#because surely then I can finish it without getting more thoughts.

[gguk-n]

Chapter 1- You should meet him

Brother of the Bride (Lando Norris x Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Who knew Max Verstappen wasn't just the reining World's Driver Champion but also a matchmaker.

Max Verstappen was the oldest; which meant protecting and caring for his younger siblings. It also meant being good at dividing his time so that he would spend it equally with all of his siblings; without any of them throwing a hissy fit.

When Max's parents separated he hadn't imagined he would have any more siblings but he did. Y/N was his half baby sister from his mother. Victoria and her didn't have much of an age gap so that explained how well they got along. Victoria played the role of the older sister well. Max was just a mediator; trying to make sure to spend as much time with his family as possible.

Y/N was an adult now. She had a job and from what his mother told him was trying to get into Business School soon. It was during one of his visits; his mother sat him down. "I'm just worried you see" she began. Max looked at her, encouragingly, to continue. "You and Victoria; you two have settled down, have a partner and kids. But Y/N, I don't remember when was the last time she told me she had a boyfriend" his mother lamented. "She career focussed now. Someone will come along eventually" Max comforted. "I wish it was sooner rather than later" she sighed. It was like his mother was thinking something and Max couldn't point at what when she opened her mouth once and than closed it. This continued for a couple times before she told him, "You know guys" she began and Max wasn't liking where this was going. He looked at her skeptically. "Maybe you could set her up with someone" she trailed, "maybe a friend, a driver" she finished. Max sighed, "She hates drivers" he stated. "You don't know that and besides, she loves you" his mother countered. "Yes because I'm her brother" Max shut his eyes, remembering Y/N's cryptic message about not listening to what their mother had to say which made total sense now. As if on cue, Y/N entered the house, exhausted from work. "Hi Max Emilian" she greeted and headed to her room.

Max spent the next few days with his family before heading back. Never bringing up the conversation he had with their mother to either Y/N or his mother. But those words were stuck in his head. As time passed; those words got louder and he was forced to wonder. He wondered who would be the right fit for his sister. He would make mental check lists and take each person he knew out as they would cross out any of his requirements.

Carlos was the first to notice, "You look deep in thought" he stated. Max just shook his head. "Maybe I can help?" Carlos offered. Max just laughed, "You'll think I'm weird" he said. "Already do" Carlos chuckled. Max seemed to mull over his thoughts before saying, "My mother put this statement out into the world and I can't help" Max trailed off. "What statement" Carlos asked, his interest piqued. "She told me that I should set Y/N, my half sister, up with some one. Some one I know" Max said. "Why did she say that?" Carlos laughed. Max just shrugged his shoulders. Carlos seemed to think about it as his eyes scanned the area. Carlos thought about it a few times, looking at each man on that driver's parade and as his eyes landed on a specific curly haired brit in orange, he smiled. "I'm not sure if you'll like this but" Carlos spoke. Max was all ears, "But Lando" Carlos said. "I would let him date my sister, I guess" Carlos spoke tentatively. Max listened to his words but wasn't sure what to say so he kept quiet.

Lando's name now bounced off Max's head like the DVD logo on those old school televisions. Max found himself asking Lando questions that got him weird looks from Lando. He found himself staring at him more often and he thought about what Carlos said and there felt like there was some truth to it. He started going to stuff Lando enjoyed to spend more time together. Lando was so confused on how sociable Max had become. Max thought he would let Lando date his sister and if he ever broke her heart; he would just run him off the track; easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Y/N aired Max like an old toxic ex. She avoided him like the plague; not answering any of his calls. She wouldn't even check his texts anymore. Max kept texting her, hoping he would get through to her. It took Max literally flying out to see her, the only weekend he was free before the next race week. Y/N didn't even know he was coming since it came as a shock when she opened the door to find Max lounging on the couch watching TV. "Hey Y/N" he called lazily. She sighed and without a word locked herself in her room.

It took Max a few days before she even let him near her door. Max was now stood leaning on her door frame, "Don't you dare enter" she warned. "Wouldn't dare" he laughed. "Why won't you talk to me?" he asked. "Because" she sighed, "You'll talk about marriage and boyfriends and shit" she spoke. "I won't talk about marriage but boyfriend maybe" he countered. "What if I'm gay?" she asked without missing a beat, hopefully. "Than I'd talk to you about a girlfriend" he smiled. Y/N palmed her face, "fuck it" she mumbled. "Go on Max" she had resigned to her fate. "I'm not going to be like our mother but" he trailed. "I think, if you have someone just tell her" he encouraged. "I don't" she lamented. "Perfect" Max smiled. "What?" she questioned. "I know just the guy" he beamed. "God, spare me" she buried her head in her pillow. "You'll love him" he smiled brightly. "Don't even start" she warned . "I can vouch for him" he reasoned. "He's a driver, isn't he?" she asked, squinting her eyes. "What?" Max was shocked at how well his sister knew him or was able to pin the tail on the donkey so well. "No, I mean" Max mumbled. "What happened to you aren't allowed to date my friends?" she asked, looking him up and down. "You were 16" Max spoke tentatively. Y/N screamed into the pillow and took a deep breath into the pillow and after a few moments made her decision. "Fuck it. At least the sex will be great" she stated. Max's eyes bulged out; he had forgotten this crucial aspect. "When do I meet him?" she asked. Max turned away, making mental calculations on how to keep Lando out of his sister's pants.

The next race weekend, he walked up to the McLaren hospitality; a sight to see, since it made news. He beckoned Lando over. "Hey Max" Lando waved, walking over. "Are you single?" Max asked bluntly. "Good morning to you too" Lando laughed. "Are you single?" Max enunciated. "Why do you care?" Lando looked at him skeptically. Carlos noticed what was going on and he knew what Max was doing and to do damage control, Carlos walked up. "Cabron, nothing weird but you single or not?" Carlos patted his back. "Maybe" Lando trailed, "Who's asking?" he laughed. "Maybe, Max knows a girl, you might like" Carlos explained. "Since when do you set people up" Lando asked Max. "Since now" Max stated. "I'll introduce you to her soon" Max stated as he walked away; leaving Lando extremely confused about what was going on. Carlos tried to make reason with the weird conversation which didn't seem to have a start or end.

Taglist- @ln4-cl16-world @keepyoureyesonmeboy @geauxharry @itsjustfranzi @taetae-armyyyyy @aerie717 @moistointments @verogonewild @st0rmzi3 @gold66loveblog @nickie-amore @f1norris04 @avengersgirllorianna @didaaa4 @strawberrylov-er @fastandcurious16 @raccoonintheforest @easy4 @maggiedog98 @maebejustmaebe @angelluv16 @dreamergirlatpaddock @zainaaaz @delululeclerc @idontknow0704 @adisonflower123 @ispywlittleeye-blog @mynameisangeloflife @formula1-motogpfan @carey86 @lost-library-of-violets

[fiendsgf]

Soulbound

VIII. High Tide

sylus x reader, rafayel x reader

Summary: A week passes behind drawn curtains, with only silence for company. When the world finally stirs again, it arrives with rain, a dress tied in crimson ribbon, and a face you didn’t expect to see again. Shadows flicker behind velvet lights. A storm brews, inside and out. And when the power goes out, so does the illusion of truth.

content: non!mc reader, angst if you squint, isekai, love triangle(?), shady raf

masterlist

You spent the week inside your room.

Not because anyone told you to. There was no mission to complete, no chain dragging you down – and yet, you stayed.

Blankets tangled. Curtains drawn. The lights dimmed until the days bled together. The bed grew warm from how long you lay there, your pillow cold only on one side. Sometimes you fell asleep without meaning to. Other times you stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, hollow and weightless.

It was a strange thing – this ache to vanish.

To press pause on the world and sink beneath it.

You thought back to all the nights you’d felt this way before – back home. How often you’d used the game to escape the dull weight of loneliness. The hours you’d poured into it just to feel comforted by something safe and far away. Characters who said the right thing. Music that softened your chest. Love that never asked for more than your attention.

You let out a brittle laugh.

How did it all get so complicated?

How could the very thing that once soothed you leave you in such ruin?

And the worst part – the part that kept circling like a wound you wouldn’t stop picking – was that you weren’t even sure you wanted to go back.

How were you supposed to return to that world and pretend this one hadn’t changed you?

How could you ever open the game again and pretend you hadn’t pressed your hand over Sylus’s wound – felt the warmth of his blood under your palm, his breath catching as he tried to shield you from the pain?

How could you forget the way Rafayel looked at you beneath the moonlight – like your name was the only one he remembered, like he would’ve burned the world down just to hear you say his again?

How could you sit on your bed back home, phone in hand, and tell yourself it didn’t mean anything?

You couldn’t.

Not anymore.

But you didn’t want to stay here either.

You weren’t from this world. You didn’t belong to it. No matter how tightly it tried to pull you in.

You were stuck between two lives – one you no longer fit inside, and one you were never meant to claim.

And for the first time, you weren’t sure where you belonged at all.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

No one pried.

Kieran came by twice – dropping off meals you never finished, cracking a quiet joke through the door the first time, falling silent the second.

Luke didn’t speak at all. Just left a folded blanket on the edge of your bed one morning, tucked in neatly with a small packet of your favorite tea.

Sylus knocked once on the third day. Said your name – just once – like maybe that was enough. It almost was. You thought about answering. But the words got stuck in your throat, too soft to be heard.

So the days passed. Quiet and shapeless.

Until the ping of your phone broke through the stillness on the seventh day.

cutie

i’m sorry. im so sorry i shouldn’t have let it get that far can i explain? not to ask for anything, just so you know i didn’t mean to hurt you. it wasn’t what you think.

You stared at the messages for a long time. The screen lit up your face, pale and cold.

You didn’t respond.

Instead, you rose slowly, pulling on a hoodie that still smelled like sand and salt and oil paint, and made your way out of the room for the first time in days.

The hallway lights felt too bright. You blinked against them, bare feet brushing the cold tile. It wasn’t until you reached the kitchen that you heard the soft hum of someone else already there.

Sylus.

He stood by the counter, back to you, hands braced on either side of a ceramic mug. His hair was tousled – still drying from a shower, it looked like – and there was a faint crease between his brows.

He heard your footsteps before you spoke.

“Hey,” he said, turning gently. Not surprised. Not startled. Just relieved.

“Hey,” you murmured.

His eyes skimmed your face, then lowered. He set the mug down slowly. “You’ve been… in your room a while.”

You gave a small nod. “I know.”

He didn’t press. Just moved a little closer, voice softening. “I’ve been giving you space. We all have, I know you… have a lot on your mind. But–”

“I know,” you repeated, arms crossed loosely over your chest.

A long pause.

Then, quietly:

“I want to take you somewhere tomorrow.”

You glanced up.

He met your eyes, something careful and patient in his. “Just us. It’s not business. I just think it might help. Clear your head.”

You hesitated. Swallowed.

“I don’t know if I’m really up for–”

“You don’t have to talk,” he said. “You don’t even have to enjoy it. Just come with me. Let me try.”

That quiet again. But it wasn’t heavy this time.

“…Okay,” you said.

His mouth twitched – almost a smile – and he nodded once, stepping back.

“I’ll come by around noon.”

You gave another small nod, turning toward the sink, reaching for a glass.

Neither of you said anything else.

But as he left the room, you realized:

A small part of you didn’t feel like disappearing anymore.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You were still brushing the sleep from your eyes when you heard the knock.

Three slow taps – soft, but distinct.

You opened the door hesitantly, and there he was. Sylus. Dressed down, black slacks and a dark button-up open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms. His hair was slicked back just enough to look intentional. In his hands: a box. Matte black, ribboned in crimson.

You blinked. “What’s this?”

He held it out to you. “A gift.”

You took it slowly, glancing up at him. “Why?”

“For that thing I mentioned yesterday,” he said. “Get dressed. I’m taking you to a fashion show.”

You stared.

A beat passed.

“You’re kidding.”

He almost smiled. “You’ve been locked up for a week. I figured something extravagant might tempt you.”

Your fingers worked the ribbon free, lifting the lid – and your breath caught.

Inside was a dress unlike anything you’d ever worn. Silken and weightless, in a deep burgundy that shimmered like starlight when you tilted it against the light. Alongside it, nestled in a velvet compartment: earrings of silver and diamonds, delicate and fluid like drops of water frozen mid-fall.

You looked up again, voice softer now. “I’ve never been to a fashion show before.”

“First time for everything.”

A small smile flickered at the corners of your mouth. You let your fingers linger on the fabric, then finally looked up and murmured:

“…Thanks, Sylus.”

His gaze warmed, just slightly. “I’ll wait downstairs. We'll leave in the evening.”

You nodded, retreating into your room. As the door clicked shut behind you, you held the dress up to the light again – and for the first time in days, something inside you sparked. Not joy, exactly. But curiosity. Maybe even anticipation.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The car slid to a stop in front of the venue just as thunder cracked overhead.

Rain sheeted down, heavy and sudden, drumming against the windshield in sharp staccato bursts. Through the fogged glass, the soft glow of the event hall shimmered like a mirage – all marble and glass and chrome, a clean-cut elegance dulled slightly by the haze of the storm.

Sylus leaned forward and gave the driver a nod before placing his coat around your shoulders. “Stay close.”

He popped the door and stepped out first, umbrella snapping open with a practiced flick. When he came around to your side, he was already half-soaked, collar damp and dark, hair dripping from the rain.

You laughed despite yourself as he offered you his hand. “You’re going to be drenched by the time we get inside.”

“Then let’s make it quick.” He smirked. “Come on.”

You took his hand and let him guide you out. The umbrella was barely wide enough for the both of you – your arm curled around his, pressed close as the two of you half-jogged through the puddled pavement and up the stairs. The doormen ushered you in fast, and the door shut behind you with a hiss, sealing off the storm like a held breath.

Inside, warmth and color bloomed.

Crystal chandeliers glittered above a sprawling gallery bathed in violet lights. Rows of seats flanked the catwalk, which gleamed like glass down the center of the room. Guests milled around, high fashion dripping from every sleeve, champagne glasses catching the low light like prisms.

You slipped off his coat and smoothed your dress, heart fluttering.

“This is… wow,” you murmured.

Sylus leaned toward you slightly. “Not bad for a last-minute invitation.”

“You know people?”

He gave you a sidelong glance. “I am people.”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. Still locked into his arm, you let him guide you to your seats – front row, near center. 

You sat down beside him, still adjusting the hem of your dress even though it was perfectly fine. The lights overhead dimmed a touch, casting everything in cooler tones – purples, silvers, shadows. The kind of atmosphere that made your skin buzz.

Music began to drift in – low and sleek, the sound of velvet being dragged over glass. The room was filling fast, the buzz of conversation rising and falling in waves.

Sylus leaned in slightly, voice warm near your ear. “This part always drags. The fashion is great, but the crowd pretends it’s more dramatic than it is.”

“Are you saying rich people are bad actors?”

“Half of them are here for a photo. The other half are hoping they get seated next to someone interesting.”

“And which are we?”

He glanced at you, lips twitching. “The people who’ll make the front page either way.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re with me.”

You gave him a light shove, laughing, but your cheeks were warm.

You turned slightly to look out over the rest of the crowd – scanning rows, taking in the colors and couture, the shimmer of silver against skin, the flicker of phone cameras and whispered commentary.

And that’s when you saw him.

Rafayel.

Sitting across the runway, directly opposite you.

Hair slicked back from the rain. Sharp black suit. No umbrella. No one at his side.

His gaze wasn’t on you – not exactly. It was angled low, distant. Jaw tight. One hand curled on the armrest, white-knuckled.

He looked like a man holding back a tidal wave.

You’ve got to be kidding.

Of course he’d be here.

Your breath caught, but before you could dwell on it, turn to tell Sylus, the lights dimmed. A hush fell. The show began.

Maybe he didn’t see me. Just keep your head down.

Music poured in, ethereal and slow. Models emerged, clothed in gauzy, impossible designs, dreamlike silhouettes and colors that shimmered like oil on water. You should’ve been mesmerized.

But outside, the storm had grown louder.

Wind howled against the glass. Thunder cracked so loud it swallowed the music whole. Lightning splintered the sky, and then–

Darkness.

A jolt of confusion swept the room. The music stuttered and died. Whispers rose. Emergency lights buzzed to life along the exits, dim and red.

Sylus turned to you, hand already brushing your arm. “Power’s out. We should go.”

“Bathroom first,” you said quickly, standing. “Just give me a minute.”

I need to breathe.

He nodded, scanning the crowd. “Don’t take too long.”

You slipped off toward the back.

“How long do you plan on playing house with her?”

Sylus turned.

Rafayel stood just behind him, half-shadowed by the dim lighting, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He wasn’t smiling.

Sylus blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafayel said. His voice was low, cool. “Stay away from her.”

Sylus scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from the man she ran from in tears.”

Rafayel didn’t flinch. “You don’t even know what you’re involved in.”

Sylus squared his shoulders, brows lifting. “Then enlighten me.”

A flicker of emotion passed through Rafayel’s face – something bitter, something old.

“You don’t even recognize her, do you?” he said, voice sharp with restrained fury. “You spent all that time with her. You got to her before I did. And you still don’t see it.”

Sylus’s face shifted. His confidence faltered.

“What are you talking about?”

Rafayel’s eyes glinted.

“Who she truly is.”

Sylus’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

A low breath left Rafayel’s chest – not a laugh, but something like it. Bitten through with pain, bitterness, and reverence.

“My bride.”

Sylus blinked. “What–?”

“The one I forged my covenant with,” Rafayel said, voice barely above a whisper now. “Not some mimic… not a shade meant to keep me quiet. But her.” His gaze was miles deep now, somewhere ancient. “The one I’ve waited lifetimes for.”

Rafayel’s voice dropped low, laced with venom. “If you truly loved her, you would have seen it – before she even got here. But you didn’t. You missed the signs, the truth beneath the surface. You don’t deserve her presence.”

Sylus’s jaw tightened, searching Rafayel’s eyes. 

“Don’t you feel it?” Rafayel pressed, stepping closer. “You’re bound to her too, aren’t you? You don’t feel the pull? Don’t see the life in her eyes? You don’t feel the weight of everything you’ve shared?”

Sylus was nearly speechless, the weight of it settling in his chest.

He did feel it. 

But he hadn’t let himself believe it.

“Did you… bring her here?” he finally asked, voice barely steady.

Rafayel’s gaze deepened into something darker. “She’s supposed to be here. I brought her to where she belongs.”

Sylus didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Lightning cracked again, illuminating Rafayel’s face in stark relief. For a second – just a second – he looked haunted.

Then:

“Sylus?”

The voice was far-off at first. Faint.

You.

He turned, scanning the thinning crowd.

You were threading your way toward him, eyes searching. “There you are,” you said, relieved. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

He turned back.

Rafayel was gone.

Sylus’s jaw tensed, but he forced a smile. “Yeah,” he said, barely audible. “I’m okay.”

You studied him, unconvinced.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said softly. “Come on, sweetie.”

He took your arm, pulled you close, and led you through the crowd, back into the storm.

a/n: RAF GIRLS DONT SHOOT!!!! you see what happened was [gunshot]

anyways im sorry this chapter is short, but im so excited to see the reactions 🤭

🏷️: @paper--angel @leftpoetrymoon @istolepeanuts @rjreins @freeprincesslove @3fg7 @mariahuchiha90 @beaconsxd @poptrim @hon3yydew @pinkpastelbabygirl @rafayelridesfisheatsfish @yannew @peachystea @cms399 @marinenox @cottagedumpling @nightmarewasteland @mitskunicheesecake @katyeongs @shadowypeachsweets @saybeyonce @napforalifetime @bubera974 @moonlight-inthe-sea @xvilluis @potania @demon-master-zero @antonneva @fairestofnrc @orianakira @blessdunrest @vvyeislazzy @probably-hyperfixating @dysphxriaii @nayukiyukihira @an-bwp @asakiyu

[leifyposting]

y'all i finally figured out what's going on with diluc's tcg deck

a little while ago i made this post about mond trio playing tcg, because jean and kaeya's decks make sense but diluc's doesn't - he has razor and xiangling in his deck, neither of whom synergize with him, and no healer for some reason??

then i thought about it a little bit more and now i think diluc's deck is actually an excellent representation of his character: because tcg is a game that revolves around a team and diluc is a man who is used to fighting alone

ok let me explain

^ first things first! this is the diluc card. the diluc card is a hypercarry, which means you want him on the field as much as possible. there is nothing diluc wants more than to use his skill and use it often - and for good reason! if you use his skill 3 times in one round, it deals a total of 11 damage, which is insane if you consider that each character card only has 10 health. he can basically solo a character in one round!

there's just one problem. using diluc's skill 3 times requires a total of 9 dice... and you only get 8 dice per round

there are ways to get around this, and diluc's support cards are absolutely laser-focused on making sure he can use his skill. so much so, in fact, that he doesn't even have any cards that would let him heal himself?? more on that later

the point is: diluc needs all his dice to fuel his attacks. doing literally anything other than attacking (ex. swapping off or healing) would nerf his damage output. this deck is designed for one thing and one thing only: doing as much damage as possible in the shortest amount of time possible

okay now let's talk about his team comp. cause like *waves hands vaguely* what the heck is going on here, man.

^ diluc's teammates are razor (whom he's met like once in canon) and xiangling (whom he's met a grand total of zero times). most characters' tcg decks are comprised of other characters they at least vaguely know. but not diluc's

and this doesn't make sense from a gameplay perspective either. razor is also a hypercarry - he likes his field time as much as diluc does. and although xiangling is a sub-dps who does off-field damage with her burst, her element is the same as diluc's which means she can't trigger reactions with him. neither of them synergize very well with diluc

and i think that's intentional, because xiangling and razor synergize very well with each other. my theory is that these two cards are meant to serve as a kind of "second line of defense" and take over when diluc falls

because the one glaringly obvious issue with diluc's deck is this: he has no way to heal

there are a couple of different healing mechanics in tcg. the most obvious one is to have a healer (which diluc doesn't). the second most obvious one is to have food cards that heal (which diluc doesn't). the third most obvious one is to have location cards that heal (which diluc, you guessed it, doesn't)

if you play diluc as an on-field hypercarry, you'd probably want at least 1 of the above mechanics to, you know, keep him alive. but diluc doesn't have any. and i think that's intentional

because i think the diluc card in this deck is meant to burn brightly but very briefly. i think he's meant to do a ton of damage with his skill, tank the enemies' attacks without healing, and then die. and then xiangling and razor come along after him and finish off the remaining enemies - if there are any left standing

which... you know...

... is not a bad encapsulation of his character overall!

so, you know what, i owe diluc an apology. i was not familiar with his game. this tcg deck is awful if you want to play tcg in the intended way, but it perfectly fits his character and approach to life - because this deck is the deck of a man who only knows how to fight alone

[keyboardcatramel]

Together [Beelzebub/Reader]

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Notes: Gender neutral reader, short fic eh hehe I don't like how I wrote this it feels so stiff and lifeless to me, but I just wanted to write some sappy, fluffy beel. 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Pronouns: You, they/them

・❥・ MASTERLIST ○ REQUEST

"It's the third time this week he hasn't wanted seconds," Belphegor hissed loudly to his brothers.

"He really misses them...." Asmo sighed, his shoulders slumping as he stared weakly at Beel across the room. Heck, he was at the point that he wasn't even finishing a single plate; he would just pick at his food, take a few mouthfuls and then sigh. Sometimes his bottom lip would stick out in a slight pout then he'd just go to his room and --

According to Belphegor all Beel did when he was alone was scroll through his photo reel looking at photos of him and you together, or he'd be obsessively checking his messages for your daily check in. If any of them had known how badly he'd take being away from you, they'd all have protested your brief pop back to the human realm.

Of course, you needed to go. Your brief stay had now become somewhat permanent and you had things in your old life you had to take care of, things you wanted to bring back with you -- they all understood, but none of them could handle how Beel was taking it at all.

Perhaps they should have foreseen it, after all he was so in tune with your emotions and needs and absolutely glued to your hip that this sudden removal of you from his life must have been a shock to his system. They'd all tried everything to get him to focus more on the fact you'd be home real soon, but--

"I can't take this anymore," Belphegor grumbled, snatching Asmo's d.d.d from his hands. "Mines upstairs, this is an emergency," he responded when the elder brother tried to grab his phone back.

"But I was editing a really cute photo!" Asmo cried out, cringing when Beel's fork suddenly scraped across the plate loudly.

"Edit it later! Didn't you say earlier you're getting dark circles?"

Asmo sighed softly. "Because I'm so used to the sound of Beel's stomach growling... it's hard to sleep without it."

"Hey... isn't that a bit much?" Mammon asked, not wanting to admit at all that he was also affected by how down Beel was. He wanted to stay it was pathetic, really, but whenever his younger brother turned his large, puppy dog eyes on him, all he could think was how to get you back asap. Someone had to stop this, someone had to fix this and soon. Even Lucifer seemed to be at a loss.

Beel let out a loud sigh and Mammon bit his lip, wondering if he could distract him at a club or a casino or-- or something!

"There," Belphie said quickly, puffing his chest out and smiling to himself as he handed Asmo's d.d.d back to him. "I fixed it."

"Didn't we agree not to tell them?" Asmo asked quietly, reading through the exchanged messages. Despite his question, he smiled, almost kicking his feet at the almost-too-romantic scenario you and Belphie had quickly cooked up.

It was later that night that Belphie's plan started.

It took little to coax Beel out to hell's kitchen with him. He was always more than willing to spend time with his twin, especially going out to eat; something they didn't get to do nearly as much as what he wanted to, but--

"Hey, Beel, they'll be back before you know it," Belphie said gently, leading him to the table in the centre of the room.

"They said they had a lot left to do," he replied, shoulders slumping as he glanced at the menu. Not even the new items seemed to make him excited, and Belphie had to admit he thought he understood what Asmo meant with being unable to sleep as well without the sound of Beel's stomach. It was as though something absolutely vital to their daily lives was missing.

Catching the eye of one of the waiting staff, Belphie smiled hugely half wriggling in his seat. "Well lets order your usual."

"I'm not sure I can eat all that."

"I'm positive you'll be able to."

It wasn't as though Beel wanted to be like this. He'd tried everything to be his usual self, but... things just weren't the same right now. There was no one to cuddle at night, no one to share food with that he'd usually eat alone, no one to wipe the crumbs from his mouth and then kiss the corner of his lips with a fond smile, no one to comb their fingers through his bed hair--

There was no one else like you.

He was well aware of how attached he'd grown to you, but even he hadn't realised just how much of an affect your absence would have on him. He honestly thought it wouldn't be so bad -- he'd notice, yes, he'd be lonelier, yes, but he had his brothers and life wouldn't be any different, not really.

Only it was and he wanted things back how they were.

It was only for a little bit, and he refused to let you know just how badly he was coping without you; he didn't want you rushing back here for his sake distracting you from all the important things you had to do.

Maybe he could go and help you -- his strength would be useful, right? And maybe you could take him to local food places you liked, he could try new things, and--

For the first time since you'd gone he felt hungry. Maybe dinner wouldn't be so bad tonight.

"Okay, let's-" he blinked, realising he was now alone. Had he been so boring and absorbed in his thoughts that his twin had gone off elsewhere? That wasn't like Belphie at all -- perhaps he'd just... fresh air, maybe?

"Here's your meal."

And now he was hallucinating your voice.

"Thanks...." He sighed, shoulders slumping as he almost curled in on himself. He didn't look up, he couldn't bare for it to not actually be you, he swore his heart might shatter.

"Beel."

Beel's head snapped up as your voice came again. He blinked a few times, then a few more, unsure he was really seeing you standing in front of him, a large plate of food in your hands. You slowly put it down in front of him but it's not the scent of the cheeseburger that has his attention: it's yours.

God he'd missed that -- your shirts, your pillow, none of it smelled as good as you did now.

Quickly rising to his feet, Beel quickly grabbed your waist and lifted you in the air. "You're here!" he cried happily, not caring about making a scene at all as he span you around, laughing loudly. When he sensed you were dizzy he stopped, crushing you in a tight hug against his chest, his face buried in your hair as he inhaled deeply. Yeah, he'd missed that. He'd missed everything about you.

"I missed you," he laughed again, pulling back to look at your face.

"I missed you too, why didn't you tell me you needed me?"

"I... well..." Because he was used to being the strong one, perhaps, he was supposed to protect the others, that was his job; how could he possibly do that in his current state? And any time he realised just how badly he was affecting everyone else he only found himself growing more stubborn about it.

Shaking his head to throw those darker thoughts from his mind, Beel quickly focused on spotting light kisses all over your face. He really, really had missed you; next time he'd just go with you, he'd find a way to convince Lucifer and Diavolo to let him go, he'd do anything, he just-- he just had to be with you.

What if something had happened to you while you were away?

It was the thought that had driven him crazy, and now that you were here, safe in his arms, he felt like himself again.

"They have new items on the menu," he quickly said, stomach growling loud enough for even the cooks out back to hear. "We can split this -- and that cafe you like came out with a new sharing sundae but I wanted to wait for you and-"

"Beel," you laughed softly, grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him down so you could kiss him firmly. The truth was, you'd been miserable without him, too, and had regretted not finding a way for him to come with you.

You'd never imagined in your life you'd find someone you couldn't be apart from like this. Wasn't this type of relationship the stuff of stories? You guessed there wasn't really much about the whole thing that wasn't absolutely something out of a fantasy novel, but if all this was was some storybook, you dearly hoped the final page would never come.

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 14

prompt: i think a fun fic idea might be etho and gem having a thing that's undefined, but etho has put a lot of mental time/energy into it without communicating that well to gem. and then he notices how close gem and grian have become in.... wow, how long has it actually been? etho can't tell, but is there also an undefined thing happening there?

jealousy ensues and an incredibly stunted conversation leads to etho deciding he should visit gem

this sounds very specific so of course you can change anything as you like, if you decide to write it :D

cw: rpf

It takes Gem exactly forty-seven seconds to realize Etho’s landed his character at the edge of where she’s building. She’s standing still — hands clearly off her keyboard — and he wonders if she’s on her phone.

“Long time no see,” he says when she finally turns, and she goes still again, maybe pulling her mic closer and unmuting.

“It hasn’t been that long,” she answers with a slight laugh, and there’s a tugging in his stomach.

He’s missed the sound of her voice.

She places down a shulker, starting to sort her inventory, and he doesn’t know how he’s meant to hold her attention. He thought just being there would be enough.

“I didn’t know you were going away,” he tries, and she looks over at him before falling still again, maybe back to texting.

“I didn’t go anywhere,” she says after a minute, when Etho’s just starting to think he should go back to one of his own projects.

“Really?” he asks, curious in the same way he is when he touches a bruise just to see how painful it is. “You’ve been a lot of places this year.”

Gem hums in agreement and goes back to her shulker. “I stayed at home.”

“For a whole week?” He lets out a breathy laugh, because the idea of her not going anywhere for that long sounds ridiculous. “Why?”

That finally seems to get her whole attention and she looks up.

“Grian was visiting,” she admits and Etho freezes, his body turning cold.

“Grian?”

She hadn’t mentioned it. Though, neither had Grian, and Etho’s not sure why he didn’t put two and two together with them both away from the server at the same time.

“Grian,” Gem confirms. “He’d never been to Canada before.”

Etho falls silent for a moment, unsure what to say to that. He’s seen them playing R.E.P.O. together, how giggly they get, but he didn’t — it seemed harmless.

“I didn’t realize you were that close.”

He clears his throat, a little embarrassed at his honesty, at how it makes him sound jealous, but he knows the kind of person Grian is.

He works hard to be the center of attention, louder than others, a little repetitive to make sure he’s heard — everything Etho strives not to be.

He didn’t know Gem was into that and Etho’s not sure he can compete.

“Is that a problem?” she asks, a tone to her voice that heavily hints he’s said the wrong thing.

But he can’t stop thinking about Gem inviting Grian into her home, and he leans back in his chair, horrified by the thought of her inviting him into her bed too.

“Are you and him — ” he doesn’t finish the thought, just leaves it hanging, and he wonders what kind of expression she’s wearing, if she’s actually mad at him.

He’s not sure he cares, he just needs to know the truth.

He’s spent a significant amount of time with Gem since season nine. Significant for him at least. He’s let her into his life more than maybe anyone else. He told her about his setup and eventually shared pictures, solely because he thought she’d want to see.

He thought they were close. He thought she liked him.

“I could visit you,” he blurts, which might be one of the stupidest things he’s ever done. But there’s truth to it.

If that’s what it would take for Gem to understand, to take notice.

“What’s happening right now?” Gem asks, and she sounds confused, but her voice is softer.

“If you wanted that,” he says.

“If I wanted you to visit me?”

He hesitates, not sure if he’s ready to commit to it, but his chest feels tight at the thought of losing his chance with her.

“Yeah.”

She makes a soft sound, like an exhale, and Etho starts wondering if he’s messed up completely.

But after a beat, Gem says, “Grian’s wife stayed with me, too. They visited together.”

Etho swallows.

“Oh,” he says and Gem hums quietly.

“You can’t take it back now,” she tells him. “Your offer.”

Etho stares at her character, wishing he could see her actual face.

“Is it something you’d want?” he asks, and it feels like everything hinges on her answer.

He’s not expecting the laugh she lets out, the way it sounds a little crazed, and she hiccups as she cuts it off.

“That’s — ” she starts, before pausing as though looking for the right words. “Yeah, Etho, that’s something I’d want.”

The knot in Etho’s stomach loosens and something akin to hope flares behind his ribs.

“Or I could visit you,” she says. “Whichever — whatever’s easier.”

Etho finds himself taking his hands off the keyboard, rubbing his clammy palms on his thighs.

“I’ve never been to Newfoundland,” he admits.

“Okay,” she agrees and it’s strange, but he can hear the smile on her face as she says it. “I’ll DM you later?”

Her character shifts from side to side, back in motion, her attention entirely on him, the way he wants.

“Okay,” he replies, and finds himself smiling in return.

[strigimorphaes]

Princess (6k words)

Remember when, ages ago, we got these pictures of Josh at the Dauphine and I said I'd write fic about his roommate taking care of him in the so-called princess bed? Well, it took a while, but Strigi's Summer of Clearing Out The Cupboards (TM) continues! Being on a mission to finish and publish strugglefics that have lingered in WIP-folders for what feels as long as Wilco Kelderman's time without a World Tour win, I decided to finally throw this out there. This one has age difference, anal sex, and quite a lot of convincing + internalized homophobia!

-***-

Josh is a bad roommate, and he knows. Laurens isn’t saying it ‘cause he’s polite and all, but they’re three stages into the Dauphine and they both know it isn’t getting any better. The room is a right mess. Josh tries to keep it under control, but it just happens around him as soon as his suitcase is unzipped. Boom. And his thoughts are the same way. The race ends, he gets his dinner, and then he starts worrying. He says it out loud when Laurens tries to relax in the evening. He should keep it inside his stupid skull, bury it deep along with his awareness of the dull aches in his body, but he doesn’t. Tonight, he’s thinking about that time trial tomorrow, the one everyone wants him to win. -    

He turns in his bed, already sweating. Laurens is in the shower. Josh can hear the water, the faint humming, the way Laurens clears his throat.

Laurens thinks he has it bad, listening to the worrying. The worst thoughts Josh gets are those he can’t speak out loud at all. It got bad after last night’s hotel room. Divvying up the beds, one small, one king-size. It wasn’t right that Josh should have the small one when he’s as big as he is, and they could both have been more comfortable in the king, but unspoken rules said they ought to be seperate. Josh is not supposed to think about how Laurens was joking-but-not-joking about teaching them young as he made Josh take the smaller bed, making him feel younger and lesser and like someone would care for him - the opposite of how he feels when it’s all on his shoulders during a time trial. And Josh kept feeling that way all night staring at the gap between the beds. He could’ve reached across. If he’s made to share a room with a man who speaks to him the way Laurens does, all kindly, warm… He's wired to want. That's how he got here.

Josh is lying in this lovely princess bed, fake ivy wound around the headboard and chiffon falling from the ceiling. He wonders what it means that that’s the one Laurens thought he should have. Josh was trying to be polite, letting Laurens choose, and Laurens seemed kind of annoyed, like Josh had been trying to insult him – but then said Josh should take the princess bed, which is the better bed of the bunch, softer and with the electrical outlets beside it. It’s a bit ridiculous because it’s so girly – Josh doesn’t look right in it for sure – but he also thinks he must be past the new-to-the-squad-hazing at this point, and he took a picture to show how not embarrassed he was, so even if it was that, it’s not working.

When Laurens comes out of the bathroom, surrounded by steam, naked except for the towel tied around his waist, Josh shouldn’t want it to slip, but he does.

And this time, Josh is in this other bed that makes him feel ridiculous. It’s a lovely mess with fake ivy around the headboard and see-through fabric falling from the ceiling. Josh wonders what it means that Laurens told him to sleep there. He could have gone for another normal bed like the one Laurens got. The princess bed, as Laurens called it, is softer and nearer the electrical outlets, so maybe it was him trying to be nice to Josh before the TT - but it’s also so bloody girly that Josh has to wonder if it’s more new-to-the-squad-hazing. Either way, he took a picture to show how not embarrassed he was. He posts it now, then waits.  

He hopes he doesn’t embarrass himself tomorrow. Please, no punctures, no sliding out in corners -  

Think about something else, Josh. And he shimmies further down under the covers, soft sheets sliding over his freshly shaven legs and everything.

He imagines Laurens calling him princess.

Josh thinks he might lack some kind of self control that proper cyclists have. He’s bad at denying himself. He sees the opportunities, listens to his roommate breathing across the room and just wants. He kind of likes everyone on the team a little bit. He gets to see all the best part of them, personality-wise and physically. Casually. Something’s wrong in him so that it doesn’t stop at camaderie. His gaze gets stuck to their bodies - cycling’s a good sport if you like male bodies. Lean bodies, too, shaved calves and hip bones. And even though Laurens’ body is all pared down, his face still has some round boyishness to it that Josh likes.

Josh can’t be the only one who’s ever had trouble with not staring, right? Somebody else has got to have been like him, or at least lonely enough to think like him for a little while, statistically. But it doesn’t feel like it.

Laurens is bending over his suitcase now, picking out fresh underwear, calves tense. He has pulled on his boxers, thank God, by the time he turns around to say, “Luke texted me. He saw the picture. Told me you have trouble relaxing the night before a TT.”  

Yeah, Josh remembers that. He nods. Luke had been good to him last time when they roomed and Josh was as nervous as he is now. Luke had sat up with him just talking. But back then, too, Josh was a bad roommate, staring at Luke’s thighs too much when he was there on the bed in just his pants. Luke had said it happens sometimes, never elaborating if he meant the pre-TT stress or the staring. 

“He says to watch out for you,” Laurens continues.

Josh looks down at the creases that form in the duvet between his knees, fidgeting with his thumb ring. When he looks back up, Laurens is sitting down on one of the other beds. The nice, normal ones.

“I guess I am nervous,” Josh says. “I get all weird. A million thoughts a minute, you know?” 

“Can you find some way to distract yourself?” Laurens asks.

“I’d love to. I need to get out of my head,” Josh mumbles.  

“Well, let me know if I can help.” Laurens shrugs. “We could watch something?”

Josh doesn’t want to risk lying next to Laurens, so he just says, “I’ll be on my phone for a bit I think, and see what happens when I try to sleep. But… thanks for offering.”

“You’re kind of my responsibility. I’m being told I have to take care of you – teach you things, eh?” Laurens makes a tsk-sound, and Josh tries not to let those words spark thoughts of yesterday again. “You’ve got to get your nerves under control.”  

Josh looks down, nodding.

He can’t bring himself to look at Laurens for the rest of the evening, which luckily isn’t long. Josh scrolls aimlessly and listens to Laurens brushing his teeth. He decides not to call his mom, because talking to her makes him feel three years younger and that’s not what he needs.

Laurens goes to sleep at a reasonable hour.

Josh should do the same. He needs to wake up tomorrow and believe he’s got it. He knows that. He’s just thinking about the curve in the road at the last kilometers and the possibility of rain and…

On the other side of the room, Laurens breathes deeply in his sleep.

It’s too hot for Josh to sleep under the duvet, so it’s pushed off to the side, occasionally twisted between his legs. It shifts when Josh moves. He tosses and turns a lot until he starts to think anything would be better than this. Trapped between two thought spirals, he notices that an hour’s gone since Laurens started to sound like he was fast asleep. And Josh shouldn’t choose this escape, but he does.

Closing his eyes, he retreats away from the room as it is now and tomorrow as it looms in his thoughts. He goes back to two hours ago, and this go-around, Josh says something else.

“I think I know a way you can help me.”  

And Laurens knows. As they sit on their separate beds, Laurens’ gaze roams over Josh’s body, and it seems that he likes what he sees. His breaths deepen. He’s trying to hold back because he knows that professionals shouldn’t do this sort of thing, but this is the sort of thing that happens. He knows – he’s heard. Luke and G’s thing isn’t just a rumor, or a joke and Laurens has known other men who needed the kind of comfort Josh is aching for.

Laurens doesn’t speak. Josh doesn’t speak either. There is just an unspoken agreement In this dream, Laurens getting up and crossing the room to sit down at Josh’s side means that . Laurens is not the first to feel tempted, Josh is not the first to want it so much.

Josh turns onto his back, his own hand sliding down his thigh as he imagines that it’s Laurens’.

“You need to rest before tomorrow,” Laurens says, his voice still somewhat cold in a way that gives Josh goosebumps. “So I’ll take care of you. You’re my responsibility.”

Josh nods, and he pushes himself up on his elbows to meet Laurens’ lips. Laurens is a good kisser, but he’s also efficient, placing a hand on Josh’s chest to push him down again soon after. He takes charge. He doesn’t mind that Josh is a tree of a man and he’s not intimidated by how much Josh desires. He parts Josh’s legs, palms sliding over the insides of his thighs, finding smooth skin, shaving nicks, bruises. A tentative touch of two fingers along the outline of Josh’s cock under the white cotton underwear makes Josh get harder past the point of no return.

Josh’s hand sinks lower. It’s wrong for him to even go this far, but he can’t resist it, so he pulls the duvet across his lap. He hopes it’ll swallow the sound. Sweat gathers on his lower back and in the hollows of his knees. He listens again to tell if the real Laurens is sleeping, and yes, those breaths are still deep and even. Nothing bad can come of just a little touching. Josh rubs the head of his cock, and even if he feels terrible for it - it’s Laurens doing it, radiating confidence and experience.

Josh’s breathing is getting erratic, but he can still barely keep up when inhaling through his nose. It sounds too loud. Laurens’ hands move along his sides, each gentle touch telling stories of times he has done this before, with other men who are like Josh, in other dark rooms.

Josh wants there to have been other dark rooms. The duvet cover is rough against the back of his hand, moving slowly but determined.It’s not too loud. Laurens is sleeping, right? Or is it – would he -

Laurens sneaks a hand under Josh’s pants and kisses his neck. His grip is just tight enough, his movements steady. Josh squirms a little, but then Laurens whispers to him.

“Keep still, Joshua.”

With everyone else, it’s Josh and Joshy and Tarling and lad, mate, kid. Only Laurens is steadfast about calling him Joshua, taking care to get the last syllable when everyone else goes for Josh or Joshy.

Laurens takes care of everything, coaxing Josh along until he’s hopelessly turned on by the thought of what’s to come.  

Josh opens his mouth, his pulse loud in his ears, and it’s too much. He presses his face into the pillow, wanting his breathing to slow. The urge to just keep going is strong, but he wills his hand away and holds onto the bedsheet, waiting. He has to calm down before he makes too much noise. When he turns, his cock drags against the mattress and it feels good enough to coax a little surprised sound from the back of his throat.

Across the room, Laurens’ bed creaks.

Josh lies as still as he can. When he dares a glance, he can make out a silhouette; Laurens pokes his head up, looking in Josh’s direction as if to check if all is well. Some bedsheets rustle, and then – shit. Josh curls into himself, drawing his knees up to hide his shame as Laurens gets out of bed.

Still hot all over, Josh keeps his face turned into the pillow.

He hears the sound of bare feet on the floor. Laurens getting closer. Almost by the bed, now. And then –the bathroom door opening. The lights turn on automatically, a loud fan following. Josh opens one eye. Laurens lingers in the doorway, his shadow falling on top of the princess bed until he closes the door. Josh can hear the toilet flushing and the sink running, Laurens clearing his throat. Then there is a pause. Maybe he’s looking in the mirror. He emerges with the faint smell of roses from the hotel soaps, and Josh still wants him, even though it’s wrong, even though it’s maybe just because he’s someone here in this room, and Josh is still hard under the cover as he pretends to sleep.

Josh wonders what Luke meant when he told Laurens to watch out.

Even now, Josh thinks of Laurens leaning in again. He smiles as he looks down on Josh and says –

“Is everything okay?”

The mattress gives under new weight, and in a daze, Josh opens his eyes. He takes it all in at once: Moonlight on the floors and floating dust, the hum of distant traffic, the sound of blood rushing in his ears when he sees Laurens sitting upright beside him like some ghost on the other side of the see-through fabric surrounding the bed.

And Josh knows well what he looks like, all wound up. Red cheeks, chest rising and falling rapidly. Maybe the moonlight makes his sweat shine. “You know,” he whispers.

“I don’t know,” Laurens insists. He pauses, considering his words. He’s trying to be good even if it’s not comfortable for him, Josh can tell. Then Laurens says, “It sounded like you were crying.”

“I’m not.” Josh is still so hot. It takes effort to breathe normal. “Just go back to bed.”

“I’m supposed to look after you.”

Josh doesn’t have time to get himself together and cover up any more before Laurens pushes aside the chiffon. Now he sees no tears, but certainly the bulge and the damp spot at the front of Josh’s underwear.  

Josh takes a deep breath. Their eyes meet.

He feels like he’s lying on the edge of his fantasy and disaster both, so afraid that it feels good because he’s the type to hold mad hope against better knowledge. Maybe it could happen. Maybe. He’ll never know if he doesn’t let that feeling take his tongue and reach out and say, “Will you take care of me like this?”

It’s a mad thing to do, and Laurens obviously doesn’t know how to respond, his mouth mutely forming words like what and the fuck and probably something in another language. Eventually, he says “Joshua” in that tone where it sounds serious.

Josh expects being admonished. He prepares himself for it. He can take it like he can take a loss.

 “Did any of your old roommates do something to you?” Laurens asks.

Josh gets stuck on the choice of words – to you, not with you or for you. Like it could only be forced on him because he couldn’t possibly want it.

“No,” he says. It’s a small sound. The word floats like a mote of dust in the room. “I’ve never – done something like this before. But I’ve wanted to.”

Laurens is quiet for a long time.

A car passes by outside. The blinds shiver. Laurens looks like he’s waiting for Josh to take back what he said and declare that they should forget this. Josh swallows around the lump in his throat instead and lets his challenge stand.

“This kind of thing doesn’t happen,” Laurens then says. “You can’t come on to your teammates, Josh.”  

"...Yeah,” Josh says. He turns his eyes to the carpet. “Right, okay.”

And then a strange thing happens: Laurens doesn’t stand up and go back to his own bed. He reaches out to touch Josh’s arm. Josh gets goosebumps immediately and Laurens says, “You’re scared.”

“No.”

“Yeah, you are.” Laurens says. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“I’m not,” Josh says, truthfully.

But the fear is there. Josh can’t say what it is exactly, only that it’s about how none of it fits together: Him and his desires and his job, his season peak and this time trial, the aching inside and his team around him, his body and the princess bed, him and Laurens.

“Just don’t do it again,” Laurens said. “I’m… kind of flattered, but another roommate might not act the same way.”  

“…It was because of the thing with the beds yesterday,” Josh says. “All that talking about who’s lying where and teaching them young and when you were almost saying I could be in the double with you – I know you were just joking, but still I thought you might be…”

Laurens’ expression becomes weirdly soft, like he’s sorry for Josh. As if Josh’s sexuality is one more item on the long list of things that have gone bad for him alongside crashes and sickness. He takes his hand away from Josh’s arm.

“I didn’t try to send signals,” Laurens says.

“No. Of course.” Josh grabs the duvet, pulling it nearer, but not over himself, still too warm for it.

Laurens shrugs and says, “I don’t know what to do now, honestly. Maybe I just go back to bed, and we both forget this happened. How about that?”

“If you want,” Josh says.

Laurens’ gaze still lingers, and he doesn’t stand up. Josh digs his fingers into the down of the duvet.

"Can you tell me something first?” he  asks. “Before we pretend we both slept the whole night through?”

“...What is it?” Laurens asks, hesitant.

“Is it really never? It never happens at all? You’ve not ever met or heard about anybody who wanted – that sort of thing?”

“It doesn’t work like that. You don’t talk about it. You shouldn’t even fantasize,” Laurens sighs. “Just pack all of that away until October, Joshua. It can’t happen.”

A pause.

“You’ve never fantasized?”

Laurens looks like he’s about to say something more, but then he closes his mouth and can’t. He keeps looking. Josh likes being looked at. Him, like this, strange creature of hard lines and soft, newly shaven legs in a bed not meant for him, wanting what he shouldn’t have, does not inspire disgust in Laurens. Maybe the opposite. Maybe.

Mad hope.

“Don’t say it can’t happen,” Josh says. His voice doesn’t sound right, just the wrong side of pleading, but so be it. He can’t control it. “I’m telling you it could. Anything could happen with me.”

“It’s dangerous,” Laurens insists, the chiffon moving slowly around him.

“It could just be a dream.”

Meeting halfway. Not something real, but also not that never.

They look at each other for what feels like minutes.

“You could touch me again,” Josh says.

Laurens’ hand lifts off his lap, but hangs in mid-air, not carrying through. Josh grabs his wrist and places it on his own cheek. It’s not exactly what Josh wanted, but it’s something. Someone. It’s what he needs.

Laurens sees that – there’s no doubt in Josh’s mind.

There is time enough for Laurens to push Josh away and say no, to swear again and go back to his side of the room, but he does not.

“I shouldn’t,” Laurens says, even as his thumb strokes Josh’s cheek.

“It’s not our fault. It’s the bed.” Josh pushes himself up on one elbow, bringing their faces closer.

“Princess,” Laurens sighs, tension and relief mingling in him, soft voice and tense shoulders when he leans forward to meet Josh halfway.  

He’s warm and solid. A man, a teammate – even in the low light, Josh can see the tan lines above Laurens’ knees when Laurens pulls his legs up onto the mattress. Josh lets go of Laurens’ wrist to stroke one line with his thumb, then lets his hand travel further up and down Laurens’ strong thigh.

“Okay?” Josh asks.

“Okay,” Laurens says. They don’t kiss, but he does let their foreheads touch before Josh leans back against the pillows. Laurens follows, kneeling between Josh’s spread legs. A little moment of distance, and then he carefully touches Josh’s knee as if he’s afraid it’ll shock either of them.

“You could call me princess again,” Josh says, squeezing his legs around Laurens.

“You like it?” Laurens asks, his hand mirroring what Josh did earlier, exploring his thigh slowly, carefully.

“I think so,” Josh says, though the warmth spreading downwards through his body says that yes, he very much did. Laurens can see that he did.

Laurens stops again, sitting there, stuck on some thought.

“Look,” Josh says, trying to make him relaxed. “Nothing’s impossible. I’m here for whatever you want. What kind of things did you think about when you saw me in this bed?”

“It’s not like that,” Laurens says. He pauses, only fingertips grazing Josh’s skin. “You’re the first man I ever..:”  

“It doesn’t have to be so different,” Josh says, guiding Laurens to flatten his hand, getting more contact. If Laurens doesn’t touch him, he’ll start second guessing. “I could be on my stomach. It’s dark enough that you can just look at my back and…”

“And what?”

“…I could be like a girl for you.”

Laurens considers it, his hand sliding up the inside of Josh’s thigh.

“But you’re not,” Laurens then says, like it’s a stupid idea. “You’re, uh, tall and big and - hairy.” He pauses. “You’re a good-looking man, though.”

Immediately after, Laurens looks like he regrets saying it, but Josh can’t help but smile through the awkward moment, the sheepish look on the older man’s face.

“Alright then,” Josh says. “Thank you? I guess I thought that line would kind of… work?”

“It’s okay, princess.”   

Josh lays his head back, smiling. “I imagined this a lot, but not that it’d be like this.

“Maybe I could just do something, then, and end the awkwardness?”

“Go ahead and save us, Laurens.”

Laurens’ hand ghosts over Josh’s sex, then up to rest at the elastic band of his pants. The mood changes quickly, and Josh falls head-first into some different state where his thoughts become syrup-slow at the mere hint of Laurens taking charge.

“Can I take that off?” Laurens asks.

Josh nods, and Laurens does it slow. Once the pants at Josh's thighs, Josh lifts his legs to help, showing off the core strength needed to keep his limbs in such an elegant arch until the garment is gone. Laurens grabs his ankle, keeps one of Jose's legs raised, and presses his lips to the tan line as if it was a garter belt. The kiss feels like it lingers on Josh’s skin.

Josh mutters a quiet, “Wow. Where did that come from?”

“This is okay?” Laurens asks, letting go of Josh’s foot. His hand travels back up until thumb rubs little circles on Josh’s thigh like a nervous tic, and Josh feels sweat gathering on his lower back where it presses into the mattress.

"I like it," Josh says. "All gentle-like."

“I have to be gentle to make sure you’re not sore tomorrow, right?”

“That’d be nice.”

Laurens puts his mouth on Josh’s thigh next, kissing a little further up. Closer and closer to Josh’s hip, to his cock again ready for attention.

“Do you want to suck me off?” Josh asks.

“Do you… want to be sucked off?” Laurens asks, making eye contact from down there, which – hot, Josh thinks, stopping himself from reaching for Laurens’ head.

“Are you any good at it?”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Yeah, no looking into the mouth, just put your dick in there,” Josh says, smiling at his own attempt at a joke the way one does when tired late at night. “I just thought it seemed like you were going for it.“

“It would not be very good, I think.”

”You could also fuck me. That’s still on the table.”

“Then that,” Laurens answers, breathless. “If you can really - ”

“Nothing’s impossible,” Josh says again, and when Laurens sits back up, Josh pulls him closer. Laurens strokes along Josh’s sides, over his abs, sliding fingers through the coarse curls of hair he has kept at the base of his cock. At last, Laurens touches Josh there for the first time.

“It’s not so different from doing it to yourself, is it?” Josh asks. “You know how to jerk off.”

“It’s very different,” Laurens says. “You’re very different.”

He tightens his grip a little, then slides his fingers up. Josh makes a small noise partly from the fact that it’s someone else doing it.

“Shh,” Laurens tells him. “You’ve got to stay quiet, princess.”

“I know.”

“Can you stay quiet if we go further?”

Josh nods frantically. “The others won’t hear.”

“I don’t know how it works. I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t know if… “

“It’s alright. Earlier, when I was – I thought I’d want to get my fingers inside but…”

“But?”

“You’ll be better than my fingers. Go get my bag from the bathroom.”

Laurens pulls himself away from Josh to find the toiletry bag in the bathroom – again that annoying light-and-fan combo turns on, noisy and too bright. Laurens seems to agree, turning the lights off again once he has the goods under his arm. It’s like what they’re doing belongs in the dark, too. Laurens unzips the bag on the way back to the bed, curious. He throws Josh the tiny bottle of lube and finds a condom for himself. When he sits back down, he’s obviously worried about losing it in the sheets.

“Is it easy for you?” Laurens asks, watching as Josh coats his fingers in the lube.  

“Sometimes, it hurts a little,” Josh answers. “But I’m – I’m feeling weird, now  - good weird, about this. I think I’ll be able to relax.”

“I want to watch you do it.”

Josh’s heart does a funny little jump at that, and he likes the feeling of the situation unravelling, both of them beginning to be carried along, not questioning impulses. The lube is cold, but Josh is not afraid of this part, knowing his body well. He slides one finger in, and it feels hopelessly small compared to what he wants. The wet sound is loud in the quiet room. Laurens moves up the bed and takes to stroking Josh’s chest, fingers briefly lingering at his nipples like he wants to do something and isn’t sure what, and Josh is too focused on what’s going on between his legs to give instructions. 

Even if the shadows obscure the fact that Josh is quick to make it two fingers pushing inside him, Laurens can definitely tell that Josh’s chest rises and falls faster, the corners of his mouth curling upwards. With his free hand, he reaches for Laurens who understands the gesture, leaning in to kiss Josh’s neck.

“You’re so spoiled,” Laurens tells him, giving Josh’s cock a few slow strokes. In response, Josh slings his free arm around Laurens’ back and lets a pleased sigh ring out, and Laurens says, “We spoil you.”

In some ways, Josh is sure Laurens is right, but right now, he also can’t help but think of all that time spent staring at what he couldn’t have. The awful truth Josh knows is that the root of the problem is that we, the team; he wants to fuck his teammates exactly because they’re his teammates. He’s suffered through junior years with trips to races in other parts of Europe that required him and his team to sleep in bunk beds, four or six to a room; long car rides and boredom and pretty profiles set against the highways of Belgium and the Netherlands and France. Spending his time competing to be the best, but also just wanting to be like them in some way he always knew he wasn’t.

He wonders if Laurens had anything like that in his time, those shitty accommodations and the thoughts they inspired. Maybe he was better at handling all of it.

“I think I’m ready for you,” Josh says, withdrawing his fingers and knocking one knee against Lauren’s side as a way to say come closer. “On my stomach. It’s easier for me like that.“

He turns around, hugging a pillow. It feels safer, like some animal instincts tell him it’s best to protect his belly, his vital organs. The heart still beating fast. He imagines the way Laurens must see him with the fragile blue light from outside along his back, shadows pooling at the dip of his spine. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Laurens rolling on the condom. Josh has seen him naked before, but it’s different when he’s allowed to stare, when he knows it’s for him.

“Ask for it, Joshua.”

And Josh knows it’s Laurens wanting to make sure again that Josh is okay with this, which is ridiculous, but he lets himself believe that it’s Laurens trying to teach him to be polite, wanting to make him plead. It’s an entirely separate urge from wanting Laurens’ dick inside him that makes Josh say, “Please?”

“Good,” Laurens tells him, letting his hand slide lower, fingertips prodding between Josh’s legs. There’s both something sure about it, Laurens knowing what he wants, and something tentative and careful from having never had it before. Wanting to know, Josh realizes, what he feels like before actually fucking him.  Two fingers, same as what Josh used, rubbing around his hole and then stretching him out a little further.

Josh hums to let Laurens know it’s right, then says, “Just put it in, please.”

“Sometimes, you can’t get what you want right away.”

Josh moves down on the mattress, closer to Laurens, arching his back a little more to invite him.

“Laurens,” he says – begging, really. “Please, sir.”

It feels so good to let go and just ask. Maybe the title doesn’t have the same punch for Laurens as it’d have for the Brits of the team, but it’s not nothing, either. Laurens waits only a little longer before the mattress shifts beneath them as he lines himself up.

Josh buries his face in the pillow. Again that scent of rose perfume that this hotel is bathed in. It comes from the pillowcase and from Laurens looming over him. Dreamy. Laurens goes slow, with small rocking motions to ease himself in, but then there’s a twinge of pain anyway because he’s working with the kind of size Josh likes, thick enough to make him feel every second of it. Josh exhales into the pillow as finds some sort of rhythm, slow and steady, Josh pushing back a little more each time, letting Laurens sink in a little deeper.

“It’s good, innit? Good for you?” Josh gasps, and Laurens makes an amused little noise.

“I almost forgot to – notice how it feels. I was just making sure I wasn’t hurting you. I’m not, am I?”

“Not enough that I want you to stop. Keep going. I’ll – oh! Like that again, please.” Josh pauses to swallow as Laurens sinks in again. Something inside him begins to unspool, his body relaxing until it’s all that warm-open-good feeling with Laurens’ hand on his hip. “Yeah, it’s nice. And – ah, fuck, yes, there.”

Another thrust makes Josh moan, a deep, hoarse sound, and for a split-second Josh worries if it’s too much, too loud or too masculine, somehow, for the fake leaves and soft fabrics surrounding them even if it’s a weird thought to have. His fingers clench around the duvet as Laurens pauses, stroking the curve of Josh’s bottom while he tries to find out what he did that must’ve been so good, trying to find that angle again. When he rocks forward, Josh moves with him, taking the entire length as all thoughts dissipate and he gasps another “Yes” then groans his “Sorry” into the down of the pillows. He’s bad at staying quiet. He smiles even though Laurens can’t see it. What a terrible roommate he is. It feels too good.He reaches up for the head of the bed, and his grasping for something to hold on to makes the fake vines come loose, dangling over his arms. He likes the image, the fragile greenery complimenting solid muscle as he tenses. Laurens’ pace quickens; he hopes Laurens will collapse on top of him after, keep him down under his weight. Make it last a little longer. Laurens bends over him now, his breath warm on Josh’s neck.  

“Joshua – can I look at you?”

“You mean - ?”

“If you would turn around.”

“Okay, yeah.”

It’s horrible because Laurens pulls out and breaks his rhythm, and then it’s wonderful when his wide hands on Josh’s sides get him arranged with the pillows propping him up and his arms lying above his head, the vines twisting along. Josh knows he’s a sight. Laurens too, for that matter. Sweat gleams on his chest. His cock is hard and red against his stomach, and he leans in again - again that stretch and the dull pleasure coursing through Josh, the feeling of not being alone, not even in his own body.

“Keep going,” Josh demands.

They’re folding into each other, closer and closer. The warmth of Laurens’ skin, the smell of his breath, it’s all there, overwhelming like the heat of his body against Josh’s thighs and stomach. Josh is close, the sensation and sight of Laurens’ hand moving over the sensitive head of his cock making him whimper. Then Laurens expression momentarily changes, wavering, afraid of all that he feels building and cresting, words spilling out of him – “It’s wrong – “

“It’s good,” Josh assures him, hooking a leg around Laurens’ back.

Laurens sets both hands at Josh’s hips, holding him down like that, pushing him into the pillows, the softness and rose-scent.  “It is.”  

“Come here,” Josh mumbles. “Closer – need you here - come inside me, Laurens. Make me feel all of you.” He pulls Laurens closer until the man is buried as deep as he can get. “Remember what I feel like and fantasize about me later.”

That makes Laurens shiver against him, a few slow rolls of his hips all it takes before he presses his sweaty forehead against Josh’s shoulder, shuddering as he finds release. He swears in his mother tongue and stays near, on his knees, keeping himself up with one hand on the mattress.

He forgets about Josh’s cock, and Josh forgives him, taking care of himself, finally able to do what he had wanted to earlier in the evening, this time not needing to hold his breath. He can’t make noise, but he can sigh and surrender to the wonderful weight of Laurens above him. He spills over his own stomach, aware once again of Laurens’ eyes on him.

Josh waits as his pulse falls.

Finally, Laurens lifts his hand to run his fingers through Josh’s hair.

They both know what Laurens will say next; it is as inevitable as morning.

“We never talk about this, okay?”

Josh nods. He drags the duvet closer, covering himself a little. He’ll deal with the sweat and stains later. His legs touch Laurens’. It won’t last long, but for now – for a little bit – it feels like enough.

“You need to get this under control,” Laurens says, his voice quiet.

Another nod.

“If I had been someone else – “

“I know.”

“You ran a risk.”

Josh smiles anyway. His body sinks away from him and the night is softer, blurred and inviting, sleep close by for once. With every heartbeat, the same thought fills him: This happened. This could happen. Once is enough to know that. What he thought of as his flaw lies spilled and scattered on this bed, and inside him, there’s something new in its place, that old feeling changed into a better sort of burden. He’s one whole thing and Laurens can see him even in the dark.  

“Tomorrow, it’s going to be just a dream,” Laurens says.

“Tomorrow,” Josh says, “I'm gonna win the TT.”

Which means: I'll feel better. And you took care of me. And you will get a chance to hug me again.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

Two months had passed since your breakup with Lloyd, but your body still couldn’t tell the difference between past and present. Again and again, it replayed that night, tricking your nervous system into reacting as if it were happening all over again. It wasn’t a nightmare—that would suggest it was imagined. It was a flashback. A vivid, unrelenting replay of the night Lloyd ended everything. At least three times a week, sometimes more, your brain used the soft vulnerability of sleep to ambush you with every ugly detail of that final dinner, in sharp technicolor. Maybe the dreams were supposed to act like exposure therapy. The problem was, your reaction never dulled. Each time, the devastation felt as sharp and new as the first. You sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed your fingertips into your eyes, as if you could scrub away the memory. 

I wanna give her a big hug 💔🥺

Lloyd had dismantled your relationship, but dismantling the rest of your life had been your own doing. He ended things so swiftly, unexpectedly, that it still felt as if the earth had been pulled out from under your feet, like gravity had been turned off. You’d come to accept that to some extent, Lloyd had been your gravity. He’d been at the center of your orbit. First as your best friend and then as your partner. Now you were spinning out of orbit, untethered and heading… who knew where. You certainly didn’t. You didn’t have a plan, or even a concept of a plan. All you wanted was to get away from everything that you knew.

Understandable

 Everything had been dismantled—most of it by your own hand. Now you were left living in the wreckage of it all.

Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do 🤷🏻‍♀️

You wished you’d fought him on it that day, but even as you thought it, there was no real hope behind the idea. Lloyd had always held his convictions with a resolve you couldn’t begin to match. But still, you hadn’t done anything to stop him and that was almost like a moral injury that lingered, a perpetual thorn in your side that continued to bleed. It was one thing for Lloyd to dismiss your efforts to fight, but another thing to contend with—that there had been no effort to fight at all put up by you. You’d let the relationship slip away without fighting for it. 

Sometimes you need the energy that you have left after such a heartbreak just to survive, nothing left for fighting back

In his own broken way, maybe that was Lloyd’s idea of self-sacrifice. He’d claim he wasn’t capable of such a thing, but you knew better. If he believed he couldn’t be what you needed, he would have ended the relationship—if only to set you free.

💔💔💔

“How do you know what kind of Frappuccino my Dad prefers?” “His Instagram’s public. I cyberstalk it sometimes. It’s been my most reliable source of info on you of late—since I barely see you anymore.”

Same haha

You leaned back in your chair, ignoring its squeal of protest. “Zach, I’m at work. I’m busy.” “Are you? Because the last edit on that spreadsheet was at 10:27 A.M.” “Fine, I’m not busy. I’m bored out of my mind. What do you want?” His grin widened. “To see you doing something more productive than balancing books you finished yesterday.”

Touché

“You’re bored.” “And?” “I can fix that.”

Hmm tell me more

Fixing your boredom would put you back in Lloyd’s orbit, which was a price you weren’t sure you were willing to pay.

Fair

“I’m good. Thanks for thinking of me though. I’m flattered.” “Come on. The job starts in May. Your dad’s regular girl will be back by then, and you’d be free to start with us. Perfect timing.” The yearning sharpened. You tried to shove it down, but failed. Zach smirked.

Urgh he is not wrong the offer is kinda perfect...

“I know you. I like you. We work well together. I don’t have to figure out how to fit two new personalities into the firm because I already know you. And I trust you to work with Marco, even though he’s kind of a judgy son of a bitch.”

And he knows how good she is

“I don’t want to work with Lloyd anymore. Not for a while.” “Perfect. I’m not about to put him and Marco in the same room.”

Her wish is his command, as it should be 🙂‍↕️

You sat in the parking lot a block from Café M, debating whether you were up for coffee or if your social battery was tapped out. Jen had enticed you into a Saturday morning Pilates class but had to leave right after to pick up her son from baseball camp. That suited you fine because it meant you got to see Jen, hang out, all while avoiding uncomfortable questions, or updates about Lloyd and the rest of your old coworkers at B&H. According to Jen, Andy was pissed you’d quit and was needling Lloyd about it at every opportunity. You hated thinking about the trail of drama you’d left in your wake.

Pff that's the least Lloyd deserves lol

"Zach said you’ve been dragging your feet accepting his employment offer,” he said. Heat crept up your neck. “So you decided to stalk me?”

Rude, especially with her history

You wrapped your hands around the cold glass of your iced coffee, eyes lowering. “I’m still weighing my options. I don’t know if it’s the right move at the moment.”

Fair

Marco laughed, his disbelief clear. “Liar. You’re avoiding Lloyd. Can’t blame you for that—I get the same urge. Still can’t stand him, no matter what affinity Zach feels towards him. But don’t let his mistakes dictate your future.”

Lmao he is not holding back

Your cheeks flushed. “That’s presumptuous of you, Marco.” He leaned back, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “Come on, Princess. It’s a win-win. I get a date, you get a buffer against Lloyd.”

No him calling her princess 👀

Irritation and intrigue wrestled for dominance. Marco was just as domineering and annoying as Lloyd, but he went about it with less abrasiveness. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe it was time to stop spinning your wheels. Time to stop hibernating and branch out. Accepting Marco’s invitation would certainly make Landon’s wedding easier. You picked up the napkin, typed the number in and saved a new contact.

Go get it girl👏🏻

 You opened Marco’s contact and tapped out a message.

“What’s up? Make it quick. I’m on the seventeenth hole.” You laughed. “Alright. I don’t want to work with Lloyd, if it can be avoided. I know there might be a time when it can’t be prevented but for now…I’d rather not see him. Also, I’d like to work with Marco. I’ll accept your job offer if we can be partners.”

I really hope that offer also has a big fat paycheck attached to it

I accepted Zach’s offer. We’re finalizing Monday. Also, my dress for the wedding is pale green. Don’t wear a tie that clashes. Pick me up at nine. I trust you can find my address...stalker.

She is so back, good for her👏🏻

Chapter 32: On Hold

Summary: Princess struggles to rebuild her life after quitting her job and breaking ties with Lloyd. Zach offers her a new opportunity, but her reluctance to re-enter Lloyd’s orbit holds her back, but then an unexpected meeting offers her a glimpse of what could be.

Word Count: 3,294

Masterlist

Warnings: This chapter contains themes of emotional distress and a scene with a nightmare/flashback.

Chapter 32: On Hold

Friday, April 25th - 03:20 AM

You jolted awake, the memory crashing over you. Breath caught in your throat as you flailed against damp, twisted sheets. 

Two months had passed since your breakup with Lloyd, but your body still couldn’t tell the difference between past and present. Again and again, it replayed that night, tricking your nervous system into reacting as if it were happening all over again. It wasn’t a nightmare—that would suggest it was imagined. It was a flashback. A vivid, unrelenting replay of the night Lloyd ended everything. At least three times a week, sometimes more, your brain used the soft vulnerability of sleep to ambush you with every ugly detail of that final dinner, in sharp technicolor. Maybe the dreams were supposed to act like exposure therapy. The problem was, your reaction never dulled. Each time, the devastation felt as sharp and new as the first. You sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed your fingertips into your eyes, as if you could scrub away the memory. 

The basement of your parent’s house was too large, too open, for comfort. It was twice the size of your old apartment back in D.C. On the nights when you had flashbacks that coziness was desperately missed. 

After quitting Bishop & Howard, you’d gone to your parents, had an embarrassing emotional melt down in front of them, which earned you an official invitation to move back in. You shoved everything in boxes, put the apartment on the market, and ended up with three offers on the place by 5 o’clock. Then you ran back to Virginia, past the outskirts of suburban D.C., to the safety of your childhood home where you’d taken up residence in their recently finished basement. On the upside, the bathroom was super nice with a dual showerhead and heated flooring. On the downside, the expansive room made you feel lonely, your thoughts bouncing off the walls and echoing back at you, as though there was too much space and nowhere to hide.

Lloyd had dismantled your relationship, but dismantling the rest of your life had been your own doing. He ended things so swiftly, unexpectedly, that it still felt as if the earth had been pulled out from under your feet, like gravity had been turned off. You’d come to accept that to some extent, Lloyd had been your gravity. He’d been at the center of your orbit. First as your best friend and then as your partner. Now you were spinning out of orbit, untethered and heading… who knew where. You certainly didn’t. You didn’t have a plan, or even a concept of a plan. All you wanted was to get away from everything that you knew. 

Everything had been dismantled—most of it by your own hand. Now you were left living in the wreckage of it all.

You wished you’d fought him on it that day, but even as you thought it, there was no real hope behind the idea. Lloyd had always held his convictions with a resolve you couldn’t begin to match. But still, you hadn’t done anything to stop him and that was almost like a moral injury that lingered, a perpetual thorn in your side that continued to bleed. It was one thing for Lloyd to dismiss your efforts to fight, but another thing to contend with—that there had been no effort to fight at all put up by you. You’d let the relationship slip away without fighting for it. 

Leaning forward, you wrapped your arms around your knees, curling into a ball. You laced your fingers together tightly and squeezed until your knuckles ached. Your heart raced like someone was chasing you. Fragments of thoughts and flashes of memories spun through your head, a relentless blur you couldn’t shut off. You should be coping better than this after two months, shouldn’t you? But you weren’t.

The dream—the memory—came back, night after night, slicing open the wound over and over. Lloyd had taken something from you. Something more than love or friendship, something essential and you couldn’t figure out what it was, and therefore couldn’t dream of replacing it. You were afraid you’d never stop missing him. He’d ripped you in half and it felt like you were destined to continue on, only half of a person, forever. 

Your eyes burned, but no tears came. With your heart racing, sleep felt impossible. Besides, your head was a minefield when you closed your eyes. Lloyd had made his choice and you’d let him make it. Why hadn’t you done more? Why hadn’t you fought harder, made him see that this relationship was worth saving? That question haunted you, sometimes a few times a day, sometimes hundreds.

Maybe he thought ending things was what you needed. It was the only explanation you could come up with, based on the cryptic things he’d said that night. But it had felt so sudden, so inexplicable. He hadn’t explained. He hadn’t let you plead your case. He’d ended things on his own terms, of his own volition.

In his own broken way, maybe that was Lloyd’s idea of self-sacrifice. He’d claim he wasn’t capable of such a thing, but you knew better. If he believed he couldn’t be what you needed, he would have ended the relationship—if only to set you free.

Or maybe he’d simply gotten bored. He wasn’t the relationship type. You’d both agreed it was a fling at the start, so maybe he was just seeing it through to its natural conclusion. Maybe you were the crazy one, losing your mind over it.

With a deep breath, you unfolded yourself and lay back down, turning to face the alarm clock. 3:30 a.m. In an hour, you’d need to get up for work. You knew you should try to sleep, though you didn’t have high hopes. Lately, once your mind got tangled up in these thoughts, there was precious little you could do to quiet it. 

Still, you buried your head in the pillow, willing yourself to stop thinking.

For once, sleep came

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Friday, April 25th - 02:17 PM

Your father’s construction company had excellent benefits. That was why you had a job, at least for the time being. His regular bookkeeper, Chelsea, was out on maternity leave, and you were filling in. Full-time for now, then part-time once she returned in mid-May. 

Bookkeeping was insufferable, but it was a job. Your father was an easy boss. He didn’t micromanage, or hoover, just let you get on with things. Most of the time he was out of the office, visiting job sites and keeping an eye on his crews. The bookkeeping work was straightforward and the secretarial part of your duties was practically mindless. You’d found a rhythm and by the second week, realized you could do this job in half the time allotted. Instead of mentioning that to your Dad, you stuck around for the full eight hours, pretending to be busier than you were.

Every day, you sat at the wobbly desk in the trailer office, shuffling through invoices and timesheets, wondering what you were doing with your life. There was nothing wrong with being a bookkeeper, but if you could finish the work on a part-time schedule, Chelsea would probably be even faster. Once she returned, there wouldn’t be enough work to keep you on, and you couldn’t justify staying and taking advantage of your father’s generosity.

You rubbed your temple, glaring at the computer screen where numbers were already sorted into neat columns. Maybe it was time to look for another job. Something real, something in your skill set, something that actually mattered. The thought of jumping back into the paralegal world—or shifting to a lobbyist group, since they always seemed to be hiring—settled in your stomach like a lead weight. D.C. was a small legal circle. You’d run into people who knew what had happened with Lloyd. You might even run into Lloyd himself. The thought made you shudder.

The sound of heavy boots echoed on the metal steps of the trailer. You groaned. You knew who it was before the three-rap knock.

“It’s open,” you called.

Your visitor stepped in, shoving dark lensed Ray-Bans up onto his forehead. Sunlight slanted through the door, brightening his sandy hair to gold for a moment.

“Hey, Zach. How’s it going?”

Your eyes fixed on the tray of coffees in his hand. It contained two iced lattes and one Frappuccino.

“You pick up an extra by accident?”

“No. It’s for your Dad.”

“How do you know what kind of Frappuccino my Dad prefers?”

“His Instagram’s public. I cyberstalk it sometimes. It’s been my most reliable source of info on you of late—since I barely see you anymore.”

“Aside from your weekly visits to my workplace?”

Zach set the iced latte on your desk. “I’m considering renovating my offices. I need a quote.”

“We’re booked through November.”

He took off his sunglasses and hooked them onto his shirt collar before dropping into the chair across from you with a mock-sigh. “Shame.”

You leaned back in your chair, ignoring its squeal of protest. “Zach, I’m at work. I’m busy.”

“Are you? Because the last edit on that spreadsheet was at 10:27 A.M.”

“Fine, I’m not busy. I’m bored out of my mind. What do you want?”

His grin widened. “To see you doing something more productive than balancing books you finished yesterday.”

So he’d noticed the date, not just the time stamp. Your cheeks warmed. He wasn’t wrong, but the jab got under your skin. “Don’t you have your own company to run?”

“I do. That’s actually why I’m here.”

You crossed your arms. “Don’t make this about your savior complex. Lloyd and I didn’t work out. I trashed my career at B&H all by myself. You don’t need to rescue me.”

“I’m not trying to rescue you. Okay, maybe part of me feels oddly guilty that I didn’t at least try to warn you off of him, or ask you to think twice about getting involved with someone as complicated as Lloyd. But that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve hired a new investigator. He starts in May.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks. I think the two of you would work well together. If you come on board—even if it was temporarily—it’d make his orientation easier.”

“Landon handles all your training.”

“He’s getting married in May. You should know, you’re invited to the wedding.”

“Right.”

You’d been trying to forget about the upcoming nuptials. Seeing Lloyd there wasn’t something you wanted to ponder for too long.

Zach hooked an ankle over his knee, studying you with an intensity that made you feel like a bug under a microscope.

“You’re bored.”

“And?”

“I can fix that.”

Fixing your boredom would put you back in Lloyd’s orbit, which was a price you weren’t sure you were willing to pay.

“I’m good. Thanks for thinking of me though. I’m flattered.”

“Come on. The job starts in May. Your dad’s regular girl will be back by then, and you’d be free to start with us. Perfect timing.”

“Why me? There are a dozen people who’d jump at the chance to work with you.”

“I don’t like those people. Besides, you’ve already worked with my new hire, and he’s a little high-strung. Not everyone can handle him.”

You frowned. “Who is it?”

“Marco Lattimer.”

“Huh.” You didn’t want to be intrigued, but you were. You stared at Zach, torn between wanting to roll your eyes and feeling the pull of half-burried ambition.

“You’re good at investigations. We need someone who can handle some of Jake’s simpler computer work.”

The yearning sharpened. You tried to shove it down, but failed. Zach smirked.

“I know you. I like you. We work well together. I don’t have to figure out how to fit two new personalities into the firm because I already know you. And I trust you to work with Marco, even though he’s kind of a judgy son of a bitch.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“He’s a boy scout,” Zach said.

“So is Landon.”

“Yeah, but he’s not as high and mighty about it.”

“Are you asking me to take this job so you don’t have to deal with Marco?”

Zach snorted. “I can handle Marco. I just prefer him in small doses. Also, I think you need something to pull you out of this funk.”

“I don’t want to work with Lloyd anymore. Not for a while.”

“Perfect. I’m not about to put him and Marco in the same room.”

“Really? They’re that bad?”

“I have no idea. They haven’t seen each other in ten years.”

You glanced down at your desk—the neatly stacked timesheets, the untouched calculator.

“I’ll think about it.”

Zach stood, smoothing his shirt. “Alright. I’ll be back on Monday. I expect an answer then.”

You watched him leave, the door clicking softly behind him. A thick suffocating silence settled over the room. You dropped your head onto the desk and groaned.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Saturday, April 26th - 01:20 PM

You sat in the parking lot a block from Café M, debating whether you were up for coffee or if your social battery was tapped out. Jen had enticed you into a Saturday morning Pilates class but had to leave right after to pick up her son from baseball camp. That suited you fine because it meant you got to see Jen, hang out, all while avoiding uncomfortable questions, or updates about Lloyd and the rest of your old coworkers at B&H. According to Jen, Andy was pissed you’d quit and was needling Lloyd about it at every opportunity. You hated thinking about the trail of drama you’d left in your wake.

Jen was worried. The subtle glances she shot you before and after class spoke volumes, though she hadn’t said anything. You were grateful for her restraint; it was the polar opposite of Zach’s ham-handed approach to managing your life. At least with Jen, the concern was quieter, less invasive. Going to Pilates with her felt like proof you were doing okay, that you weren’t sinking too far into the spiral of doom, and losing all of your social connections.

Since you’d already driven into the city, heading straight home felt wrong. Stopping at your favorite café gave you a chance to clear your head before returning to your parents’ house. The thought of the long drive felt suffocating. You ducked into the café, ordered your usual iced vanilla latte with a shot of espresso and claimed a small corner table by the window.

Your mind wandered as you stirred the drink, tracing circles in the condensation pooling on the table. The buzz of voices and hiss of the espresso machine filled the small room but none of it drowned out the memories. You thought of the afternoons when you’d worked on Lloyd’s cases at the corner booth and the couple of times when you’d met him here on Sunday afternoons. Why had you decided to come here? You should’ve gone straight home.

“Figured I’d find you here, dah-lin’,” a voice behind you drawled.

You recognized the stretched vowels, the near-absent ‘r’—not clipped like a Boston accent, but softened and slow. That Tidewater lilt turned everything smooth and a little formal, like it was dialogue in a black-and-white movie. 

"Marco. How’d you find me?"

“I wouldn’t be much of a private investigator if I couldn’t track down one law-abiding citizen on a Saturday afternoon, now would I?”

He stood in front of your table, coffee in hand, a black Henley stretched across his broad shoulders, and a sly smile curving his lips. Casual clothes looked good on him. 

“Why did you hunt me down?”

He pulled out the chair opposite you without asking, settling in like you were old friends meeting up instead of him ambushing you out of the blue. 

“Zach said you’ve been dragging your feet accepting his employment offer,” he said.

Heat crept up your neck. “So you decided to stalk me?”

“I prefer the term ‘reconnaissance.’ It sounds friendlier. I wanted to find out what was holding you back.” He leaned in, forearms on the table, his voice dropping so only you could hear. “I heard you’re playing bookkeeper and bored out of your mind. What’s the problem?”

You wrapped your hands around the cold glass of your iced coffee, eyes lowering. “I’m still weighing my options. I don’t know if it’s the right move at the moment.”

Marco laughed, his disbelief clear. “Liar. You’re avoiding Lloyd. Can’t blame you for that—I get the same urge. Still can’t stand him, no matter what affinity Zach feels towards him. But don’t let his mistakes dictate your future.”

You raised an eyebrow, realizing Zach had shared with him more than you’d thought. Marco’s bluntness was like a slap, but his expression was fond, almost amused.

“I’m not scared of seeing Lloyd,” you said, though even you didn’t believe it.

Marco sipped his coffee and said nothing.

The silence tightened around you. He studied you the way Zach had yesterday, like you were a bug under a microscope and he was trying to figure out what species you belonged to. His head tilted. “Landon’s wedding’s next weekend, right?”

“Uh… yes. Why?”

“Are you going?”

“Yes.”

“Alone?”

Your pulse kicked up. You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.

“Don’t look so scandalized. I’m asking because it’d be more fun with a date. Besides, Landon and I go way back. It wouldn’t hurt to show him I can clean up and be civilized.”

Your cheeks flushed. “That’s presumptuous of you, Marco.”

He leaned back, draping one arm over the back of his chair. “Come on, Princess. It’s a win-win. I get a date, you get a buffer against Lloyd.”

The idea twisted your stomach. It was ridiculous, and yet the thought of showing up alone, knowing you’d have to face him again…Perhaps Marco was onto something. 

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

He grinned, rising smoothly and sliding a napkin across the table. You glanced down at the scrawl of blue ink. His phone number. “Do that. And think about the job, too. I’m not waiting forever.”

You watched him leave, climb on a jet black Harley-Davidson motorcycle and disappear into traffic. 

Irritation and intrigue wrestled for dominance. Marco was just as domineering and annoying as Lloyd, but he went about it with less abrasiveness. Maybe everyone was right. Maybe it was time to stop spinning your wheels. Time to stop hibernating and branch out. Accepting Marco’s invitation would certainly make Landon’s wedding easier. You picked up the napkin, typed the number in and saved a new contact.

On the drive home, you thought about his offer. About the possibility of accepting the job with Zach’s firm.

An hour later you pulled into the driveway and parked behind your mom’s faded Subaru, then called Zach from your car’s bluetooth. 

“What’s up? Make it quick. I’m on the seventeenth hole.”

You laughed. “Alright. I don’t want to work with Lloyd, if it can be avoided. I know there might be a time when it can’t be prevented but for now…I’d rather not see him. Also, I’d like to work with Marco. I’ll accept your job offer if we can be partners.” 

“Perfect. I’ll have my lawyer send you a written offer Monday. We’ll talk details later.”

He hung up without a goodbye.

You opened Marco’s contact and tapped out a message.

I accepted Zach’s offer. We’re finalizing Monday. Also, my dress for the wedding is pale green. Don’t wear a tie that clashes. Pick me up at nine. I trust you can find my address...stalker.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Next Chapter - Coming Soon

Masterlist

Tag List: see the replies

[mullermilkshake]

A light bite

Part 12 <- Part 13 -> Part 14

Suguru takes you out for dinner.

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x F!reader

<<< Detective!Satoru Gojo >>>

Tags - DDDNE, Smut, Vibrator underwear, Semi-public clitoral stimulation, Praise, Alcohol, Harassment

<<< Master list >>>

Credit to - @404UND_ Twitter ☆ (Geto) - @maronjapan9a (Satoru)

My darling. My love.  

I saw you at the award ceremony and you looked simply beautiful. I want to marry someone like you one day. Creative, sexy, so intelligent and like minded to myself. 

Tell me, what's your ideal man? Do you go for the intelligent type, or someone who’s physically pleasing on the eyes? Are those things you even go for, or do you go for someone who’s spiritually connected with you, like, you fall in love because of who they are? 

I think I would fall for someone like that. Looks and intelligence aren't everything. As long as they’re a good person, right?

—

“Sweetie, I’m home.” Suguru’s voice disrupted the silence, his footsteps encroaching close up the stairs to the bedroom door that was ajar.

You were finishing getting dressed, sliding your stocking up over your knee and leg. “I’m in the bedroom!” 

He whistled, you hadn’t realised he was as close as he was, leaning against the door frame looking over the top of his glasses. “All this just for me?”

The stockings slipped on like silk, gliding up your legs as though they were not there. “I try not to look like a complete mess, I thought I’d give these new stockings a go, what do you think?”

“What do I think? I think you should wear them everyday. What’s the occasion?” He went as far as slipping his glasses from his face and pulled the cord away from his neck, and placed them on the dresser by the door.

“No occasion, just wanted to look pretty for you.”

He took a step towards you, his stare burning right into your cheeks. “This is the thing. You always look pretty no matter what you wear. But when you wear stuff like this, I don't know how I could possibly go out to dinner now.”

A little black dress was all it was. It clung to your figure well, but it was just plain, your little stilettos were plain, even your belt wasn’t anything fancy. “I’m sure we could leave in half an hour, but I got hungry waiting for you.”

Now closer, Suguru barely touched you, his fingers grazed your shoulder, he watched his own fingers move down and coax the little goosebumps on the skin. “Did I make you wait? I truly am sorry. The last thing I want is you waiting for me when you deserve everything right away. How can I ever make it up to you?”

Suguru inched in towards you, lips barely touching your red lipstick to set your skin ablaze and you ignored his teasing. “I’m never sure what to suggest with you. Just don’t mess up my makeup.

He exhaled sharply, short. “Though I enjoy your lips very much, I don’t need them to make you feel good.” Then, his hand found its way to your waist. His mouth to your ear, almost a growl. “But seeing as you’re hungry, let’s wait until we’re home. I don’t think half an hour will cut it.” 

Why couldn’t the two of you just order in? Suguru made the smallest task sound absolutely delicious. What would he do to you? How many things could one man do over the course of a night after you had more than just a glass of wine and all the time to writhe and moan in his presence?

Would he do awfully dirty things to you in the living area? Sprawl you out across the sofa, head between your legs, or maybe with the toys you have in a box in the back of the closet. The large wand pressed against your clit without moving until you begged him to stop.

You enjoyed it when he carried you up the stairs and took you right there on the incline, the two of you didn’t even make it to the bedroom before he had you bent over and arched just so he could slip his thumb in your ass. You felt naughty being there in the unconventional place, face smushed into the carpet floor with the sensation of the stairs carpet catching your hardened nipples with each thrust of his cock.

What if you didn’t even make it home? Suguru had the tendency of pulling over somewhere secluded because he knew the lanes like the back of his hand, the long isolated roads at night hardly had individuals driving through. 

The risk of getting caught though, that heightened every sense. Sounds of every twig snapping, leaf rustling effortlessly in an odd breeze to whip through the trees like a funnel. The condensation added very little protection, in the dark you would never know if there was some pervert in the woods, watching and touching himself while you were getting fucked sensless.

Just something to think about.

“I can deal with that.” You said, running your thumb along the line of his jaw to make it tense and twitch. “If I’m a good girl, you’ll let me know, right?”

His throat rumbled ever so slightly, but he caught himself. “You’re always a good girl. But what I want from you is to be adventurous. Do you think you can do that for me?”

Adventurous? Of course. If it was Suguru who asked. “I can.”

“Good.” He wandered over to the closet and knelt down, rummaging through it for something in that box in the back. “I have something I want you to wear before we go to dinner. Put it on and I’ll change my clothes. Then we’ll go.”

A pair of underwear. “You want me to wear those? In public- you want me to wear those.”

They were not just a pair of lace panties, they were modified with a vibrator attached inside, something to give Suguru complete control over you as every other adult in the room was unaware of the power he enjoyed.

“I thought you were a good girl?  I know you’ll enjoy it, you have every other time I’ve used it on you.”

“I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it. But in front of all those people? I’m not exactly quiet.”

“You’ll just have to try your best then, sweetheart. I know you’ll do a good job.” Suguru stole a kiss and disappeared into the ensuite bathroom.

Crap. The underwear felt way more than just good, it was goddam amazing. It was just that you weren’t very skilled at making your enjoyment private. Hence why you wondered if anybody had ever seen, if anyone had seen through the bedroom window and observed how well of an accomplished lover Suguru was.

All you had to do was slip off the underwear you had on, and put on the fresh pair from the closet and succumb to Suguru’s will.

That’s all you had to do.

That’s all.

So you did.

You slipped them on and smoothed out the hem of your dress as he came back in from the bathroom. He had slipped a black shirt on, losened buttons to exposed part of his chest and the tightest fitted suit pants you’d ever seen. Those were your favourite. The way they cupped his ass cheeks in the best way whenever he bent down to pick something up, or just when he was standing still too. Smooth fabric over a supple ass made you weak in the knees.

You shook the filthy thoughts away, only realising than that you were staring at him. “Are you ready?”

He knew you were staring, he often caught you looking. “I am.”

But you didn’t care.

Usually in the car you would watch him often, placing your hand softly on his thigh with a delicate squeeze. He would take your hand at times and wrapped his long fingers around your own while in between gear changes, or during stop signs and red lights. 

It was plain to see that he noticed. A side glance and his lips would turn upwards in the most beautiful curve that just made you melt.

By the time you reached the restaurant, a beautiful little italian place, Suguru was yet to use the controls for the underwear you had on underneath your dress. You were acutely aware the little bullet vibrator pressed against you, its hardness right there between your thighs, ready and waiting to go off at the most inopportune moment. Just the thought got you as prepared as you could be, but you knew whenever he clicked that little ‘on’ button, you’d let out the squeakiest little yelp without even realising. However this time, you tried to anticipate it.

Suguru placed his hand on the small of your back and led you through to the host stand for the reservation that had almost run over. 

The woman standing there wore all black, all professional, make up to the nines with the biggest smile between her blushed cheeks. “Hello, do you have a reservation?”

“The reservation is for ‘Geto’.”

She tapped and tapped, clicked and scanned her eyes over the little tilted screen deep in concentration until she breathed a small smile and looked up. “Of course. Please follow me, right this way.”

You walked in tandem with Suguru, his touch never leaving yours until you were both seated, deep in the restaurant by the corner and somewhat secluded. At least it would hide your amusement when the vibrating in your underwear started.

“Can I interest you in anything to drink?” The woman held out two menus and politely took one step back.

It was common knowledge between the two of you, that you were not fussy by any stretch, so often you’d let the choices down to Suguru. He knew your tastes better than anyone.

“A rosé and a glass of red please.” He had a keen eye for flavours too. It pretty much eliminated the worry of what to eat and pretty much gave you the entire evening to enjoy.

Perfect.

The rosé was for you. Suguru enjoyed a glass of red in any situation.

“So,” He watched the woman walk away and held your hands from across the table. “Tell me how your day went today.”

It was pretty productive. More so than ever during your stay at the cabin. Since Detective Gojo had left the two of you alone, your mind was completely entranced by your new book and it allowed yourself time to ignore the news and articles for a little while.

“I wrote some chapters, made a cake, did the laundry and took a long bath. Perfect and busy day for an author.” You squeezed his hands and leant in just a little. “How did your day go? I know work kept you running over, it must have been a long day.”

He nodded and waited to respond as the girl came back promptly with the wine and placed it carefully on the table.

She grinned. “Enjoy. I’ll be back in a moment after you’ve had time to look at the menu.”

“Thank you.” Suguru’s arms gave little movement, just his fingers tracing little shapes over your knuckles. He returned to the subject at hand, “Work is work.”

He wouldn’t tell you anything to do with the private side of his career. Despite what many thought, including Nitta, Suguru never gossiped or told you anything to do with his clients, ailments or reasons otherwise.

“Must be fun hearing about all the gossip and talk before it spreads around by desperate house spouses with nothing better to do. I bet the book clubs are fun.” 

It was never the case, you didn’t even know names, not unless he told you they were from work. It was all you were ever told. If there was anything else, it was incredibly vague.

“I had some clients drop out of their sessions today. But I think it’s for the best, it means they were able to start letting go.” 

You smiled and lost yourself in his eyes. “People come and go. Things change. That just means there's room for you to help new people now.”

His amusement didn’t go unnoticed. “I thought I was the one supposed to give professional advice? You sound more and more like me everyday.” 

“I learned from the best.” 

“Hello!” The woman returned. “Have you had a chance to look over the menu? Would you like some starters?”

You zoned out, watching his jaw tense as he spoke, though his voice and hers wasn’t up to much in your ears, you suddenly noticed the sharp vibration against your clit. It was paramount you discussed it as a cough.

“Are you alright?” The woman turned and almost touched your shoulder as you hunched over the table squeezing your thighs together.

“Y-yeah, I just breathed wrong. I’m fine. Thank you.” Suguru was watching you, he didn’t give the woman the time of day handing her those menus.

How on earth did he set it off when both of his hands were free. Was it on a timer? Maybe. It was quick to get you to adjust, though it was right there, getting you all worked up by the second.

“Did you have to set it off while she was here?” You weren’t scolding him, but you were harshly curious.

Suguru swirled his glass of red looking mighty pleased with himself. “I’m sorry, Dearest. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play that game with me. You know very well what. You put the thing on a timer, didn’t you?” Keeping your thighs together did not help.

He was aware of your tone and scolding him got him off, you knew it. If it was a pleasure to you, he didn’t care what you said in relation to it. He made that abundantly clear. “Oh that? No timer, but you were so busy looking at my face, you didn’t notice where my hands were.”

If it made you feel good, that was good enough for him apparently. 

“If you do that in front of people, there’s no way I can be discreet, hon.”

“If I do it in front of people, then you’ll need to learn to be quiet then, won’t you, sweetheart?” He intensified the power so that you coughed again.

“Suguru.” One level up and you were already begging him to stop.

You would not last long either if he was going about it like this. To add insult to injury, he even started playing footsie with you, or rather, he was trying to get your legs apart. In doing so, opened you up and let that vibrator get in closer against you.

Biting your lip only did so much, the ringing of your phone took your brain off the current even for only a minute. It was Nitta.

“Answer it.” Suguru wasn’t being courteous, he was demanding it.

With a deep breath and all the hope in the world, you picked it up and placed it to your ear, the level of vibration picked up again. Maybe a sip of your wine would help? Fuck a sip, you glugged it.

“H-hello, Nitta? Can I call you back, I’m in the middle of-”

“Why didn’t you tell me that there was a Detective sniffing around you?!” 

The building tension in your abdomen disappeared in an instant. “Nitta. I wasn’t keeping it from you, it’s just that nothing came of it, it was just some enquiry questions, I didn’t think you needed to know. It wasn’t important.” Suguru turned the vibrator off immediately.

“It’s very fucking important! He called himself Detective Gojo- something. He was asking about you and how you were and I think he thinks you’re connected to these killings somehow. But I set him straight so next time you need to tell me or I can’t help you- he even asked about Geto.” 

“He did?” You looked at your fiancé, as he did you. “What did he say?”

“Asked about him like he was familiar. What is this guy all about like has he nothing better to do? He was here until like twenty minutes ago.” 

“Uh… Thank’s for the head’s up, Nitta. I’m sorry for not telling you. I thought it was all over.”

“Dont leave me with my pant’s down again, alright?” 

“Sure. I’ll speak with you when I can.”

“Alright, bye.” 

“What is it sweetie?” His lustrous demeanour changed on the fly, taking your hand again as you set your phone down.

“That Detective, he went to Nitta’s office. Why would he do that-”

“Excuse me?” There was a man dressed all in black, smart enough to appear as part of the staff, but something told you he wasn’t.

It was probably his posture. “I’m a really big fan and I just wanted to tell you that.”

Wow, you’d never been approached out in public before and the phonemail temporarily washed away. Though it unsettled your stomach assuming it was because of the killings. “Oh. Thank you, I-I really appreciate that.”

“You’re more than welcome, your mind is brilliant.” He ignored Suguru like he wasn’t even there.

You weren’t sure what to say now. “That’s lovely. Thank you for being a fan-”

“Can you tell me how you’re feeling after the news of the recent deaths? Do you think it’s a copycat using your book as a guide to-” Suguru shot up from his chair and got between you and the man.

“I don’t think this is the place for journalists to be snooping around, do you? People are trying to eat and you’re making her uncomfortable.”

He tried to look around him, but Suguru kept you right behind him while you sat there unable to say anything. “I’m sorry but I’m talking to her. Who are you anyway?”

A journalist. Is that what it had come to? Was the stir up online and in the papers really causing an influx of information to leave you right out in the middle of the wooded clearing for open season?

“I’m her husband-”

“She’s not married, I had my sources confirm that.”

Suguru drew in a deep inhale and let it go just as frustratedly. “I’m her husband. And if you didn’t know about me, then your sources aren’treliable.”

The man still did not leave, Suguru took it upon himself to place money down on the table from his wallet and took your hand to leave, walking you through the restaurant with the man following and asking all sorts of questions you didn’t fully hear.

“Keep your eyes on me and ignore him, sweetie.” Taking suguru’s advice helped astronomically, you thought about all those times he supported you when things got overwhelming and each time he was correct.

He was spot on and soon the journalist’s voice became distant, even when he followed you to the car with his little dictaphone in one hand and little battered notebook in the other. Even after Suguru got you in the car and made his way to the driver's seat, climbing in and closing the door.

That appeared to deter the journalist and he promptly moved away as the car pulled out of the parking lot. The car was silent for a couple of minutes but of course to you, it may as well have been three hours.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry.” Suguru spoke low, almost a whisper above the car's engine. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“But I ruined dinner.”

That got a small smile to form on his lips. “You didn’t ruin anything. It’s people who don’t know how to leave well enough alone.”

You weren’t sure whether he was referring to the journalist, or Detective Gojo. Either, or. Both were a sore subject. You thought everything was settled, sorted. Right after the car was returned and you both returned back to the house after vacation, you assumed that Detective Gojo was never going to be in your lives again. Just a formality and then life returned to normal. But not stuff like this. It was almost two weeks ago since Ella had died, that other person was found dead too, it was being dragged out for as long as possible. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“What did Nitta say to you, can you think clearly?”

You nodded and watched the lanes go by in a blur through the darkening woods while the moon fought to take over being the sole provider of light through the night and breakthrough the treeline.

“She thinks that he assumes that I’m connected. But I’m not, I just want this all to go away… And he mentioned you.”

“Me? Did she say why?”

“No. Just that he mentioned you.”

You noted how his hands squeezed the steering wheel to make it squeak under his touch as he drove, coming to a crossroads to turn left towards the house. You pulled the remote out ready from the car glove box to open up the garage, sitting there unknown of what to say.

“I think we’ll need to get Hiromi involved.” He was Suguru’s attorney.

“What can he do?”

Neither you nor Suguru were charged with anything, at most, he could give the two of you advice, but even then you were unsure of how useful it would be.

“He’ll advise us and take action if Satoru Gojo or anyone else keeps bothering us, but more so to deter him from bothering you. Right now, I’d say he has nothing, because there is nothing. Meaning that he’s making baseless assumptions because he doesn't know who’s behind the murders and he’s trying to use you as a scapegoat if he's trying to go to Nitta for information. And that in itself harms your reputation and stresses you out. I won’t have it.”

“Why… Why would he do that?” 

Were you just a target? Someone to be used and treated as a criminal when all you did was keep yourself to yourself. Was the Detective just being lazy or just trying to get you into jail so that he could make an example out of you?

It was possible that he wasn’t a fan and didn’t like your book and this was his way of telling you.

“He thinks the roses came from our garden by the cabin. I think that’s what set it all off… But it won’t get to that point, alright?”

You didn’t know what to say. Suguru reassuringly took your hand as he drove. “Do you trust me?”

One hundred percent.

Clicking the garage open, the car drove in and pulled up. The two of you sat in silence for a moment. “I trust you with my life, hon.”

That wouldn’t ever be a lie for as long as you lived.

“Then we’ll be just fine.” It was just what you needed to hear.

Because when you climbed out of that car, hand in hand and made your way into the house, the front door knocking was not what you wanted to hear.

Suguru answered. Your stomach dropped. 

“Oh good, you’re at home. I’ll need to speak with you.” Detective Gojo was looking straight at you.

All you wanted to do was cry and go to bed. You were still wearing those naughty panites.

What a horrible night.

Part 12 <- Part 13 -> Part 14

If you would liked to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗

Tags - @nanamineedstherapy  @winter-soldier-101  @bubera974  @miyababbby  @inthedarkshadows000

@hallahella  @kentoslvr  @jxvajxy  @vertigoswan  @getoe1s

@yan-love-reader

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The oc side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their's. Cross posted from my AO3

Also please don’t post any of my work, thank you!

[shanklin]

Very well, I, Comfort Anon, shall still provide ideas even in my bird cage. 🪿

Okay so Soos maybe is like a father figure to Stan, but that probably comes with baggage. Because probably like the Canon Stan—Sonemployee relationship, Stan’s not going to admit he sees Mr. Ramineriz as a father figure! Lil Stan has baggage from his last one, and I think if he’s slowly unlearning his lesson of selfishness, maybe it make him guarded.

Because he has been hurt, Ford leaving him, His Ma and Shermie leaving (Not by choice but still), and Pa is now dead, and he probably has mixed feelings about his Grauntie and Grunkle.

He had his heart on his sleeve and learned another lesson, to not let people in. Or else they see the selfish monster, who’s nothing but a spare.

However the sweet thing about Soos is, that he doesn’t come with a strained past, he is an adult figure who wants to hang out with Stan, and thinks Stan is cool. There’s no pressure, or strings.

He just…is there. He sees past Stan’s lack of self worth and sees Stan as what he is, Stan.

He doesn’t see Ford, he doesn’t see Stan as an extra or a replacement part. He just sees a hurt kid who’s on the verge of graduating highschool, and talks with Stan. Tells Stan it’s okay, to ask him on advice on things.

“I’m great at telling people things, dude!”

Soos teaches Stan, how to fix things, since Soos at one point was a handy man, and to be a handy man, you must be very handy.

Stan manages to pick up that type of skill, surprisingly easily. Maybe it’s because he’s learned from working on the Stan-O-War.

Selfish Shellfish AU - Masterpost

Oh Comfort Anon (who is not so anon anymore), my beloved !Bringer of my new favourite thing ♡

I agree that Stan would never admit he sees Soos as a father figure not even to himself.

And Soos is also the exact opposite of what a father is, at least in Stan's experience, so he can’t be one of those.

Now I need a little self indulgent cheesy father’s day fic, in which Soos hates father’s day just as much as his own birthday. Getting Soos’ birthday erased from the calendar didn’t go so well the last time Stan tried. Maybe Stan should try something simpler for father's day and just distract Soos long enough until he forgets what day it is. That way he won't be sad anymore!

They hang out and it’s all very sweet and at the end of the day someone mentions just what an adorable Father-Son duo they make.

Stan panics, makes up a non-specific excuse and runs away.

They don't talk about it afterwards, but they will spend the next father’s day together as well. And the one after and after…

[odditymuse]

It was then, in that moment, seeing the barely there twitch to Kane's hand that sort of sobered Lena up even more. Even quicker than she might have managed it on her own. He was reacting to her and she didn't need that. She didn't need him to feel as if he. . . needed to comfort her? Did he know what that meant, to comfort someone else? She didn't even know, wasn't aware how far his understanding managed to go. Might never know, if she never allowed herself to understand him. Lena made sure to gather herself a little better then. To really contain her emotions a little better. Granted it had felt. . . nice to let some of it out. However she didn't have that privilege right now. Not with where she was or who she was with. She needed to be sure things went well here. That he was settled, that he wouldn't feel like running away, god forbid. She'd never hear the end of it. Might not even make it far herself before the feds got involved. They were always going to be watched, after all. That was just their reality now. Her eyes fell to him then, when he spoke up. Thanked her. Did so with this. . . this smile on his face. One that Lena wondered why she couldn't quite read. Couldn't place why it left her. . . warmer. As if seeing it settled her just as much as it unsettled her. It was Kane's smile, after all. His, but not at all. Eyes skirt away, down to her own bowl. She'd managed to eat a good portion of it without even thinking. Seemed like her body was hungrier than her mind was allowing her to be, eating it down on instinct. Good. The last thing she needed was to become sick because she couldn't manage to stomach anything.

"It --. . ." She shouldn't. There was no need to. Yet she spoke as she kept her eyes down on the food before her. She hadn't even thought about it when making the food but now that they were here. . . "Pasta, I mean. It used to be something we ate often. Easy for me to make after a long day of work." We. She knew it was hinted, what she meant there. Even he had to understand what she meant by it, right? It hurt to admit, but after the small session of tears somehow above that it felt freeing. Just talking about him. Just remembering him. . . "Finish up, okay? Then we can clean up here and. . . head up to get you ready for the shower."

Kane did not expect her reaction to his spoken words to be so... intense, causing him to pause, to take it in to the fullest.

---And yet, in another, more profound way, he is not surprised, not at all; He feels as if he'd known all along, the fact that Lena would act in such a way upon receiving the information given to her about him, about Kane back at the lighthouse. The beating heart inside his chest reacts to it by clenching behind the firmness of his sternum, missing a beat or two, sending a lump straight into his throat which he tries to swallow down to no avail.

There's an urge rising, the want to reach out and take her hand - to touch, to feel, to soothe by having a thumb rub over gentle skin. Very similar to what she had done back when Kane, not-Kane, it, had first arrived at this house and visited her.

Kane almost gives in, almost executes his trail of thought - his free hand is even twitching there, fingers splaying for a brief moment - but he stops himself just in time, digits curling back against his palm as he inhales, exhales, and feels his brows furrow as the seconds pass.

Something tells him that he won't make it any better if he held her hand. Something tells him that what Lena goes through is so intense, so deeply human, that nothing would be able to take it away from her - and she has to work through it on her own, figure out how to treat what pains her so much.

A blink, and Kane's gaze falls back to his pasta; A fork pierces and lifts, with him continuing to eat, getting more and more used to the taste of spices and sodium, the texture of the noddles, the sauce.

It makes him feel at home, all of a sudden - creates a warm sensation inside his chest, utterly familiar without him knowing what to do with it, at all.

He's never felt at home, has never experienced that sensation ever before - until now, Kane didn't even know what a home feels like to begin with; The concept is there, but the reality of it? Unclear, yet existent.

He does not focus on it, listens to what Lena says next instead - changing the topic to the bathroom, the fact that he, apparently, has inherited some memories, but not all of them. --- That makes sense. It would explain a few things.

"...I would like that. Thank you." He means it, follows his word with a nod and a hint of what might be a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips; Another bite of pasta is being taken before a hand reaches out for the glass of water, with him having a sip.

There's no blood curling into the liquid this time, remaining crystal clear as he puts the glass back down in a gentle motion, beind mindful to not accidentally spill anything in the process.

"...I really enjoy the pasta. It tastes good." Another nod, smile widening a bit. That he means as well, and he wants Lena to know.

[adore-gregor]

i'm back on tumblr (again)

[gutsby]

Stiff

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Or, your old man wants to knock you up. Viagra helps.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v (obviously 😵‍💫🤙🏼). Breeding kink. Age gap. Peepaw Joel. Blue Pill Joel. Post-apocalyptic-Viagra-dosage-gone-horribly-wrong-and-now-his-dick-won’t-deflate-for-a-day…but it’s OK!

Note: This is the crackfic counterpart/sequel to ‘Make It Stick’

Word count: 2.9k

Forty-five minutes.

Forty-five minutes until his fate was sealed for the night. His pulse would quicken. His head would start to swim, and any last sliver of rational thought would be lost to the ether or the cold, snowy air around him. Joel Miller had to hurry now, because that bite-sized blue pill he’d just taken was in his belly, and if his dick didn’t find its way in you, he was fucked. Or at least huge and swollen and leaking out beads of hot desire the size of golf balls.

Well, maybe that was just his cock.

Joel looked down, scanning his pants.

Yeah…definitely just cock. He walked faster.

At home, he knew he’d find you curled up on the couch, nose in a book. What to Expect When You’re Expecting, if he had to guess. Then, sure enough, you’d lift your eyes and smile—‘Thank goodness you’re back, daddy’—and lift the hem of your night dress just slightly. Spread your legs and beckon him in. It was a nightly routine by now.

You wanted to be knocked up as fast as possible, after all

At almost sixty years old, Joel couldn’t believe he was actually saying these words aloud. But here he was—crawling overtop you on the couch, situating himself between your legs, and pulling his cock out, mumbling:

“Gonna let me put a baby in you tonight?”

You nodded sweetly—eagerly—every time.

Joel knew he could never resist that look. He was as good as finished the first second you let him sink inside your tight, weeping hole, and when he stretched it, he could already tell this was all he would ever want to do. Make you happy, fill you up, give you lots and lots of him.

It was why he’d stopped by the apothecary tonight. Why he’d hesitated only a moment before clearing his throat and asking for a pill like Viagra—Joel knew that the man behind the counter would flash him a wry, knowing grin.

Trouble keepin’ up with that sweet young thing’a yours?

David was a dick.

He wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Ever since agreeing to start trying for a baby, Joel had become acutely aware of his own physical limitations in that department, and one of them was stamina. He could scarcely fuck twice in the same night without needing a long and rest-intensive breather. You were young and could roll over ready to go in five minutes.

It wasn’t fair to deprive you now on account of his age.

If you wanted his cum, you were getting it, no question.

Not just once, but multiple times. Again and again and—

“Again,” Joel grunted once he’d shot off his last spurt.

Fifty-eight minutes had passed since he’d taken that pill. It had fully kicked in, and his dick was still hard, even after finishing inside you with a sticky, white-hot flood.

You blinked dreamily up at him.

“You mean it, old man?” you teased him lightly.

I’ll show you what I mean, Joel thought to himself before flipping you over on the sofa. He had your hips tilted up and his cock driving back inside your freshly-fucked cunt in no time at all. He felt his spend coating your walls; it let him glide right in. Joel groaned and jerked himself back out, then fucked back in again and again and again.

“Again?”

Your word was exhaled in a laugh.

You stood in front of the bathroom sink, trying to tidy up the insides of your legs and push some more of Joel’s load back in, when you felt a presence at your back.

Stabbing your ass.

You started to turn then, puzzled.

“Bend over,” Joel commanded before you could.

You did as you were told because, frankly, you loved getting fucked wherever your old man wanted it—even if he had broken the sink one time he’d pounded you here.

But there was palpable confusion, too. How in the hell had Joel Miller, certified silver fox and owner of a dick old enough to remember Woodstock and the moon landing, managed to get his dick hard in the five minutes since he’d had you face-down, ass-up on the couch?

Or had his dick gotten soft at all?

You wanted to question him about it, or else give a long, hard look at his uncharacteristically long, hard friend, when the next moment had you gripping the counter. Stretching between the legs as Joel pushed back in.

“There she is,” he murmured affectionately.

Really, you’d never been wetter. Or warmer. Or filled to the brim with more sticky-white spend than you could ever hope to hold inside, it felt like. You bent at the waist and let him have his fill. You closed your eyes and rested your head on your forearms while Joel’s hot, bulbous tip grazed your cervix with dizzying alacrity. A smile crept in.

Whatever this was, you wanted more of it.

His dick was still hard.

Four mind-numbing fucks and another forty-five minutes later, Joel’s cock hadn’t deflated the tiniest bit.

The thing had hammered you so thoroughly he’d nearly destroyed the sink again. You’d whimpered, and whined, and warned him quietly, ‘We just fixed the porcelain, baby,’ and right before he’d painted your walls with his seed, you’d cum for him practically shrieking. Shaking.

Letting him turn you around for a kiss, only to mumble against his mouth with a sleepy, cockdrunk sort of lilt:

“I think you gave me twins.”

Then he’d fucked you in the shower to make it triplets.

Now you were laying out on the bed, truly spent, eyes following him in the semi-darkness of your bedroom after you’d toweled off and collapsed among the pillows.

“What’s gotten into you tonight, Miller?” you breathed.

Joel made it over to the dresser, back turned to you. He rifled through a drawer looking for something extra tight.

“Just missed you is all,” he said, shrugging.

What he needed right now was fabric that was very thick to hide the boner he was sporting. Joel could tell from the way you spoke that you were too tired for round five, and he didn’t want you feeling like you had to go again.

He would be fine.

His dick might not deflate until dawn, but that was okay.

“Wish you missed me like this every day,” you giggled.

When Joel turned around, he was shocked to find you sprawled out on the bed—hands between your legs.

There was a shy smile on your face.

“Baby…” he trailed off, watching your fingers flit through that sticky mess where he’d left it. Where you glistened.

Where you slid your index and middle fingers up and down your slit and drew circles on your clit, eyes shining.

“What? I missed you too,” you said, tone all faux protest.

You had no idea what you did to him when you talked like that. Especially when he was drowning in a state like this.

Hard as a rock.

Throbbing.

Needy.

Scarcely even knowing what he was doing, Joel found himself over by the foot of the bed in a second. Watching your every move with a wild, wipe-open stare he still couldn’t believe you found appealing. He swallowed.

He not only looked perverted, but he felt it, too. It rarely ever left his mind, save for the four or five seconds he spent in ecstasy emptying the contents of his balls inside your cunt, that he was his age, and you were yours. That perhaps the rest of Jackson was right, and he was wrong: he had no business being around a girl like you, much less getting off inside you every night. Was this really what you wanted? A bewildering mixture of guilt, lust, and love all circulated through his skull at that moment, and the longer he spent looking at your fingers, ogling the way you teased them through his cum between your legs, the more he felt certain he was bad.

No one corrupted a thing this sweet and got to call themselves good, anyway, he thought to himself idly.

“I keep gettin’ that…feelin’,” you said under your breath.

Joel’s hand tightened in a fist, and it was then that he realized it was wrapped around his cock. Still watching.

“Yeah, baby? What feelin’?” he returned, almost as quiet.

Still stroking himself up and down, up and down, softly.

You had your legs spread open—knees splayed wider than they’d been before. And your eyes had a tender, placid sheen to them, like they just might cry if they didn’t get release of some kind soon. Then you slowed.

Your touch slipped from your clit to the opaque, sticky globs between your thighs, and that look got even softer.

More desperate.

“Can’t…explain it.” You shook your head, as if pained, and then you sank two fingers inside. Joel could hear the tiny schlick from where he stood, and it almost did him in.

You sucked in a breath and added, “It’s a special feelin’.”

Joel’s fist had already worked its way up to a ridiculous speed. Again, he sensed this might be the worst and most pathetic he’d ever looked, but by the glint in your eyes and the way you kept holding him there, he also knew you weren’t asking him to stop, either. You were needing something else—something he could provide.

Thanks to that one stupid pill.

Joel’s smile was strained as he gripped the edge of the bed, like he was trying to assuage you and him at once.

“Try me, baby. Tell me ‘bout that special feelin’.”

Your middle and ring fingers disappeared inside you.

You whined, “Ain’t fair to say it now. You’re tired, daddy.”

Like hell he was. Joel crawled over the footboard and made his way straight to you, where your body was limp.

His breaths were coming in so fast and his pulse was thrumming so hard that he almost couldn’t hear himself talking. But he ventured to speak as gently as he could.

“I’m wide awake, sweet pea. I’m all ears. Talk to me.”

And if his words didn’t communicate as much, surely the look in his eyes would’ve told you all the rest. Quietly, he slipped his torso between your legs, where you’d inserted a third finger and were moving your hips again. You were fingering yourself, breathing shallow and quick.

“It’s a feelin’ like I wanna be…stuffed…a-and full’a you.”

Joel’s whole body could’ve liquified on the spot. His brain, presently, had all the consistency of a plate of scrambled eggs if he’d had to guess. Feeling his cock swell even bigger and his hips sink lower to yours of their own accord, he had only to grit his teeth and nod his head. He felt the tip of him bump your fingers, and the sensation and the expectation nearly drove him insane.

He mumbled quietly, “Then move your hand.”

You did. You winced again. You looked as though you might be ashamed for wanting him to fill you with his spend, and Joel simply wouldn’t allow that any longer.

Without saying another word, he slid back in.

Your cum and his facilitated the slide, and you opened right up for him. You whimpered, while Joel grunted like an animal. He couldn’t help it; it all felt so fucking primal.

How you could ever feel the need to apologize for wanting more of this was more than he could take.

“Every inch of me,” Joel said, rutting deeper, “is yours.”

He withdrew to the tip, and he could feel strings of arousal linking him to you in a sickeningly sweet way.

You could scarcely even nod, just waiting for him again.

When Joel plunged back in, he heard a feral little cry, and he felt your legs wrap around his waist. He went faster. You fisted the pillow behind your head in one hand, while the other laid flat on his chest, like you were checking for a heartbeat. You could probably hear it thudding a million miles per minute right now. Your hips collided in tandem.

“D— Daddy,” you whimpered.

“That’s it, open up for daddy. Good girl. It’s all yours.”

The sounds his thrusts were making were obscene.

“Every inch?” you breathed, “E-Every drop, too?”

“Every fiber of my fucking being, sweet girl.”

That made you smile, at length. Your hand slid from his chest, down his round belly, straight to a groin that was pounding hard and fast against your own. Joel groaned when he felt your touch sweep inside your legs—right in the space where his cum had come trickling out. You slid your fingers through that mess, then whimpered again.

Then you brought your hand up to your mouth.

You wrapped your lips around your cum-soaked fingers like they were the single sweetest thing, and you sucked.

Joel had no say after seeing that: he had to cum again.

It likely stunned you both—you more than him, by the look that crossed your eyes the second you felt him throb and pulse inside your cunt—but then it kept going.

Rather than stop, or slow down in the slightest, Joel found his hips pistoning faster than they had before. The whole bed frame shook, and your body trembled with every thrust, and the noises between your legs grew even louder; the sound of skin slapping skin was only amplified by the addition of Joel’s hot load in the mix.

The man was operating on impulse. You, through sheer awe and an animalistic need to have every crevice filled. You held him and you grit your teeth, and you let him keep using your body, while you used his. You kissed him.

“Go on, then—make me a daddy. Take my cum, baby,” Joel babbled, brainless, “Make your old man a daddy.”

He couldn’t tell if it were the words or the rhythm or the pleasure that had already been blossoming deep in your gut this whole time, but he felt you fall apart. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist than you had all night, and you screamed his name. Begged for more.

“Cum in me, daddy—pleasepleaseplease just cum, ju—”

And there he went. Again. Flooding your insides with his warmth and letting his cock carve a wild, relentless path through your cunt like it was all the man knew how to do. He filled you up. He felt it leaking down his length with every stab of his hips, and frankly, he didn’t care what he looked like now. You were smiling big, drawing him in for more kisses as he panted and grunted and whimpered like he never had before. He kissed back. Slowed down.

Found himself lost in your mouth as your tongue wove delectably through his own and your hands made their way to his wild, greying hair. You tugged, and he moaned.

He fucked his spend deeper without even meaning to.

All instinct again, it seemed he couldn’t get enough.

Suddenly, he felt a new, strange urge bubble up.

“I-I-I took a pill tonight,” he blurted out, “Know how badly you want this baby, and I wanna give you one.”

Or two. Or twenty. He was barely capable of speech, let alone rational cognition, so he just spoke whatever came to his mind then, still snug inside your legs and panting.

“A pill?” you whispered back.

Joel’s gaze locked with yours.

He felt stupid for it all at once.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just— I know I’m gettin’ on in years, and I probably can’t fuck the way I used to. And you deserve someone who can…Maybe a guy your age, but that—”

“—is the single dumbest thing you have ever said to me,” you finished for him, eyes narrowing swiftly in a scowl.

When Joel tried talking again, you cut him off.

“I don’t care what any guy my age is doing, or could do. I want babies with you, and that includes every part, OK?”

Your look softened momentarily, seeing his lips twitch down—you could probably see he wasn’t believing you.

Then you cradled his face in your palms. You smiled. You brushed his nose with yours, and you kissed him again, and with what little strength you likely had left in your body, you dug your heels in his ass and pulled him deeper. Both of you let out soft, low grunts at the effort.

“If you fucked like this at twenty-five, my body wouldn’t have survived anyway,” you whispered in reassurance. Biting back a laugh as Joel smiled, too, “I like things just the way they are. Just like how I hope you like me, too.”

“No—I love you.” Joel shook his head, almost plaintive.

And for the first time that night, he felt himself soften.

Whether it was the pill wearing off or that first thread of vulnerability stretching out between your body and his, he didn’t really care. He kissed the tip of your nose and was about to say something more, when you cut back in.

“I love you more. And since we’re being honest tonight,” you started quietly, nipping at your bottom lip a second, “I might…need you back at the apothecary tomorrow.”

Joel’s face fell.

“Wh— is something wrong, baby?” His voice was tight.

He hated seeing David, but, of course, he’d go back there in a heartbeat if it meant getting you the medication you needed. His stomach was starting to churn, when you reached up to hold his face again. You shook your head.

“No, no, Joel, I’m fine. But I may need prenatal vitamins.”

Now his eyes were going wide. His cheeks heated under your palms, and his cock twitched inside you, reflexively.

“You mean…” he murmured, unable to finish. Swallowing.

Beneath him, he saw you smile and nod.

He nearly choked hearing what followed:

“I meant to tell you earlier, but…my period’s a little late.”

[adiadagaki]

heianera!sukuna observed you in your chair, reading a book, engrossed in a world of your own. You spent most of your time nestled in the arm chair by the fire, waiting patiently for whenever Sukuna would call you over in need of service.

Oddly, you didn’t miss the kitchen, most of the time Sukuna was no issue, his commands simple, and he was never violent. All in all, he was a pretty good employer and you were happy.

“Pet.” Your head lifted without hesitation, your book softly falling closed. “Yes, my lord.”

“Come rub my back.”

You froze, perplexed by his ask. Surely one of his concubines would be better suited for such a task, but who were you to question a King? After all, Sukuna always knew what he wanted.

“Rub your back, my lord?”

“Yes. I have new oils I wish to try.”

Setting your book aside, you stood, the ruffles of your work skirt swishing around your thighs. Sukuna licked his lips at the sight. He loved your uniform more than anything in his palace, forever making you look like a sweet treat.

Settling by his bed, you stood awaiting further instruction.

“Undress me, little one.” If you had seen Sukuna around the other servants you’d know he didn’t have pet names for them, not even his concubines, it marked you as special, and you didn’t even know it.

With slightly shaky hands, you removed his kimono, neatly folding it and placing it off to the side. Even with all of his muscles bare, you were polite and didn’t stare, as, after all, that wasn’t part of your job.

Sukuna frowned at the sight.

Maybe you’d be harder to tease than he thought.

Adjusting himself so he was led on his stomach, he nodded his head, indicating to his back. “Sit, pet. The oils are on the bedside stand.”

“Do you have a preference, my lord?”

“Whichever you choose is fine, little one.”

Deciding on a random bottle, you crawled onto the bed, sitting by his side, preparing to unscrew the cap. Sukuna tutted playfully, drawing your attention.

“My lord?”

“How do you suppose you can give me a massage properly from the side?” He quirked a brow and your lips parted, but words didn’t find you.

“Sit, pet.” And this time you understood perfectly what he meant.

Slow in your movements, you kicked your leg over him and straddled his lower back, saddled on the natural dip of his spine, your sex right over Sukuna’s muscles. Your mind didn’t go to such a place, but the Kings did.

Oiling up your hands, you set out on your task, finding it a little odd but not speaking up, knowing your place. Plus, a slightly compromised position or not this was a professional craft for many and it didn’t always entail such lewd endings.

Sukuna had other ideas.

Every time you worked a certain muscle he let out low, drawn out moans, praising you for a job well done. It brought the lightest flush to your cheeks because anyone could walk in and get the wrong idea about all of this.

Seeing the pink on your cheeks, Sukuna decided it was time for step 2. Flexing his back muscles, he watched from the corner of two eyes as you stilled, confused and utterly adorable in it.

You were questioning yourself. Had you made it up? Had the King done something? Had you done something?

Sukuna didn’t comment.

And then he did it again.

This time you were certain he had moved, you’d been still as a statue since your mind had decided to play tricks on you. What was his angle?

Deciding it was better to end this massage sooner rather than later, you put the last of the oil on your hands and made haste.

Knowing what you were up to, Sukuna upped his game, shifting his hips up off the mattress and grinding back against you, earning him the smallest hitch of your breath.

You were definitely getting worked up by his antics. Brilliant, a few more shifts of his hips and you should be-

“There you are my lord. Hopefully the oil is to your liking. Call me if you need anything else.”

Sukuna growled. You had climbed off him, having finished the massage far quicker than he would have liked. But the King was not to easy to give up, he was already plotting how he could have you soaking those white panties again soon.

You were destined to be his, for better or for worse.

Part 1 Part 2

[kiyoomiee]

part one. part two. part three. part four.

boxer!sukuna who’s been in the training room for hours now. Sweat trickled all over his body as his arms never stopped swinging.

“Sukuna, you’ve been here for more than an hour now. That punching bag will break any moment.” Toji voiced out as he walked in.

“What’s wrong with you?” He tried to ask Sukuna.

“She’s mad at me. Been ignoring me for two days now.” Sukuna dropped his arms and sulked. Fucking hell, he misses you so much.

“Ah that pretty doll? Couldn’t imagine her staying mad that long with your annoying ass.”

“She’s my pretty doll. Don’t call her that.” Sukuna grumbled at Toji but the man ignored him.

“What’d you do?”

“Her medical director was being a misogynistic ass, so I punched him on her behalf.” Sukuna smirked, remembering how gratifying it was to punch the bastard in the face.

“Heh, would’ve done the same if I was there. But didn’t it occur to you that she might not want you to fight her battles for her?”

“Why wouldn’t she? I could send that man in a hospital without even breaking a sweat.”

“That’s exactly why asshole. Besides, you’ve seen how she handles herself in her own field. So go apologize instead of breaking our goddamn equipment.”

boxer!sukuna who corners you in your office so you can’t avoid him anymore. Locking the door close and closing the blinds so nobody could interfere. He went looking for you right after finishing his shower.

“We need to talk.”

“Not here Sukuna, I’m working. And I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You can see where this was going, tears already threatened to fall in the corners of your eyes.

“No. We need to talk right now, or else I’ll go crazy-“

“You’re going crazy? You haven’t talked to me in two days Sukuna. Now you’ll stroll in here and break up with me?”

“Break up?“ What the hell?

“Can’t handle the emotional part of the relationship? I should’ve known since you’re-“

“Since I’m what?” His voice was loud and angry. It was the first time he got mad at you.

“How could I even dare to break up with you when you’re constantly in my mind? When I’m trying my best just so you could notice me? When I’d surrender at your feet if you’d only say the word? I’ve pursued you for months and waited for you to see me. Even with countless rejections, I would’ve continued to wait for the rest of my life as long as there’s no ring on your finger yet. God, my infatuation even turned into obsession.” He sounds dejected as he chuckled to himself in pity.

“Now you’re saying I’m here to break up with you? No baby, I’m here to get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness. Because I’ll lose my goddamn mind if I don’t have your attention on me even in a split second. Why can’t you see it? I’m so fucking in love with you that the thought of leaving wouldn’t even cross my mind.” He continued on and sighed in agony.

“Y-You’re what?” You were stunned. It was the first time he said that three lettered word.

“I love you so fucking much. So please, I’m sorry for what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have interfered because I know you could stand up for yourself. But I can’t say I regret punching that motherfucker in the face.”

“I know you won’t, ‘kuna.”

“Fuck, don’t cry baby. I’m sorry I was an asshole.” He got on his knees and wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. You leaned into the warmth of his touch.

“Yeah but thanks to your little stunt, that man was fired and I won’t have to deal with his misogynistic comments anymore.” You just finished talking to the higher ups and the HR a while ago, they assured you that they’ll handle the case and that your medical director will be terminated immediately.

“I’m sorry too Sukuna, for avoiding and ignoring you. I should’ve reached out to you sooner.”

“No, it was my fault. I should’ve reached out. It won’t happen again baby, I promise.”

“Ryo.” You called him and caressed his face.

“Hmm?”

“I love you too.” His brain stopped functioning when he heard you say that.

“A-Are you sure? I’m not pressuring you just because I said it earlier-“ Ears turning red, he was now flustered and asked just to make sure he heard it correctly.

“I love you Ryomen Sukuna, I’m very sure.” You expressed lovingly, together with a quick peck on his lips.

“You sure know how to make me crazy for you, sweetheart.”

[shina913]

Tumble Dry | CSC

Tumble Dry

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x AFAB!Reader

Rating: M 🔞; NSFW

Genre: Established relationship; domestic AU; smut; some fluff

Warnings: mentions of ovulation/menstrual cycle; cussing; breast play; fingering; oral (both giving/receiving); unprotected sex; PIV sex; ass smacking; dirty talk; creampie

Word count: 3.3k words

Summary: Sure, a man doing chores is hot. But a man who does the laundry, folds it, and puts it away? Absolutely irresistible.

A/N: The monkey is off my back and I finally channeled my Cheol Burstday comeback brainrot into this!!! Thanks to @roaminginthenights for always enabling me in the DMs. This is for you!

Throughout the workweek, you and Seungcheol text frequently. It’s your way of letting each other know you’re thinking of one another. You share the most mundane things, like mismatched socks on laundry day, or talk shit about coworkers you’d gladly dump on a deserted island along with your other annoying acquaintances.

Occasionally, the messages turn spicier, sent during quiet moments at your desks.

But today has been brutal. The kind of nonstop insanity that barely lets you glance at your phone, let alone reply. You feel guilty for leaving him on ‘read’, but you couldn’t get a moment to break away since there were too many fires to put out.

Seungcheol could tell the week was eating you alive. You’d been venting about that looming deadline, and judging by your radio silence, he connected the dots. Without saying anything to you, he heads out of work early to start dinner and knock out a few chores, just so you can walk in the door and finally decompress.

Back at your desk, you glance at the clock. Just a couple more hours until you can escape the madness and burn off every last ounce of tension with him. The thought alone has you pressing your thighs together. You lick your lips, letting the anticipation settle into the base of your belly, using it as motivation to power through the rest of the day. And you can come home and claim your well-deserved reward.

******

The scent of dinner cooking welcomes you as you walk through the door after a long and trying day. At the end of the hallway, you catch a glimpse of Seungcheol in the kitchen, his broad back turned to you while he unloads the dishwasher.

The exhaust fan hums softly, and music is blasting in the background. You figure this is why he hasn’t responded to your text that told him you were on your way.

You cock your head and watch him for a moment. Your heart swells with appreciation at the sight of him taking care of some chores at home without you asking him.

He looks up at the jangle of your keys as you hang them on the wall. He beams instantly when his gaze lands on you. “Hey, love! Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

He’s in sweats and one of his old college shirts, whose sleeves he proudly hacked off himself. It used to hang loose around his shoulders, but now it clings and stretches nicely over his biceps. They’ve been looking more defined lately, and you’ve mentioned more than once how good he looks in that shirt.

You spot the V-shaped sweat mark beneath his collar that tells you he just finished a workout. You can’t help but hope he’s not completely spent, and that he’s saved some energy for you.

Honestly, you’re hoping for a little more than “some.” You want—no—need to be manhandled tonight. After hours of trying to hold things together today, you’d want nothing more than to give up control and have him take over.

He strolls over and greets you with a kiss. A grin spreads across your face. “You didn’t have to cook!” you say. “I was going to order takeout, because I thought you’d be working late tonight.”

He turns back to the stove, lowering the flame beneath one of the simmering pots. “I was,” he says, “But Joshua owes me a favor, so I asked him to finish up the rest of the cases. Told him there was an emergency at home.”

You tilt your head, brows knitting in curiosity. “Oh? What kind of emergency?”

He crosses the room again, cups your cheeks, and plants a soft kiss on your forehead. His eyes soften as he meets yours. “The kind where I need to take care of you.”

He’s so cheesy—but your heart still melts. “Ugh... I love you,” you gush.

“Love you too. Now go get changed—dinner’s almost ready.”

******

After dinner, as the food coma settles, you and Seungcheol curl up on the couch to catch up on your favorite show. You’ve changed into an oversized sleep shirt and stretched out sideways, your legs draped across his lap. His eyes are on the screen while his thumb traces lazy circles over your knee.

You’re not really watching the show—your gaze keeps drifting to his profile, bathed in the soft, warm light of the nearby lamp.

“Thank you for dinner,” you murmur. “It was perfect… especially after today.” A slow smile spreads across your face.

He turns to you with a gentle look. “You’re welcome. I know this week’s been a lot,” he says, his voice low and warm. “I thought if I came home early and took care of a few things, maybe you could just… breathe a little easier this weekend.”

“Like what things?”

“Just a few chores. After grocery shopping, I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up your prescription…”

You could cry listening to him list many of the errands you planned to do this week, but never found the time for. How is it possible to love him even more than you already do?

“Then, before I started cooking, I did the laundry.”

Your shoulders tense up.

Every time he did the laundry, it was utter chaos—darks, lights, and delicates tossed into the same load. You never knew if your white tees would survive unscathed or come out with a tinge of pink. The last time, he left everything in the dryer overnight, and you spent the next morning re-running cycles just to tame the wrinkles. Since then, he’s been unofficially banned from doing laundry unsupervised.

He sees your expression shift and quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I sorted everything. Even used the pre-wash on the sheets—just like you showed me.” He gives you a reassuring look, promising there wouldn’t be a repeat of last time.

Your eyes go wide. “You did what?”

He hesitates. “I… did the laundry?” He breaks into a sweat as he starts to question every decision he’s made in the last couple of hours.

You shake your head. “No, no—what did you say after that?”

“I sorted it and ran a pre-wash cycle?” He winces, hoping this answer will get him in less trouble.

When he sees your jaw drop with a gasp, he assumes the worst and scrambles for an explanation.

“Okay, hear me out. I know I messed up before, but I swear, I did it properly this time. I even folded the clothes and put them away in our closet. I’m just waiting for the last load to finish in the dryer.”

You find yourself…inexplicably aroused by all of this. The thought of him in his cutoff shirt, doing a load of laundry, and carefully folding everything. Not only that, but most importantly, doing it exactly the way you like it—is enough to get you hot and bothered.

He sits there anxiously, completely unaware of the effect this has on you.

“I was just trying to help. Are you mad?”

Instead of answering him, you lunge forward and kiss him.

“Whoa, what? What’s happening?” He’s perplexed, yet pleasantly surprised by your sudden aggressiveness.

You shift to straddle his hips. “You had me at ‘sorting the laundry,’” you breathe against his lips before kissing him again, harder this time.

He pulls away again, still looking confused. “Wait, seriously? The laundry?”

It’s not just the laundry. Your hormones are already raging from ovulating, which not only piles onto your stress and irritability at work, but it also leaves you feeling unbearably horny.

The dinner he made had briefly distracted you, but now he’s stirred the memory of what you’d really been looking forward to since walking through the door.

You glare at him in exasperation for trying to derail your plans again. “Yes! Now, are you going to interrupt me again or do you want to get your dick sucked?”

He blinks slowly, your words echoing in his head. Then a slow smirk tugs at his lips, and his gaze darkens. He mimes zipping his mouth shut, hands lifting in mock surrender. He sinks back into the couch, arms stretched, eyes locked on you with quiet amusement.

“Good choice!” You cup his nape and pull his mouth to yours.

You kiss him with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue—each one driving him crazy with want. Your hunger is intoxicating, only rivaling his scent: a heady mix of body wash, sweat, and the savory aromatics from the dish he cooked. It’s the perfect cocktail that sends your senses into overdrive.

When you break the kiss, you tug his shirt over his head. Then you lower yourself again, pressing soft kisses along his jaw, tracing it with gentle licks that elicit a low moan from his throat. Your mouth travels down his chest, leaving a trail of wet kisses as you slide from his lap, then finally sinking to your knees between his legs.

He lifts his hips when you tug at his waistband, helping you slide his bottoms, just enough to pull his cock out.

You tease the tip with a gentle flick of your tongue, making him inhale sharply. You slide your mouth down his length, drawing another gasp from him. At the first hint of suction, he sinks his head deeper into the cushions and groans in pleasure.

“Holy…f…uck…” The rush of wet heat from your mouth over his sensitive tip is so intense, he struggles to catch his breath. Your lips tighten around him, your tongue massaging that perfect spot on his cock that you know makes his toes curl.

You pull upward, then tease him with your fingers, stroking with just enough pressure to make him crave more.

His hands are in your hair, his neck straining to get a glimpse of your mouth sliding up and down his cock.

“Fuck, baby…” he hisses through his teeth, “So good.”

You peer up at him and see his lip caught between his teeth, eyes heavy-lidded, face etched with pleasure—the visual intensifies the throbbing between your legs. Unable to resist, you slip your fingers into your panties to ease the ache. Being extra sensitive during this phase of your cycle, it doesn’t take long before your fingers are coated in your slick.

The hum of your moans vibrates through him, fueling his torment and driving him closer to the edge. You can feel it in the way his thighs tense, hear it in the way his breath stutters. Then suddenly, his hands grab your sides, breaking your suction as he pulls you upward.

“C’mere.”

His hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, gliding to cup the backs of your thighs and the curve of your ass. He pulls you in until your center hovers right over his face.

“Take it off,” he whispers, eyes gazing up at you with dark anticipation.

Without hesitation, your top comes off in one fluid motion.

He presses slow kisses across your stomach, each one making you sigh with pleasure and weak in the knees. His fingers hook into your panties, easing them down your legs, and he guides you back onto his lap.

You gasp as your overly sensitive nipples brush against his bare chest, sending a burst of sensation straight to your core.

“I want you inside me,” you whisper, nuzzling his nose with yours.

“Yeah?” His fingers find your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. You whimper when the sharp but pleasurable pain makes goosebumps race across your skin.

“How bad?”

You grind your soaked folds shamelessly along the length of him, then tease the seam of his lips with your tongue. “Really, really bad.”

Seungcheol flashes a cocky grin, clearly pleased with your answer. For a second, you think he’s about to finally put you out of your misery. But instead, he surprises you, lifting you off the couch.

His hands steady beneath you, he tightens your legs around his waist. You band your arms around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you down the hall—both of you giggling and kissing between breaths.

He angles his body and bumps your bedroom door wider. Your thighs hit the edge of the mattress first, and then he lowers you gently onto your back.

With a sly, teasing smile, he leans down and kisses you quickly.

“My turn.”

He hovers over you, then down—his hot mouth trailing over your breasts, your stomach, and finally, your center. You gasp, arching as his tongue flutters over your clit, every flick sending jolts through your body.

His hands slide up to cup your breasts, fingers teasing your nipples while his mouth devours you with unrelenting focus. The more you beg him to fuck you, the longer he makes you wait, savoring every sound you make, every tremble of your body.

“Cheol, please…”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he just slips two fingers inside you and curls them, pressing and stroking that sensitive spot deep inside you.

You’re close to tears when he makes you come once. Then again. And again. By the time he finally lets up, your legs are shaky, your body limp with aftershocks. You lie still, your limbs heavy, your clit still pulsing from his relentless mouth.

You barely register him speaking when his finger strokes you gently across your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You nod weakly.

He chuckles, clearly pleased with the satiated look on your face.

“Time for bed?”

The second the words register, your eyes snap open, and you push up onto your elbows, protesting. “What? No!”

The corners of his mouth twitch. That’s exactly the response he wanted. He leans in close, his breath fanning against your skin.

“Can you take more?”

His teeth graze the shell of your ear, then his lips trace a path down your cheek before claiming your mouth again.

“Please. I just want you inside me.”

He’s seen that look in your eyes before—hunger, need. And because Seungcheol aims to please, he gives in.

“Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You give a vague nod and your body’s already moving, scrambling upright, too eager to wait another second.

He leans in again, his breath warm on your cheek as he gently tucks a few loose strands behind your ear.

“Say it.”

A small smile curves your lips as you kneel on the bed, hands resting obediently on your thighs, sitting back on your heels–like a good girl.

His teeth catch his bottom lip. God, he could come just from seeing you like this.

“Ask me again.”

He steadies himself, shifting his focus to hang onto his last shred of control. He wants to make this last—for both of you.

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

“Yes.”

He takes a couple of steps back, and your mouth waters as you watch him peel off his sweats. His hand wraps around himself, slowly stroking, before he climbs onto the bed with you.

“Lean into me,” he murmurs.

You shift until your back presses against his chest, resting your cheek against his shoulder. One hand cups your face, tilting your mouth up to his for a kiss, while the other slips between your legs, fingers pumping steadily inside you.

“You ready?” he purrs.

“I’ve been ready,” you whine breathlessly.

He chuckles. “Go ahead,” he coaxes, his tongue touching yours with teasing licks. “Put me in then.”

Reaching back, your hand wraps around his length. He adjusts to line himself up for you. You sink your hips as he pushes up simultaneously, both groaning at the sensation of stretch and constriction.

He wraps his hand gently around your throat, his palm flat against your stomach. He withdraws, then thrusts so hard into you that you could swear you see stars. He holds you firmly in his arms, pumping in and out of you steadily, his groans thrumming against your spine.

“Yes, yes…harder,” you pant, reaching behind and sinking your nails into the flesh of his ass, beyond needy.

You don’t have to ask him twice—he’s already on it. He pulls out, guides you down to the bed, and steadies you as you bend at the waist, cheek pressing into the mattress. His hands grip your hips firmly, and he slides in deep, pulling a whimper from your lips. This is exactly what you wanted, and he’s all too happy to give it to you.

Your insides tense, clenching desperately around him. He grunts through clenched teeth, pulling out just enough before pushing back in intensely. Again and again. Each time, hitting every one of those tight bundles of nerves inside you.

“Don’t stop…” You whine.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me hear you.”

He smacks your ass hard, the stinging sensation causing your insides to clench around him in a vice-like grip. Your fingers claw at the sheets, deep moans rumbling from your throat.

Your legs tremble with a particularly rough stroke, but you’re still desperate and hungry for more. The steady rhythm of his hips and the sounds you make only add to his own insatiable need for you.

He spanks you again, before he picks up the pace, pounding into you, his fingers circling your clit add to the torment. Your cunt squeezes around him as another orgasm nears.

His movements grow unsteady and erratic—after delaying his gratification for so long, he’s now racing toward his orgasm.

He comes with a drawn-out, throaty growl, your knees buckling with the rush of his release melding with yours.

You both collapse onto the bed, skin flushed with a gleam of sweat, limbs tangled in the mess of sheets that he had, ironically, just washed.

He lets out a hoarse, breathless laugh. “Sorry if I went too hard.”

You giggle. “Are you kidding? No complaints here—at all!”

You both settle into a comfortable silence as your breathing steadies and heartbeats slow to normal.

After a moment, he glances over at you and asks, “Hey… are you ovulating, by any chance?” His tone is light, but there’s a hint of apprehension to it.

You narrow your gaze, intrigued. “Y-eah,” you draw out the word. “Why?”

He nods, as if that confirms something. “Figured.”

You tilt your head in amusement. “And how exactly could you tell the difference?”

His voice drops as he locks eyes with you. “Because I can feel it.” 

Sure enough, you’re much wetter, and he slips right into you with ease.

You bite back a grin. “Didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on that kind of thing.”

He shrugs, all nonchalant about it. “We’ve been together long enough for me to know you tend to like it rough around this time.”

You glance at him, cheeks warming. He wasn’t wrong. You wanted to be manhandled, and he delivered, as he always does. “Is that weird for you?”

His mouth curves into a smirk. “Weird? Nah. Hot?” He gives an exaggerated nod, eyes trailing over you, and blows out a slow whistle.

You tilt your head back, laughing softly at the ceiling. “Well, I never thought properly done laundry would end up on my list of turn-ons, and yet, here we are.”

You catch his cheeky grin from the corner of your eye.

“Well, in that case,” he drawls, “I should mention that I ran the delicates cycle. Even used that little mesh bag you keep stashed above the washer.”

You roll onto your side and slow-blink at him, as if he’d just grown an extra head.

“And,” he adds, his voice dropping, “I vacuumed.” His eyebrow arches in that cocky way that sends your pulse racing and your self-control straight out the window.

You sit up slowly, crawling toward him with purpose. “Oooh, Mr. Choi,” you whisper, fingers trailing up his chest, “Keep talking dirty to me.”

He breaks into that throaty laugh you love so much. “Round two, then?”

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[suksatoru]

sae itoshi in calvin klein boxers should be illegal.

normally, your boyfriend doesn't do photoshoots. he found the whole concept of posing in front of a camera for hours exhausting and pointless for his soccer career—why should he sit and do inherently nothing when he could be perfecting his soccer skills? working out? analyzing matches? anything else?

but, when his sweet girlfriend's photography internship happens to be at the same place his manager had received an offer for an exclusive shoot, sae decides he'll agree to be a model for them just this once, but only if you were one of the people taking his pictures.

after turning down some of the world's most luxurious brands simply out of spite, calvin klein was quick to agree to sae's terms and conditions without a second thought. maybe you were an old friend he was doing a favor for—no one really suspected you two were dating, but that was only because you two had decided to keep your relationship under wraps.

you're fiddling with your camera's settings as one of the other photographers describes what the photoshoot would mainly entail to sae—the man's pen taps against his clipboard as he tells sae what pieces he'd be promoting and what poses he should expect, and sae nods along wordlessly as everyone around you buzzes with excitement. it was rare for sae to accept brand deals, forget the ones that weren't even sports-related—so the photographers you'd be working with were exceptionally surprised, and it seemed like the whole room was buzzing with excitement.

sae was undeniably handsome. it didn't help that he was stupidly photogenic, too, meaning every pose he did was effortlessly irresistible—but, in turn, it meant every picture you got was perfection incarnate. subtly, from time to time, he'd shift his pose to be better directed towards your camera specifically, and you took every shot with a smile on your face.

after the summer line was done, it was time for calvin klein's classic boxers to be worn.

sae looked, in simple terms, drop-dead gorgeous. every contour of his body and muscles was highlighted and even further pronounced by the studio's lighting—and your boyfriend can practically feel the giddiness radiating off of you as you take a number of candid shots while everyone around you bustles to adjust the lights and camera positions around the room before they start shooting again.

"you know, my contract for this photoshoot didn't say anything about candid shots," sae muses, stopping in front of you with one hand perched on his hip and a raised brow, but the only response he gets from you is a cheeky grin.

click.

"mr. itoshi—i think they're ready for you now," you say sweetly, and sae looks over his shoulder before noticing the head photographer waving him over. he huffs, shaking his head and turning around to give you a look that says, 'i'll deal with you later.' it was a playful glance, one reserved only for you, and even as he's walking away—you take a picture of his back because holy shit, this studio's lighting made your boyfriend's build look like that of a greek god.

after a snack break and another forty-five minutes, the photoshoot concluded with twelve decided pictures of sae that would be released to the public for their campaign. a good portion of them were taken by you, and you were happy for the recognition and appreciation.

"that's a wrap! everyone say thank you to mr. itoshi for accepting our studio's offer!"

after a chorus of thank you's for your boyfriend and a few more words spoken with the director, he's ready to head home. sae had changed back into his own clothes by now, and while the people around you are getting ready to head out, sae approaches you while you finish up packing away your camera.

"good day?" he questions with a hum, and you peer up immediately at the sound of his voice. for a moment you don't respond, glancing around you to make sure no one was looking before you reach up and place a gentle peck onto his lips.

"the best! this photoshoot's my biggest project yet. thank you for coming, sae. really." you smile warmly, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder as his eyes soften.

"come on, we're going home together."

you're out of the building in no time and back in sae's car before you know it. currently, you're curled up in the passenger seat beside him, flicking through all the shots you'd taken of him today.

"you're so handsome..." you murmur mindlessly, squinting your eyes as you connect your camera to your portable printer, patiently allowing it to print out the images for you as sae huffs.

"i'm well aware; you tell me every chance you get." he sighs, and you laugh under your breath, not really responding besides that as you continue looking through the images.

you were really happy when sae accepted the photoshoot offer—actually, you'd tackled him with quite the hug after you found out. he liked this side of you, the one that was so unconditionally happy just doing your thing. photography was a constant in your life—sae knows this. your instagram, private with no followers besides his own personal account, is a treasure. every memory and every moment in time is photographed by you. your posts made even the most mundane things look ethereal.

most of your pictures consisted of either sae, the sea, or some sort of moment from one of his games. you were sae's biggest supporter, and looking over at you in the passenger seat beside him—he can't help but stare. you look so cute smiling at his pictures like that, and the gentle breeze that comes from the open window of his car has your hair flowing around you like waves.

"y/n," he starts, and you hum in response.

sae doesn't say anything else. he merely pulls over his car onto the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out as you tilt your head in confusion. he walks around to your side of the car and opens the door for you.

"see that sunset?" he questions unceremoniously while pointing towards the beach across the road—you nod slowly, still terribly puzzled.

"teach me how to take a picture. i want to take one of you this time."

sae watches the gears turn in your head, and he knows he made the right decision asking you once your entire face lights up with the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"really?! you mean it? oh my gosh, this really is the best day ever! let's go, let's go! the sun's in the perfect position right now for taking a shot!"

sae listens intently to your instructions as you two lounge on the sand. you're explaining the main functions he'll need to use in order to take a picture, and he nods along, hoping he remembers all your words once it's time to take your picture.

"how about we practice first? here, try and take a shot of the sea right now, and let's see how you do!"

sae nods with a quiet hum, carefully taking the camera from you.

hold the camera steady, aim at the subject, make sure it's in focus, and then press the shutter button.

he stays completely still as he holds the camera, and your heart positively swoons watching sae. he looks adorable with his lips pressed together in concentration as he tries to take the perfect picture. you hear the familiar click of your camera and immediately scoot over beside him to look at it.

"oh wow, this is perfect! hey, are you trying to steal my job or something?!" you accuse, and to your surprise, sae laughs.

he's only ever known soccer—sae can't get the words out, but he hopes you can understand how much he appreciates you for being the one to show him new things in life he never had the chance to explore before.

"maybe i am. what then? now, you sit back, cariño. it's my turn."

sae has you splayed out on the sand, and he'd gathered a few seashells to arrange around your head like a halo. you're laughter is infectious, and he finds himself dipping down to give you a kiss every chance he gets.

soon enough, sae's hovering over you—focused and snapping picture after picture, moment after moment, and he can't remember a time in his life where he's ever felt this happy and soft. you smile for him, and despite having taken at least a dozen shots already, he wants to take more.

he'll print these photos of you, no doubt. he'll put them in his wallet, he'll make them his phone's wallpaper, he'll engrave them into his mind if he must—this moment was just that special to him.

well, maybe it wasn't the moment. it was more so your smile and the look in your eyes when you looked at sae.

"beautiful. you're beautiful. i love you so much, cariño.