you half to death.

“Bucky!” you hissed, clutching a fragile book to your chest. “This is a restricted section!”

“I just wanted to see where you’ve been all day,” he shrugged, stepping through the portal.

You glared at him, but the warmth in his eyes meant that you could never stay mad at him. “You’re going to get me in trouble,” you muttered.

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to your temple. “Worth it.”

It turned out, teaching Bucky how to use a sling ring was both the best and worst idea you’d ever had.

One evening, as you were nestled in your quarters, peacefully centering your mind after a long day when a soft whirl manifested behind you. Before you could open your eyes, a pair of strong arms wrapped snugly around your waist.

“Miss me?” Bucky purred in your ear.

You squeaked, nearly toppling the candle flickering in front of you. “James fucking Barnes!” you gasped, twisting to glare at him. Cursing wasn’t really approved in meditation circles, so you hoped none of the pacifist elder sorcerers heard you. 

“What?” he asked, smirking sheepishly.

“You can’t just portal in while I’m meditating!”

Your cheeks flared, but the way his arms stayed wrapped around you made it awfully hard to stay annoyed at him.

Then there was the shower incident.

You were mid-rinse, the hot spray of water melting away the stressful day— Wong had insisted on combat training today, and you had managed to knot every muscle in your upper body. You were blissfully lost in your own little world until you heard the whirl of a portal opening.

“Hey, doll—”

You shrieked, instinct taking over as you manifested a shield and threw the closest thing to you—a slippery bar of soap—and flung it blindly in the intruder’s direction. It landed with a wet thud on Bucky’s chest. 

He stood there, grinning casually, steam curling around him like a halo.

“BUCKY!” you yelled, yanking the shower curtain halfway closed. “What the fuck?!”

“I missed you,” he said, smiling as if he was the poster boy for innocence.

“Close it! Now!” you growled, pointing at the still-open portal as water dripped down your arms.

“Right,” he raised his hands, the portal vanished with a soft hum. He didn’t move from his spot. Instead, he tilted his head, giving you a slow once-over that made heat creep up your neck.

“Can I join you?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You sighed, caught between indignation and... oh, who were you kidding? The sight of your ridiculously gorgeous, super-soldier boyfriend standing there, all smug, was doing dangerous things to your resolve.

Might as well make the most of it, right? Who knows when he’ll get whisked off to a foreign land for a mission again? 

“…yes,” you murmured, barely audible over the pounding of your heartbeat and the cascade of water.

Bucky’s grin turned wicked. Without hesitation, he peeled off his clothes. His broad shoulders came into view, glistening faintly from the steam as he stepped into the shower with a satisfied smile.

One time, he even showed up in the library while Wong was painstakingly rifling through stacks of scrolls in search of a specific one about interdimensional wards.

Bucky had gotten so stealthy with his portals that neither of you noticed him at first—not until he appeared, leaning casually against the edge of a nearby shelf, sporting his usual broody, charming smile.

Wong was startled slightly, his hands freezing mid-air as he glanced at Bucky. Then at you. Then back at Bucky.

“I see you’ve taught him the sling ring,” Wong said dryly, the corners of his mouth twitching, suppressing an amused smile.

“I regret it every single day,” you muttered, glaring playfully at your boyfriend. Bucky, of course, was unfazed. He simply crossed his arms, waiting for you to give him more attention.

“Good to see you too, Wong,” Bucky replied, clearly enjoying causing a scene.

“Barnes,” Wong said, nodding in acknowledgment but already returning to his scrolls with a heavy sigh. The current sorcerer supreme muttered under his breath, “If he knocks over one shelf, you’re fixing it.”

Bucky only shrugged. “Do I look like someone who’d knock over a shelf?”

“Yes,” you and Wong replied in unison.

Tonight, though, the stress had gotten to you more than usual. Strange had shown up with a tentacle monster and tasked you with banishing it to the dark dimension. It took you four scrolls and two hours to get the right spell. 

All you wanted was Bucky—his arms around you, his kisses peppering your face. But as the hours ticked by, your heart sank. He hadn’t shown up like he usually did, and you were beginning to think he wasn’t going to show up at all. 

When you finally pushed open the door to your quarters, you were surprised to find him already there.

An adorable smile played on his lips as he looked up from where he’d been arranging a cosy little corner, piled high with blankets and pillows. He had a bag of your favorite snacks sitting on your bedside table, his laptop was set up to play your favorite movie. 

“Wong called,” he said, “he told me you had a rough day.”

You melted instantly, letting out a tired but grateful sigh as you sank into his arms.

“You’re still a menace with that ring,” you mumbled into his chest, your words muffled by his comfy sweatshirt.

Bucky chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. His fingers brushed your jawline, and with the gentlest touch, he guided your face toward his. The moment his lips met yours, it was as if the world melted away. His kiss was sweet— so full of love that it left you longing for more.

As you curled up together, your head resting on his shoulder, you decided you could definitely put up with a few surprises. After all, he mastered the sling ring just for you.

-end.

[hellfire--cult]

It was your first ever thanksgiving with Eddie, and you sadly had to work the day before and part time on the same day of the festivity. You were completely destroyed you couldn't cook anything at all for Eddie and Wayne, but--

Eddie outdid himself.

He made the turkey the day before, the smell of it filling up your nostrils when you entered your small apartment. The pumpkin pie was ready to be put in the oven the next day where you worked in the morning.

When you came back from work in the afternoon, there were mashed potatoes with gravy on the table as well, a green bean casserole, and the turkey, and Wayne brought in homemade bread and a pumpkin pie for the fridge.

You could almost cry from how amazing Eddie was to you, knowing you would be stressed from work, and going out of his way to get recipes and follow the steps like a soldier. When you chewed on the turkey, your eyes filled with tears from delight, because it was delicious, and emotion, turning to talk to him,

"We could of ordered stuff, you didn't have to do it all alone." And he was confused at your comment but smiled, kissing your shoulder.

"You don't deserve a pizza for Thanksgiving. You deserve this and if I wasn't running out of time, I would of cooked more things for you." Wayne was only rolling his eyes at the sweet filled interaction and you were just looking at your boyfriend with adoration in your eyes.

"Why?"

"Because I love you and like I said, you deserve the best and I will be the one to bring that for you. Now shut up and eat."

Oh, but another feeling surged through you. This man wanted to take care of you, love on you, dote on you, protect you, pamper you, and just make you the happiest person in the world. You looked down at the stuffed turkey on your plate--

You were impatient now. His laughter and his voice when he talked, his mannerisms of giving a squeeze to your hand or your thigh, and you didn't want to be mean but-- You needed Wayne to go. Your love for Eddie was exploding in other ways, keeping it romantic, but you were in need of showing it to him.

So when Wayne finally left, Eddie sighed and started picking the left overs, but you immediately slammed your hands on the table, making him squeal from the scare.

"Sweetheart, what the actual fu--"

"Take off your pants."

The comment echoed throughout the small living room, with the plate of mashed potatoes in his hands while he stared wildly your way. If he squinted enough, he could see your nostrils flaring and probably steam coming out of them.

"What did you say--"

"You fucking heard me. I need to show you how grateful I am or I will lose my goddamn mind." Your voice was coming through your teeth while Eddie was putting down the plate on the table again and he raised his hands at you as if taming a wild animal.

"Baby, you don't need to do anything, it was a pleasure--"

"I swear to god Eddie, I want to suck your dick until you are dehydrated and I want you to stuff me like you did with that fucking turkey. So... Get. Those. Pants. Off."

Who knew you could get rid of pants in 1.2 seconds? Not Eddie.

[sherewrytes]

Plug Kento Nanami

Plug Nanami: Who shows up on time, every time, dressed like he’s on his way to a party or club instead of making a drop-off, with perfectly rolled joints and not a single hair out of place.

Plug Nanami: Who never raises his voice but somehow manages to make you feel like you owe him more than just payment with that low, smooth tone of his.

Plug Nanami: Who refuses to let you short yourself, sliding a little extra into your bag with a soft, "Consider it a bonus for being such a loyal customer."

Plug Nanami: Who texts you after every transaction with, "Everything to your satisfaction?" like he’s taking customer service to a whole new level.

Plug Nanami: Who only ever stays for a quick chat, but the way he adjusts his glasses and lets his eyes linger on you a moment too long makes your heart race.

Plug Nanami: Who once showed up in the middle of a rainstorm, soaking wet but completely unbothered, handing over your pre-rolls with a deadpan, "You’re lucky I prioritize good clients."

Plug Nanami: Who has this effortless dominance about him, the kind that makes you want to do things just to see him smirk in approval.

Plug Nanami: Who caught you once in your oversized sweats and bonnet and still said, "You look good," like it was a fact, not a compliment.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t miss a beat when you flirt with him, offering a small chuckle before responding, "Careful now. I don’t mix business with pleasure… unless you’re willing to change my mind."

Plug Nanami: Who makes it very clear he’s not just your plug but also someone who notices everything, including when you’re stressed or looking run-down. "You need to take care of yourself," he says softly, slipping your favorite chocolate bar into your hand without a word.

Plug Nanami: Who’s always clean-cut, rocking a crisp white tee or a fitted hoodie, gold chain resting against his chest, looking more like a businessman than someone pushing product—but you know better.

Plug Nanami: Who runs his drops like clockwork, his Hellcat pulling up smooth and quiet. He leans out the window with a calm, "You good? Don’t keep me waiting too long."

Plug Nanami: Who surprises you with how he speaks—smooth, deliberate, but with just enough edge to make you sit up and pay attention. "You know I don’t do half measures, ma. You get the best from me, every time."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just drop off the bag—he stays a little longer, leaning against the doorframe with a calm confidence, arms crossed, giving you a look that says he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t deal with nonsense, shutting down any funny business with a sharp, "Don’t play with my time." But with you? He’s always patient, his voice softening when he says, "Take your time. I’m in no rush."

Plug Nanami: Who tells you he doesn’t do freebies but somehow always slides you a little extra. "Just quality control," he smirks, though you know he’s lying.

Plug Nanami: Who keeps his stash on lock, never running out of the best strains, and every time you ask where he gets it, he just chuckles and says, "That’s my secret."

Plug Nanami: Who caught you once buying from someone else and didn’t say a word until his next drop-off. "Whatever they gave you? Trash. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you’re never disappointed again."

Plug Nanami: Who shows up in his car, windows cracked, bass low, smelling like clean cologne and a faint hint of weed. He smirks when he catches you looking. "You like the vibe, huh? I can give you more than just this."

Plug Nanami: Who noticed you peeking at his tattoos one time and rolled up his sleeve just enough to show them off. "Curious, huh? Maybe one day I’ll let you trace them yourself."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you try to flirt too hard, chuckles low and deep, leaning closer to whisper, "You know you’re trouble, right? Keep talking like that, and I might start making house calls for more than just business."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you ask why he pushes product when he clearly doesn’t need to, just shrugs and says, "Sometimes the best things come from unexpected places," before giving you that look that leaves you questioning who’s really in control.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t react when you tease him about being too refined for this game. Instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping. "Don’t let my look fool you, baby. I know exactly what I’m doing—and I know you love it."

Plug Nanami: Who caught you at a party once, surrounded by people you didn’t know, looking out of place. He walked right up to you, slid his arm around your waist, and whispered, "You good? Or you need me to remind you where you belong?"

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t hesitate to pull you aside when someone else tries to step to you, his tone cool but firm. "She’s with me. Don’t make me repeat myself."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you’re standing at the door in nothing but booty shorts and a cropped hoodie, doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sweep over you, his voice steady but rough. "You knew I was coming, and this is how you answer the door? You trying to start something, Y/N?"

Plug Nanami: Who stays calm when you playfully call him "Mr. Businessman," but steps closer, his broad shoulders towering over you as he murmurs, "Keep testing me, and I’ll show you just how serious I can be."

Plug Nanami: Who has this habit of brushing his fingers against yours when handing over your bag, just to see you react. And when you hesitate, he smirks. "What? You shy now? You weren’t shy last week when you were talking crazy to me."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you ask for recommendations, takes his time explaining the strains, his voice low and intimate like he’s telling you secrets no one else gets to hear. "This one’s for relaxing. But this one? This will have you feeling nice and warm. Could even help you sleep... if you’re alone."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t hide his jealousy when he spots you dancing with some random dude at the club again. He doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. One hard look from across the room, and he has you second-guessing every move.

Plug Nanami: Who waits for you by the bar, calm but commanding, sipping his drink like he owns the place. When you finally approach him, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Was that supposed to make me jealous? 'Cause all it did was remind me who you’re really coming home to."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just say things to say them—when he tells you, "You’re mine," he says it with a quiet intensity that makes your heart race, his hand resting lightly on your waist like a promise.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t let you forget who’s in control. When you try to test him, he tilts his head, studying you with those sharp eyes before muttering, "Careful, Y/N. You don’t want to see what happens when I lose my patience."

Plug Nanami: Who, when he finally breaks that calm exterior, has you pinned against the couch, his hands firm on your thighs. His voice drops an octave as he says, "You think you can tease me and get away with it? Let me show you how wrong you are."

Plug Nanami: Who has you breathless by the time he’s done with you, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers, "Next time, don’t make me wait. You know I’m not good at sharing."

Plug Nanami: Who, even after all that, stays to clean up and roll another joint for you, his demeanor back to calm and collected as if nothing happened. He hands it to you with a small smirk. "Don’t say I never take care of you, ma."

Plug Nanami: Who always makes you feel special, even in the smallest ways—like when he leaves your place, pressing a kiss to your forehead before saying, "Stay out of trouble. I’ll be back when you need me."

Plug Nanami: Who, despite his smooth and professional vibe, lets his street-smart edge show when it matters. Like when he rolls up late at night after you text him about some dude getting too friendly at the bar. He leans against his car, arms crossed, his tone deadly calm. "You good? Or you need me to handle something?"

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t flinch when you ask why he’s so quiet during his drops. Instead, he gives you a slow, knowing smirk. "Why talk when I can let my actions speak for me? You like what I bring, don’t you?"

Plug Nanami: Who, after spotting you dancing with another guy at the club when your out with your friends one night, waits for you outside like he’s completely unbothered. But the second you walk up to him; his voice is sharp. "Next time you feel like playing games, make sure I’m the one who gets to win."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you tease him for his clean-cut image, throws it right back. "Don’t get it twisted, Y/N. Just because I dress like this doesn’t mean I can’t get dirty when I need to."

Plug Nanami: Who finally snaps one night after you keep pushing his buttons, pinning you against the wall, his lips grazing your ear as he growls, "You like testing me, huh? Let me show you why that’s a bad idea."

Plug Nanami: Who keeps his car spotless, but when you ride with him, lets you kick off your shoes and play your music, saying, "Don’t get used to this. You’re lucky I like you."

Plug Nanami: Who always gives you the best quality, but one night, he surprises you with a strain he says is "special order." When you ask why he’s letting you try it first, he shrugs casually. "Because I know you appreciate the finer things. Just like me."

Plug Nanami: Who never loses his cool but lets his territorial side show in subtle ways. Like the way he casually slips his arm around your waist when you’re out, his grip firm enough to make anyone watching back off.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just drop off weed—he becomes the only person you trust with your stash because everything he does is handled with precision. "You’re too good for anything less than perfect, Y/N," he says, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that makes you forget to breathe.

Plug Nanami: Who stays just long enough to remind you why he’s different. He doesn’t just pass the bag; he holds your gaze and leans in close, his voice low and deliberate. "Anything else you need tonight? You know I got you."

Plug Nanami: Who, after you’ve pushed him to his limit, leaves you breathless and spent, only to calmly adjust his hoodie and smirk down at you. "See? Told you not to test me."

Plug Nanami: Who, as he’s leaving, tosses a wrapped pre-roll on your table with a smirk. "That one’s on me. Thought you might need it after… all that.I'll be back later. I got another drop off"

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (2)

posted originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Amelia Scott-Higgins was a person a lot of people looked up too. The winner of the 2019 Ballon d’Or who was just 21 at the time. She was an inspiration on and off the field, so you can imagine everyone’s shock when she disappeared. Only a few know the gruesome details of her injuries, and those happen to be Barcelona players Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh. Alexia Putellas had always admired her, as a person and a player. 

“Do you think we could convince her to join us? We need a striker and she is the best!” Jana excitedly said to Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid as they walked into the locker room. 

“No, she was the best. Past tense.” Ingrid said. 

“Ale you could totally convince her! You guys were friends no?” Jana’s words were loud through the quiet locker room. 

“Who are you convincing?” The English accent through the Spanish was still very clear to this day and unmistakably came from Lucy. 

“Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s living in Barcelona and Ale used to be her friend! We need her Luce!” 

“No. Understand what I am about to say. No one here is to contact Milly and ask her to play. No one is to ask her to come to a game or to hang out. She has been through enough and you will all leave her the hell alone.” Keira spoke extremely firmly. No one has heard her talk like that before. 

“Kei, come on they don’t know.” 

“That’s exactly right Lucy. They don’t know. You all think she’s this amazing footballer and want her to play, but she went through some fucked up shit. She doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to watch. She wants to be left alone so that’s exactly what everyone is going to do: leave her alone.” The locker door slammed as Keira left. She would protect Amelia now, since she couldn’t before. 

Before it all happened, Keira, Leah and Amelia were inseparable. The group was formed at a football event the first year Amelia moved over to the UK, in 2014, at just 16 years old. Emily played with Man City, alongside Keira, Lucy and Georgia. Despite playing at different clubs, they always made time for each other. The unlikely friendship with Alexia Putellas started in 2017, after both signing with Nike and having to do a campaign. Both girls were socially awkward, they sat in silence for most the day until Alexia invited Amelia to dinner. From there on out, they were very close friends. 

Alexia struggled with the fame, Amelia did not. She was able to offer advice to Alexia, sharing ways to keep relationships private, or how to compartmentalise. Alexia didn’t even get a text off of Amelia when it all happened. She had flown to England to attend the funeral. A numb, bruised and bandaged shell of a friend stood before them all. 

“You knew Amelia?” Olga asked quietly over dinner the night after their run in. 

“Yeah. I knew both Amelia and Emily.” The sadness evident in Alexia’s voice. 

“Why’d she quit? I googled her. She won the Ballon d’Or and UEFAs best player. What happened?” 

“Her wife was murdered and she was hurt. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the type of player she was. She was easily the best player the world has ever seen. No matter what, she worked hard. She cared, if a person got hurt you’d know because Amelia was there first. After her opponents lost, she wouldn’t celebrate her win, she’d go around and tell them everything they did well, hug them and let them cry. I went to the funeral, she was just a shell. Covered in bruises and bandages, in a wheelchair. Then she just vanished. On the first anniversary of Emily’s death, she deleted every single social media she had, changed her number and quit football. I hadnt seen her since, apparently Keira and Lucy hadn’t either.” 

“that’s a lot for one person to go through. Where are her parents?” 

“Doesn’t have any. They died when she was little, from what she shared she was in foster care in Australia until they let her come to the UK”

“Maybe you should invite her for dinner? She could use a friend.”

“No. YOU should invite her. You’re someone who she doesn’t know and you two seemed to hit it off.” 

Olga didn’t tell Alexia, or anyone for that matter, but Amelia had followed her on instagram that night after they met. Seemingly on a private, almost anonymous account. Olga had no plans to force Amelia back into football or back into Alexia’s life, but the more she learnt the more she wanted to ensure she wasn’t alone in this world. 

Every morning, Alexia would run along the beach. It was usually quiet and calm since Spain generally didn’t wake up until later in the morning. Every morning, she would watch the same surfer. Scars scattered on her legs, one long scar from the back of her hip, across her torso. Alexia knew it was Amelia, but she never stopped to say hello, not until that morning. 

The morning that would change things. 

[14dayswithyou]

no way you dropped the biggest river lore in the tags and moved on like it was nothing 😭 can i ask if this is still your intentions with him? bc it sounds like you changed your mind halfway 🤔

im ngl though i really enjoy how ren and river are similar and different to each other, but does that mean river would hurt his angel but leave our friends alone the same way ren would never hurt his angel but would unalive all of our friends? since they're suppose to be each other opposites. i really hope this makes sense 😬 my final question is what is ren doing on thursday? i want to go on a cute pier date again 🩷🌸

@secretkoa asked: and can i hear more about what unsent memory is suppose to be about or is that off limits? idk if i asked this in my previous question so ignore me if i did! thank yuo and remember to drink lots of water 🐸🌱

⌞♥⌝ For those who haven't seen the original post, I want to quickly clarify once more that while River was originally my OC, he's since been picked up and revamped by my friend Jesse/@unsentmemory!!

However, now that Jesse has stepped away from the yandere community, River's fate (and da fate of Unsent Memories) has kinda been put on the sidelines for the foreseeable future.

‼️ Massive Unsent Memories and River spoilers under the cut ‼️ CW for: mentions of gore, torture, mutilation, self-harm, etc.

With all of that being said, yes, Jesse's original intention for River was for him to be your standard "serial killer-turned-yandere once he accidentally catches feelings for his latest victim (Bunny)". The only main difference is that I originally planned for River to be a generic murderer first, whereas Jesse had him become a yandere right off the bat.

You also asked to know more about Unsent Memories, and I think giving a general synopsis(?) would be fine?? ^^ But basically... After getting involved in a car accident, Bunny wakes up with amnesia and gets tricked into thinking that this random guy — whom they've never met before — is their loving, supportive boyfriend named River. In turn, he convinces Bunny that staying in their shared home would be more beneficial than staying in the hospital as it might rekindle some old memories, he'd be able to take care of them, and it would be easier for them to recover at their own pace. But surprise!! River is actually a frequent patron at the Murderer Motel™ and now has trapped Bunny in his Torture Basement®!!! <3 He also maaaay or may not've been the one who hit them with Ren's car as well... ^^ Oopsie daisy hehe

And yeah!! Similar to what you've said, River was also supposed to share (somewhat of) a narrative foil with Ren!! I personally wanted them both to have similar, complimenting vibes with each other — all while having completely different/separate motives and incentives when it comes to the object of their affection. I'm glad to see it was conveyed well enough; even after Jesse's additions to River's characterisation :3 I know I already shared some examples in the previous tags, but I can share a few more:

Where Ren puts Angel's feelings and opinions above his own, River purposefully ignores Bunny's and does everything for his own personal benefit. Essentially, "I'm doing this for you" vs "I'm doing this for me".

While Ren would never dream about harming Angel in any capacity, he's perfectly happy to kidnap, extort, torture, and kill everyone else... In contrast to River, who's accustomed to torturing and brutalising others for his own twisted enjoyment and sees it as a way to show his interest in Bunny.

Kinda silly how Ren claims to be a freelance programmer (but is actually a hacker) and how River claims to work at a music shop (it's a coverup for his second torture chamber lmaoooo).

[CW: implications of SH] Ren is willing to go as far as mentally and physically hurting himself if Angel asks him to, whereas River is willing to physically mutilate Bunny if it means keeping them by his side. [end CW]

With that being said, you can assume that Ren is easily swayed by Angel's words, opinions, and emotions, whereas River can easily sway and manipulate Bunny due to his own feelings and emotions.

This is something I've actually mentioned before, but Ren always prefers things to be tidy, so he often cleans himself up after disposing of his victims. Compared to River, who casually wears the bloodstains with pride and blames it on getting a bit rough with someone else during a boxing match.

It's no secret that Ren is willing to change every aspect of himself to earn Angel's love, and River is willing to change his serial killer ways to return Bunny's love. Da power of friendship and repressed childhood memories gksdgjh T_T /silly

Ren pretends to be a Normal Guy© with tons of empathy to spare, whereas River pretends to be a Regular Person℗ with the heart of a himbo.

I could go on but you get da point lol

So, yeah!! This is essentially the vibes we had planned for River (and Unsent Memories) before Jesse stepped down /pos ^^ I feel like talking vaguely about UM is fine since River only has a small cameo in 14DWY — and I'm sure that if Jesse ever returns from war (/silly), they'll give River muuuuch more justice than I possibly can :3c

[katiascraft]

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋ "Maybe i should've told you i miss you. But i don't know if you feel the same" | OP81 ✧₊⁺

parings: oscar piastri x singer!reader

summary: your insecurities lead to lose the love of your life, but destiny always play its worst (or best) cards for you. in the aftermath of it all, two souls become one (again). or that's what you'd like.

inspired by: gracie abrams music ⤦

⟢ ‘almost said I miss you’ EP: tracklist

➥ track 1 - mean it

➥ track 2 - stay

➥ track 3- I miss you, I’m sorry

word count: 6k.

warnings: angst. and a little fluff. mentions of insecurieties, trauma and depression. not a native english speaker so there could be (so many) erros. not proofread.

MASTERLIST

「 ✦ The ticking clock ✦ 」

You took a deep breath. Your hands were shaking and your stress levels were at their peak.

“You are always picking fights, y/n. I'm tired, "Oscar said, clearly annoyed. Is not that you always fought or had a toxic relationship, no. but lately, things got harder between you two. Stupid fights now and then. Dead silence that creeps you out everytime. Coldness was the new dynamic you had going on. And it hurts.

Everyday hurts lately.

“Oscar, I'm not always picking fights. For fucks sake, just wanted to know why you are so cold all the time to me!” you didn't want to raise your tone but desperation never took the best out of you. He was shocked, his head disapproving. Probably done with all of this. Done with you. You didn't want to admit it but maybe it was true. 

“I'm not being cold to you, y/n. I already explained it to you: I'm tired. My job it's complicated enough to come home to be even more complicated. Just stop” he said leaving the kitchen, leaving you behind hanging in your words. That made you so you followed him down to the living room. 

“Oscar, don't leave me talking alone, please! Why do you always have to run away? I have feelings actually you know? I would love to express them to my lover so we can have a proper conversation, what do you think about that?”

“y/n, bullshit. Don't act like I'm a monster who doesn't listen to you. If i didnt we wouldn't have this argument. Stop playing the victim for once. You don't hear me out either anyway” he gritted his teeth trying not to follow you down with your anger. He didn't want to raise his voice towards you. 

“Playing victim? You're an impossible oscar. I only asked you a fucking question, what did i do wrong for you to ignore me and act so cold? And you said you're just tired and that's bullshit” you were so angry by now. Offended. Hurt by his words. Hurt by the fact you were happy once and now everything is falling apart. You never hurt this deep before. 

“It's not!” he couldn't anymore with all of this. He didn't want to raise his voice but you made him feel exasperated. “You see? You don't trust me! Im telling you im just tired and you say its bullshit and then you play the victim card that i dont listen to you and im a fucking monster? I see how things go now. I'm done” he didn't even want to look at you. He just sat on the sofa looking at the floor. But you heard what he said under his breath. What you were most scared of what’s happening. 

You started crying out of desperation, anxious that all of this was gonna end right there and then. You just left him there and went back to the kitchen as if that way he wouldn't see nor hear you crying. You just couldn't keep talking or being around him. Your heart was sinking.

He sighed frustrated and stood up sprinting to his studio and banging the door. You gasped hearing the door closing so violently. No that he noticed what he said. Nor that he cared you thought he didnt care you anymore, that was for sure. 

(...)

You haven't talked to Oscar since yesterday. He didn't sleep at your shared apartment. He said he didn't want to see you. That hurt a lot. Your heart was already broken. You didn't know what to do anymore. You've been on this rabbit hole for several months. You didn't understand what broke between you or when it was. You felt confused, lonely and scared. What would your whole life be without him? Once, you only wrote love songs because what you felt for him was beyond what your body could handle so you needed to take it out. Now, you didn't write anything for months. You felt too much sadness, it felt like you didn't feel anything at all. Just emptiness. 

You were playing with your food, not really that hungry that you thought you would be. Another night alone without him. Would life be like this when he gets rid of me? I don't wanna leave. 

The doorbell rang. You frowned, not sure who it could be knowing it was almost 10pm and I couldn't sleep (just as yesterday and every time you had an argument with him). You looked through the little visor of the door seeing your boyfriend was back home. But telling from the look on his face, things wouldn't be better anyway. You opened the door after taking a deep breath not sure if you would survive another fight. 

You two just looked at each other for a few seconds. Probably analyzing how you were feeling now that 2 days have passed by. Neither of you smiled. Not that you had the energy or a reason to anymore. You moved from the door so he could get into the apartment and closed the door once he was in. 

“Did I wake you up?” he asked quietly. You swallowed hard not knowing what to say by this point.

“I can't sleep since you are gone, so. No, you didn't” you didn't want to sound cold, especially after you fought because he was acting like that with you,but you felt like shit and didnt have energy to pretend you were okay with it all. You felt miserable. He nodded without saying a word and looked at the floor for a moment. 

After a moment of really uncomfortable silence you broke it with something you didn't even think would slip out your mouth “are you seeing someone else, oscar?” your words cut through him as if they were sharp glass pieces just thrown directly at him. 

“What?” He was surprised and hurt that you thought about him like that. You shrug.

“I mean, it's not that you don't kiss me anymore, so.and i think you're not tired because of your job, i think you're just bored of me, tired of me, done with me” you sat on the kitchen table again. He followed you there but stayed standard. He was confused and hurt now. 

“When did I ever say that to you?” he was tired of all of this, for sure. But he wanted to make things work with you. He just didn't know how to.  It was hard for him to understand you, but he was trying. He finally sat in front of you staring at your plate. It was full, you kept playing with your doodles, pretending to eat like you used to. He felt so guilty for all of this. He knew at that moment. That he broke you. He didn't know how or when but he did. His face softened in sadness.

“You said it. You said you were done and you know what? I get it. I mean, it's not as if I am easy to love. I know I'm complicated and a pain in the ass for everyone so I wouldn't be surprised if you found someone else that makes you happy for real and you don't wanna tell me out of pity. I'm ready to hear it though. Just say it” your voice was empty and plain no emotion detected just numbness. He didn't want to think it was too late. It Has been a long time since he has seen you like this. At that time it wasn't him who made you feel like it. 

“I didn't mean to say it, y/N. I Was tired because of work and fighting with you. I don't like fighting with you. I wanna make things right, please. I wouldn't ever do that to you, you know it” he explained desperate for a moment. He wanted you to believe him. But your face didn't say anything. He couldn't read you and made him scared. You looked unbothered, way far gone now.  

You shook your head “i know you mean it and i know you are tired, but i don't think you really want to be with me anymore” your sincerity cut like a knife in both of you. Like, you over thought a lot about it but it still hurt. He was lost and didn't know what was going on anymore or was going through all of that. “You didn't deny it either” you continued.

“I'm not with anyone else, y/N, please” he cut you off with his deep voice, kind of cracky now. 

(...) 

You just didn't know how you ended up moaning his name once more. His mouth is in your centre. His hands are grabbing your tights. Your fingers on his hair.

How easy is it, right? To love someone. One moment, you destroy them.. Then, you fix them with makeup sex. Making them see the stars so they forget how shitty things are. So that pleasure it's more important than gentle affection. Always pretending to be sane then doing insane shit like this as if memory didn't exist when it came to you and him. As if feeling him inside you was the only thing that could fix your mind. That it was the only way to communicate properly. As if it was your love language, then ignore each other. 

His hands of your body grabbing you as if you were about to break and he was trying to keep all of your pieces together. As if he could save you or your relationship that was already 10 feet down buried. He would like to think sex could fix it. That it was the best way to communicate if then you didn't trust him. He was hurt and you didn't trust him. You were hurt because he didn't love you anymore. Unfortunately, your minds couldn't agree. You were the love of his life, he wanted to help and make you trust him. But you just didn't, you already convinced yourself he didn't love you anymore and that everyone was better than you. He wanted a team when you just wanted to run away from him. Or from yourself?

「 ✦ Destruction ✦ 」

“I'm done with you for real, y/n! Everytime an important day comes for me, you just like to ruin it!” He was mad as hell. Fed up with all your bullshit. 

“You really think I do it on purpose? oscar! “ He left the room so you started following him around your shared apartment. “I wouldn't if you didn't ignore like you always do! I don't know what to do anymore! Nothing seems enough for you!” you started crying out. Your heart couldn't take it anymore and this time it felt different. So much different than any time before.

“Why is it always my fault? Why am I always the one doing something wrong? The only thing you do is complain about me and then you just want me to kiss you?! You are insane!” His words cut you deep, so deep you thought they cut you in half and you were nothing anymore. You couldn't breathe for a moment. He called you insane just the way your parents made you feel your whole life. Maybe they were right after all. You deserved all of those years in a psychiatric hospital. You deserved even when he

 was the first one to say your parents were monsters and you were more than okay. More than normal. More than lovable. How ironic, right?You wanted to laugh but couldn't. You just couldn't move. 

Oscar realised what he said. He knew when he saw you. He felt terrible at that moment.

“Look, y/n i-” you cut him not wanting to listen to him anymore. 

“Dont talk” you said shaky under your breath. You had to sit down on the sofa because you felt you were about to faint. In shock - a lot of moments of your relationship replayed in your head. How could someone who said he loved you more than anything and anyone, end up thinking just as your parents? It was your fault. Of course it was. How could you ever think someone would love you? You were miserable. How can someone love a miserable person? 

Oscar started breathing heavily and he had to sit on the floor trying to calm down. He is always so collected and rational, these kinds of feelings he had never experienced, not even with his ex. 

“We can't be together Oscar, I make you miserable. And you're right. I'm insane, how could someone love me right? No one wants to deal with my bullshit, not even myself” you said quietly. His throat closed for a moment. He remained in silence for a few seconds processing your words. You didn't look at each other, you couldn't. Guess this was it. How sad, right? Oscar started crying realizing what was about to come.

“I promise y/N, I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it that way. You aren't hard to love, actually the opposite. But yeah, i don't think this is working for us anymore whether i like it or not” he said wiping his tears away of his face as he could. 

You nodded even though you didn't hear a word he said. It was over. Your life is over.

「 ✦ time heals it all, right? ✦ 」

It's been exactly 8 months and 25 days since you and Oscar were not together anymore. Yes, you had a countdown. You created it to see how far you’ll survive because you didn't believe you would last this much. You thought your life was over and for a few weeks it was. You didn't get out of bed. The break up depression, i guess. Your friends suggested you go back to therapy because they were really worried about you and your mental health. They knew how much Oscar meant to you: he was your everything. And to be honest, that was your first mistake going into the relationship with him. 

You shouldn't have made him your everything because you were nothing suddenly when you left. You didn't know who you were without him, what you liked or what you would like to be. All of your future plans had him in them. There wasn't a future without him. He was everywhere in your life. You shaped your destiny around him. You wanted to get married and have kids with him. And you never wanted to be a mother but he had changed that until he was gone. 

You couldn't go back to dating. You tried but failed every time. You were a little too afraid to get hurt again. You had to work through your insecurities and traumas first. There was a lot of your history that needed to be let go. You needed to go through really ugly times in your past to find some perspective. Forgive yourself, putting yourself first, understanding yourself. You just worked on knowing you and becoming the person you always wanted. 

And you grew and changed so much. You felt proud of yourself. You started writing again. Creating was the best way to mourn your relationship with Oscar alongside your old self that left him. To mourn that part of you that is gone forever. Creating was what kept you sane all this time. What brought you back to life. You wrote so many songs about him. Blaming you, blaming him. Blaming the universe for not putting it easier on you. 

So music, once again, saved your life. 

Oscar’s life changed drastically. Not only by the fact he didn't have you anymore on the paddock to cheer him on, but also he didn't have you in his apartment to share his life with. He missed you everyday he woke up to an empty bed. Mourning what you had changed him forever. He blamed himself for not knowing how to get to you, how to understand you and be able to help you through it. So he started reading about psychology to learn how to understand people better. He wanted to improve his emotional intelligence. He knew that maybe you wouldn't be there anymore, probably forever, but at least he could be better to the people around him. 

He didn't date anyone. His way of mourning was trying not to think about it occupying his space and time with work and training and racing and reading. He couldn't do anything else.  

He always found himself not being able to think, wondering where you were and especially how you were. After that night, you went to cero contact. And he knew it was the best, but he couldn't get you out of his head yet. He felt guilty knowing that he can understand your needs better when it's a little too late. He just wished to press rewind and do it again but the right way this time. He knew it was impossible and that dug a hole in his heart. He knew that it would be there forever. You were the love of his life. He really thought he couldn't love anyone that way, ever again. You were a force of nature for him. Blowing him away every single time. 

You never went back to races. He knew how much you adored the sport and how in another life you would have loved to be an engineer. You dreamed of one day to see a woman on the podium. You actually sponsored two girls from F1 Academy. The boys didn't see you again either. Actually he knew you did see lando a few times because you two became really close during your relationship, but lando always lied and told him that he didn't see you. He knew Lando was trying to be a good friend. He even tried to introduce Oscar to some girls but it never worked. He tried though. But he found himself thinking that he was kissing it was you. It was heartbreaking to see. He was kind of stuck on you. 

So he decided he would take his time to grow and figure out who he was by himself. Find comfort in his own company. Doing dates  by himself. He found it cringe to call it that way but his therapist insisted on calling it that way so he could deprogram himself from you and anything and everything related to you. 

He was proud of himself though. He was doing alright again, actually enjoying his job, his friends, and his own company. He even won races, he did podiums and everything he dreamed of. But still, he hoped you didn't feel like you needed to leave to let him shine. He wished you were there every time to hug you and shower you in  champagne. 

He really missed you in his life.

「 ✦ Too far gone, don’t know where we started ✦ 」

So here you were more than a year later at the Azerbaijan GP 2024. The Mercedes team invited you as a star guest so you came with your friend because alone you would have died. Actually, before coming to the paddock you had an anxiety attack and if it wasn't for your friend who made sure you felt safe and okay to go, you would’ve been on a plane back home. It was the first time since you broke up with Oscar you felt okay enough to be able to go through it. You were invited by different teams at least 15 times now. But you always lied and said you couldn't make it. You just needed to stay at home or the studio writing as far as possible from oscar and anything related to him. But you went through all of that with your therapist and she said that if you liked the sport and you really enjoyed races or anything related to it, you shouldn't let Oscar or the thought of him or what happened, deprive you of it. 

It was sunday, you preferred not to come on friday or saturday just because there were more possibilities you would bump into him. And you just weren't ready to see him. The race was insane so far. Actually, Oscar was doing more than okay. Your heart was pounding, you could hear it loud and clear. Your best friend held your hand all the time in that garage so you don't forget she’s there for you. And that you’re okay.  You knew you shouldn't be afraid of him because he was an angel. But you were scared of yourself and how would you handle that situation. You came to terms that actually, everything that happened between him and you, it was that your insecurities just made everything so toxic that he couldn't handle it all. It didn't feel good when you realised that but it is what it is. You didn't know better and forgiving yourself for that was the hardest part of the process. 

You squeezed your best friend's hand, it was the last lap. Your heart is almost out of your body. You are wearing an old Oscar hoodie. You really liked it, plus you came here looking like shit in your opinion. You didn't even brush your hair nor that you needed it like before, now your hair is super short. Everyone in the garage was watching closely and before you could actually process what you ‘ve just seen. Your friends shouted “omg” in unison not believing what they saw.

Destiny had its twisted ways to be honest. Osca won the race. he won. You were just shocked. 

You were here and he won, like, what are the chances of that to happen actually? First race you’re back and he wins. and in that way. Your friends hugged you. 

“Holy shit that 's really insane shit” Nikola said, watching the screens at the garage. 

“We need to go guys, i don't wanna see him, please” you didn't know why you started to panic like that. Sonny looked at Nikola and just got you out of there. 

At the Mercedes hospitality you felt safe while the celebrations were held. There was no reason or chance Oscar walked into the Mercedes building, right?  You were drinking some coffee with you girls trying to focus on the conversation about any other driver but Oscar, just around strategy and stuff. You were trying really hard but you couldn't stop thinking about the fact that maybe he could come into you any time. Now that you see destiny hates you. 

“y/N, you okay bestie?”Sonny tried to get you out of your drawing though by touching your arm so she could catch your attention back to reality. 

“Oh yeah, I was just thinking,” you said, adjusting yourself on the chair. Nikola looked worried. 

“y/n, we can go if you need to. We don't want you to feel uncomfortable, okay? Just tell us” she said, comprehensively describing the situation and her friend's feelings. You licked your dry lips.

Before you could answer her someone interrupted you. 

“y/, is it you?” that. Fucking. Voice. Your friends’ eyes widen as surprised as you were. You turned to the voice to find, in fact, your ex boyfriend watching you so confused. You were speechless for a moment. He looked so pretty and sweaty. His eyes are shining brighter than ever you have seen. 

“Oh, hi oscar. Yeah, it’s me” you tried to play it cool but to be fair, you felt the butterflies on your stomach just like the first time you met him at that  birthday party you didn't want to go to. But luckilyyou did. Destiny is always playing dirty for you. Or geniously. You didn't know anymore. He smiled widely.

“Oh, wow, hi, yeah. I didn't know you were coming” he said nervously. Your friends looked at each other noticing. 

“I was invited by George, actually. I almost didn't come tho. How crazy, you win right? You did an amazing race. "You were surprised that you could even have a proper conversation with him while your heart was hurting out of anxiety, nervousness and butterflies were everywhere. 

Oscar Felt his chest tighter. His stomach was happy to see you, he knew. “Thank you,” he said sweetly. You looked so pretty under the light of the Mercedes building. You were his hoodie, your favorite, but he didn't know if it was appropriate to mention it. Your hair was so short and looked so beautiful on you. It actually made you look prettier. Your face was the face of an angel, he always thought that. But with that haircut it only intensified your perfection. He felt stupid. Just like the first time he saw you at that party he wasn't even invited directly. Destiny always played on his favour with you, until that night. He didn't even want to remember it. You looked so different yet you felt the same. Your perfume was the same, he knew. It’s the one he gifted you on your 6 month anniversary. You used to celebrate each month. 

An awkward silence makes its presence between you two, not knowing what else to say or comment. 

“Congrats oscar on the win” sonny tried to save you from misery right there capturing oscar’s attention. He smiled gently, thanking her and nikola. He recognized them and gave them a hug. He seemed happy to see them. You smiled remembering your nights playing uno and drinking wine and baking canela rolls when winter break came around. You Missed him more than you’ve ever thought you would. And something inside you just felt exactly the same you always felt with him. He altered the chemistry in your brain so easily it was kind of scary. 

“Hey osc! Zac wants to talk to you! What are you doing here?” Lando Norris came into the building as well. He was your friend. when he saw who Oscar was, he grinned. “Hey, bestie, whatchu doing here?” he said happily, giving you a comforting hug. He was genuinely surprised because you didn't even tell you. He suspected Oscar was here because George told him you were here. He can't keep secrets. And he knew it was George because he was sure Lewis didn't even know you. 

“George invited us,” you explained after he stepped back.

“Okay let's go, great to see you girl. Hope to see you around more often "Oscar said while looking directly at you in the last sentence to then disappear dragging Lando out of the hospitality. Your friends looked at you and you looked at them.

“I need a whole vodka bottle down my throat right now” you sentence, making them laugh. But you didn't. You felt scared of what you felt a few moments ago. 

(...)

New year is here. You were invited along with your friends by lando to his beginning of the year party here in Monaco. And oh you knew Oscar was gonna be there. Of course, he is one of his closest friends also.

This time you felt more calm and collected around the fact you were going to see him again. I think being drunk was the thing you were thanked for. If something felt rare,you would drink straight vodka or tequila and the problem was solved. You didn’t even have to think about it. 

Your friend helped choose the sexiest dress for you. It was a satin white little dress with broderie endings. Pretty subtle but at the same time suggesting. Just how you were. Angel face, dirty minded. Problem was you couldn't date people because of the Oscars. Because since you saw him those seconds in Azerbaijan, you couldn't stop seeing his shiny eyes and beautiful smile every time you close your eyes. You didn't interact all of this time, you didn't even follow each other on social media. 

Mystery drove you I guess. And who could blame you? It was Oscar Piastri, the one you had to forget. But I just couldn't. You missed his touch, his breath, his voice, his lips. 

Your friend took you out of your thoughts telling you they needed to go to the bathroom. You Followed them around the party up to the toilets. They got in but you decided to wait outside because the music was just so good you wanted to enjoy it. You always wished you could write a party song but it isn't your thing at all. Nor you didn't have the personality for it. You were too deep of a person. You needed to cut deep. Be someone to suffer along with. Or at least that’s how you perceive yourself as an artist. 

“y/N?” not that voice again. That damn voice. Though this time you were waiting for it. You looked up to find a drunk Oscar in front of you. You were breathless for a moment. How can a man become so much hotter in just a year? You smiled at him feeling your strawberry lip gloss. 

“Hoy, osc. What’s up?” you said easily. The alcohol made it easier actually. When he smiled you almost died. You Adored his smile since that party you didn't even want to go to. You thought you fell in love with him just right there. Just right here…?

“I was looking for Danny, have you seen him?” he said normally, ignoring his heart, almost skipping a beat when he saw you in that short white dress. He hoped not to be drooling in your face. Since he saw you again, he couldn't get you out of his head. You were everyday hunting him. He wanted to text you but he wasn't sure if he should. You seem so happy now, he didn't want to ruin it. He convinced himself that probably the best for you was staying away from him as much as possible. At the end of the day, he was the reason you hurt, right? Or he wanted to believe that. 

For a moment you watched his lips talking to you. His drunk voice always turned you on. But you couldn't show it. Not anymore. You looked back at his eyes. Half smile on your face while shaking your head “no, i didn't. Iwas waiting for my friends that are in the bathroom” you explained and he nodded. 

“Well, I'll keep looking then. See you around” he told you to go back into the crowd to look for his friends. Hesaw the way you looked at his lips. He had to be the stronger one. It was better this way. As much as he wanted to eat you out right there and then.

He hurt you. He didn't understand you. He didn't deserve you. He made sure to protect you from himself. Even though all he wanted was to be with you.

「 ✦ the (your) truth is out ✦ 」

yourusername made a post

liked by sabrinacarpenter, user456, landonorris and 1,543,678 others

yourusername: i'm so excited to finally tell you our biggest secret! my new ep 'almost said i miss you' will be out february 14 <3 (trying to resignificate the date lol) these songs are really important to me and i can't wait till they finally become yours. thank u to the bestest bestie in the worl for guiding me and helping me through it all, it wouldn't have been possible without you. and you guys for the support, you don't know how much you mean to me :,) thank you for listening to my music since day one. i feel so lucky! see you in a few weeks :D

tagged: sabrinacarpenter, y/nhq

view more comments

sabrinacarpenter: so proud of you baby, my fav artist forever. just keep smiling! it's so beautiful to see you happy <3

nikolabff: we are so proud of you gorgeous! the prettiest songs I’ve ever heard 🥹

sonnybff: girl you always serve, thank you for sharing your art to the world I admire you like crazy. So proud of you baby, I love you <3

user489: 'trying to resignificate the date' WHY AM I SOBBING AT WORK

User99: THE TRACKLIST 😭😭😭😭😭

↳ user87: “I miss you, I’m sorry” I CHOKED

user45: it hurt

user12: so excited

landonorris: can`t wait for the world to cry their eyes out just like i did when i heard them :( (it still hurt and I cry before falling asleep)

↳ nikolabff: bro same 😭😭😭

↳ maxverstappen: babygirl

↳ landonorris: get outta here 😡

georgerussel: I know who will cry listening to this

↳ danielricciardo: @/oscarpiastri

↳ landonorris: @/oscarpiastri

↳ sonnybff: guys knock it the fuck off

hattiepiastri: so prod of you girl! Can’t wait to listen to it!

↳ user67: NOT HIS SISTER OMG

↳ user08: I don’t wanna be delusional but girl you

don’t help

↳ user134: they NEED to get back together I don’t

wanna suffer anymore I know Hattie

wants it too 😭

user1: I’m not alright knowing these are for oscar tbh IM DEAD and I haven’t even listened to them yet

taylorswift: and artist of the year goes to…

olivirodrigo: my day to day inspiration

user975: I love girls supporting girls

user56: @/f1gossipofficial is there something about this you’d like to share????

「 ✦ The aftermath - february 14 ✦ 」

Oscar was back to the UK training for the beginning of the new season. It was the coldest winter he experienced. He got back home from mclaren hq. He took a hot shower to warm himself. His apartment was silent. It felt empty for the first time. Like something was missing. He went straight into bed. He wasn't that hungry anyway, but he was tired indeed. 

“Hey, listen to it. I think you need to” 

He saw his sister Hattie's notification pop up on his screen confusing him abit. He went into the messages app and opened his sister’s. When he did he understood what she was talking about. A knot on this throat formed. It was y/n ep. Guess he now understood taylor swift’s exes. It’s hard to date a musician ust because of the aftermath of the relationship. 

“Just do it. You will understand why once you did” 

Another message popped up on this screen and sighed heavily. Probably his sister was right but at the same time he was scaredas fuck. He opened it on spotify, she looked as pretty as ever on the cover of it. ‘Almost said I miss you’ - that was the title and only had 3 songs. By the names of them he suspected it was about him but he tried to believe they weren't even though his sister already told him that they were. He decided to listen to it in order.

He took his headphones from his nightstand so he could hear your voice clearly. All over his head. Cutting deep into his fiber. 

The first piano tiles started playing and his heart was already sinking. Hearing her voice so raw and close and clear sent shivers down his spine. He heard every single word you said. It described perfectly that horrible and forgettable night you broke up. Hearing your voice crack broke his heart into a million pieces. It wasn't even half of the song when he started crying. He knew what he said under his breath that sent you both straight into hell. He felt so guilty about everything. He really just wished to talk to you. 

When he started to hear the second song he knew it was about that race you went. He hoped to see you in the next one, and the next one. But you didn't go again. The lyrics were so real his skin felt every word. 

When he heard you saying that you felt sorry his tears streamed down his face more violently. He didn't recognize this person. But you always had this effect on him. With you he was a feeler, one that felt way too deeply. Unlike the person he shows to people. You always knew the real him. He couldn't lie to you. Even though you thought he would cheat on  you. He would never. Hearing you wanting to hold him broke his heart. Why did you both have to do this the hard way? Why didn't you just be happy with each other? He really missed you. He missed everything about you. Your presence around him. He was his best version with you. Now he feels like a ghost of who he used to be. 

The last song just ended him. 

‘Do you remember being happy together? I do, don't you? Then all of the sudden, you’re sick to your stomach. Is that still true?’ he whipped his tears the best he could. 

You never called her or told her you missed her. But he guessed you would have liked it like that. 

‘everything i know brings me back to us. Everywhere I go leads me back to you’ he felt the same. 

He didn't know what to do. He had a battle inside him. He promised himself he would stay away from you so you could be happy just like you deserved. But at the same time he wanted to be happy and he knew you made him happy. He was happy with you. 

“So? Call her please oscar. You both deserve to be happy and figure things out along the way, together”

Hattie read his mind. Her text just in time when he is back into the silent apartment. The empty and cold apartment that once was full of laughter and music because you were with him. He missed you so much. He missed hearing you play guitar rumbling words then writing them down. You hugged when he was back home, you cuddled in bed when he was sad, your perspective on things. He missed every detail about you.

But was he ready to come back to you?

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘ ∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

author's note: SO I DELETED IT BY MISTAKE AND I HAD TO REDO IT :(((((((( i've never been this sad but I hope you like it anyway. (This like a 2.0 version) it's the longest fic i've ever written and i love it sm :,) oscar piastri i deeply love you.

idk if I should do a part 2, should I?

also shout to to my international friends nikola and sonny, you girls at the best mwak mwak 💌

don't forget to like, reblog or comment! and follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together)

[kinzhae]

"Left Behind."

Gojo x Reader, angst with no comfort, reader and gojo drifts away as they enter jujutsu high, being left behind, reader sacrificing her life in order to keep gojo safe.

The first time Satoru left you behind, you brushed it off.

“Gojo Satoru is going to change the world,” you told yourself, smiling as you watched him walk off with Suguru Geto and Shoko Ieiri, his laughter echoing down the hall. His carefree attitude was infectious, and while you were happy for him, it hurt to know that you weren’t part of that laughter anymore.

It hadn’t always been this way. You and Satoru were inseparable once, bound by childhood promises and shared dreams. Back then, the world wasn’t complicated, and neither was he. The cocky smile he wore now was once reserved just for you.

But Jujutsu High changed everything.

---

You noticed the shift slowly. It started with missed conversations—whispers in the hallway you weren’t invited into, a glance over your shoulder to see him too far behind to call out to. Satoru didn’t mean to push you away. You knew that. But as his new friendships deepened, it became clear that your bond wasn’t the unbreakable connection you once thought it was.

Suguru was kind, brilliant, and calm—the perfect foil to Satoru’s chaotic energy. Shoko had a quiet wit that matched his sharp tongue. Together, the three of them felt untouchable, like the rest of the world could only stand by and watch as they carved their own path.

You were no longer part of that world. You tried to let go, you really did.

Even as the ache settled in your chest, you told yourself it was enough to simply watch him thrive. If Satoru was happy, wasn’t that all that mattered? You repeated those words like a mantra, trying to ignore the sting when he barely noticed you anymore.

It wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

But the cracks in your heart didn’t care for reason.

One day, everything changed. You were heading back to the dorms after a long day of training when you overheard the conversation.

Two voices in the shadows.

One familiar, one chillingly foreign.

“Gojo Satoru. The Six Eyes... He’s too dangerous to keep alive,” hissed the first voice—a higher-up whose name you didn’t dare utter. “The balance he disrupts, the power he wields... If he continues unchecked, no one will be able to control him.”

“And what do you propose?” growled the second voice, raspy and cold. It wasn’t human.

You froze, your blood running cold as you peeked around the corner.

“I want him gone. Do it cleanly. I’ll ensure you have what you need—resources, bodies, whatever it takes. Just make it happen.”

The curse smiled, sharp teeth glinting in the dim light. “Consider it done.”

Your world tilted.

They were going to kill him.

Satoru.

The boy who laughed too loudly, who stood by you even when the world felt too heavy, who once promised you that you’d always be by his side.

You had already been left behind. But you wouldn’t lose him. Not like this.

That night, you sought out the curse.

Its presence was suffocating, the weight of its aura pressing down on you as it materialized in front of you.

“And what do you want, little sorcerer?” it sneered.

“My life,” you said, your voice steady despite the terror clawing at your throat. “Take my life, my powers—anything. Just leave Satoru alone.”

The curse’s laughter echoed around you, harsh and mocking. “Anything, you say? Bold. And what makes you think I’ll honor such a deal?”

“Because if you don’t,” you said, lifting your chin, “I’ll make sure you regret it.”

A lie, of course. You were no match for it. But the curse seemed amused enough to agree.

“Very well. Your life for his. But once the deal is struck, there’s no turning back.”

“I know.”

As the curse’s claws reached out, you closed your eyes, picturing Satoru’s smile one last time.

You disappeared that night.

No one saw you leave. No one even knew why. You left behind nothing but questions and an empty dorm room, your name slipping further from their lips as the days turned into weeks, then months.

Satoru didn’t notice at first. You hadn’t been close lately, after all. But as time passed, he started to feel the absence.

It was subtle at first—a glance around the training field, expecting to see you standing at the edge, watching with a small smile. Then came the ache, the nagging sense that something was missing. He asked Shoko, then Suguru. Neither had seen you.

When he went to your room, it was stripped bare, as if you had never existed.

Satoru wasn’t the sentimental type, but the emptiness you left behind gnawed at him. He tried to brush it off—he was Gojo Satoru, after all. He didn’t dwell on things. He didn’t need to.

But late at night, when the silence grew too loud, he found himself thinking of you. Of your smile. Of the way you used to scold him when he pushed himself too hard. Of the way you had always been there, steady and unshakable, even when the rest of the world felt like it was slipping out of control.

He searched. Of course he searched.

But you were gone.

---

Satoru never stopped looking. Not really. Even years later, long after the grief had settled into something dull and hollow, he still found himself scanning crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

He told himself it was guilt—guilt for letting you slip away, for not noticing how far apart you had grown. But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He had left you behind.

And he would never forgive himself for it.

[miupow]

CRAVE。⧼ PROLOGUE ⧽ ─── 투모로우바이투게더

stay away from the woods。

★ pairing。txt ot5 x fem!reader‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g。⧼ 📖 ⧽ fantasy , romance , comedy , angst , eventual smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。descriptions of personal injury and blood ・animal attacks ・mentions of illness and death ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎wc。2. 1 k | to library。

★ includes。。。heeseung from enhypen

notes from lia。finally!! happy thanksgiving everyone, i'm thankful for every single one of my amazing readers!! i hope you enjoy the prologue to my very much anticipated crave series!! look out for the first chapter in the beginning of december!!

all your life, you had been told to never step foot into the woods. that there were monsters lurking just below its dark canopy, hiding just out of sight and patiently waiting to strike. and yet the whistling of the pines has never been this entrancing. the trees taunt you from your safe little cabin, their outstretched branches waving and creaking in the wind as if they were beckoning you closer and closer.

you can see them just as perfectly from the bakery as you can from your bedroom window. they feel inescapable.

the shrill, tinny ringing of a bell snaps your attention away from the open window, your thoughts having consumed you as you laid out fresh loaves of bread to cool in the frosty air. you brush your floury hands off on your apron and turn to welcome your customer, your polite smile growing into a warm grin when you recognize the lanky boy standing by your workbench.

“that’s an awful lot to be doing all on your own.” he comments with a sideways smile, running his fingers through his auburn hair.

“i open the shop by myself every morning, hee.” you reply pointedly, rising to your tip toes to give him a quick hug before brushing past him towards the towering stone oven. “you know mother can’t work this early anymore.”

“couldn’t you ask one of your siblings to help?”

“they’re too young to use the oven or mill the wheat, they’d be no help at all. it’s not even that much work, really, just baking and cleaning. i don’t want to burden them with all of this on top of everything else.”

nothing has been the same since your father fell ill. the bakery was his and your mother’s, a humble way to support their family and their quaint little village for decades. you were never particularly wealthy, but you had enough to get by. consumption, the village doctor had called it. it was a truly fitting word for the disease that slowly consumed your poor, frail father whole. nothing was left, not even the bones. a mere shadow laid in bed all day, a ghost whose coughs have began to sound like rattling chains. none of the medicines the doctor prescribed ever worked, they only seemed to be making him sicker. he said that there was a hospital in the royal city, but your village was days away by carriage, and you and your mother had nowhere near the means to fund the trip. part of you were certain he wouldn’t survive the journey either way.

your mother now spends her days caring for him, an apothecary’s daughter clinging on to the last shreds of hope that her remedies will ward off the hands of death. you desperately wish you could feel the same, but you’ve already begun grieving… until recently.”

“mother said she’d stop by to help this afternoon.” you assert, leaving no more room for discussion. you can feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you stoke the firewood and slide trays of dough into the oven. “you worry about me too much! i’m not a little girl anymore.”

“i worried about you then and i’ll worry about you now.” heeseung chuckles endearingly, erupting a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “you’ve always been a little too brave.”

his words remind you of your mulling thoughts, pulling your gaze back to the window. “heeseung, have you ever known someone who went into the woods?”

heeseung is quiet for a worryingly long time. “the blackwoods? not anyone who made it back… why?”

your mind is screaming at you to keep your mouth shut, but you just can’t keep it all bottled up inside anymore. you’ve never hidden a single thing from your best friend, except this. “i was reading my mothers books the other day.” you admit softly, unable to look him in the eye. “in one of them it said there is a plant that grows in the blackwoods, a type of flower. it can cure any illness, save people from the brink of death…”

“y/n.” heeseung warns, his face dropping. “you’re not seriously considering going in there, are you?”

you hesitate for a second too long— he cuts you off with a scoff, stepping forward to grip your shoulders with his rough carpenter’s hands. “there’s no way that flower is even real, y/n. don’t be childish. just some fairytale out of one of your mother’s quack medicine books.”

“it was my grandfather’s.” you defend softly, finally looking up into heeseung’s eyes— the coldness you find in them frighten you.

“he was a quack too.” heeseung retorts, releasing your shoulders to turn and swiftly slam the bakery window shut. your loaves shake from the force. “there’s no magical flower that is going to save your father, especially not in the blackwoods. i love you, y/n, seriously, but you can’t keep believing in fairytales— and you wonder why i worry about you so much! promise me, you won’t go in those woods. please. one step inside and you’ll never come out. i can’t afford to lose you— your family can’t afford to lose you.”

“okay.” you relent, just loud enough for heeseung to hear. “you’re right, i was being ignorant. i won’t go into the woods.”

“say you promise.”

“i… i promise…”

standing at the edge of the forest, your cold clammy fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of your satchel, you’re caught frozen in place. you just can’t seem to get your feet to step forward, your psyche screaming at you to turn back and run home. heeseung’s words circle your thoughts, so all-consuming that you swear you can hear them in the howling wind— you haven’t told a lie since you were very young, and never to heeseung of all people. the guilt nags at you to the point of nausea.

but you had made up your mind long before you had spoken to heeseung earlier that morning. he’s a simple woodworker, he doesn’t understand a single thing about the healing magic that hides in nature… but your grandfather did. he wrote those books himself, a man who would risk his life in the pursuit of knowledge, just to help others. you wanted nothing more than to continue his legacy, save your father and prove to your close-minded little village that he was anything but the insane, rambling idiot that they all viewed him as. before and after his death. you’ve been preparing for weeks, reading as much as you can about the dangers of the blackwoods, packing whatever you possibly could think of to help you on the journey. you might have overpacked, to be honest, your weathered leather satchel hanging heavy on your shoulder. if everything went as you planned, you would be back home before anyone would notice that you were gone.

your breath fogs in front of your face, reminding you of the hearth smoke billowing from your cabin’s chimney. you can still see it, just beyond the hill, its straw hatch roof just visible over the tall grass waving in the wind. you could turn back now, put all your things away and fall asleep in the safety of your bedroom. you could forget about all of this and wake up tomorrow morning as if you had never planned anything at all.

you will yourself to move your feet, frozen in your boots like the frost on the leaves, and you enter the ominous pitch-black dark of the blackwoods.

the tree canopy is so thick that the moonlight barely breaches it, everything swathed in darkness as you walk farther and farther away from home. the flickering candle in your lantern does little to illuminate much except what was right in front of you. you focus on what you can see, the dead fallen leaves and frosty underbrush that crunch loudly underneath your feet as you venture deeper. it’s deafening in your ears, the forest eerily silent all around you, not even the distant call of an owl, the scattering of a chipmunk— you’re certain that any creatures hiding in the trees or in the brush knew of your presence.

including the monsters.

in none of the books you read would they ever describe them more than just that; monsters that use the night as camouflage, that kill livestock in their pens and steal children from their beds. any intruder in their own territory will certainly be made short work out of. you’ve always believed that they were nothing but scary stories to keep children well behaved, a tall tale your mother would use to get you to come inside for bed.

distantly, cutting sharply through the silence, you hear the howling of a wolf. it sounded a safe distance away, yet it still sent you jumping. the sudden movement causes your lantern to extinguish, plummeting you into complete and total darkness. your heart dropping, you curse, placing it on the forest floor against a mossy tree before opening the flap of your satchel and rummaging blindly through the contents for your matchbox. you try to steady your breathing, heart rattling against your ribcage, matchbox just beyond your grasp as you struggle in the dark.

you hear the rustling of leaves just to your right. desperately, you tell yourself that you’re just hearing things.

finally, you wrap your fingers around the familiar shape of your matchbox, pulling it out to fumble with its contents before you pick back up your lantern. with a strike of the match against the rough bark of the tree, you’re illuminated once again, carefully lighting the candle before putting out the match with a shake of your hand. triumphantly, you turn to continue to venture farther into the woods, before stopping cold. your breath knocks out of you all at once, leaving you gasping in the cold air.

farther up on the oak tree, carved crudely into the bark, are three sharp claw marks you’re almost certain weren’t there before.

but they had to have been, because there was simply no way that something could have snuck up so close to you without you noticing. these woods were driving you mad, you feared, still trying to steady your breathing as you turn and step forward.

as you continue deeper into the forest, you swear you hear another pair of footsteps following your own. you stop abruptly to catch them, but you hear nothing— another thing you must be imagining… yet you set onward a little faster than before.

maybe it was that wolf you had heard, you entertained as you examine the dark twisted trees. it sounded rather far away, but you couldn’t be one to discount the creature’s speed. maybe it was just watching you to make sure you weren’t a threat, and it would leave you shortly…

a growl, deep and barely audible, rumbles from between the bushes. you break out into a wild sprint, gasping and panting, running deep into the unknown. the creature chases you with frightening speed, no longer trying to hide its footsteps as it weaves through the forest floor. you had no idea where you were or where you were going, but this beast… this was his home. the hunt was on.

low hanging branches scratch and tear at your skin and clothing as you run, blood running down your face, legs and arms— you couldn’t feel the pain, the adrenaline numbing everything except for the terror in your heart. now you were just easier to track, you agonized, but you couldn’t do anything but keep running, dropping your satchel and lantern to lighten your load as much as you could. alas, you barely ran any faster… you were starting to slow down, exhaustion was starting to creep up on you, your chest aching and desperate for breath, your legs screaming in pain as you stumble and stagger through the labyrinth of trees. you couldn’t see a single thing in front of you, completely lost in the darkness, your arms outstretched to feel around as you ran.

the creature was advancing, it’s footsteps thunderous right behind you, its snarls and growls growing closer and closer. in a desperate attempt to escape, you sharply turn to the right to run in a different direction.

just as you move to step forward, your boot wedges itself underneath an exposed tree root, and you are sent tumbling to the mossy ground. you try to break your fall with your hands, but you react far too late— you slam your head against a jagged rock, blinding white light flashing behind your eyelids before your world goes black.

the last thing you feel is pain, and the last thing you see are two bright, bloody red eyes staring at you through the darkness.