#hate to see you leave love to watch you go

[em1i2a3]

Telescope

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: On a whim, Bob decides to give himself a haircut and immediately regrets it, so you step in to help.

Warnings: No warnings, just pure fluff basically. Maybe a bit of panicked tears because Bob thinks the haircut is bad and he hates the way it looks. A bit of self-deprecation. Reader and Bob are fairly close.

Author’s Note: I was thinking of writing this little blurb for a bit, and I was really in the mood today to go at it! I hope y’all enjoy this little fluff piece! I loved writing it :) <3

Word Count: 3,838

“He’s been in there for an hour!” You heard John say through the lull in your classical music. It was a quiet night at the compound for once, and you were taking full advantage of it–your legs were stretched across the couch in the common room, and your laptop was overheating against your thighs. You had a bunch of mission reports open in a clutter of neglected tabs as you typed in a document your notes and responses. You didn’t bother turning on the overhead lights, relying instead on the amber glow of the floor lamp behind you and the brightness of your laptop screen.

You pulled off your headphones, letting them hang loosely around your neck as the soft swell of cello faded into the ambient hush of the living space. The sound of shuffling feet, low voices, and a few muffled knocks echoed from the hallway that led toward the bedrooms and shared washrooms.

“Bob. Come on. Open up the door.” Bucky chimed in, laced with a kind of concern that immediately made your chest tighten a bit. He knocked again, three short raps that echoed louder than they should have in the calm of the night. Bob had replied but it was muffled. Faint. You couldn’t make out what he said, but you could tell it was definitely strained and unconvincing. You closed your laptop slowly, the fan still whirring like it was on the verge of liftoff, and you swung your legs down off the couch.

John’s voice came again, muttering low and irritable as you padded barefoot across the floor, the cool tile biting pleasantly at your soles.

”There were these stupid clanking noises and he’s literally had the sink running for the entire time he’s been in there. It’s getting on my nerves.” He explained to Bucky as you stepped into the hallway. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his weight shifted to one hip, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a training t-shirt. You approached the two men with a quiet sigh, pushing your hair away from your face, and brushing by Bucky.

“Move over, boys. Let me give it a try.” John rolled his eyes and stepped aside. You could feel their eyes on you as you gently knocked on the door–just a few light taps, barely louder than a whisper. Then, your voice followed, soft and lifting, wrapped in something warmer than concern–affection.

“Bob…Hun? It’s Y/N. Can you open up the door and let me in?” You could hear shuffling, the almost imperceptible sound of something being hastily hidden–maybe a towel, maybe whatever John heard clinking over the water. You saw the two super soldiers exchange a glance, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“…Is it on–only you out there?” Came Bob’s voice, hushed and hesitant. You turned and flicked your hand at the guys–a silent, practiced motion that told them to ‘Go. Shoo.’ Without saying it. Bucky got it immediately, tilting his head to John for the both of them to leave. You didn’t turn to watch them go, but you waited until they were at a safe distance before responding.

”Yes, it’s only me.” A beat passed, then you heard a click. The door cracked open just enough for you to see a sliver of his face–but even in that narrow space, his eyes found yours. Blue, wide, and full of dread. You offered him a small smile.

”Mind if I come in?” Bob hesitated at the question. You could see it in the slight way his thick fingers tightened around the edge of the door. His eyes flicked down, then back up, apologetic and sheepish.

“Promise you won’t laugh?” You let out a breath, exasperated but fond.

”Now, when have I ever laughed at you?” There was a beat of silence, then a little huff.

”…Yesterday. When I caught all those chip bags that fell from the to–top of the pantry shelf.” You smiled despite yourself, head tilting to the side.

“That was a laugh of disbelief because it was impressive. I still don’t know how you managed to catch all six of them without a single chip falling.” Bob didn’t respond right away–he just lingered there in the sliver of light between the bathroom and the hallway, visibly weighing his pride against his need for comfort, “Can you let me in now, please?” You added. There was another long pause, then a quiet sigh, heavy with reluctant surrender. He eased the door open just enough for you to slip through, his broad frame shifting back to make space. You stepped in and gently closed it behind you, locking the world out. The bathroom was dark. Warm, humid, and pitch black. You reached out, palm searching the wall beside you, and tapped the light switch with the tip of your finger with a small click.

And your breath caught.

“Oh.” You didn’t mean for it to slip out–but the sight before you caught you off guard. The floor was littered with soft light brown locks of hair. Bob stood in front of the sink, his tall frame awkward in the cramped space, shoulders hunched slightly as if bracing for impact. He was in a plain white t-shirt that was riddled with little tufts of his hair, and a pair of sweatpants that were baggy on his legs. He looked over at you with that nervous, slow-burning panic in his eyes–blue, round, and pleading. His cheeks were flushed, and his mouth parted like he wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Your gaze traveled upward, and your heart cracked open.

His hair–once long, soft, and light brown, always tied back in a loose, low bun or left to brush against the collar of his hoodies–was now butchered. Cut in rushed, uneven sections. Mid-neck length in places, higher in others. A dramatic slant to the right, like gravity had won halfway through the attempt. You weren’t sure if he’d gone in trying to layer it or simply panicked mid-process, but the result was brutal.

The counter was a battlefield. Hair everywhere. Clumps in the sink, damp strands on the floor, a wet towel bunched up on the edge of the tub. A pair of dull kitchen scissors–your kitchen scissors–lay next a near-empty bottle of conditioner.

Bob didn’t speak. He just stood there with his hands clasped in front of him like he was waiting for a verdict. His posture was so tense, it almost looked like he was trying to disappear into himself, and he winced under your eyes.

”…It’s ba-bad isn’t it?” You didn’t deny his statement. You took another step towards him, eyes still gently scanning the damage.

“Did you at least wet it before you started?” The blush in his cheeks deepened as he squeezed his hands together.

“I think I made it worse by do–doing that.” You let out a soft sigh, and closed the space between you and Bob so you were practically chest to chest with one another. He didn’t dare move during this. Slowly, you reached up, brushing your fingers along the uneven locks that framed his forehead, pushing it back away from his eyes. It was damp to touch, and a few stray strands clung slightly to his forehead.

“Why did you do this, hmm?” You asked softly. There was no accusation in your tone, no teasing, no heat. Just a quiet question–one you asked with the tenderness of someone who knew the answer might hurt to give. Bob exhaled, long and low. His eyes dropped to the floor. You watched the line of his throat shift as he swallowed hard. You reached up again, letting your hand settle on the side of his face. Your thumb traced a slow arc along the ridge of his cheekbone, and your fingers curled against the warm, faintly stubbled edge of his jaw. You knew how touch worked with Bob–how the right kind of physical grounding calmed him better than words. How he leaned into any softness that was given to him because it made him focus on something other than the noise that plagued his brain.

His lashes fluttered slightly at your touch, and then barely above a whisper:

”I…Wanted to clean up before those stupid pr–press photos tomorrow…I just…Didn’t want to look like shit next to everyone else.” Your heart clenched. You almost smiled–but it was a sad, aching thing. Because it was so him to say that. To stand there, big and brave and heartbreakingly gentle, and still think he didn’t measure up. You let out a small, warm breath–half sigh, half laugh.

“Bob,” You started softly, your thumb stroking along the delicate skin under his eye, “We were going to have hair stylists. They would’ve fixed you up just fine.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head, like that hadn’t occurred to him at all. His posture slumped, shoulders rising with a tense inhale.

”Oh…” You let your hand slide a little lower to cup his jaw gently. His temperature had risen beneath your fingers–probably from the growing embarrassment that he tried not to show, even though his body betrayed him.

You tipped his face toward you again.

”Hey,” You murmured, voice low and steady, “Let me help you fix this, alright?” For a second, he didn’t speak, he just blinked at you. Then something in his expression softened–like the worst of the shame was beginning to slip away. He gave you the barest nod.

“Okay…” He breathed, and it was so small, so worn down, it barely reached your ears. You brushed your thumb across his cheekbone one last time, then reached behind him to grab the comb.

“We’ll go a bit shorter,” You started, combing his hair gently to untangle the worst of the frayed, uneven sections along his head, “And we’ll do a bit of a side part to cover up some spots so it looks even, and clean it up around your ears…” You trailed off for a second then looked up at him, “Does that sound good to you?” He nodded quickly.

”Anything is good…As lo–long as you can fix it.” You gave him a small smile–genuine, warm, meant to soothe the frayed edges of his pride.

“Alright then. Just sit down on the toilet lid and I’ll go grab actual hair cutting scissors from my room.” He obeyed without protest, cheeks still a little flushed, eyes following you like he was afraid you might not come back. But he sat down, shoulders hunched a little, towel still around him like some kind of shield.

You slipped out of the bathroom and padded down the hallway, the tile cool beneath your feet. You passed John and Bucky’s voices in the distance, muffled, like the low buzz of a conversation you weren’t quite meant to hear.

You pushed into your room, went straight to your nightstand, and opened the top drawer. There they were–your good scissors. The ones you kept for quick trims, for fixing up your own hair when it got unmanageable or snipping tags off new clothes. The ones you actually sharpened and cleaned. The ones Bob should have waited for.

You picked them up with care, then turned on your heel and padded back down the hall.

When you returned to the bathroom, the door still cracked just slightly from where you’d left it, he was right where you’d left him–perched on the toilet lid, hunched over with his hands between his knees, towel draped across his shoulders. Waiting. His reflection caught yours in the mirror as you pushed the door open again, stepping into the room quickly and closing the rest of the compound off again. He sat up a little straighter, almost like he’d been holding his breath the entire time you were gone.

You placed the scissors gently down on the sink beside the comb, then turned to stand in front of him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, his voice–quiet, tentative.

“You…Do this a lot?”

You tilted your head a bit, amused.

”When I was at my training camp I used to cut my teammates hair all the time, but apart from that I sometimes give myself a quick trim or something, just to fix the annoying parts. Here’s my portfolio.” You said, motioning to your own head for him, almost as a joke. His lips perked up a little, not quite a full smile, but the edges softened with the beginnings of one.

”Alright…I’m trusting that you won’t give me a bowl cut.” You gave a soft snort, grabbing the comb off the counter and stepping in close again, standing between his knees. His legs were spread just enough for you to work comfortably, but the space between you felt close–intentional. He didn’t pull away as you raised your hand and began gently brushing back the damp strands, following with the comb.

“I won’t give you a bowl cut,” You said with mock solemnity. “Or a bob. Though… it would be kind of poetic to put Bob…In a bob.” He groaned immediately, a fond sort of sound that signalled to you that he was too tired to fight off your terrible jokes even though it secretly comforted him.

”You’re lucky I need you right no–now…Or else I would’ve left the room.” His tone was flat, but his eyes glinted.

”That joke was gold and you know it.” He rolled his eyes again and leaned his head forward slightly as you worked, letting you angle the strands as you needed. The movement was almost shy–like he didn’t want you to see how much he was enjoying the gentle way your fingers moved through his hair.

You ran the comb along the crown of his head, slow and careful. The teeth of it dragged softly over his scalp, smoothing the tangle of butchered layers and calming the chaos one section at a time.

You felt it before you saw it: the tiny shiver that ran up his spine.

It was subtle. Barely there. But his posture shifted, just a little. His breath hitched for half a second. And the back of his neck flushed the faintest shade of pink.

You paused for a heartbeat, just enough for him to notice.

Then said, gently teasing:

“You okay there?” Bob let out a breathy sound that might’ve been a laugh, or a sigh. Maybe both.

“Feels nice.” The words left him in a breath, like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. You gave a soft smile, parting his hair gently with the comb again as you leaned in.

“Alright, I’m going to start… Ready?” He gave you a short nod, eyes still closed, his breathing steady.

The first few snips were small. Deliberate. You combed the trimmed pieces out, letting the soft fluffs of hair fall down onto the towel around his shoulders like snow. You continued, moving around him as needed, tilting his chin with two fingers when the angle required it, brushing the longer strands aside so you could clean the neckline.

Bob didn’t move unless you moved him.

Didn’t speak unless you spoke first.

His eyes stayed closed, brows relaxed, body slack in a way that almost made it seem like he was asleep. You paused mid-trim and tilted your head.

“Feeling okay?” You asked softly, your breath hitting just above his ear.

A pause. Then a low, barely-there hum.

“Mhm…Trying to not sw–switch.” You blinked. That made you straighten up slightly.

“Switch?” You echoed. “What…Sentry likes getting his haircut?” You teased, which earned you a breathy laugh–quiet, and muffled, but unmistakable.

“It feels good,” He murmured. “The comb dragging across my scalp is comforting, and it makes me all…Fuzzy. So don’t tease.” You couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips.

“Who knew the Sun God liked being pampered.” You said it under your breath, half-laughing to yourself as you trimmed another section near his jaw, making sure the new angle framed his cheekbones just right. Suddenly, one of the shampoo bottles in the shower behind you thudded loudly to the ground, ricocheting against the porcelain with a sharp clatter. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn around.

You just reached across Bob’s shoulder, brushed another lock of hair back, and muttered:

“And he also likes trying to scare people.”

Another laugh. This one a little stronger, a little more him.

“It’s not my fa–fault. He likes making his presence known in odd ways.” You let the comb still in your hand, pausing mid-motion as you tilted his chin up gently with your fingers. His skin was warm beneath your touch, flushed pink at the jaw and neck. You studied his face–soft under the bathroom light, half in shadow, half shimmering.

“Well,” You started quietly, your voice dropping into something close to a murmur, “He’s a coward if he won’t show himself, hm?”

There was a pause.

And then, through the lowered veil of his lashes, a flicker of something not entirely Bob brewed beneath the surface. A gleam. His irises shimmered–gold blooming in threads over blue like sunrise bleeding through ocean water. He peeked up at you with a sleepy, amused look that didn’t quite belong to the man slouched on the toilet seat just moments ago.

“Now coward is just below the belt,” He murmured, voice smoother, deeper, teasing. “And it’s not fair when I’m being suppressed.”

You gave him a slow, playful smirk, shifting your weight just enough that your thighs bumped his knees gently. “Hello to you too, Sentry.” He let out a sound that was part huff, part chuckle. His hand drifted toward the waistband of your sweatpants and tugged at a clump of soft hair clinging to the fabric, flicking it off to the side as he continued to pluck at you.

”What has Bob done to himself now that has earned this type of care?” You returned to trimming, letting the rhythm of it settle between you both–the soft snick of scissors, the drag of the comb, the quiet hush of his breath. It was a strange kind of intimacy. Domestic. Ordinary. And yet…Not. Not when it was Bob Reynolds–or Sentry now, technically–relaxed and pliant beneath your touch, glowing eyes half-lidded with something halfway between mischief and calm.

“He tried to give himself a bit of a haircut,” You said, delicately snipping away at a choppy section just behind his ear, “And well… Now it’s like this.” You swept the trimmed ends off his shoulder with a quick brush of your fingers. “Did you not want a makeover?” He hummed, the sound deep and velvety in his chest. His hands, meanwhile, kept drifting toward your thighs. Gently, rhythmically. Flicking off the tiny tufts of hair that had clung stubbornly to your sweatpants like static dust. You paused to glance down at him–at the quiet way he seemed almost preoccupied with grooming you now, chasing strands off your legs as if they offended his sensibilities.

“I liked my long hair,” he said quietly, not looking up. “Can’t make the decisions though… God forbid.”

You softened at that–at the small swell of bitter resignation behind the words. You didn’t tease him this time. You didn’t joke. Just let out a soft, knowing sound through your nose and said, “Oh to be your own person, right?” That made him glance up at you–eyes aglow, amusement flickering around the edges of something older. Deeper. His expression was half-shadowed by the angle of the bathroom light, but the glow in his gaze was unmistakable.

“You’re being extremely sarcastic and sassy today.” You shrugged, ruffling his freshly trimmed light brown hair with a gentle pass of your fingers.

“You don’t come around often enough to know my personality…Because I’m always like this.” He didn’t argue. He just looked up at you through the gold-threaded glow of his lashes, then dropped his gaze again to your thighs. His warm hands ran slowly down the sides, brushing away another few stray hairs with careful precision–more deliberate than necessary.

“Sounds like you want me around more often,” He murmured, almost offhanded.

You froze for a beat, scissors poised mid-air.

Then, softly: “I wouldn’t mind. We’ve got a good dynamic.” You tilted your head, eyes meeting his. “Though I prefer Bob’s calmness…And the fact he doesn’t make me sweat when I’m standing in his vicinity.”

That earned a sly smile–lazy and infuriatingly smug. “I make you hot?” You rolled your eyes and combed your fingers through his hair again, making sure it was even.

“Temperature-wise, Sentry. Don’t twist my words.” He chuckled, but it was quiet, rich. Almost pleased. You stepped back a little to get a better look at your work, eyes skimming over the new shape you’d carved out of the disaster he’d given you to work with. It was definitely shorter. The jagged lengths were gone. The uneven patches now smoothed into softer layers, framing his jaw and cheekbones just enough to make the cut feel deliberate. Styled.

You tipped your head and nodded once. “I think it’s good.”

Sentry let out a deep sigh, dropping his head back with dramatic flair.

“Great. So I lost all my hair,” He grumbled, “And only got a few minutes of you basically giving me a scalp massage. This sucks.” You barked a laugh, tossing the comb onto the counter beside the scissors.

“Well next time you should just ask for one if you’re so desperate.”

He scoffed faintly, brushing another stubborn strand off your thigh with the tip of his fingers. “I’m not desperate. I just like it.” You smirked, watching him pretend not to enjoy the way your eyes lingered on his face a little longer than necessary. He ran his hand down your leg again, slow and deliberate, flicking away a final tuft gently. His eyes followed it as it floated to the floor, then dragged lazily back up to yours.

“Now I’m annoyed,” He muttered. “Not only by these stupid pants being filled with hair, but the fact that I missed out.”

Your brow lifted. “Missed out on what?”

“On you doing this earlier. On the part where you touch my hair like that and call me pretty in your head.”

You laughed–warm and bright–letting the weight of the night finally settle into something softer.

“Maybe next time, Sun God.”

He tilted his head at that, eyes glowing faintly again. “Promise?”

”Promise.”

[thatonegrimm]

Hiya!! How are you? I'd like to request the Saja Boys (separately) react to their gf doing a sexy performance on stage. She's a famous soloist and during her tour she did a sexy dance performance.

Hiya!! I’m doing great—thank you for asking! 💖 And oof, this is such a fun one 👀🔥Sexy performance onstage while the Saja Boys are losing their minds? Say less.

🌙Saja Boys x GF’s Sexy Stage Performance

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

🧿 Jinu 

He thought he was ready.

You’d rehearsed. You told him about the outfit. You even joked about the choreography being “a little scandalous.”

Still. He wasn’t ready.

The moment you step on stage, the crowd erupts—but Jinu only hears the rush of his own heartbeat. You move like the music’s built into your bones—controlled, sultry, and intentional.

And then you do that thing with your hips.

His soul leaves his body.

He stares from the wings, frozen, hands gripping his clipboard like it’s an anchor.

“She’s going to break the internet,” a crew member says behind him.

“She just broke me,” he mutters.

Later, he’s in your dressing room before you are—still flushed, still stunned. You walk in glowing, exhilarated.

“You saw?”

He looks up at you like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You hip-thrusted,” he says, dead serious.

You laugh. “So?”

He blinks.

“I think I transcended.”

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

💪 Abby 

He wants to be chill.

Really, he does.

He knew what the performance would be like. You told him. He supported it. Still does. But watching it unfold in real time? Watching you move like that, in that outfit, with a crowd of thousands screaming?

Yeah. No.

He’s not okay.

The second you run your hand up your thigh, Abby nearly forgets where he is. His jaw tightens. His arms cross. He’s proud. He’s impressed. He’s—

"God, she’s hot,” someone nearby mutters.

Abby turns. Not violently. Just enough. Just sharp enough that the guy instantly finds something else to look at.

After the show, you find him leaning against the hallway wall outside your green room, arms still crossed.

You grin. “Jealous?”

He shakes his head. “Not jealous. Just…”

He steps close, voice dropping.

“I love that you’re mine. But I hated that they got to see it.”

You raise a brow. “See what?”

“The way you look when you know you’re about to ruin someone.”

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

📚 Mystery 

He watches from the wings.

No expression. No reaction.

But his silence feels heavy. Calculated. You know him well enough to recognize the tension behind it.

You hit your mark. Move your hips. Slide your hand down your thigh with slow, deliberate grace.

The crowd goes wild.

Mystery doesn’t flinch—but his jaw ticks. Just once.

Later, when you return to the hotel, he’s already there. Seated on the windowsill, hoodie on, one leg drawn up. Watching your performance on someone’s livestream clip, brightness turned low.

You raise a brow. “You rewatching me?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Needed to confirm.”

“Confirm what?”

“That no one else gets to touch you.”

You smile, stepping into his space.

“You didn’t need a reminder,” you whisper.

He finally looks at you—eyes dark, quiet.

“No. But I needed the reassurance.”

You kiss his cheek.

“Then next time, I’ll wink directly at you.”

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

💋 Romance

He insisted on front-row seats.

“Best view in the house,” he’d said. “Your biggest fan, right here.”

He didn’t know you were going to destroy his life from the stage.

The lights dimmed. The music hit. And then you walked out in that outfit.

By the second body roll, he’s gripping the velvet seat arm like he’s bracing for impact.

You make eye contact. Wink. Then drop to the floor and roll your hips back up.

He whispers a desperate prayer into his soda.

After the show, you find him lounging dramatically in your green room chair, like he’s processing trauma.

“Well?” you ask sweetly.

He groans. “I need therapy.”

You smirk. “Was I too much?”

He stands, walks right up to you, and murmurs against your neck:

“You’re lucky I have self-control. Because otherwise? We would’ve cleared the building.”

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

🔥 Baby

He watches from the shadows, hoodie up, expression unreadable.

You? You’re in your element. Confident. Gorgeous. Dripping with attitude. The moment you slide your hand across your chest and smirk toward his side of the stage—

Oh, he’s plotting.

He doesn’t say a word the entire show. Doesn’t blink.

But later, as soon as you step off stage, still riding the adrenaline, you find him already waiting—leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted.

“You trying to kill me?” he asks, voice low, calm.

You grin. “Did it work?”

He walks over slowly, takes your wrist gently, and murmurs against your ear:

“You keep dancing like that, and I’ll have to remind people who you belong to.”

You raise a brow. “Possessive much?”

He smirks. “You’re the one who started it.”

And you know he’s going to prove it the second you get back to the hotel.

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

M-List

[eraserbread]

go as a dream, pt. 2 ft. ex-husband satoru gojo✧

୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible. → afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, long-established relationship, mutual pining, smoking, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, rough sex, drinking, verbal outbursts, mentions of body and relationship insecurity, emotional sex, spitting, dub-con (?), masturbation, oral m!receiving, face-slapping, unhealthy possessiveness, slight sub-drop, mentions of readers relative hair length in contrast to gojo's, mentions of readers mother, nsfw → w.c. - 18.9k {1.45 hour reading time}

a/n: honestly, i don't know what to say anymore. this chapter ruled my life, and it only took me two weeks to complete -- I was just so invested and emotional. thank u all for the love on part one, which you can re-read here :)) again, sit with this for awhile. it's a lot of words to ingest and a lot of emotions to feel, but I think they're good ones. don't be too afraid to keep reading <3 ily! -elly

listen to the soundtrack (updated for pt.2), revisit part 1 <3

A cigarette passes through the warmth of the summer air, mid-morning rays bleaching the burning tip an eye-squinting shade of red. 

Shoko brings it to her lips, tongue in cheek as she stares past Suguru’s head. Perched at the back entrance to the Science building, the small expanse of cars parked neatly under sun covers distracts her piercing gaze. She shakes her head, lowering the smoke to ash it quickly, then reaches to take a drag. 

“You don’t think it’s gonna affect us?” She continues, growling something of a sigh into the openness. It’s clear as day, Shoko is not having a good morning. You were supposed to return today, but so is Satoru. This divorce wasn’t even her problem, but the entire staff base was going to feel the ripples. Every single one of the 120 faculty members was aware of the marriage. Satoru is everyone’s favorite – you were his rock. 

“Only if you allow it to.” Suguru crosses his arms at his chest, squinting as he peeks behind him. The crunch of tires pulls his attention just like it pulled Shoko’s. “Look, I texted him the other night, didn’t get a response, and moved on with my life.” He shrugs, sharp shoulders soft against the blur of harsh light. “Satoru’s so easy to read that it’s shameful. He wants to be alone – needs it, too. It’s like he’s allergic.” 

Shoko hums, pursing her lips around another drag before handing it off to Suguru. She’s looking past his head again, thinking she recognizes the sleek, black car that pulls in behind the school. 

She does. It’s Satoru’s. 

“Speak of the devil,” She mentions, glancing up at Suguru when he peeks over his shoulder again. “That’s probably Jo.” 

“Oh-” Suguru shoves the cigarette between his lips, cheeks hollowing around the drag he sucks out. If Shoko was right, Satoru hated the smell of smoke – he’d complain with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. It’s a habit; there’s a jump behind Suguru’s step as he walks to meet Satoru halfway. Shoko’s standing up like she’s about to head inside, light eyes squinted as she watches him shrink with distance. “Oh, shit.” 

“Whaaaat?” Shoko springs up, hand latched onto the metal. Suguru halts in his tracks at the end of the ramp, grip tightening against the rail. She can just see the look on his face in her mind; he doesn’t have to be looking over for her to know. 

“They’re getting a divorce, right?” 

“What do you mean – yeah.” 

“Okay, well, they don’t look very separated to me.” Suguru’s pushed out of the way as Shoko stumbles over her feet for a good vantage point. He’s not lying; you and Satoru are together. It’s just like things always were; he holds the door open for you, gaze dead ahead as he waits for you to slip out. That poor door slams shut – his body so packed full of hot tension they could feel it from so far away. 

You aren’t looking at him either, wary with a short peek over your shoulder when you emerge. Satoru is wearing a tight, dark, long-sleeved shirt in the peak of this heat – you’re wearing long, dark pants. 

Everything is right – normal. Why does it feel so wrong? Something is off.

“Go – go, we have to hide.” 

“What? No, I want to know what’s going on-

“Oh, he looks so pissed.” Shoko gasps behind her hand. “He’s wearing the glasses – Geto, the glasses.” 

“I see the glasses. Come on.” The cool air from inside the building soothes Shoko’s back like a thick, welcome blanket. Sure, inside would lead to hours of emotionally uncompelling work, but it’d be better than second-hand embarrassment. She’s wise enough to deduce that nothing good will come from this situation. 

Shoko ducks out, sliding under Suguru’s stretched arm, keeping the door propped. They both dart from the entrance.

“What a shit show. Someone is lying.” Shoko’s nearly running down the hallway, breath heavy in her throat. It’s still too early for students to be in yet, but a scattered few roam the halls, breaking their necks when the pair rushes hot past them. 

“Don’t bring it up; just act normal,” Suguru mutters, pushing the door to the staff room open for Shoko to step into. They know it's where you two would stop once you arrived – it’s where everyone is gathered. 

At least three heads turn at the dramatic entrance. 

Utahime stands up from her spot at the head of the table, a thick, leather-bound book open towards the end that she entirely disregards. “Shoko!” 

“Gojo’s are coming.” 

Two seats down from Utahime, back as straight as a pen, Mei annotates paper assignments, nails as red as the ink on the page. She hums – slow, controlled. “Didn’t you say they broke up?” 

“That’s the issue, just be normal.” 

They don’t have to tell Nanami twice – he takes his coffee, drops his conversation, and leaves the room like he was never there. Takuma watches him walk out on their discussion, sputtering like a fish out of water. 

“What is happening?” He turns around, eyes blown wide. “Suguru?” 

“Sit. Be normal.” Suguru snatches his shoulders, pushing him into the empty seat opposite Mei. His heavy touch lingers, and one hand fumbles in his back pocket for his phone. 

“Don’t say anything about the divorce, or I’ll strangle you,” Shoko speaks through gritted teeth, holding her hand in a tense claw in Takuma’s relative direction. He slumps down like he’s guilty, letting Suguru’s weight sink in. 

“I didn’t even know they were getting divorced…” He trails off, voice light as a feather. 

“Shut up,” Shoko and Suguru hiss at the same time, wary of the shadows that pass the covered windows every time one appears. She’s keeping an eye out for a pair of them – intertwined by the arms like you and Satoru always do. 

It never comes. 

The door clicks, creaks, then settles. You walk inside, your head heavy and your gaze low. Shoko gives a breath of relief. 

“Hi, stranger.” Suguru purrs. 

“Oh my God – you didn’t sleep?” Shoko clicks her teeth, turning on her feet, and she crowds you at the door. You feel pitiful standing in the way, arms crossed over your sensitive frame, still singing and sore from last night. There’s a crip in your walk – a numbness in your eyes. 

“Oh, Gojo.” Utahime pouts, standing to greet you, hiding no pity behind her words. It’s all over your face, you feel like shit. 

“Don’t call her tha-

“Whatever, it’s fine.” You cut Suguru off, knowing he has good intentions but belittled by the air of it all. Utahime goes in to hug you – your chest aches as she cradles it. “I guess it’s nice that everyone knows. I don’t have anything to hide.” You smile when she pulls away, avoiding eye contact so she can’t see the lie in your gaze. It’s bad enough you can’t even hide it in your tone. 

Shoko is chewing her bottom lip raw, poking and squeezing at it with manicured fingers. She wants to say more – wants to point out the stumble in your step and the drowsiness in your eyes. She wants to point out the fact that you came here with him, but knows it's inappropriate. After all, you and Satoru live together and share a car – it’s not unheard of that you two are still around each other. She just worries about the headspace it’d lower you into. 

Satoru, when he’s upset, is an entirely different person. Every ounce of heat in his soul drops, leaving icy lakes where his heart should be. He jokes through it all, making sly digs at Shoko’s unhealthy habits or how useless he thinks she is as a friend. Always, he’d laugh it off, then drop his expression like it was never there. He’s too good at being an asshole – it’s why she’s so wary. 

“You sure you’re good to be back?” 

You ignore her. “Hi Mei, Takuma.” 

“Hi, beautiful. Long time no see, hm?” 

“Good to see you, Gojo.” 

“Stop-” You reach for Shoko’s shoulder as she whips around to scold him. “I don’t care. I’m not changing my name.” 

She turns back to you, eyes wide with worry. You can hear the unsaid words vibrating off of her bare lips. They wash over you with the weight of the world. Everyone is staring. 

Utahime crosses her hands at her waist, clearing her throat as the dust settles in the room. Takuma peeks up at Suguru as he steps away, wanting to say more but far too conscious of the space they found themselves in. 

“Smart.” Mei hums, not having looked up from her work since you entered. She tilts her head, light, loose hair falling over the pressed, blue blazer over her shoulder. “Don’t let one bad Gojo ruin the name for you.” 

“You know you’re not helping, right?” 

“Bye, Ieiri. Your abrasiveness would be endearing if she were actually a child who needed support.” Though she threatens to walk away, Mei doesn’t move. She doesn’t even reciprocate the hazel daggers Shoko is sending her. “It seems this conversation is a bit suffocating. Why don’t you move it outside.” 

“Is that a suggestion?” 

“Let’s just-” Suguru jumps into action, peeling his dark eyes from his glaring white phone screen. “Come on – she’s right.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it at all.” You scoff as Suguru nudges both of you out of the frosted glass door. “You two are making this into a spectacle.” 

“Oh, I guess it’s fuck me then? Okay.” 

Suguru scoffs once the door closes on the rest of his colleagues.“Sho- are you just incapable of calm?” 

“I need a cigarette.” She decides, turning on the ball of her flat shoes. In one fluid, flustered stroke, she’s pulling out her pack and her phone, grumbling something likely aimed at Suguru that you couldn’t catch onto. 

“Is she serious?” You scoff, eyes burning a bit at the rush of emotion so early in the day. You’re still incredibly fragile from a silent, ugly morning with Satoru, facing his glaring and silent treatment all the way here. You felt worthless in his bed, in his car, and now you’re an outsider at work. 

Suguru stands with his hands stuffed in his front pockets, his knee jutted as the back entrance rushes open and slams shut. He squints against the light, bangs reacting to the breeze. “She’s just overwhelmed with the change of workload. She’s fine.” 

“Have you heard from Satoru?” 

“Oh.” Suguru flips his phone around in his pocket, biting over his lip as he feels your short stare burn the side of his face. “Texted a few minutes ago. He just said he was on campus – came in through the front.” 

“Like he’s avoiding me.” You sigh, gaze falling as you turn back to the hallway. Sugu’s close behind in every one of your movements, head tilting like a confused puppy. He knows you two drove together… Toru’s doing a pretty shitty job at avoidance, then. 

“You don’t even have to be in the same vicinity as him today. Don’t let it bother you.” 

You suck your cheek, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder as you weigh your options. You could go back to the break room and kill ten minutes before the day started, or you could duck into the bathroom and cry this energy out. Right now, the latter is the best option. 

“You understand, don’t you?” You turn around, peeking over your shoulder at his hunched frame. Your lips are shaking with a familiar rush of emotion. Yeah – you’re about to cry. “It’s so hard to see when you’ve lost your light.” 

Suguru stares at you like an emotionless, gutted fish. Lips parting to bring you back as you start to walk away. You take a few steps, then turn into the bathroom hallway, face beet-red as tears start down your face before you can hide. 

Your languid pace turns into flustered steps, hiding your running nose behind your fist. Through your peripheral, Suguru locks eyes with you just before you disappear. He feels backed into a corner – broad shoulders weighed down by bricks he didn’t place. 

Suguru sighs, eyes rolling in his skull as he turns back to the break room. Mei finally looks up when he pushes back inside, but he doesn’t care to notice. He needed to tell Toru what was on his mind. 

To: Satoru Gojo I actually want to die a little inside. I’ve never seen her cry before, please let this be the last time Oh, i’m so sick From: Satoru Gojo Wdym?  Are you talking about Gojo? She’s a literal train wreck, just avoid her

Satoru looks up from his phone, pulling his square-framed glasses from his face as he steps inside the building. For some reason, he finds a smile crossing his lips at the feeling of being back – he’s riding on a dangerous high, eyes flickering the white fluorescent lights. On his phone, he can see the three dots undulate across the bottom of his screen as Suguru responds, but he tucks it away just as the message appears on his screen. He wouldn’t be distracted right now – today was a big day. 

It’s the day every student waits for – the day when Satoru takes over office hours. In charge like that, he’s gentle and enthusiastic. Scarily good at his job, too. A small cult following had bloomed around him – girls even opting to take Nanami’s course so that they could sit a little closer to their beloved Gojo.

He feels on top of the world when he lets himself lead. It’s still unknown as to why he’s still just an aide, but you know why. Satoru is as straight-backed as they come. He doesn’t drink, do drugs, lie, or steal. He hardly cusses – never, ever getting mad… unless he’s around you. Their beloved Gojo becomes Satoru when 5 o’clock hits.

He’s grown up as the wonder boy, always wanting to do things by the book. He went to school and immersed himself in his studies to escape from his family, devoting all his energy and sanity to it. That’s why he graduated early – taking that first opportunity at freedom and education by the horns and riding off with it. It only took him two years of schooling to get his first career line as an aide at Tokyo-U, and he’s still there nearly eleven years later, hanging off of Nanami’s bootstraps – aging him twice as fast. 

 Satoru absorbs Nanami’s information like a dehydrated sponge, coming back to life every time a new nugget of knowledge plants itself inside of him. It’s all he lived for before he met you, and loving you wasn’t even the end goal. He never wanted to get married but couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you with another man. Even now, moping about the science hall, the thought bubbles in his throat like he needs to expel it. 

No, he wouldn’t think about you now. He needs to swallow it down. 

Then, the perfect distraction presents itself at the crossroads in front of him – Nanami and his beloved protégé, Yuji Itadori. He’s one of Satoru’s favorites, too – the only one who can carry his humor in non-humorous spaces. 

“Sir, I’m really excited about all the stories you’ll have to teach when you come back! Please bring us souvenirs.” Itadori is begging with his arms clasped, dangerously close to Nanami’s footpath. The older man cradles the coffee he brought from the break room, golden eyes flickering from the steam he’s nursing to his peer. 

“It’s much more than a pleasure trip, Itadori. I will be in and out of various Universities doing guest lectures with little time to rest or sight-see.” Nanami is typical, just as straight-edged as Satoru, albeit in a stricter sense. Nanami didn’t need anyone around him – Satoru needed everything. 

He needs this twenty-two-year-old kid to like him, which is why he approaches him as if they’re friends, not a teacher and peer. 

“Itadori!” Satoru rushes to the scene, sticking a hand in Itadori’s light locks and ruffling them unkempt. “What are you doing here, kid? Did you sign up for my office hours?” 

“I was the first person who put the request in! Kugisaki told me they were all full two minutes later… she had to settle for Nanami’s after his break.” 

“Settle?” 

“Ah – don’t take it personally, Nanamin.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

The pair break out in devious laughter. Nanami rolls his eyes, ready to walk away and find peace in his empty lecture hall. Something stops him – it’s the way Toru looks at him with his long arm slung across Itadori’s shoulders. They’re nearly twins like this once their outward appearances fade away. They’re just two smirking idiots burning holes in Nanami’s aging face, not saying a thing. 

“I heard you two talking about Malaysia. I know you’re excited, and so am I.” 

“Mm, because you can pretend to be me for a full month – I know.” 

“I’m excited, too! Inumaki mentioned sneaking into the lecture in my place next Thursday… and I told him no.” 

“Good. Respectful.” Satoru mentions. Nanami sighs again. 

“Please don’t sneak students in while I am gone.” 

“I’ll make sure he won’t.” Satoru smiles like an elated child, pearly white teeth on full display. Bells don’t ring early in the morning like this, but at the turn of the hour, Itadori notices immediately and shrugs from Toru’s grip. 

“Sir! I will see you this afternoon.” He bows deep enough to show he respects the pair with his life, but not enough to make it odd or showy. Nanami nods him away, and then Itadori turns to Satoru. He goes in for a hug. 

“Do good work today.” 

“Yes, sir.” He nods, so sure of himself and glistening with the only praise he needs. “Goodbye Nanamin! Bye, Gojo!” 

Once they’re alone and Nanami tries to flee, Satoru finds a way to hook his attention once more. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smirks, “You know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you.” 

“For what?” 

“Well, isn’t your dream coming true? You know, any school in Malaysia would hire you without question. Japanese is so highly sought after there. So is science – especially mind science. You could get your hands on some cool research material. Everyone's willing to have their mind poked for a little bit of money” 

“You just know this course will be handed to you on a platter. Not that I’d have it any other way, of course. You spent the last decade fleshing out these units with me.” 

“Your encouragement means more than you know.” 

“I respect you, Gojo.” He nods, finally taking a sip of the coffee he’s letting get a bit too cool. “I won’t be your friend, but I respect your relationship with your students as well as your colleagues. You’re more fitted to be a Professor than a lot of them already here.” 

“But the system-

“Ah, the system.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hyper-aware of the time ticking away. He needed his dark, quiet time, and Gojo was pulling that from him with every chatty second. “Systems are made to be dismantled, aren’t they?” 

That’s what he leaves Satoru with, and the lingering smell of his shower from this morning. It makes him think for a moment – about his boss, or Nanami’s boss. The way they judge scores and hand out punishments when grades drop, and students drop out. To a high degree, they have nothing to do with lazy pupils or people who make poor decisions about their majors, but when they do fall short, it consumes them. There’s no need to rub salt in the wound, but it's common practice when teaching. 

Control is so fragile in this field – when you’re nurturing new minds. 

Toru slams the door shut on you with the same vigor he showed this morning. You two waited three hours after the day ended to shrug off back home together. The sun is setting in the warm sky – you’re quiet and nervous. Today had been shitty, but freeing in its own way. It gave you time and space, free from Satoru and his seedy, strict ways. You’re talking to people that you haven’t seen in a month, and the normalcy is sparkling off of you. 

What a shame that one look at Satoru’s covered eyes and you’re slinking back into insecurity. He was just so cold. 

He’s an iceberg personified – a walking flurry of winter snow that keeps flying under your jacket, making your skin sticky and wet. You hate it – you hate him, right now. 

Yet, you stay. You let him treat you like this because you’re the idiot. A flustered, selfless idiot who uses her body as ransom for a love it’ll never feel again. You wish you could go back in time and bottle the feeling of the last night you and Toru actually made love. If you close your eyes, you’re back there – back pressed into his sheets, his sweet name on your lips, and the climax just seconds away. He told you he loved you on a loop. Yes, he wanted you swollen with his babies, but that’s nothing abnormal in the heat of the moment. He made sure you knew just how much he loved you. 

When he gets back in the car, you’re rudely jolted from your head, numb to the noise but nervous about what would transpire once he settles so close. You know he doesn’t want to talk to you – he’s said it on multiple occasions on the way here, but that won’t stop you. You still pine for him – still yearning for a shred of attention, even if it’s platonic. You just don’t want him to hate you… never, ever. 

As stupid as it sounds, all you wanted was yourself back. If living a life known as only Satoru Gojo’s wife was your destiny, you’d kill yourself trying to run away from it but would stumble two steps back just to feel him again. 

What a cruel existence… you let your head fall into your open palm. 

Just like he promised, Toru doesn’t speak a word to you as he pulls off, glasses sitting over his hair so he can squint at the road. With both hands on the wheel, you can peek over and see just how tense he is. Thick veins protrude against his pale skin, leaving purpley streaks and tinges against the ocean. Of course, you’d only notice this. Your throat burns. 

“I… I ordered my new bed today.” 

“Will it be here today?” 

You pause, unsure of his tone. He just seems transactional – as if all the life had been sucked from his soul. “No,” You reply, soft as a whisper. It’s lost against the rush of the road. 

“Speak up, or don’t speak to me at all.” 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” 

“And you don’t have to be so goddamn pathetic, but here we are!” He explodes, finally free after holding in anger all day. He used to hate lashing out at you like this – he never really did, but you were the bane of his existence right now, pestering at his ear like an angry fly. “You cried in front of Suguru today. Do you see how terrible that makes me look? I can’t even pretend to care through text, and I shouldn't feel like the bad person, but that’s how it looks, doesn’t it?” 

“I-I didn’t cry-

“You’re gonna call him a liar?” He whips his head around, blue eyes wide and crazy. You can always nail down how he’s feeling with the glint of his eyes. They’re blown and dull – he’s mad. They’re bland and sparkling – he’s endeared. It hurts to know him so well. “You’re seriously going to sit here and call Suguru a liar to my face? Are you dense?” 

“Satoru, I’m sor-

“No! No, you don’t get to be sorry.” His grip tightens. He rolls his shoulders back, so tense that it’s almost painful. “You don’t get to be sorry… not when you’re the one that left. I’ve never felt hurt like that before – it tore me apart.” 

You’re crying now. You can’t help it – the emotion in this tiny car is so thick and hot that you feel suffocated. He’s always been one to swallow his pain or just ignore it through and through. He hates his family but visits them every year. He hates the commercials that interrupt his favorite show but will sit through each one willingly. He hates loud, sudden noises but doesn’t flinch at them. He hates you but loves you. He wants to hurt you, then turn around and heal it brand new. 

Right now, all he wants to really do is yell. It’d make him feel brand-new. 

So, that car ride home is the worst thing you’ve ever put yourself through. It’s constant – belittling, nasty, and loveless. He doesn’t stop. 

“I think it’s so funny – you’re the one telling me to be kinder, when I used to beg for that. Do you understand just how much I begged for you when you were already emotionally checked out? Nobody deserves that.” 

“I-I didn’t-

“You don’t get to speak – you get to listen.” He pauses, taking a breath, then starts again. “You didn’t even spare me a stupid meal – not unless I forced you. I had the swallow back the urge to call you a cold bitch because I felt some type of dedication to you. Call it respect – but it’s all gone now.” Another pause – he has to catch his breath.“You just make me sick. Truly… And when you crawl into my bed feeling lonely tonight,  I want you to feel as disgusting as I felt this last year.” 

Satoru has to stop again. He has to give it to you. “I don’t know… it just feels so good not having to worry about upsetting my wife.” He lifts his hands from the wheel, adding fitting air quotes around the phrase he lost access to a month ago. “I can fuck every person that looks my way, come home smelling like it, and always count on you to open your legs. Are you not ashamed?” He finally spares you a look, not even reacting to the silent, shaking sobs you’re trying to stifle. 

“I’m just so exhausted with being good for you. I’m exhausted with holding your hand and kissing it better when you never did the same for me. You’re cold, calculated, and cruel. So fucking cruel, and I want you to feel it.” Staring you down again, it feels like knives in your back. “Do you feel it? How much I hate you right now? I want it to hurt.” 

“Fucking classic. Pathetic, sad coward. I hate you. I hate what we have.” 

Somewhere, buried in the deepest part of yourself, you conjure up something to defend yourself. “I don’t want to be with you. Look at how you’re speaking to me!” 

“Oh, fuck me! For years, you’ve called me useless, pathetic, and annoying – years! Isn’t that your favorite term, “Stop annoying me, Satoru”? Huh? Am I annoying you right now? Well, I’m not sorry.” He’s flailing like a polite maniac, hair ruffled and disheveled as he nervously runs a hand through it, trying to use the road to balance out his emotions. His heart is beating so fast, you’re crying in his ear, and he’s numb to the core. “I’m not fucking sorry because you’re an entitled brat. My family took you in last time, and you were worried about them thinking you’re fat – they just wanted to cherish you!” 

Your jaw hangs open – those arrows hitting a deeper part of you. “That’s not what happen-

“I’m doing the talking – me!” He whips over at you, swapping hands on the wheel so he can dig a finger in his chest. “How ungrateful, and you still have the nerve to walk around with that Gojo crest on your skin.” 

“J-just stop!” You’re sobbing, trying to hide behind your hands as they cover your face. You’re pushed all the way to the door, cowering in on yourself to dodge his bullets. You’ve never seen him like this, and you never want to see him like this again. The Toru sitting to your right was not the same boy you married. “Stop, okay?! I get it!” 

“If you get it, you’ll get a hotel. You’d sleep on the bare floor and shiver all night, but I know you better than that. You want to be touched – you need to feel real, satiated, and wanted, right? What if I said I didn’t want you anymore? That your body disgusts me, and I’d rather use my hands?” Satoru doesn’t think he means what he says, but he speaks it like he does. If it hurts you, good. It can’t hold a flame to the years of emotional neglect you put him through. “Silence. That’s what I thought.” 

You’re a shell of yourself, existing with holes riddled through your exhausted body from his shots. It feels like once it’s over… It’s over. He’s done, finally empty from the thoughts making him manic. You know he hates you, now. He made it clear that you’re the reason he hates you, and it just makes your decision feel even more right. 

Your husband is gone. 

You sob while he calms down, heavy breathing morphing into contented sighs and occasional head shakes. You feel like a disobedient child after being scolded, ashamed, and wanting to melt away. You never wanted to speak to him again, but you’re so close. You let your eyes slip shut. 

Minutes pass — however many needed to until you’re back home. Toru doesn’t say much, but he is chewing his lip when he parks. “I’m sorry.” 

You scoff. “Now I really don’t wanna talk about it.” 

He huffs out a defiant breath, slamming that fucking car door again just like he’s been doing all day. Still, he makes the time to get out and open yours for you. 

“I didn’t mean that stuff I said about my parents.” He whispers, leaning against the doorframe, eyes lost somewhere in the deepening horizon. “Yes, I think you’re crazy… But so am I, then. I think it’s the fact that you bring it out of me.”

“Satoru, do not speak to me.” 

He thrusts his hand towards you, putting your coolness on display. “Look at you – cold as ice.”

“Are you fuck- Are you serious? You just called me every name in the book, then you try to lighten things up with your shitty sayings?” You reach past him, using the side of the car to stand up and not his outstretched hand. “Nothing is funny right now, Satoru. If you want to hate me, how about you hate me completely?” 

“If you want to leave, how about you leave me completely?” 

You shoulder past him, unable to hide that look on your face, he can’t see. Then, there are people around, and you two have to put a lid on your boiling emotions. Your lips snap shut. 

You two play the role of the emotionally detached young couple too well — you don’t even glance at each other in the lobby or in the elevator. He’ll peek over at you sometimes, wondering if you’ll be looking back. There’s nothing. 

He unlocks the apartment door when you step beside it. As the lock turns, words bubble in your throat. You swallow them down, Satoru lets you in first, thoughtful even in the thick of this seismic rift.

“I have some work to do, so you can figure out dinner.” He starts, key clinking on the hard countertop as the door draws shut. 

“I’m not cooking for you.” 

“Then, there’s plenty of laundry to do.” 

“Just shut up — do you hear how demeaning you sound right now?” You scoff, kicking your black loafers in the corner by the door for him to pick up. 

“What else do you do when we’re at home?” He’s mad, too, wanting to jump down your back for painting him into someone he’s not. “You don’t work from home, I do. I work from home after eight hours on campus — you make sure the home is neat and dinner is made! Why are you so hellbent on fighting me all the time?!” 

Desperate for a shred of control, you fight back. “I work from home, too!” 

“What are you so desperate to prove?!” 

“That I’m not your wife anymore, Satoru! I signed it away, it’s not who I am!” 

“Tell me, Gojo.” He lets himself calm down — two deep breaths, and he leans a propped arm against the countertop. “Who are you, then? Do you even know?” 

He wants a reaction so bad, calling you that name. You won’t give in, you spit venom and then turn your back. “I hate you.” 

“Yes, but answer the question.” 

“You stole every single chance of self-discovery I had.” You don’t know why, but you’re storming off to the spare room in hopes of peace. You know he’ll follow you, and he does, but he’d never undermine you and open the locked door when you don’t want him to. Not even after saying all that to you. He’ll let the lightness of his hair rush in the heavy breeze from the slam, blinking when that lock turns and the thump of your bag hits the floor. 

Still, he reaches for the knob, giving it one little shake. “You know, I really am sorry. There were better ways to air my frustrations out without resorting to name-calling and accusations.” 

“Fuck off Satoru.” You deadpan, absolutely no emotion behind your tone as you unbutton your blouse in the bedroom mirror. He heavy-sighs against the wood. 

“I’m gonna work for a few hours, then grab some takeout. I’ll let you know when it's here.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

Biting down on you is like crunching through ice, and Toru’s teeth are chipped and sensitive. He doesn’t fully realize that you’re retaliating in the one way he hates – by ignoring him. 

There is absolutely nothing Satoru Gojo hates quite like the silent treatment. Fittingly, nobody can dish it up like him either. There were times when you were clawing your skin bloody for an ounce of verbal support, all for him to turn his nose up at you and walk the other way. 

It’s what you have to dig out every time you think you want him back – that cruel existence when he’s too fed up to speak and the venomous words he thinks he can speak to you. Now, you have more material to hate him with. 

However, he does leave you alone for a few hours. It’s wholly welcomed – you’re able to get ahead in some work you’d have to finish tomorrow, kicked up with your laptop on your knees in bed. You have the windows wide open, using the sun as your clock to measure the time before you’d have to take a shower and resort to bed. 

Sometime before the sun fully sets, you can hear Satoru move about the hallway and inevitably shut and lock the front door behind him. You take that time to sit up in bed, rubbing your skin raw in the shower in less than five minutes, and melt into the couch with your current read tucked under your arm. Freedom like this in the space you developed is so serene and exactly what you needed. Satoru never lit candles, so when you sat up to light them, the wick crackled with unuse. Lighting fills the air – the softness of lavender spinning from the smoke like ribbons you can’t make out with the naked eye. 

You’re only wearing socks, wrapped in loose linen shorts and a patterned sleep top that leaves little to the imagination. Not wearing undergarments to sleep is just routine – you don’t know why you feel so naked under the soft, golden light. Perhaps it's the fact that Satoru is due to arrive at any moment. You couldn’t check his location, but when that lock clicks, you’ll be running back to the bedroom with the linger of your smell clinging onto the furniture. 

Or, maybe you wouldn’t run. Maybe you’d eat with Satoru and not pull away when his hand slips—your core trembles at the thought. You quickly open your book to will those thoughts away. 

When that dreaded lock clicks, you’re flying up from your spot, book slamming and heart racing. You have every mind to run for the hills – to curl up on yourself and will the night away with dreams, but you don’t move. You’re too late. That’s what you tell yourself. 

Satoru is slinking back into the apartment, wearing a dark hat over his hair and glasses hanging from the front of his shirt, which he pulls off and places next to his paper bag of takeout. He notices your head over the back of the couch, smiling softly when you turn to him with an unreadable look on your face. 

“I got Thai food, I know it’s one of your favorites.” 

You don’t respond. His smile fades into grey. 

“Food from Thailand-” He starts, unveiling the carry-out boxes hidden in their outer packaging. There’s a separate plastic bag he unveils, setting it next to it. “-And drinks from Japan. I got cold green tea – your favorite.” 

“I’m not hungry for anything provided by you, unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?” He scoffs, eyebrow raised as he moves about the kitchen, not bothering to plate the food, but opting for real chopsticks. It’s a stainless steel pair you got for his birthday – his favorite. “Don’t be hard-headed. Come and eat this.” 

You stare at him blankly, blinking once before turning back to your book. In your rush, you absolutely lost your page, and it was one of your final straws. You can feel the frustration start to build in your bones. 

Satoru closes in on you from behind, gaping mouth and disheveled, hatless hair everywhere as he takes a noisy bite of his rice noodles. He crunches on his broccoli in that savage way you despise, exhaling loudly as he slams into the couch next to you. 

Pulling your limbs close and turning your nose up at him, you scoot to the edge, begging for distraction from the words you’ve already read in front of you. You still couldn’t find your page. 

“Don’t be like that.” He mutters around a bite, manners completely thrown out the window when he’s next to you. 

“How about you don’t be like that.” 

“Like what? Cold? Cause that’s what you’re being.” Two seconds after his last, Toru shovels another loaded bite into his mouth, chewing quickly. “I like that sleep set on you. Reminds me of our first anniversary.” 

Satoru can never be vague – the entire idea is lost on him. It wasn’t in your head when you pulled this set out of your bag; it’s just what you packed to sleep in. Your options are so limited, and now you feel like you can’t run from them. 

“Close your eyes, then.” You cross your knees, trying to shrink yourself further so you don’t fall victim to his man-spread. He’s taking over the couch with his long limbs like he always has. Years ago, you didn’t care because it was just an excuse to be touching him all the time. Now, you’re running from it. 

Caving and leaning forward to put his meal down, he gives you a look over his shoulder – one that pulls your attention from the turn of a new chapter. “Don’t be like that,” he repeats, then his knee bumps your thigh. You suck in a breath. 

It feels like the end closing in again – dreaded but so familiar. 

Satoru blinks once, then licks over his lips. Your finger twitches as it washes over you again. 

Then, he turns around, wrapping a thick hand over your throat. You react with claws, reaching up to tug at his wrist. He’s not being gentle – your breathing is uneven and scared. Knees pressing to the couch to crowd you, Toru lets your book tumble off your lap when he pins you down. 

Your hands are shaking, eyes screwed shut, but completely unable to speak. He’s got you so vulnerable like always – reduced to a thing manufactured for his pleasure who would never, ever say no. 

After all, what’s a man to do? This was customary during the marriage, and if you’re willing to give it, Toru is more than willing to take it. He can read you well enough to know this is what you need – him. 

As he crawls over you, both knees pressed close to your thighs, his weight shifts back, and your legs quiver. He’s got your arms tied up, legs pinned, and body becoming one with the cushions. If you’d look, you’d see the tent in his grey sweatpants standing at full attention as he dominates you into wordless, fightless putty. 

You only need one more thing to seal the deal – that mature, deep, reassuring voice scorching you like fire on mealy stones. 

“Gonna give it to me?” He whispers, free fingers pushing through his lips into the warmth of his mouth. He’s wetting them over, unsure what to expect when he dips his hand into your shorts. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and that’s as good a sign as any to let him know you wouldn’t be an overactive sprinkler system down there. 

You don’t answer him right away – those two fingers twirl around his digits like he’s making out with them. 

Under this dull, shadowed light, you crack open your eyes and die at the sight hovering over you. 

Toru’s light hair hanging over his blinding eyes, the way the shadows dip in the sucked hollows of his cheeks and bounces off the strength in his hand. A small, silver bracelet rolls down his arm, hanging from pale skin so delicately that your insides tremble and shake. 

You squeeze them shut again. “Oh, my God.” 

“Well, Gojo, I’m not God.” He mutters, wet fingers falling from his lips. He trails them down past your waistline, using his instincts to push them right to your warm, waiting cunt. Easing you apart, he raises an eyebrow at the slickness that pools around his fingers, but his heart is pounding. You’re wet for him – growing wetter by the second, and he’s drinking it up like a greedy child, tongue darting over his lips again. “But it feels like you want it.” 

“Don’t wanna talk-

“Well, I do-” He cuts you off with a bite of his tongue. He gives you no warning, but you can feel his fingers start to slip lower, completely disregarding your pleasure and focusing on intrusion. Your breath picks up when his fingers slip inside. “-Wanna talk about it. It’s impossible to get off when you’re keeping your filthy mouth shut.” Punctuating his point, that finger inside of you curls mean against your shivering walls, hooking you like prey. 

“Ugh – God, Satoru.” 

“Yeah, let me hear it.” He eggs you on with a deep voice, sliding another finger inside of you. He waits a moment, grip tightening uncomfortably over your neck, before he’s fucking you on them – no mercy. He’s not tender with anything anymore. “God, Satoru, Jo, Toru, Gojo – I don’t care. Just say my name.” 

“Ugh – I hate you.” 

He leans down, lips hovering over yours as you slowly blink your eyes open. It’s startling… looking right into his pearlescent gaze, but it's so familiar that you could die. Then, he kisses you like everything is okay. You kiss him back. 

“I love you – Mm, I love you, baby.” He’s rejoicing on your lips, the lines between marriage and separation blurring in his hazed mind. “Love when we fight ‘cause it shows that you still care.” 

“Higher… H-higher, I wanna com-

“No, it has to be on my cock.” He cuts you off with little thought, thumb only barely lifting to ghost across your shivering wet clit. It shocks you from the blood, back arching painfully over the soft couch. “Just wanted to get you wet for me first.” 

If it were anybody else, you’d be cringing with the language Toru so easily lets melt off his tongue, but it drives you deeper. His hand on your throat – his voice in your ear. Yeah, this is why you married him. It’s just too good. 

You want more. 

“Then give it to me.” You growl, finally ready to be his again. You’re ready to hear your old pet names – you’d be good enough to hear them. If he just keeps this up… if he lowers you deep enough, then pulls you back up for air, you’re sure it’d be the one thing that reels you back. 

“Fuck – I love you. I love that I can hate you. I love that I can love you. I love that I can fuck you.” He sits up, face flushed from your presence. His thumb is back at his lips, studying the taste of your chapstick on his tongue. He looks so manic, like he’s entirely taken with your dark expression. 

Finally, that hand around your throat unravels, and you’re taking a deep, reassuring breath. “Don’t say that. Not right now.” 

“No, I know you want it hard.” He mentions if it was a fact, like he knows how repressed you are from a too-sweet marriage. The main thing Satoru adopted when you took his surname, was the absolute definition of love and gentleness. During sex, he never squeezed you too hard. During arguments, he’d nod and let you win. There is something there – something that drove that part of love out of your life. You’re just too blind to see it. 

“You don’t have to say it, I know you feel ashamed.” 

“C-can you just…” 

“Can I what?” 

“Get on with it.” You whine, hips bucking up into his pelvis. He loves trapping you like this, chests kissing when you take a deep enough breath. “I don’t want— don’t wanna talk about it.” 

His hand closes around the underside of your jaw, yanking your head to force eye contact. You’re like a puppet – pliable and jelly in his grip. You can’t fight back against his strength. 

“You don’t get to rush this. Not like before.” His voice simmers out, getting lost in his chest all gravelly and hard. His fingers dig into your jawline, leaving wells against the sensitive muscle. Your face twitches, eyes shut and burning. 

Then, he slaps you for some reason – on the face. 

Your lips part, eyes flying open as you suck in a breath. Your body is rolling under him, shivering with generational need for him to bury himself inside of you. “Ohh, God. Toru–

“Knew you’d like that–” another slap. You bare your teeth. “-Fucking shameless.” 

“D-don’t wanna hurt,” 

“Ye, you do.” He slaps you the other way, gentler on his backhand but strong enough to leave a sting. You’re wiggling from his grasp – his hot fingers tighten. “You were shaking in the car when I was demeaning you. You know, that’s what I was doing – demeaning you just like you do to yourself. If it didn’t feel good, you’d have burned my number the second you left.” 

“S-so mean…” 

“Didn’t mean all of it, but I meant most of it.” He leans real close again like he’s trying to push words into your gasping mouth. “Respect is earned, lust is given. You’ve gotta give it to me really good for me to even glance at you outside of these walls again.” 

Toru sits up, letting you free as both hands work at his waistband. He’s not stalling, and he’s so hard that his cock whips out with one tug at the crotch. He hisses as cool air hits too-hot skin. “Tell me what you told Mama, baby. ‘Toru is so cold, he ignores me’? What about, ‘He watches my every move, even my bank account’?” 

You don’t really understand what he’s trying to say; all you’re focused on is the pure, shiny white pearl falling over his fist as he works himself in front of you. You’re trying to look him in the eye – his shirt is between his teeth, now. He’s the perfect reflection of the lust you keep buried deep inside of you. 

“Bet you didn’t tell her about how I peeled the underwear from your skin and sucked them clean right in front of you on our wedding night,” his neck tenses as pleasure builds white-hot in the core of his hard body. “Or how I obsessed over that green tea you told me you liked on our first date – the green tea sitting in that bag over there you didn’t touch. Remember how I wiped the shelves of it and surprised you with a fully packed fridge? Or your ring, I had resized six times just because it kept falling off during sex, and I’d have to stop and put it back on? Hm… there’s that time I missed finals because I was hungover in a hotel room with you in Shibuya. The last time I drank, I drank for you.” 

You’re crying now. It’s a feeling you’re used to – crying at the thought of him and everything he’s done. The ring now sits beautifully on your finger. It’s so embedded into your being that you don’t notice you haven’t taken it off. 

“Yeah, how can you ignore that? It’s true love, I don’t care what made you run so afraid, but my love never faltered.” 

“If that’s all you want to see, fine.” The tears are making you angry – you’re frustrated by the build-up, horny and tense. Your face burns from his palms. “But I see the times you purposefully didn’t make me finish, how you told your family I was crazy for not wanting them to comment on my body, and the weeks of silence you gave me after.” 

“Insignificant things, sure.” 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“Because I did it, so what?” Toru’s starting to get himself there – scarily close to finishing from the flustered sound of your voice and the quickness of his fist. He quirks his neck, finally pulling open his eyes. “Ugh – what about when you told your friends how I wasn’t good in bed? The same friends I have to see every day?” 

“None of my friends are going to stroke your ego. You don’t like how I describe you? Fix it.” 

That cold look in his eyes burns as he hoists your hips up with one arm. There’s no real way to fuck you comfortably like this, so he’ll maximize his own pleasure, knowing you’ll cry and come for him at the drop of a coin, and the pain will only make you hotter. 

One long leg swings over the side of the couch, foot planted just the way he needs to keep his balance as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. You’re stretching so filthily around him – opening up to everything he has to give. You’re already blooming that delicious pink-red shade he loves so much. He’s so focused on the sight that he doesn’t notice the line of drool that slips from his shiny lips. 

“Put me down– this angle.” You’re whining, fingertips digging into the side and back of the couch like you’re trying to run away. He has your body pressed in a sick seventy-degree angle, your thighs burning and singing with pain at the awkwardness. 

“-is so hot, I know.” Satoru throws his head back when he’s buried all the way inside of you. He focused on this feeling right now – filing it away as one of his favorites. He feels so safe and surrounded like this – loved from the core of his being, even when you’re deadset against him. “Baby, you’re so flexible.” 

You’re sweating now, tears sliding hotter down your flushed cheeks. He’s rolling his hips, staring off into space as he brushes your cervix. Your hand flies up to push at his chest – you fall short. “S-stop! God, you know I hate that.” 

Toru finally looks down at you, gaze sparkling in turquoise hues as he watches you flail for mercy. “Feel good?” He rolls his hips again, breathing so delicately like he’s in heaven. “You’re so wet. Gonna make you feel me tomorrow.” 

It’s the last thing he truly says to you before pulling out halfway – mind on a mission as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars. All the blood is rushing to your heart and head – eyes rolled back like you’re on the verge of death as his thrusts send you deeper and deeper. He’s pushing you into the cracks of the couch, uncaring of how your neck is straining and face reddening. He’s fucking you with his eyes shut – perhaps imagining someone else, yet hopelessly in love with you. 

Your body is trembling as he continues the assault on your poor cervix – his eye twitching every time he slams into that soft little barrier. 

Toru has a sad affinity for this – being so deep inside of you that if he were any deeper, he’d be playing in your womb. He’s so obsessed with your body – he can’t help it. He loves your taste, and the way you sound, look, and feel. Every one of his five senses is wholly devoted to you, and still, you found a reason to leave him. 

He lays you down so well every night, and still you tell your friends he can’t make you come… To him, it sounds like a personal problem. He won’t let you fuck with him like that – not again. He’ll just fuck the devotion right back into you as hard as he can. 

Toru’s sweating now, too. It’s dripping off the hair sticking to his forehead – hips moving so fast they’re blurred with speed to the naked eye. Combined wetness makes those lewd squelches so much louder, and you’re deafened by your own desire. 

Sanity is starting to slip away from you. Satoru notices immediately. You’re not tearing at the couch as hard as you usually would – your grip falls loose. 

“Look at me, beautiful. Look at how well you’re taking me.” He grunts, taking breaths between each deep word. His voice is so lost – so wrecked, and it wrecks you. A whine punches from your throat. 

Toru gulps and starts again. “Hey, c’mon. Gonna be a good girl and stay with me?” 

“Too- It’s too-

“Shh, shh… Don’t talk, honey. Let me take care of you.” It might be a bad idea, but Toru has you completely mindless. He reaches for your clit and pinches it whisper-soft between his thick fingers just to elicit a different reaction from you. He smiles when your eyes fly open. Your whines are the only thing he can hear. “Do you know how good you feel – how good you’re making me feel?” 

“Mm, yeah. T-tell me.” 

“It’s so hot.” He starts. Moving both big hands to your waist when you start to slip. The sweat against your silk, all streaky and stained, is so slippery, Toru wishes he can rip it off. “You’re squeezing me so tight, it feels like home – God, it’s just so hot.” 

You’re crying even harder if that’s possible. The onslaught of his deep, precious voice during this rush of physical and mental stimulation is just too much. It feels like you love him so much – like you want to open up and give him babies, be his forever, but you can’t. 

You’re not even his anymore. 

Then it hits you like a cruel joke without a punchline – your orgasm, right to the face. 

At that very moment, all life is pushed from your bones. You go completely limp in Toru’s grip, dragging him down like dead weight. He scrambles, letting your hips fall as your body shakes and seizes with release. 

It’s never hit you this hard before. It’s never come to you so unexpectedly. 

You’re obsessed. 

“Oh, my God… Shit, you should see your face.” Satoru’s voice carries you through the mindlessness. He’s sitting between your thighs, pulling his leg behind him to finish you off in missionary. Your legs are too weak – they fall open and expose you like you’re a prize to be bid on. “So pretty… So beautiful; my perfect wife.”

“N-

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard. It’s coming – shit, ah-

Toru can only roll his hips because the expression of pure mindlessness you’re making is better than the ruthless way he’s screwing you. Seeing your strict demeanor crumble and burn with the feeling of him makes him so fucking cocky. He knows you now – has never seen this before, but will do anything to see it again. 

When he comes, he buries his face in your neck, getting drunk off your scent as he ruts into you weakly. He can feel himself flood and pool around his cock – leaving a sickly, shiny layer on him once he pulls out. It falls limp against your thigh, and for a moment, Satoru collapses into you. He holds you like a prize. 

You two must’ve stayed like that for hours – days have passed in your mind. You’re not worried about his crushing weight or his soft breath; you’re worried about what your friends will think when you tell them Satoru just gave me the best sex of my life. 

Shoko will laugh – Utahime will take pity. Yeah, you have to tell them. 

When he’s finally sitting up, it feels like your skin is being pulled from your body. You two are interconnected; he has to sit up slowly so your soul doesn’t detach, too. His hair is a mess – it’s the first thing you see when you creak open your eyes, feeling high off of something you couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was him – how you couldn’t get enough of that savory, sex-filled scent that wafts off his godly body and settles in your skin. 

This feeling —lost in a rose-colored daze —feels like love. 

“If you can sit up, I’ll grab you some tea.” He sits back, sliding his pants over his filthy skin. Of course, he has plans to shower later, but he’s hungry. That always comes first. “You want some Pad See Ew, baby?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

He rolls his eyes, and finally, you two feel like yourselves again. You’re rolling over on your side, positioning your shorts back over the mess between your thighs – shoving your chest back in its constraints. 

“Will you cut it loose? You know how hard I just made you come? I swear, you saw Jesus.” 

“Shut up.” You bite. “No, I didn’t.” 

Satoru sucks his teeth, kicking his legs back up as he takes his cool noodles back in his grip. He’s eating like nothing just transpired – hair sticky with sweat, come drying on his skin. You feel just as dirty, and when you move to kick your feet off the edge of the couch, your core cramps and tightens. Your hands fly there to cradle it. 

“Ah- fuck.” 

“You okay?” 

“No!” You snap, overcome, and pissed because you told him you didn’t like when he targeted your cervix like that. It didn’t take a genius to know it’d be bruised for these next few days. “I don’t know if you know, Satoru, but you can’t fuck yourself into my womb, so you need to stop trying.” 

You’re not trying to be funny, but Toru chokes on his food with a laugh. He’s coughing – laughing. You’re glaring. 

“But I know it’s so warm and safe in there, baby.” He sighs, pushing your overwhelming strictness off his shoulders like he always has. Yes, he knows about your cervix aversion. No, he wouldn’t fuck you halfway – there’s no point. He needs to be buried inside of you, all the way to the hilt, or it’d kill him. 

“You have no respect.” 

“I don’t.” He mumbles, taking another bite once his breath evens out. Sharp canines scrape against pristine metal. You glance over at his striking side profile. “But seeing you so beautiful and willing to let go like that might be bringing some back.” 

“How about you keep it?” You’re trying so hard not to let him in again – so hard. His voice is sweet like honey, and his movements are endearing, but you know it’s that post-sex ovulation-thick way your thoughts twist and twirl everything into something it’s not. You can only hope that the feeling of absolute detachment you experienced a month ago will return and bring you to your senses, as Satoru did. 

Unfortunately, you’re leaning into his strong frame when he fishes for a vegetable-heavy bite for you, mentioning, “Open wide.” As he pushes it between your lips. 

Sauce dribbles across them; Toru reaches to wipe it away, then leans in to lick them clean. 

That lick turns into a kiss – his hand pressed to the side of your head, chopsticks digging into your hair as his tongue licks forward into your mouth. He wants something else out of you now – your devotion. Perhaps that umami taste on your tongue that he’s so addicted to. Either way, you’re making out with him like you love him, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Toru is just so in awe of how sexy and mindless you look right now. He wants to make a mess of you again. “On a scale of one to go rot in Hell, pervert – how pissed would you be if I said I was hard for you again?” He whispers against your lips, serious as hell, but moreso focused on never letting up on yours. 

“Go rot in Hell, pervert.” 

Midnight has ticked by – forgotten takeout containers litter the table. You’re standing in the dark, legs trembling in the shower as the throbbing in your stomach makes it hard to keep steady. 

You’ve been here many times before, losing your mind against the rush of clear water. Moments like these give you time to think – to want, to yearn. 

Now, you’re yearning for Satoru. 

You want him to bust the door open and press his naked, wet body into yours until you become him. You want his hair in your mouth – his blood on your skin, his touch on your bare, shivering flesh. No skin, no boundaries. 

Your shame spans countries – continents. You hate yourself. 

Reaching between your thighs, you cup your hand against your core, absorbing the flaky traces of him before the water washes them away. Once, it was so thick – so soft against the heat of your legs. Then, it felt like lava pouring into your soul. Now, Toru’s old finish feels like a stain on your skin. You sigh. 

Satoru loves showering with you, so it doesn’t take him long to come slinking in, welcome as ever. He’s still wearing those tired, terribly attractive grey sweatpants, hair wild from constantly running fingers through it. The sweat’s got the strands sitting on a different gravitational field – they’re everywhere. 

“You can tell me to go die, but I swear it’s just gonna make me stay longer.” He whispers, stepping inside with you like he always has. This is such a familiar maneuver – so familiar it makes you smile. His hand on your wet shoulder, his toned stomach melting into your back. You sigh against him, nodding slowly. 

You don’t know what to say. “Hi.” You reply, rolling your head back on his sturdiness. Toru breathes out a short laugh. 

“Hi, my love.” He kisses the top of your head, taking this moment as his. Nothing can ruin this right now. 

One more kiss – a few seconds to linger, then he turns you around. His hands trap your arms, and his tall reflection feels like home as he gazes down at you. You’re being stared down like headlights in the dark – blinding and cruel. You blink up at him. 

One arm falls, reaching between your pressed bodies, and your thighs part as they know. Except his fingers concentrate under your belly button, smoothing out before pressing softly. You suck in a breath. 

“It feels good to leave my mark like that, though it hurts you.” He’s mumbling, so the mood isn’t lost or twisted. Satoru is in here because he knows one more round will do him in perfectly. So, he pushes you to your knees, keeping his arm strong and stiff to guide you as you fall. 

You do so without saying a word, ignoring the singing in your pelvis and the shame on your cheeks. He knows what he wants – you know what he wants, so you don’t waste time. 

Rescinding all control, you lean forward and press your lips to his heavy-hanging cock, breath so hot and painful in your throat. His thighs smell like him – the tuft of hair around him being the absolute goldmine of his body. A beautiful head of hair falling into a gorgeous face, body, and crotch – all dripping like a waterfall to his long fingers, strong legs, and wide feet. Every part of him was crafted with so much care and precision; it’s your job to worship it. 

Satoru reaches down, grabbing his cock by the base. He palms it to the side, letting it linger on his thigh as he presses your face to the swell of his sack. You whine, tongue darting out to catch the water that streams against the soft skin. Satoru tastes so much like himself as you suffocate between his legs, but it’s a taste so salty and loving that if you could bottle it for a high, you would.

He holds you close for a moment, letting you kiss and lick at him like a needy kitten. His thick fingers trail across your chin, sending down little breaths and moans to make your blood hotter. You reach up and bury your fingertips in his thighs. 

Satoru pushes you away once he’s hard enough. His blood is rushing again, thick cock painted in a hue of crimson. It almost matches the palm of his hands – as soft as them, too. Shiny and pink like his lips. 

“Open your mouth.” He demands.

You do. 

Water attacks your gaze when you try to open your eyes, but he notices and shifts just for you, letting the water pelt his shoulder blades. With a curl of the lip – a suck of the cheek, he gathers spit on his tongue and lets it fall right into your waiting mouth. 

Your lips snap shut. His cock eases against your jaw, sliding delicately across your wet skin. He pushes your head back, water falling on your skin as he rubs his length over your cheek, brushing your nose, poking at your eyelid. 

He’s guiding himself with his thumb, making sure he’s pressed close enough to feel something. The rest of his fingers tangle in the hair behind your ear, caressing you like a porcelain doll. 

Satoru knows he has you again. It’s a feeling he can’t see but can pinpoint in the darkest of hallways. It’s the sound of your voice – your obedience, your care for his jokes. He knows. 

You’re right back where he wants you. 

At the end of the night, you crawl into his bed. All the lights are off, and the bathroom door is cracked – soft light from your shower spilling into the void. You think Satoru is asleep on his side of the bed – his soft snoring is familiar. 

You’re half asleep, throat on fire, stomach in knots when you crawl over him. 

Your knee presses into his side, body sliding over his arms as you make your way. He ruined your set, and now you’re wearing his clothes to bed. You don’t mind. Satoru surely doesn’t mind when he blinks awake, and it’s the only thing he sees. 

You settle against his back, slipping an arm under him – winding one over his broad shoulder. He’s the little spoon, rolling back into the touch like he’s never been without it. You used to hold him like this when you called him your husband, sneaking little ear kisses and wandering fingertips as the night dragged on. 

Now, he knows you’re awake. He’s awake. 

His voice hits so genuinely, you think it might kill you. “We don’t have to be married if you don’t want to be… but I think we’re good enough to start over.” 

“Satoru…” You whisper, voice broken with the ghost of him scrubbing your throat raw. “I’m scared.” 

“So am I, but it’s a good feeling.” He reassures, giving you that sweet, low voice he knows you can’t say no to. “If this weightlessness isn’t gone by tomorrow, we’ll know, and I’ll give you your divorce.” 

It’s been a week since you’ve been moved into your apartment. You and Satoru have had sex two more times since that night, but you two don’t bring up the obvious. 

You’re staring in the floor-length bedroom mirror, fingers at the blouse you’re buttoning to your skin. Like always — it’s your friend's idea. You’re impartial to karaoke, but they’re desperate to see you again, chalking up the weekend outing to a housewarming. 

It’s been too many times that you’ve blown them off; now you have to show up. 

You straighten out your hair in the reflection, avoiding your eyes and the darkness that just won’t fade. Your phone rings — exercising bad habits, you reach for your side table to answer it without checking the caller. 

“Hello?” 

Your mom is on the other line — her voice is warm. ‘Hi, dear. We haven’t heard from you since you visited. How’s Tokyo?’

You sigh, stepping back to sit on the edge of your bed. “Um… I know. It’s just been a lot. Tokyo is good… It’s good for me to be back here.” 

‘Settling into your new place, still?’

“Unfortunately.” You’re ripe with shame for some reason, fingers twisting in the strings hanging from your thin skirt. “Had a friend help me move the last of my new furniture today. It’s good to actually have stuff.” 

She hums — you know she wants to say more. ‘And… is it okay if I ask about him?’ 

You close your eyes, the sound of her gentle voice making you cry only the way a mother can. “Satoru? Mhm. I put in for divorce yesterday. Just waiting on the proceedings to be shipped to me.” 

‘That’s good. I’m proud of you for taking that step. I know it’s hard.’

“Really, really hard.” You’re crying now, unable to hide the sound of it in your voice. Over the line, she hears, giving you a sad little hum. You feel so pathetic - reaching up to cover your eyes to hide from yourself. “Mama, I’m so scared.” 

‘Darling, you have no idea just how strong you are and just how strong I think you are. No matter your reasons for leaving, I understand and support them. Satoru was an important person in your life — there’s no doubt about it, but even the closest of relationships aren’t meant to last forever. God has something better for you, you know that.’ 

“Have you ever felt like this? Like you’re standing so close to the edge, but you just… can’t?” 

‘Well, what made you leave him?’ 

Your throat clicks, stopping the words before they’re even thought of. If you cared, you’d give her a laundry list right now, but you can’t. “I- I can’t. I’m ashamed.” 

That’s all you need to tell her. It clicks. ‘It’s not the sex, is it? Dear, if you’re not satisfied, have you told him?’ 

“It’s-” You pull the phone from your ear, chest tightening as tears rush. “It’s not that, it’s the opposite. We can’t stay away from each other.” 

‘Oh,’ she pauses, unsure of where to step. You two always had a good enough relationship to talk about these things, but the conversations were few and far between. You hardly talk about Satoru when you're at home, which is why the divorce doesn’t surprise her. ‘How many times… have you two been together since the split?’

“Four or five times.” You’re beet red in shame, sniffling into your hands as you try to muster up words. “It’s so bad, I know.” 

‘Nobody can blame you for going back to what you know. After so long with your father, I don’t even know if there’s a man out there who can even make me feel anything anymore. You’ve been with Satoru for years — he’s all you know. Don’t feel guilty.’ 

“Thank you.” You cry, snotting into your hand, ruining the makeup you painted so precisely just minutes ago. “It’s just – the sex is good, but everything else is so terrible with him.” 

‘Then, you’re making the right decision. Trust it.’ She pauses for a moment, offering you the rustle of movement to fill the silence. ‘I don’t dare overstep, but if all he can offer you is pleasure, why don’t you just find another outlet?’ 

“What do you mean?” 

‘Going to the gym regularly could help you balance out some of that need. Or, you could derive pleasure from other sources. I know it won’t be the same, but toy-

“Mom.” 

‘I know – you don’t want to hear it from me.’ 

“No, I don’t.” 

‘Then pretend like I’m a friend.’ She doubles down, evening out her voice as she repeats. ‘It won’t kill you to just try. It can’t be worse than going back to him, can it?’ 

And that’s what you tell yourself as you crawl back in bed, breath heavy and hot in your lungs. The conversation ended long ago – you had to sit with yourself for a bit afterward, letting her wisdom set you straight. It feels better to know that you’re not a touch-starved slut, and it makes sense that you keep going back because it’s all you know. Change is uncomfortable. That’s what she left you with.

Now, you’re lying on your back against the rustle of sheets, staring at the ceiling, trying to work up the nerve. Proudly, you don’t own any sex toys – your husband was a walking one with a voice and touch that drove you mad. It’s what you’re trying to lose as you part your knees, hand reaching down to pull your panties to the side. Under your skirt, it’s so easy to get where you need to go – Satoru always loved you in them, and always found the perfect excuse to be under it come nightfall. 

You’re thinking about one of those nights – skin to skin, your voice melting off of his tongue as you slowly approach your core. Your fingers concentrate at your slit, completely bone-dry save for naturality. You breathe out a soft breath, working up the nerve to dip your finger a little closer to your most sensitive area. 

You can’t find the nerve. 

“Fuck.” You bite, angry at yourself as you hesitate. Time moves slowly suspended at this moment, and when you slip your eyes shut, all you can see is his gaze – that cheeky little wink he sends you when he’s propped between your legs. You’re combing back to remember his taste – his touch, the way he loves. It makes your heart skip a beat in anticipation. 

“Toru… Toru – mm…” You whisper, gasping when your fingers slide over your clit, making your back arch embarrassingly. “Please, Satoru – right there.” 

You feel so pathetic, but it feels so good. Too good. 

Just not enough. 

You work your smaller fingers in messy, quick circles against your bud – just trying to get yourself off so you can have a level head tonight with karaoke. It’s shameful just to admit how much you get from being intimate with Toru – it’s a way to lose your mind, like a high from a drug that costs way too much. 

You’re trying to mimic his deep tone in your head, whispering how good and beautiful you are. Your hand quivers as you bring it to your neck, hoping the soft squeeze will be enough to emulate Satoru’s affinity for squeezing you there. It works, if even for a second. Then, you’re scrambling for your phone, remembering the one video he sent you two years ago. You were in Tokyo, and he was in Kyoto – he missed you and recorded a video of himself in bed, vocalizing just how much he did. 

That tone – that adoration. It’s what you need. 

So you’re swiping manically through your camera roll, one hand frozen between your thighs as you search and comb the archive. 

Finally. You’ve never clicked on anything so fast. 

As you click the video to start, you push your head back into the pillows, working your fingers at your clit like you’d die if you stopped. 

God, his voice. 

‘Hi, baby. Just got to my room… It’s so big and lonely without you here… I know you’re gonna shake your head and think ‘God, he’s so dramatic.’ like you always do, but I miss you. If a man is dramatic for missing his wife, then lock me up and throw away the key because I'll be in jail for a long, long time… I wish I can touch you right now. Wish you were here so I can tell you all about my day – you’ll tell me about yours… then we’ll make the sweetest love… look, see how soft this bed is? You’d sink right in, love. I’d have to dive in and pull you up for air, haha… Anyways, I know you don’t like when I talk too much about nothing, but I really do miss you. Work trips are the worst. Well, I love you. So, so, so much. Alright baby, good night…’ 

He kisses the phone, and the video goes dark. 

You’re close, leaning over to bite the pillow in a sad attempt to muffle your overwhelmed sobs. In a few swipes, the video is replaying, and as soon as that deep laugh licks the line, you’re convulsing and coming all over your fingers. 

When you’re sitting in the dark blue light in the private karaoke room, you feel lighter, yet so guilty with shame. It’s only been twenty minutes, but you’re three drinks and two shitty pop songs deep. Now, you, Shoko, and Utahime are listening to the machine run – letting the choppy backing track carry the silence when one of you stops talking to take a sip. 

Shoko’s at your left, leg pressed to your bare one, blinding white screen cutting through the darkness as she feverishly texts someone back. When you lean over to ingest her business, you see Suguru’s name. Your heart flips. 

Clutching your glass like it’s a stress ball, you sit up so fast your head is spinning. “Please tell me you didn’t invite him.” 

Shoko scoffs, not even looking at you as she sends Suguru an “okay” message. “What? Of course, I invited him, who do you think’s gonna buy the drinks?” 

“Okay, but you know he’s going to bring Satoru – Shoko, I’m gonna fre-

“I told him not to invite Gojo. Chill – it’s fine. They’re walking up now, I think. He’s just bringing Yu instead.” 

You huff, sitting back with the mind to trust her. You can’t win against an angry or annoyed Shoko – never. Not even when she’s tipsy, and you’re drunk. You actually don’t want to fight at all because you know you’d curl into a ball and call a truce. 

The fact that Suguru is just bringing Yu is a red flag – he went to school with them before you even met. If there’s one, there’s always the other. It’s suffocating trying to leave someone so integral to your friend group. 

You didn’t notice exactly when Utahime ducked out of the room, so you’re loopy and surprised when she peeks her head through the door, smiling softly, eyes shut. “Shoko-

“What?” 

Utahime opens her eyes to glance at you, then tugs at her lips as she circles back to Shoko. “I have a situation. Can you… come on?” 

“Whatever.” 

They leave you alone like it’s nothing, but you’re thankful for the loneliness. You didn’t even want to come out tonight; you thought the orgasm would help, but the conversation you had with your mother hung over your head like a dark cloud. You feel so lifeless – like joy falls onto your soul just to shrivel up and die. 

Utahime makes sure that the door is shut – she’ll keep an eye on it, too, but she’s panicking right now. There’s nobody in the world who has ivory-white hair, sticking out of the crowd like a sore thumb. It’s a weekend – the bar is thick with bodies, and Satoru stands tall amongst the crowd at the edge of the room, drawing attention. 

Utahime leaps into damage control, waving her hands in front of Shoko like it’d simmer her down before she starts. “Look, I don’t know where Haibara and Geto are–

 “Shit, is that Gojo-

She springs into action, Utahime right on her tail.“-wait! Shoko, look-

-no, I’m killing him.” Shoko would never let anyone see how flustered she was, but she knew this was going to happen. If Suguru didn’t tell Satoru he’d be here, it was surely Yu. She knows you or Utahime aren’t responsible. “Killing all of those fuckers – God, I hate them.” 

Just before Utahime and Shoko can close in on him, Satoru’s attention is pulled to his phone, then the pushing bodies moving through the door. Suguru and Yu are shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing at a joke carried over from the walk here. They don’t see each other often – not with Yu’s secretive job on the outskirts of the city he can’t tell anyone about. Suguru told you it was government work, and Satoru told you he worked for a tech company. They’re both liars, but Yu is sweet enough to overlook the grey matter. He’s been around for years. 

“You. Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest, come here.” Shoko points to each of them respectively, barreling into protector mode to shield your bleeding heart just a few rooms away. She didn’t want to see your face when you saw Gojo, but she also didn’t want to be proven a liar. 

“Hey, Shoko!” Yu tries, unfamiliar with seeing her painted in dark makeup but in love with the reflection. He just thinks she’s great, albeit a little strict. It’s why you two get along so well. “Utahime!” 

“To be clear, you’re ‘dumber.’” Shoko completely barrels past his sunny persona, letting Satoru pick it up when he looks his way. She targets Suguru, grabbing at his baggy sleeve to drag him away for a second. Utahime is quick to start damage control, leaning in to hug Yu and exchange pleasantries with Satoru. It’s hard to hide what she thinks about him when he’s so close – after everything you said about him, too. 

Suguru isn’t even surprised, but he does pull Shoko’s small hand from the expensive fabric, frowning against the flickering blue lights. Everyone’s gaze is shadowed – terribly sung music is ringing in their ears. “I didn’t invite him!” 

“I don’t care! Kick him to the fucking street!” 

“Dude, you’re drunk. Whatever, they’re cordial.” 

“Because she’s actively trying to stay away from him – ugh.” She grunts, disgusted to her core and so flustered she’s tripping over her own feet. Suguru is a lost cause; he’s too nonchalant and sweet. She needed to poke the target – the only man wearing sunglasses in a bar. “You.” She states, pointing a finger right into Satoru’s chest. 

He steps back, feigning ignorance. “Hey-

“Leave – I’m so serious.” 

He’s laughing – of course, he doesn’t think this is serious. “Why would I leave? Come on. Don’t be like that.” 

“Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you!” 

“Shoko–” Utahime steps back in, cheeks all red with flush. Poor Yu has no idea what’s happening – he doesn’t think he even wants to know. 

“You’re gonna kill me? Me?” Satoru’s challenging her; it’s just in his obscure nature. He thinks she looks like a feral kitten, with fluffy hair and a razor-thin gaze. “What’d I do?” 

“Why couldn’t you have just kept your stupid mouth shut?! We wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

“What situation? My divorce?” 

“What divorce?!” Yu stands shellshocked, looking at Suguru, who is chuckling under his breath, then to Utahime, who looks like she just wants to run and hide. He can’t blame her – these two are scary when they’re mad. 

“His!” 

“Mine!” They belt at the same time, emotions running hot without care. 

Then, it’s like something supernatural clicks. Satoru stands up straight, taking a tentative step back. “She… she’s here?” 

“Who fucking cares?!” 

Satoru looks past Shoko’s sad, tiny figure, peeking over his shoulder as Suguru gives him a small nod. 

He feels manic, like a lion swooping in to collect his mate. It’s a feeling in his blood that he’s not sure he can pinpoint, but one that feels like pure, unbridled protectiveness. He just knows you’re somewhere sad and drunk, wishing he were close even though you’d push him away. Without care, he’s shoving past Shoko – she spins on her heel and follows. Suguru slinks behind with his hands in his pockets. 

“Lay off Shoko!” 

“You’re going to make it worse when you go in there!” 

“She needs me!” 

“Guys, come on.” Suguru’s voice evens theirs out as the music thins. They stop in the hallway of private rooms; Satoru is panting. “Satoru, I don’t think you should go in there. We don’t have to fight about it, and you know-

“I’m the only one that knows what she needs.” Satoru presses his hands into his chest, blue eyes open to the hilt under his dark glasses. His heart is racing so fast he doesn’t know how to think. “It’s complicated, but I know she needs me.” 

You can hear them outside the door – you’re staring at the red wood, vision pulling in and out, distorting the obvious. It makes it easier that you’re drunk, but Satoru’s voice feels like a blanket – a loud, mean blanket. Your heart races just like his, swallowing twice when their voices draw closer. 

Then, silence comes. Someone mutters. 

And the door swings open – wind slaps you in the face. 

It takes a second for reality to settle, but when you see Toru’s body in the doorframe, you’re panicking. 

You scramble for cover, rising to your knees pressed on the faux leather couch. He closes in on you before you can blink, and trying to gather yourself to run, you rise to your feet, towering over him, for once. 

“Get down. We’re leaving.” He takes his glasses off when he looks up at you, big hand reaching to snatch yours up. He feels possessive in your drunken daze – mean in a way you’re not sure you’ve seen so blatantly. 

“What? No.” You whine, knees rocking together as you tug against his grip, nearly losing your footing. 

“Get. Down. Look at you – about to fall.” Toru glances over his shoulder at Shoko and Suguru watching on with their fists in their mouths. He has to approach this accordingly – you two are in public, and everyone thinks you’re estranged. 

Then, he thinks to himself – how estranged can a couple be after only a month and a half apart? 

No, Satoru is crazy about you. He doesn’t care. 

He snatches you down so quickly, careful to hoist you to your feet when you rightfully stumble. 

The last time you two saw each other left him with more questions than answers. Satoru is reaching out for you, gripping onto every shred of hope you hang on a string. He thinks these hookups are hope — a way to split you open so he can see who you are and what you need. 

You don’t talk to him much anymore, but you didn’t tell him no when he proposed starting over. It’s why his mind is skewed - you won’t give him the answers he needs, so he’s making it up in his head. 

Not to mention, this is not where you were supposed to be tonight. “You said you weren’t feeling well, so you were gonna stay home.” He closes his hands over your shoulders, shaking them to bring you to life. Satoru is mad, but he’s not angry. You were too drunk to care — trying to drink him away. 

“Mm,” You whine, shaking hands covering your eyes. You feel exposed with your friends in the doorway, even though the lights are so dim nobody can really see your face. Except him. He’s so close. 

“I hate when you do this!” His voice reaches a peak you haven’t heard in a few days. It’s still not enough to rid your shame. “Stop running from me! There’s nothing to run from!” 

His tone makes Shoko stand up straight, ready to dive in and protect your shivering figure. They’re just lucky the music is so loud — it drowns Satoru out. “Hey, shithead. You don’t have to scream at her.” 

Sensing this situation won’t get better if they’re idling, Suguru steps in, smoothing his hand over the top of her back. “Shoko, let’s just leave them-

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trying.” You whimper, safe with him so close but torn to pieces at what you know you have to do. You have to leave him. This has to be the last time you two ever see each other. 

Digging deep, there has to be something there — some kind of courage that can rear its ferocious head and set you free. 

“Trying? All we do is try; this is a marriage!”

“And I want out. Let… let me out.” 

“You keep coming back! Why?! If you hate me, stop crawling back!” 

Like always, you’re crying, hunching in on yourself as his anger shoots for your core. ”I can’t stop! I can’t. I wish I knew how…” You shake your head, scrubbing at your eyes like it’s scrubbing how pathetic you feel from your frontal lobe. “I-I’m so scared that I’m not who you think I am, Toru. I need to be free — or at least feel free — and I need to be wanted by you. That’s all I want. I want you.” 

“See? You’re telling me you don’t want me, then saying you do.” He calms down when you’re shaking so bad you can’t breathe, turning that possessive arms-length hold into a comforting hug. “How am I supposed to work with that? Help a guy out.” 

“I want you.” You sniffle, finally calm enough under the prison of your hands to get some real words out. “I don’t feel good without you.”

“I want you, too — easy as that.” Satoru takes that spark you give him and lights a torch. He pulls you away when he feels your hands lower, heart-shattering when he sees your bloodshot gaze. “We’re back together now, got it.” 

“No, Satoru—

“What about me is driving you so far away?! Help me understand, I’ll change!” 

“How can I ask you to change everything about yourself?” 

You can hear it through the fog — Satoru’s heart plummets. He pulls away. “What do you mean?” 

It has to be the drunkenness— there’s no way you just said that out loud. You don’t even believe it. Yes, he has flaws like every other human, but he tries. 

Which is more than you can say. 

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, the door slipped shut because someone knocked on it as soon as the silence hit. The noise stills you to the core. “Satoru, come on. I’ll take you home.” 

Satoru takes a step back, staring into your soul as if he wants to snatch it away… his gaze is off, as if it’s missing something. Or, like something inside of him has died. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

He laughs — something akin. Just a short, stupid breath of air through his parted lips. Silently, he shakes his head, then turns on the ball of his foot, making a beeline straight for the door. 

“Sat-

“Yeah, Suguru, let’s go.” 

“Sure-

“Satoru, don’t.” Now, you’re doing the chasing, piecing together the only two sober brain cells you have to put one foot in front of the other with purpose. 

Through the door, you’re rushing past Shoko, tears streaming down your face. It’s pathetic — honestly, the laughing stock of your lifetime, but right now, you don’t care. It feels like you need Satoru. Like your heart is ripping from your chest every time he takes a step away from you. 

No. It’s not supposed to be like this. Satoru is not supposed to be leaving you. 

The crowd gets thicker as they approach the front doors — Suguru peeks over his shoulder, expression so damning and overcome as he watches you push past bodies to get to them. Satoru is dragging him along now, holding onto his bicep like he’s on a mission. 

“No! Mph– T-toru!” You sputter, the heel of your hand flying up to tug at your eyes. You can’t see much in the haze – the front door is cracking open. Everything falls by the wayside. “I’ll stay, I’ll try! I promise you, I’ll try again!” 

He stops, grip shaking around Suguru’s elbow before he yanks it back. The three of you stand like statues in the middle of the floor, blocking the exit — bodies pushing. You’re out of breath, swallowing tears and wiping wetness when he turns to look at you. 

In the pursuit, his glasses fell, but somehow you can see the look in his eyes. One that loves you, hates you so well, and that can’t hide the devotion he feels. 

It hurts. You’re running face-first into a lie. 

Satoru blinks at you, breathless, as he closes the distance in less than a second, it feels like. He yanks off his glasses, balancing in his left hand as he cradles your cheeks. Sobbing, you grip his shoulder blades, shaking your head when he pulls your gaze. 

There, in the ripe blue light at Midnight, he kisses you like he used to all those years ago. He holds you, eyelashes shuddering against your skin as he leans into you. 

The kiss is hungry and mean — he’s shoving his tongue between your lips, squeezing your face so you don’t run away. You cry and sniffle against him, whining when he bites down on your bottom lip, drawing blood. 

Satoru’s not done for at least a minute — face so red when he pulls away that you swear he’s due to pass out. In that heaviness afterward, he presses his forehead into yours. Not saying anything, just silence. Pulsing music, unfamiliar stares. 

Nothing blooms into something. You’ve thrown your life to the wolves, innocent and baring your neck to be mauled to a bloody, beautiful end. 

That’s why you’re crying now. Not for him… for you. 

Satoru is on his back in bed, your ring finger in his mouth, sucking the metal clean. 

You’re on top of him, crying like always. Head tossed back, jazz music on your skin, and blossom in the air. You’re riding him like a horse, out of your mind with pleasure as he moans your name. He’s fucking you so good, now, knowing you differently since the breakup. You feel different since then, too. Nastier — headier. 

You know what you want. Satoru knows you know what you want. He’s ready to give it all to you, but right now, all he wants to do is suck your wedding ring. 

“You look so hot like this.” You gulp, tongue flicking from your parted mouth. Your free hand reaches forward to rub over his face, marking the expanse red in your wake. “Look at me.” 

He does, slamming open his eyes and staring at you so blue it feels like you’re drowning. Toru’s pupils are blown to Hell, too — so dilated you could be mistaken for a drug he’s high on. 

“Fuckin– look at you.” He groans, teeth grinding as your hips slam down again. He’s sure your calves hurt with the fervor of your want, but he’s just too much right now. Your body is craving him – he’s treating you so well. 

Satoru reaches forward, kissing your glistening ring as he grips and grabs at the flesh gathered around your hips. Your body is making him drool, and the pure mutual attraction in the air is so thick neither of you can snap out of it. You’re caught in a constant state of praise, adoration, lust, and more praise. 

Everything is perfect, here. You’re not sure you ever want to rise to the surface.

Technically, you and Toru aren’t separated anymore. It’s complicated. 

It’s what you two tell your friends – it’s what you tell yourself. He still refers to you as his wife even though things aren’t perfect all the time. He comes to and from your apartment now, just like you do his, and the space is exactly what you two need. Maybe living with him is too much? Being around him constantly is suffocating? 

The pieces are starting to fall into place. Satoru sees that you still need to feel free even when you’re tied to him with a ring you refuse to take off. If it’s staying so perfectly, ripe with his spit and deep in the throes of pleasure, it’s meant to be on you. 

“Oh, you’re stunning – taking me like this.” 

“Tell me, baby.” 

“Sexy fuc-fuckin’ mouth. God, your pretty little lips–

You’re slowing down, catching your breath as you grind on him like you want it to mean something. Your ringed hand pinches at his chin, egging those words you need to hear along. Toru’s spacing out – he’s close. 

You shiver, that deep, grinding sensation setting you ablaze. It doesn’t dawn on you just how far you were edging yourself until you’re about to snap, but it’s impressive. “Want it in my mouth?” You whisper, dragging one of his heavy hands to your lips. Biting and kissing at the soft webbing between his thumb and pointer, Satoru mumbles something adjacent to yes, then no. You giggle – hardly there, but felt through the vibrations of the pulsing position you’re in. 

“No– yes, oh, suck on it, beautiful… Tell me you love me,” 

“Oh, I love you, Satoru.” 

“Again.” 

“I love you!” 

“Come here.” His voice turns into something primal – deep in his chest in a way he can’t replicate outside of the moment. This is taking you there at an alarmingly defenseless rate, closing in like a bounty hunter. 

Satoru yanks his hand from your mouth, pinning you chest-to-chest by the back of your neck. He knows not to be gentle now, taking the small hairs at the nape and nearly pulling them out. Open-mouthed, sharp-toothed, he gnaws at your cheek and ear because it’s just too much to get to your lips right now. 

It gets too much – he has to fuck you. He feels like a track runner, hips rising from the bed so he can carry you both to the finish line. Toru knows you too well, he knows how to sync your orgasms, and he executes it perfectly this time. 

Fingertips digging in that gorgeous muscle around your hips, Satoru fucks you right – the only way he knows how to keep you, now. He tugs at your earlobe with sharp teeth, gasping right into you. You’re sobbing for him, fists pulling at the ruined sheets as the wetness between your bodies gets too much to block out. 

“Ugh – take it.” He growls, screwing his pulsing release deeper inside of you as it comes. You can feel every spurt – your nerves are on fire. It’s that third one that does you in. It pools right against your favorite spot, stabbing deep inside of you as Satoru lays his mark. 

You’re the one that collapses on him once the aftershocks ride away, but he’s still limply thrusting into you like he doesn’t have a mind to stop. 

After the ecstasy, Satoru thinks he feels… sad. He’s sad that its over. He’s sad you’re so tired you can’t talk to him anymore. He just wants to talk to you. He wants to know how he did… was it good enough for you now?

Everything settles. You roll away sometime in the midst, and Satoru sits up. He knows you’re tired – don’t want to be touched, don’t want to be bothered, but he wants you to know how much that just meant to him. 

He wants to show you how loved he feels. Something he hasn’t felt in that last year of your marriage. 

“Ba-

His phone rings. Satoru closes his eyes and wills it to Hell.

Then snatches it up from the nightstand, eyes glancing at the caller ID as he stands and fishes his underwear from the pile on the floor. 

It’s Nanami. Satoru smiles when he answers. 

“Hi! How’s Malaysia?” 

‘I’ll make this quick – I’m having a peaceful time down here.’ 

“Really?! Aw, well we miss-

‘I was offered a position down here at the school… Effective next semester, but effective nonetheless.’ 

Satoru stands still as a statue in the doorway of the bedroom. Glancing back at you, it seems like you’re completely dead to the world; you must’ve drifted off. 

So, he slinks out with his promise of good news, trying to hide his smile as he shuts the door so softly the click is almost invisible. 

When he’s safe from ears-length, he opens his mouth. “That’s so amazing! How amazing! So deserved – really, that’s so great.” 

‘Don’t be coy, Professor Gojo.’ 

It’s hard to hide the face-spanning smile that creeps over his. Then, he throws his hands up – letting it take over. In any case, he grinded for over ten years just to feel this moment. Now, he gets to live it. “God – it just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?” He flushes like a child, bringing his hand to his face to cover the unbridled joy. 

He has to shake himself free of it again. He earned this. He’s allowed to feel excited. 

After all, you’re not at his feet telling him how annoying his light is. 

‘Fairly well, I admit. Look, Gojo, I didn’t know this was going to happen, but I do not regret it. Your pupils adore you, peers love you, and you’re so smart…’ Nanami pauses, taking a deep breath. Satoru can almost see him now – head in his hands, stewing away in the wake of success. ‘You know I have nothing but respect and faith in you.’ 

“Thank you… honestly, thanks.” 

‘I’ll be back in Japan next week – together, we will work on making this transition as smooth as possible, okay? Don’t let this weigh on you, Gojo. The summer semester is slow. It’ll be the perfect time for you to adapt.’ 

“Yes… yes, sir. I understand. Thank you so much.” 

‘Alright.’ 

Just like that, the line clicks on the most important phone call of his life.

Satoru spent the entirety of his twenties focused on this and you – it’s all he knows, so stepping into this shiny new territory is terrifying and so exciting. 

He just can’t stop. Satoru can’t stop smiling. 

Lost in himself in this moment, the only thing that can pull him out is you. The movement from the bedroom behind him makes that smile even wider. Toru just can’t stop winning today – you’re awake after sex. 

Still, he gives you a moment, giddy in his own skin as he paces, combing his hands through his hair, trying to slow down his racing heart. He doesn’t know whether he should grieve for the years past or look forward to the new ones – maybe both? Maybe talking to you can help him balance out these big, conflicting feelings. 

For once, Satoru actually wants to call his mother. 

He abstains, opting to slip back into the bedroom with a small grin on his lips. You’re not in bed – the sheets are ruffled. Satoru smiles even bigger. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” He peeks his head in the dark bathroom, reaching to pull the dimmed lights a little higher. He watches as newness floats over your body as you lower yourself into steaming bathwater. 

You’re exhausted – bones sore. You needed this. 

Satoru walks into the bathroom, turning the dripping shower head you used to rinse entirely off. Silence spills the nude space. He’s biting over his lip as he watches you settle. 

“Hi.” You reply, finally. Eyes drifting shut as heat melts over your entire strung-out nervous system. Against the heat, you’re shivering,  opening your eyes as you lean against the back. Staring at his smile, you can’t help but smile back. “What?” 

Toru’s phone is still in his left hand. He waves it once, then pushes it on the counter. “Nanami’s all kicked up in Malaysia. Totally forgot about us over here.” 

You laugh under your breath, flashing him the sleepy bedroom eyes that make him feral. He steps closer. “Mm… Miss him. Nanami always has the best family-owned bakery recommendations.” 

“My professor is not a review site – but I agree.” 

“Shut up,” You shrug him off with a short laugh, rolling your head the other way as he approaches the side of the tub. The moment falls in silence – Toru is kneeling beside the basin, reaching for your wet hands against the polished stone. 

“I know it’s still too soon to tell how you’re feeling, huh?” He chews on his words carefully, avoiding eye contact when you look over to evaluate the sudden dip in his tone. 

Satoru’s referring to a conversation you two almost had two days ago over dinner. He brought up moving you back in — you declined immediately. He suggested going on casual dates until the pieces are connected again, but you also declined. 

He asked you what you wanted from him, and you lied. You want his company, but you want his lust even more. You want him to scream your name in his sleep — to torment him with debilitating morning wood and linger in the air long after it’s gone. You want to smile in his face and have him smile back — you want that feeling of teeth against softness when he smiles as he kisses you. 

That’s it. 

“What do you want to hear?” 

“That you’ll forget you ever left and let me buy you that house I always promised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nanami took a job in Malaysia. They’re offering me his position.” 

You sit up, water splashing around you as you stare at him dead-on. Satoru is easy to read — when he’s lying, his eyes sparkle in mischief. He’s telling the truth, you can tell. 

Then, it dawns on you. “Oh, my God.” 

He’s smiling as big as he did when he found out, just ecstatic you’re around to tell it to. “I know.”

“Oh- oh, my God. Baby, I’m so happy.” You whisper, shell-shocked as you pull him into a wet hug. “I’m so proud of you.” Your naked chests melt together with water to make them stick. His heart is sprinting like a hare, knocking over your chest cavity for entrance. 

It’s true – you’re so proud of him. Before Toru was your husband, he was a friend. Previously, he was a trusted and beloved colleague. That’s where it should have stayed. 

“I love you. I do it for you.” He kisses your hair, big hands rubbing your back. This moment with you is so tender and warm, like he can pull away and feel the same heat from you. He knows the truth, though – just doesn’t want to admit it. “I feel so good right now, with you and this news. I think it’s hope.” 

Still hugging him close, arms slung over his neck, your hands pull into fists where he can’t see. You’re staring at yourself in the tall vanity mirror. You know what this is – what he’s going to take from this. Now that he’s found success, naturally, he’ll want to drag you into it. After all, you two spent your best years talking about this time in your lives. He’d get this promotion, and everything will be okay. 

So, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you state the obvious. “I love you.” 

~

 Suguru’s house is up in lights, and chatter spills out through the open kitchen window. Everyone sounds so happy – Satoru’s name is on the tip of everyone's tongue… Everyone is so happy. 

Not you. Never you. You swear something inside of you was manufactured with broken parts – this didn’t make sense. You’ve spent the best week of your life with Satoru. You two had the best conversations, and agreed on the minute stuff. This last week actually felt like the promise – a tiny little inkling of the hope Satoru wanted to churn out so badly. 

Inside, you’re nowhere to be found. 

Once he crawls off of you, you’re drowning in overwhelming numbness. 

When he kisses you, some feeling comes back, only to fade away again with the passing breeze. You look at him and see nothing, you’re tired of hearing about the promotion, and you’re tired of your inability to escape him. 

It passes through you all at once as you stare at the promotion party from around the corner. Suguru lives in a beautiful, well-maintained neighborhood – families and salarymen at the top of their field make this street more alive than you’ve ever felt. You envy it. 

You envy their lives – you bet their marriages are perfect, and their children are beautiful. Their cars are probably polished like Satoru’s, ripe with money like Suguru and demanding attention like Shoko.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fall back behind a fence, willing your life to disappear. You no longer want to have a choice. You don’t want a body that feels something your mind doesn’t – you just don’t want to be here. 

It takes everything inside of you to do it, but one-foot steps in front of the other. Your arms shake as it clutches your purse against your body. Tears come – you welcome them. 

You welcome anything that pours some feeling back into you, because you feel like a dripping, empty chasm. Burning the hope you two created as fuel, your slow steps turn into determined strides, sneaking a look over your shoulder to see if anyone from the gathering was following. 

Maybe you want them to, or maybe you just want to disappear off the face of the Earth. 

You chose the latter. 

France is beautiful around this time of year, but not the city. The countryside sparkles in the humid breeze, away from all the noise and sewage. It feels a little bit like home, only you can’t go back there. Not yet. 

Not when you gave every single piece of your old self away. Of course, you kept the ring and the last name – it feels good to carry him around. It’s proof to your former self, there to remind you that those years did exist, and they were good. 

It’s just you. You’re the faulty component. You’re the missing piece. Satoru is an angel – you’re nothing but a stranger who crashed into his life and drained his happiness from his sweet soul. He doesn’t deserve that. 

The toll you took on him was starting to kill you, but he was too indebted to ever let it show. Satoru would see the darkness in your eyes when he turned your words into a joke, then nod and tell himself to never do that around you again. Being so close to you for so long, his light started to fade at the corners like a vignette. 

He never mentioned it, and when you began to notice, you hated yourself. 

Now, you’re cordial with your mind. It’s had time to think and heal just being alone. Being in France is just a vacation for you – sleeping in a bi-weekly rented cottage a few hours from the Capital. 

You truly picked the destination out of a hat after leaving Tokyo. You quite literally ran for the hills – sending off the stack of divorce documents to his new office at Tokyo-U for him to sign. Inside that sealed package, you had decided to give him the note you had written when you left the first time. You’re not sure why you kept it, but you knew you needed to. 

This was why. You knew you were going to leave again. 

With the absence of him, you’ve begun writing again. It started as notes to him, then to your past self – now it’s studies of the mountainside, the way the air smells as it rushes through your hair. Small little poems to take your mind away, and it feels so good. You don’t feel like a walking extension of him anymore, but you feel like a Gojo. There’s that scary sense of power that sits over your shoulders, knowing it’s all one phone call away from falling back into place. 

You have plans to reach out to him eventually, but it feels good to not exist anymore. It feels good to pad around the little cottage in nothing but your socks and underwear, reciting the poem you wrote yesterday without care of anyone hearing. 

It feels good to feel the morning light on your skin, snaking in through the window with the week-old dried wishbone on the sill. You love this life right now, and that’s all you need. 

All you need is right now. 

@coralbae @nylve @torueater @yossellinn @kiwikeeahwah @gojoikawa @peacequeen2 @asimpinamillion @genericxseas @casssiesthings @bypanana @kr3ideprinz @kamuihz @bbqsauceonmytddys @sukunaslilsocks @spacefae-x @tenaciousavenueavenue

[petersluvbug]

Baby, I Loved You First

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・

⇨ 「pairing— bff!bob reynolds x fem!reader」

⇨ 「summary— bob’s been your best friend since you met him in the vault; you had an instant connection. he’s always been in love with you, but you’re too oblivious to see it, dating guys who don’t love you like bob does. but after months of watching and listening to you go on dates with random guys, bob finally has enough and tells you how he feels. what’s even better?? a storm brews in while he walks you to your date’s house.」

⇨ 「a/n— first fic on this account whoop whoop!! i’ve been obsessed with lewis pullman and thunderbolts* so i had to write for him. i haven’t written in a while so i’m a bit rusty pls bare with me. also this is kinda based on Loved You First by One Direction. i hope you enjoy!」

⇨ 「warnings— both think it’s unrequited (it’s definitely not), reader is OBLIVIOUS (but so is bob), slight mention of bob’s childhood, past addiction, & alcohol, bob’s HELLA jealous, angst, cursing, yearning!bob, fluffy ending yay!!, and i think that’s it」

⇨ 「word count— 5.5k」

You tried to sneak out of the tower unnoticed, you really did. But Bob caught you before you could even get near the elevator door, stopping you in your tracks. Geez, it was like he has a sixth sense or something.

“Where are you going?” He asked you nicely, not sternly or orderly, just politely asked you to see where you were going. You gave him a look, the look of I-know-exactly-what-you’re-doing and you weren’t going to give in. In his defense, he’s just being a good friend—your best friend—by looking out for you and making sure you’re safe.

“Out,” you responded, crossing your arms over your dress that was way too short in Bob’s opinion. You felt goosebumps crawl up your skin as Bob met your eyes and stared, and eyebrow cocked in suspicion.

He hummed, “Out… Where? Outside? It’s supposed to rain soon, I hope you know. You’ll get cold in that dress.” You rolled your eyes at him, he was being a smartass and both you and he knew it.

You scoffed, “No, doofus, out as in I’m going out. With someone.”

Bob felt a familiar feeling rise up his chest and in his stomach. He hated when you went out with random dudes who don’t even like you for you. They don’t know you like he does—don’t love you like he does.

The brunette went through every excuse to keep you here in his mind, but knew none of them would actually work. He still tried though. “Can’t you reschedule? Like I said, it’s about to rain, storm even, and it could be dangerous for you to go out.” Oh man, he was horrible at making up excuses. He struggled to find the right words to keep you here in the Watchtower with him, but they didn’t work. You really wanted to see this guy, apparently.

With a sigh, you walked over to Bob and rubbed your hand up and down his arm, “Thanks for your concern, Bob, but I’ll be okay. I can handle myself. Especially a little bit of rain.”

“But it’s gonna storm-“

You giggled, “Okay, I can handle a storm, Bob.” He sighed and looked down. There was no persuading you into staying home with him and he was finally starting to accept it. “I’ll be just fine, I promise.”

He nodded, still not meeting your gaze. “Is he picking you up, at least?” There was at least that, and it would ensure your safety which is all he cared about.

You sighed and shook your head, “No. He said it would be easier if I met him at his place so he would have more time to get ready.” Bob could hear the disappointment and embarrassment in your tone, not liking the idea of a selfish douche who won’t even pick up his date just because he needs more time to get ready.

“Are you serious?” The words flew out of Bob’s lips before he even had the chance to think about saying them. His eyes snapped up to yours, which were filled with an emotion he can’t read.

You gave him a nod, wishing you didn’t agree to go on this stupid date in the first place.

“Can I at least walk you there? I’ll leave before he sees me, I just want to make sure you get there safely.” Bob grabbed your hands that began to fumble with the fabric of your dress and held them gently.

Smiling, you nodded your head as blush crept up your cheeks and butterflies erupted in your stomach. “Of course you can.”

———

The walk to your date’s house was filled with a comfortable silence between you and Bob. There were people roaming the streets, making the usual bustle of a crowd, but it blended in the background as all you could think of was the brunette next to you.

As the crowd began to get bigger, Bob’s pinky finger found yours as you both waited for the crosswalk light to change, his heart rate picking up. Not only was he touching you, but he also hated big crowds. He always got anxious around big groups of people, always finding solace in the feeling of your pinky wrapped around his, grounding him that it’ll be okay and you were there. There with him. He’d rather stay inside all the time and avoid going out, but you dragged him out of his introvert shell without even knowing it. He would do anything for you, even if that meant being in a large crowd of strangers in the big state of New York.

“You okay?” You looked over to him with a soft look in your eyes, squeezing his pinky a little to reassure him.

He snapped out of his daze and looked down at you, “Y-yeah. I’m okay. This light is taking forever, though.” He puffed his cheeks, only making you let out a giggle. The sound of your laugh brings a smile to his lips, occupying his mind from his anxiousness with his favorite sound momentarily. He loved making you laugh, it made him feel special, and it meant so much to him.

The light finally changed, illuminating a little white silhouette of a person that instructed you to walk. The large flock of people began walking across the street, their moves quick and mindless of the others around them. You tugged Bob’s finger as you stepped onto the street, dragging him along with you to the other side.

Once you made it to the sidewalk, you looked over to Bob whose face was flushed and beat red—you assumed it was from the quick pace you were walking, but it definitely was not from that.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you spoke as the two of you strolled past stores and cafés and clubs that were surprisingly—but not really—still busy and filled with lively people. Bob nodded but stayed quiet, still following you as you turned a corner that led to a residential area.

The feeling of dread overwhelmed Bob; he knew that you were getting close to this guy’s house and hated the idea of leaving you alone with him.

This area was less crowded, you and Bob were actually the only people on this side of the street. There were a couple of others on the opposite side of the road, but where you walked it was just the two of you.

Silence filled the air around you both once again, but a loud clap of thunder broke it. Bob jumped slightly, unlacing his finger from yours to hold your hand. He hated storms, they brought back bad memories from his childhood and he always came to you for comfort during them. You remembered him telling you stories from his childhood after he got comfortable with you and trusted you, this fact being one of them.

You gripped his hand tight and tugged him closer to you, your arms pressed against each other like they were made to fit just like that. Bob let out a shaky breath as you continued walking, feeling his tense shoulders loosen a bit from your touch.

You were here. With him. It was going to be okay.

But soon you wouldn’t be with him. You would be with some random guy in his house, possibly even sitting on his couch while you waited for him to get ready. Alone. With him. Not with Bob.

He knew what he had signed up for when he offered to walk you to your date’s house. It would be pouring down rain by the time he dropped you off and walked back to the Watchtower, and even worse, it would be thundering and lightning. But he didn’t care about that. He was going to face his fears to make sure you were safe.

As you walked hand in hand, Bob couldn’t help but think of all the times he watched you go out with random men you met online or at a bar or whatever. He hated seeing you in the arms of someone else. Of another man. Another man who wasn’t him. He would see you kiss guys who don’t deserve your lips, dance with guys who don’t deserve to touch you, and get into cars of guys who don’t deserve you period.

He was sick of this. Sick of seeing your heart being taken away from him. It tears his world apart, and even worse, his heart in two. He should be the one feeling your lips on his. He should be dancing with you, even though he cannot dance whatsoever. He should be taking you on dates. He should be the one. Even though he doesn’t think he deserves it. Deserves you. Because no man could ever deserve you.

He beats himself up each day for not just telling you how he feels, but he didn’t want to ruin the great friendship the two of you shared. He couldn’t lose you, it would break him even more than watching you go out with guys who don’t actually love you.

Nothing could be worse than losing you.

Even though he loved you first and more than any other guy you dated could.

———

“Bob, you should just tell her.” Yelena’s voice spoke in his ear as he watched you dancing with some guy, his arms wrapped around your waist, hands slowly moving down your hips. God, Bob wanted to puke.

Valentina thought it was a great idea to throw a party at the Watchtower, and said it was “good publicity” for the New Avengers. The lights were dimmed and colorful lights were strung up all around the place that lit up the area. Lit up you on the dance floor and the stupid guy whose hands were sliding down a little too far for Bob’s liking.

Bob rolled his eyes with a sigh before looking down at his hands. He and Yelena sat at the bar with a perfect view of where you were dancing. He made sure to sit somewhere he could see you and make sure you were okay without disturbing your fun.

“I can’t. She doesn’t feel the same way about me,” Bob took a sip of his drink—a Shirley Temple with a few too many cherries it, just how he liked it. He didn’t drink alcohol, not since he had gotten sober from his drug addiction. He didn’t want to go down that road again.

Yelena scoffed and took a swig of her drink. “Bullshit, Bob.” She told him multiple times that she saw the way you looked at him, and that you most definitely felt the same way, but Bob never listened. He just couldn’t believe you would feel that way about him. No way. Why would you go out on so many dates with random guys if you did?

He didn’t answer her, only took another sip of his drink and chewed on one of the soft cherries as his gaze landed on you once again.

It should’ve been him dancing with you. He could’ve been where he is standing. With you and holding you so close that your bodies molded together like a completed puzzle.

It should’ve been him.

But it wasn’t.

———

The first time Bob saw you kiss a guy that wasn’t him, he felt his whole world crumble into a million pieces.

Since you were gone on a date, he felt brave and went out of the Watchtower all by himself to go to a nearby bookstore a few blocks down. He definitely didn’t pick it because it was right across the street from the restaurant you were at. Absolutely not. He wanted a certain book and it just so happened that the bookstore right across the street from you had it in stock. Definitely no other reason.

You had told him where you were going, just in case anything happened and you needed him. And he definitely did NOT force the information out of you before you left.

As he was checking out at the register with the book he came for and a few others, he peered behind the cashier and into the window to see if he could spot you. Gently grabbing the bag of books and his change from the cashier, he bid her a kind “Bye, have a nice evening.” and left the store.

His eyes finally found you, smiling and laughing at whatever your date was saying as you both made your way outside the building. He didn’t hold the door for you, and that made Bob scoff. He would’ve held the door for you. He would hold and do anything for you without being asked. But this guy didn’t.

Bob watched as the guy grabbed your wrist as you tried to start walking away. Walking back to the Watchtower. Back to Bob. He pulled you into his chest, and brought his lips to yours in an instant, his hands finding their way to cradle your head. Bob felt his insides explode in fire and fury as he watched you stand still with this guy’s hands on your head and lips on yours.

God, that should’ve been him.

He clutched the bag in his hand tightly as he watched you pull away from the kiss you and your date shared. He felt like a creep watching you like this, but reassured himself that he was just looking out for you. No harm in that.

Except there was. Watching you kiss someone else hurt. It hurt so bad because he knew that it would never be him kissing you. It hurt because you’ll never know Bob’s true feelings for you, and he knew you’d never reciprocate them.

That’s what hurts the most.

———

“Bob? Are you okay? You’re being kinda quiet,” your voice brought him back to reality. Brought him back from his torturous memories of you with other men.

He looked over at you as another clap of thunder erupted from the sky, “Yeah. I was just thinking about something, sorry.” He looked away from your concerned face and down at the concrete beneath his feet.

“Thinking about what?” You asked, but Bob immediately shook his head. He couldn’t tell you what exactly he was thinking about because he was thinking about you. Like he always was.

“Nothing. It’s not important,” he shook off, not wanting to discuss it anymore. You just nodded and went along with it, noticing how something was bothering him but didn’t push because it was obvious he didn’t want to talk about it.

After walking for a few more minutes, you finally stopped in front of what Bob assumed was your date’s house. His heart rate picked up once again, not ready to be alone without you with him.

“Well, this is the place,” you gestured to the building before you with your free hand. You turned to Bob with an appreciative smile on your face, “Thank you for walking with me, Bob.”

He felt a bittersweet smile form on his face, a soft nod as he spoke, “Of course, Y/n/n. Anytime.” You looked into his eyes as thunder boomed in your ears once again, making Bob squeeze your hand tightly.

“Are you going to be okay walking home?” You asked, silently communicating the fact that you know he hates storms and are concerned about him walking home alone in one.

He hesitated for a moment before nodding, “I’ll be fine.” You give him an unsure look, eyebrow raised. He laughed softly, “I’m serious, Y/n, I’ll be okay. If it makes you feel better, I’ll text you when I get back home.”

You sighed, “Please do.” He gave you a smile in response as you let go of his hand to walk to the door. His smile faltered slightly as the he felt the cool breeze of the nighttime air touch his hand when yours left it, wishing your soft, warm hand never left his.

He heard thunder again as he turned away and started to walk back the way you both came from the Watchtower, a familiar feeling settling deep in his stomach and chest as he walked away from you. He didn’t want to leave you here. He wanted you to come back home with him and spend the rest of the night watching movies and eating junk food until 3am.

As he began to move his feet in the other direction, away from you, his mind raced through all sorts of feelings and thoughts of you and what would happen if he told you how he felt. Maybe if he told you now, you wouldn’t step through that door to that guy’s house and go out on a date with him and possibly kiss him. The thought of that idiot kissing you irked him in so many ways to the point that Bob felt nauseous.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not again. He was so sick of this feeling, of yearning for someone who constantly puts themself through shitty dates in hopes of finding the one. Why were you searching for the one when he was standing right in front of your face this whole time?

The uncertain feelings that you didn’t feel the same way flooded him in that moment of thinking, however. What if he made a big mistake and ruined your friendship forever? What if he made it awkward between the two of you? God, he can’t lose you. He’d rather lose the world and anything else than you.

Before meeting you, he never understood what love felt like, receiving and giving. He never felt love from his parents in his childhood, so he didn’t know what it looked and felt like to be loved and cared about. And because of that, he never knew how to love either. He had a hard time trusting people, and always felt like a burden to everyone. But that changed when he met you.

From the first time your eyes met his, he knew that you were different from the others. From the very beginning, you had always been gentle with him and cared about his wellbeing and made him feel wanted. You had this soft twinkle in your eyes when you looked up at him, a look he hadn’t seen from anyone else. Maybe that’s what Yelena was talking about.

“I see the way she looks at you, Bob. She only has those eyes for you.”

Yelena’s voice played through his head as he thought about the way you looked at him and no one else. Maybe it wasn’t so crazy that you felt the same way about him. But he just couldn’t for the life of him wrap that thought around his head that you could actually feel that way towards him. He wasn’t lovable, didn’t feel like he was anyway. He’d done some bad things in his past, and he believed he didn’t deserve to be loved by anyone. Especially by you.

But he knew one thing.

That guy inside didn’t deserve you either, and Bob needed to do something about it before it was too late and too far gone. You would eventually find the one, and Bob wasn’t going to let that happen.

He had to tell you how he felt, and he had to tell you now. The rejection would sting and shatter his heart in a million pieces but maybe that’s what he needs to get over you and move on. He was terrified. He didn’t want to lose your friendship, but he knew if he didn’t tell you now, he never would.

So he did something he never thought he would do.

“Y/n, wait!” He quickly spun around as the words left his lips without thinking. You stopped your tracks at the top of the steps by the door, your finger hovering over the buzzer to your date’s apartment.

You felt nervousness wash over you, “Yeah?”

Bob sighed and clenched his fists tightly, “Don’t go in there.” God, what was he doing? He regretted opening his mouth, but there was no turning back now. His eyes met yours, which were filled with confusion as your hand dropped down to your side.

“W-what??” You didn’t know what was going on or what Bob was doing, but you couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved when he stopped you. “Why not?” You finally mustered up something to say to a very nervous Bob.

“Because…” He started, but didn’t know what to say or how to say what he feels. You stood there waiting for his answer as another boom of thunder filled the city and lightning illuminated the sky. “Umm… never mind. It doesn’t matter. Forget I said anything. Have a nice date.” He quickly blurted out before turning around and walking away from you, his fingers fumbling with the end of his sweater.

You felt your heart sink a little before running down the stairs and over to Bob before he got too far. “No, wait!” You caught up to him and grabbed his arm, softly tugging him back to stop him and turn him towards you. You felt a cold drop of rain hit your forehead as he spun around, making sure to not meet your gaze. “Bob…” You brought your hand up to his chin to make him look at you, his eyes filled with a sadness that made your heart melt. “Why don’t you want me to go in there?” You asked again, but oh-so softly this time.

He looked at you with flushed cheeks and worry filling up in his chest. This was it. The moment he didn’t want to come because he would tell you his feelings and you were going to reject him and tell him you didn’t feel the same. This was the moment he knew he was going to lose your friendship. “Because I hate seeing you go on dates with guys who don’t care about you like I do.”

Your heart skipped a beat, rapidly beating up your throat as Bob spoke to you. He couldn’t possibly be implying what you think he was implying, right?

“W-what do you mean?” You had to ask, had to know what exactly he meant by that. Your heart needed to know even though it was most likely going to crush it.

You felt another raindrop hit your face. And another. And another.

He looked down, “I mean, they don’t care about anything but the few facts they know about you. They don’t know you like I know you.” The rain began to pick up, raindrops falling on your still confused eyes.

“I still don’t understand-“

“Of course you don’t understand!” Bob’s voice boomed, startling you from his abrupt loudness. His eyes weren’t soft and sad anymore, now they were replaced with slight annoyance. “All you do is busy yourself by going out on dates with random men who don’t know you or give a shit about you.”

You gape at him, his words kind of stung. The rain picked up and started flowing down a bit faster as you stared at him in shock. “I do not.” What had gotten into him?

He pushed his fingers through his now-wet brown locks, “Yes you do! You always tell me about how you’re trying to find the right guy or someone to make you happy. How are you supposed to find someone like that on a dating app? Those guys don’t care about you, Y/n.” The rain was pouring now, soaking your clothes and your hair that you spent over an hour fixing. You could tell Bob was getting angry, and this was a side you never saw from him. What happened to your sweet Bob?

“And how are you so sure, Robert?” Your cadence was laced with venom now. You tried to be calm, but his anger and hurtful words made you upset and frustrated. You never used his full name, it was always Bob or doofus. He didn’t like hearing Robert come from your lips, it sounded foreign.

He scoffed and rubbed his eyes, the rain water beginning to burn. He felt his tense shoulders start to loosen slightly, even though the stress was still present in his body. This was going nowhere, and arguing was not what he intended on doing at the very moment. He had to tell you what he meant to tell you now before it was too late. “They don’t deserve your time, Y/n. And they especially don’t deserve you.”

You gave him an incredulous look, “What are you saying, Bob?” You were confused, angry, soaked, and quickly losing your patience. You looked at him expectantly, urging him to answer your question before you turned around and buzzed that damn buzzer to get you out of the rain.

He pushed his wet hair out of his face once again before beginning, “I can’t stand watching you go on dates with guys who don’t care about your wellbeing. With guys who don’t know you like I do and don’t know your likes and dislikes. With guys who really only talk about themselves and never ask about what you enjoy. It’s so hard listening to you after each date talking about how selfish these guys are and then watching you go out with a different one the next day!”

He ran his hand down his face, wiping the rain off just for it to pelt down on it once again. “When are you going to see that the right guy is standing right in front of you?!” His breathing was heavy and short as he stared into your eyes, feeling the weight begin to lift off his shoulders. Your eyes widened.

“Bob…” You began, not knowing what the hell words were or how to form a sentence in that moment.

He shook his head, water droplets hitting your face from his wet hair. “God, I’m so in love with you.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in. He can’t look at your face right now, it would take every bit of confidence out of him. “Ever since we met and I looked into your eyes, I knew it. Even though I never understood what love felt like before, I realized that it was what I felt about you. I’ve loved you from the start and will till the very end. You’re the only person to make me feel like this and always will be. Even if you don’t feel the same way, my heart will always be yours.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt water fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t tell if they were tears or if it was the pelting rain, but you didn’t care. Bob put his feelings into words so beautifully it was poetic, making the butterflies in your stomach go crazy as you stared at the man in front of you. The right guy. The one.

He spoke the same feelings you had been feeling for a very long time now, feelings you thought he didn’t reciprocate. But he did. All of your constant overthinking and worry washed away at his confession, bringing you a certain joy that you thought you would never feel. The joy of being loved. The joy of being loved by Bob.

“Please say something,” his voice was low and laced with uncertainty. His eyes were open now but glued to the ground, watching the rain drops hit the puddles underneath your feet.

Your hand finds his chin, lifting it up to meet your gaze. There were tears in his eyes, you think, you couldn’t quite tell by the rain but saw the look on his face. He looked so defeated and dejected when he looked at you, expecting his heart to be crushed even more than it already was.

You brought your other hand to his face to cradle it like it was the most fragile thing in the world, a soft smile creeping up at the corners of your soft lips. “I’m so in love with you too, Bob.”

His eyes widened as thunder thrummed through the air once again, but the two of you barely heard it. You were both focused on one thing and one thing only, and that was each other. Your surroundings, the rain, the thunder, and even your date who was probably wondering where you are were silently in the background. Nothing else mattered except the two of you in that moment.

“You… you do?” Bob’s voice was still uncertain as his eyes flickered between yours and your lips. He needed to make sure he heard that correctly before he lost control of his senses and kissed the hell out of you.

You nodded, feeling Bob’s hands moving to tuck your wet hair out of your face before cupping it tenderly. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” Your forehead met his, both wet and cold from the pouring-down rain.

His eyes met yours, “Can I kiss you?”

“Of course you can, doofus.”

That was all it took for Bob to place his lips on yours and kiss you with such delicacy it makes you dizzy. It was slow and passionate, your lips moving and molding together in a way they were destined. You could taste the raindrops and salty tears on his lips and were sure he could taste the same on yours. The rain in the background created a wall around you and the only two people within those walls were you and Bob. His lips were so soft against yours, and it just felt so right.

You finally broke away from the kiss after what felt like hours of bliss and passion to catch your breath, just staring deeply into one another with a fondness no one else could give. The sound of the rain was the only one you heard, but there was still a comfortable silence between you two.

After a minute, Bob smiled and leaned in to place a tender kiss on your nose, “I love you so much.” His face was only inches away from yours but yet he still wasn’t close enough.

“I love you so much more,” your lips turned upwards as heat flushed your cold rain-soaked cheeks.

He hummed and shook his head, “Not possible.” Before you could speak up again, he leaned into your ear and his lips ghosted over it. “And you should probably cancel your date.” You could feel him grinning into your ear as you let out a giggle. He pulled away when you grabbed your phone out of your purse, sending a quick text to the guy before deleting and blocking his number.

You weren’t going on any other dates with random guys anymore. The only man who will be taking you out on dates from now on is Bob. And you couldn’t be happier.

———

“Hey, Bob, have you seen my-“ Yelena barged into Bob’s room, not even thinking about the fact that you might be in there before bursting through his door. “-charger.”

Her eyes were wide when she saw the two of you lying down on his bed with you on top of him and a movie playing softly in the background. Your lips were moving together slowly and passionately as Bob’s hands made their way up your back and to your hair, your limbs tangled with each other.

The sound of Yelena’s voice caused you both to snap your heads up and lips away from each other. Both of your lips were kiss-swollen and your eyes were wide, the looks on your faces were filled with embarrassment as you got caught making out with your boyfriend. Does anyone knock these days??

Yelena shivered and gagged, “You know what, I’ll just use Ava’s.” She then turned on her heel and slammed the door shut behind her, wanting to burn the image she just saw out of her brain forever.

With the slam of Bob’s door, you turned your head back to him and let out a flustered giggle. He grinned and laughed softly along with you, bringing his hands back down to settle on your hips.

Bob brushed your hair behind your ear with one hand, the grin on his swollen lips growing even bigger and eyes beaming up at you. God, did he love you.

You sighed, a smile still evident on your face and cheeks flushed bright red as you gazed down at him. “Yelena is never going to let us live that down.”

Bob chuckled, “Nope.” His hands traveled their way back up to their spot in your hair before pulling your face closer to his. “But I don’t care. I just wanna kiss you again.” And then he did, your lips met his again and moved and molded together like a puzzle that was finally finished.

His lips on yours felt so right in every way possible, and you couldn’t ask for anything better in your life. Because your life was complete, he was your missing puzzle piece. He was the right guy all along. He was the one.

[schitthappens]

Growing up Steve's parents hated all the tourists that crowded their little town so they vacationed elsewhere to avoid the rush. Steve went with them and adopted their hatred of tourists that took him away from his friends and his favorite place in the world.

Eddie loved the summers he got to spend with his Uncle Wayne, the energy of all the people, the late nights and slow mornings. Now that Eddie has graduated, he works part time at the plant with his uncle and gets the watch the town he loves transforms every summer into the lively hotspot of strangers. That is of course until he gets his heart broken one too many times by a tourist leaving at the end of the summer never to be heard of again.

The summer before Robin goes to college Steve begs to finally have a summer with her before she leaves for the year. And since the main house has already been rented out for the summer, Steve and Robin get a 2 month long sleepover in the guest house.

It's about a week into the summer when Robin drags Steve to the arcade. She's been showing him all the spots that are still present throughout the year but come alive in the summers. The ice cream shack only opened for the few months. The amphitheater with live music every weekend. The arcade that stays open later so all the kids are in bed and they can play without interruption. It's here that Steve first lays eyes on him. Long dark curly hair, thin waist and legs that go on for days. If only it wasn't summer and Steve could look at this man forever, but of course he's just here hogging the Skee-ball machine until fall rolls around.

Steve sees him again the next night and before he can say anything Robin is marching her way over to the group he's with. Steve misses any introductions trying to catch up with Robin and it takes him well into the night to put together the fact that he actually went to high school with a few of the guys and Robin knows them from band but Steve is sure he would recognize Eddie (it didn't him near as long to learn that bit of information) if he's seen him before.

In the following days their little group continues to meet up most nights. Steve and Eddie couldn't be more different but end up inseparable. Robin would be hurt that Steve was ditching her for a new friend on their first summer together if he wasn't making sure she was always included, which might actually be hurting Steve's chances.

"I think Eddie thinks we're dating" Robin says to Steve on a night they decided to stay in and have a 'girls night'.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Well only if you were waiting for him to make a move".

Steve sputters at that, "Wha- why would you think I'd want Eddie to make a move? We're friends and the summer's almost over anyway."

"Steve it's not even the 4th of July yet!" She rolls her eyes at him.

"So!"

"So have your fun while you can!"

"Robbie, you know why I can't do that!"

Robin can tell they're getting into dangerous territory and drops it "Fine. What color do you want your nails?"

"Red." and they move on from that conversation.

---

As the summer progresses, Steve and Eddie keep getting closer. Chrissy returns from her summer vacation and it's Robin that ends up ditching Steve once a week for date night. It's one of these nights that Steve almost kisses Eddie. If it wasn't for the sudden fireworks, Steve would have done it and then there'd be no saving his heart from the eventual heartbreak that would be sure to come at the end of the summer. He's already dreading it enough not need to add kissing (or anything else for that matter) to the mix.

Steve pulls back and tries his hardest not to be alone with Eddie, especially late at night, curled up on a blanket, under the stars, but it gets harder as the weeks go on.

Eventually Robin starts packing for college, Steve's parents are due home in a few weeks and Steve doesn't know what's gonna happen when the summer ends. Whenever Eddie brings it up Steve avoids the question or changes the subject not wanting to hear how far away Eddie will be and how he'll try to keep in touch it won't last past Halloween.

The whole group hangs out less and less as one by one people leave for the summer until it's just Steve and Eddie. A few times Steve thinks Eddie is gone for good without saying goodbye until he's there the next week at the arcade playing Skee-Ball with Steve or they're seeing a movie together.

It's the middle of September when Steve finally kisses Eddie. They had gotten burgers and milkshakes together and walking through the quit town together. Not another tourist in sight and Steve can't take it anymore.

"Umm what was that?" Eddie sputters after Steve had pulled away.

"Sorry did I misread this?" Of course Steve was making it all up in his head like he always does.

"No but why now?" Eddie looks so confused. "Why kiss me now when you're just going to leave soon?"

"Leave?" Now Steve is confused.

"Yeah summer is over. Don't tourist go back home at the end of the summer?"

"I'm not a tourist"

"But you're renting that fancy guest house!"

"From my parents.."

"And you said it's your first summer here!"

"but I've spent every fall, winter and spring here since I was born."

"So why didn't you kiss me earlier?" by now Eddie is exasperated.

"Because YOU'RE a tourist and you're going to leave me!"

"Maybe at one time I was, but Steve I've lived here for 3 years now!"

Of course they each had a million other questions to ask each other but now that they knew neither one was going to leave any time soon Steve pushed Eddie into the nearest alleyway against the brick wall and kisses him like he had wanted to all summer.

Robin just rolled her eye when Steve called to tell her the news.

Steve and Eddie meet in a cute little tourist trap of a town. They go all summer dancing around their feelings for each other, but both of them have strict "no dating tourists" policies--- no point in getting attached to someone who already has a return flight booked.

They spend all summer dreading the day the other one heads home. It takes them damn near til Halloween to realize--- neither of them is a tourist.

[motorsportbarbie13]

Is It A Sin? (part one)

hello i'm baaaaaaack babies. this idea came to me randomly one night and, as most of my ideas do, it just spiraled out of control from there. this is part 1 of 2 but i have something planned for this universe so this is just the start for this universe :)

a brief summary: when you go back to the college where you did your undergraduate degree in mechanical engineering to speak to a group of upperclassman, your longterm boyfriend Lando decides to tag along. you two are as solid as they come and comfortable in your own skin together. and then, you see your college ex-boyfriend who is convinced you are the one that got away. what happens next threatens everything that you and lando have built over the years and you just have to hold onto hope that you two will work things out.

no content warnings in this part. part two will contain smut. quick note though. lando is aged up a handful of years in this. there's no real 'timeline' so to speak so this probably takes place a few years in the future or could take place now. just...go with it, okay? :) as always, thank you to my writing therapist and beta reader @lestapiastrisgirl <3

word count: 5.5k words

yourinsta posted

45,298 likes lando, collegebffcora, collegebff2sofia, and others liked your post. yourusername back to my roots with my love collegebffcora OMG you're in town for the game?! so are sof and i! text meeeeeeee >>>yourusername for the game and to talk to frank's upperclassman :) you can meet lan finally! texting you now >>>collegebffcora YES PLEASE BBY! <3 lando who's that handsome fella in that first photo? >>>yourusername that's my boyfriend, aren't i lucky? :) >>>lando he's the lucky one to have you in his bed at night ;) >>>maxfewtrell WILL YOU TWO QUIT IT. ffs. this is was texting was made for. >>>yourusername you're just jealous he won't flirt with you on main >>>lando absolutely mad with jealousy >>>maxfewtrell i hate you both yourusername <3

You always thought it was strange the way the brain tied certain smells together with certain significant seasons and moments of life. The moment Lando opened the Mercedes’ door that afternoon and you stepped foot onto your alma mater’s campus for the first time in what was probably years, you were transported straight back to college. 

It was the middle of October and the students that were rushing past you and your boyfriend were deep in the throes of fall semester. The air was crisp and cool, exactly how you always remembered your mid-west roots. The scent of burning leaves floated past, lazy and heavy on an equally slow moving breeze. It wasn’t cold yet, not really. Just cool enough to make you crave a bowl of your grandmother’s chili and a nap with a college football game as the soundtrack. 

The wind picked up as Lando stood beside you in the parking lot of the engineering building and you watched out of the corner of your eye as he pulled his McLaren cap down lower to shield his face. 

“Why is it so bloody cold out?” He mutters, making a grab for your hand as you adjusted the strap on your bag. 

You chuckle, shaking your head as you allow your fingers to be captured by Lando’s larger ones. The calloused fingers that are so skilled at pulling sighs and shudders out of your body rub comfortingly against your palm. 

“You think this is cold?” You tease, tugging on his hand so you a make the quick walk towards your destination. “You don’t know cold until you have to walk across campus to an 8am physics class in the middle of December.” 

You cringe at the memory. That had been your first, and last, 8am class of your entire college career. 

“Absolutely not. No, thank you. I’m glad we don’t live where the air hurts my face.” 

You roll your eyes but bump your shoulder playfully against your boyfriend’s. You and Lando had been together for a handful of years now so the banter and teasing came as easily as the lazy mornings spent in bed. He was your person and you were his. 

In the early days, before you had gotten together, you had started out as friends. You always figured that’s why you and Lando were so solid; the foundation you’d built over a few years of knowing each other through McLaren was strong. It hadn’t always been like that, but now? You and Lando would often have entire conversations with just a look and a smirk. 

Nerves flutter in the pit of your stomach as you get closer to the main engineering building. It was an old, imposing gothic styled structure that was looming and intimidating, even for someone who was more than familiar with the building and what it held behind the stone walls. 

“What if someone asks me a question I don’t know the answer to?” You ask in a small voice just before you reach the steps. 

Lando freezes with one foot on the bottom stair, head swiveling around to give you a look.

“Ok first of all, I’m not entirely sure there’s a question my genius girlfriend can’t answer, so knock that off.” Lando starts while pulling you to a quiet corner between the steps and the stone walls of the building before dropping a kiss onto the tip of your nose.

“And secondly, this isn’t an exam, baby. There’s no wrong answers. They just want you to talk about how you went from nerdy little engineering student to Lando Norris’ hot girlfriend.” 

The tension that had been building in your chest since the moment Lando had pulled onto campus pops like a soap bubble floating on a spring breeze. You laugh, loud and open, something that you’d only started allowing yourself the pleasure of doing since you've been Lando. 

“That is absolutely not what they asked me to talk about and you know it.” You say though your laughter, grinning widely when Lando wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close. 

“What are you talking about?” He scrunches up his nose like you’ve just said the most ridiculous thing and shakes his head. “Yes it is. I read the email your old professor sent Zak six months ago! Subject Line: Appearance Request for Lando Norris’ Brilliant Girlfriend.” 

“You’re a menace” You roll your eyes, feeling the anxiety that’d been sitting heavy in your chest loosen even more as Lando tips his hips forward to create just the barest of friction between your two bodies.

He grins at you wickedly when the tips of your ears go pink.   

“But I’m your menace.” He murmurs, voice muffled as he mouths at your jaw like some sort of feral animal. You squeal softly, squirming away from him as he laughs against your flushed skin.

“And seriously.” He continues, pulling back so he can look you in the eye, serious this time. “There are no wrong answers because all they want to hear about is how amazing you are. How you went from little baby intern with the McLaren college program to full-fledged fancy-schmacny performance engineer for the best F1 driver on the planet.” 

Lando’s grin splits his face, his eyes sparking with a mixture of pride and affection.  

“Not that you’re biased or anything” You deadpan, laugh edging back into your voice again. 

Lando gasps so theatrically that a few people turn their heads your way as they walk towards the engineering building. “I’m an impartial judge of performance, thank you very much. How dare you call my integrity into question?” 

Leaning into Lando’s body heat once again, you press your lips to his. “I love you” You whisper against his lips, smiling against the kiss when his hand finds your hip and pulls you close again.  

“Did it work?” He asks. 

Your tilt your head, brow knitting together as you try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Did what work?” 

“My distraction tactics. Are you still nervous?”

You blink up at your boyfriend, caught totally off guard at his confession. It shouldn’t surprise you, that was the kind of man Lando was. He was a consummate ‘fix it’ person and knew exactly how to handle your anxiety when it struck.

He never made you feel less than, never made you feel silly for the questions you frequently asked him. You’d often been teased by family and past boyfriends for getting so worked up over the smallest little things when you were actually quite a smart person.

But not Lando. Never Lando. 

Even before you started dating, he had quickly become the person that you’d gone to when your anxiety hit and you needed someone to get you out of your head. 

“No…” You say slowly, the tight string of tension that had been slowly wrapping itself around your neck since you woke up this morning was suddenly and decidedly looser. “No, I’m not.”  

Lando takes a step back, offering his hand to you as he looks at you expectantly. “Then let’s go get ‘em tiger.” 

Most of the class is seated when you and Lando walk into the lecture hall. There are a few murmurs that make their way around the room when people realize who it is holding your hand. Lando just pulls his hat a little lower, a soft smile on his face as he lets you take the lead. 

At the head of the classroom stands your old advisor and mentor, Frank Crowley. He’s an older man, now solidly in what he lovingly calls his ‘retirement years’ even though he teaches a full course load and advises several student-run organizations. Before coming to teach, Frank had worked in IndyCar as well as NASCAR for decades. It was how he knew Zak and was partially responsible for helping you land your internship all those summers ago. 

You make a beeline directly for him, throwing your arms around Frank in a giant bear hug. You viewed him as more of a grandfather figure than a professor and still traded emails back and forth with him on a regular basis.

Sometimes it was just a quick update on your life but other times, you’d come to him with a problem you’d been stumped on at work. He was always encouraging you to push the rules a little further, take more risks than you were naturally inclined to take, and encouraged you to be the first one to celebrate your own victories. 

“It is so good to see you, my dear.” Frank says, hugging you tightly. “It’s been too long.” 

“Have you decided if you’re going to come to COTA next weekend? There’s 2 VIP paddock passes with yours and Joyce’s name on them for any race you want to come to.” 

Frank chuckled, holding you at arms length to give you a once over. “Joyce doesn’t do well in the heat but we’re thinking about the race in Vegas.” 

Your eyes light up. Frank had never been to a race while you’d been working in F1 and you were dying to have him see what his mentorship had done for you. “You let me know and I’ll make it happen.” 

Frank nods before his eyes flicker to Lando who’s standing behind you. “And this must be the man who’s got our girl all gooey eyed in her Instagram posts.” 

The blush that skitters across your cheeks is deep red and has Lando laughing loudly.

“She’s got me pretty gooey eyed too, sir.” He steps forward, extending his hand to Frank. “Lando Norris, it’s such an honor to meet you sir. She’s always talked so highly of you, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet the famous Mister Frank.” 

Frank nods sagely before turning his attention back to you, “Nice, strong handshake. Called me ’Sir’. Showered me with compliments.” Frank gives you a strong nod of his head, “He gets my stamp of approval.” 

You shake your head and laugh, a shimmer of pleasure running down your spine when Lando’s hand slips around your waist, settling proudly on your hip. 

“Okay!” Frank calls out after glancing at the clock. “Looks like it’s time to get started. If everyone could get settled, we have a special guest here today, and I’m not talking about the Formula 1 driver over there.” 

The class chuckles softly as Lando gives your hip one last squeeze before making his way back to the side of the lecture hall. He was more than happy to watch you dazzle the class and take a backseat, giving the spotlight over to you. He knew you deserved it more than you’d ever allow him to claim. 

Frank gives a you quick introduction, telling the class your name along with a brief history of your accomplishments that you’d achieved while going to school before turning it over to you, asking you to tell the class what you’ve been up to since landing the college intern program spot several years ago. 

“Thanks Frank.” You nod before taking a step towards the middle of the classroom. “Hi everyone. Like Frank said, I am currently a senior performance engineer for the number 4 McLaren Formula 1 car.”

You pause, dragging in a deep, steadying breath. There are what looks to be close to 50 or 60 people in the class, mostly men, and suddenly your self-conscious anxiety starts to squeeze tightly in your chest. Your eyes go straight to the side of the room, finding a familiar pair of watercolor blue eyes that anchor you to the spot.

Lando smiles at you so brightly, the tension in your chest immediately dissipates. It’s his real smile he's giving you now, not the one he uses for PR duties with the team. This is the authentic smile that he saves for you, the one that’s built from the strength of your connection to him and how well you two know each other now, inside and out. 

Feeling steadier on your feet, your eyes return to the middle of the room. “I spent the summer between my junior and senior year working in the McLaren Technology Center.” 

Nostalgia pulls at something in your stomach, familiar butterflies taking flight when you think about that summer. It had been the first time you’d met Lando. Your friendship with him had been completely innocent at first. You had still been dating your college boyfriend in fact, so you hadn’t even been looking at Lando like that.

You'd been on your way to the simulator room in the MTC when you'd gotten turned around. The only one in the hallway in both directions had been Lando Norris himself. You'd been mortified to ask him of all people for directions but he'd been on the way to the sim himself.

The rest, as they say, is history.

After that afternoon, the two of you had forged a friendship that had continued after you’d returned back to your college campus and picked up right where it left off when you took a job with McLaren the following spring. 

“For the first year after graduation, I did sort of a rotation period within the engineering department and spent time with the different teams, eventually landing a permanent role within the team that runs the simulator.” 

You take a breath, finding Lando’s eyes still steady on you. You can almost see him going down memory lane with you, can see the way he’s recalling your time at McLaren when you two had been just friends. Close friends. Best friends, probably. But nothing more. 

Until you were more. 

More than just friends and it got messy. 

And you’d nearly crashed and burned before you’d really gotten started. 

Blinking rapidly, shaking the difficult memories of that stretch of time without Lando in your life from the cobwebs of your brain. 

“After about a year, I started volunteering to travel with the team for race support.” You chuckle, shaking your head. “That is the real grunt work of F1. Long hours, lots of time spent on planes, late nights and bad food.” A nostalgic smile takes over your face once again and you find Lando in the crowd. 

Those late nights weren’t necessarily spent with the team, but no one but you and Lando needed to know the truth. 

“But that’s where the real experience comes. Being in the garage when the cars are out on track? That was why I joined McLaren in the first place. I had found where I thought I belonged. I volunteered for more and more races, spent hours running over data with the team, being a sponge and absorbing everything any of the senior engineers would give me.” 

You continue on from there, detailing how you’d gotten a promotion at the beginning of the year to full-time performance engineer working under Lando’s engineer, Will.

There had been a few raised eyebrows when that particular announcement had been made. Everyone knew you were dating Lando and had been for a while when you’d gotten the promotion but the people that mattered: Will, Andrea, Zak? They all knew your work spoke for itself and you’d earned that spot on Lando’s performance team. 

Before you know it, the hour and a half is up and you’re chatting with a few of the women that were in the class. One of them invited you to come to their Women in STEM meeting that was happening the following night, which you happily agreed to. You’d be in town for another few days so you were happy to spend some time with the few women STEM students that the university had. 

Most of the people wander out after a while and finally Lando finds his way back to you, slipping his arm around your waist and pulling you close, murmuring about how good you were up there during the class. Frank is caught up with a student discussing an upcoming exam so you patiently wait off to the side of the lecture hall to say your goodbyes for the evening. 

And then, someone completely unexpected is saying your name. 

You spin, blinking rapidly at the sound of the voice you haven’t heard in what felt like a lifetime. 

“Andrew.” You stammer. “I…I didn’t know you were going to be here today.” 

Andrew was here. Your college boyfriend. The man that made you choose between him and your career. The man that you hadn’t seen since the day you’d crossed the stage at graduation all those years ago. He still looks the same. Same broad frame, same dark brown eyes that seemed to watch you like a hawk wherever you went, same charming smile that he knew how to use like a weapon to get what he wanted. 

Lando’s fingers tighten around your waist automatically, like a reflex he can’t fight. He knew exactly who was standing in front of you now; knew that this was the man that you’d been with when he’d first met you that first summer.

You didn’t talk about him all that much and Lando didn’t like to ask questions about your past relationships. It was like a bruise that only hurt if you pressed too hard. 

Suddenly that old bruise had bloomed new and purple and seeing Andrew stood in front of you with such a charming smile on his face felt like several fingers pressing deep into the injured skin. 

“I ran into Frank in the faculty lounges this morning and he mentioned you were going to be on campus. He knew we used to..." He pauses, eyes flicking briefly over to Lando and smirks "be close, thought I’d like to see you again. You look absolutely incredible, by the way. I sat in the back corner the entire time and couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

“Oh…” You glance awkwardly at Lando before giving him a half smile, “Well, thank you. I appreciate the compliment. You said faculty lounge? Are you a professor now?” You ask, trying to steer the conversation away from how pretty your ex-boyfriend thought you were. 

Beside you, Lando shifts, not liking the way this conversation doesn’t yet include him. 

“God, I always forget that you don’t keep up with the rest of us now that you’re off in Europe full-time.” Andrew says cooly. 

You roll your eyes, missing the accusation in his tone. Lando doesn’t though, he doesn’t miss a thing about the way Andrew is watching you, eyeing you up and down like a meal to be savored. 

“I got a part-time position about five years ago, went full-time last semester. Mainly 100 level classes, but I like it well enough.” He continues, not even sparing Lando a look. 

“How exciting! I know you always wanted to teach at some point, so that’s amazing that you’re doing that.” Silence stretches for a beat, awkwardly settling between your small group before you shake your head, “I’m so sorry, I’m being so rude. Andrew, this is my boyfriend, Lando. Lan, this is Andrew Hargrave.” 

“Her college boyfriend.” Andrew extends his hand and Lando glances down at it briefly before hesitantly shaking it.

“We could probably compare notes, huh?” Andrew says, his tone just this side of joking so that you don’t still don’t pick up on the way he’s trying to make you flinch. 

Lando narrows his eyes. Who the fuck was this guy, anyway? Comparing notes on his girlfriend? This was the guy that made you choose between him and your career. You’d never really spoken poorly about him but some of the stories you’d told Lando over the years about Andrew had caused him to see red flag after red flag, even if you didn’t share that opinion. 

“My mum always taught me it wasn’t polite to kiss and tell.” Lando shoots back with a smirk that you know is borderline fake. 

“Well if you ever need some advice on how to handle this little firecracker here, I’m happy to help.” 

You huff a laugh, not taking the dick measuring contest Andrew seemingly wants to get into with your boyfriend seriously. Beside you though, you feel Lando stiffen further. You knew Lando had a jealous streak a mile wide that went right along with the way he felt like he was never enough. 

“I don’t need to ‘handle’ her at all, she’s her own person. We’re a team, I look after her and she looks after me.” 

Andrew’s eyes go wide at the venom in Lando’s voice and you draw in a breath before reaching down to find tangle your fingers with his, giving them a squeeze, a silent ‘don’t cause a scene’ message passing quickly between you. 

Andrew turns back to focus on you, his Cheshire Cat grin growing wider. “It sounds like you’re living the life over in England though. Our little small town girl all grown up and making her mark on Formula 1 just like you always dreamed of.” 

You didn’t seem to catch the sarcasm in his voice, which blows your boyfriend away. How were you so calm about this? He raged internally. Lando heard every lilt of condescension, every gentle attempt to flirt with you. It made him dizzy with anger.

“I’m incredibly happy with my life, yeah.” You agree. 

Lando turns back to Andrew, sticky sweet smile on his face, “It’s kinda crazy that you tried to get her to give up the opportunity to work with McLaren and stay here in this little town instead. I, for one, am glad she chose herself.” 

“Lando…” You scold him with his name. You knew what he was doing. Knew he was jealous, even though there wasn’t a single reason to be. “Enough.” 

Andrew’s eyes ping back and forth, seemingly enjoying goading Lando into a reaction. Only Lando notices, it seems.

“It’s okay.” He says easily, turning his gaze back onto you. “He’s right, asking you to choose between me and your dream job was a stupid move and I paid the price.” 

Lando narrows his eyes. The sudden acceptance of responsibility didn’t sit well with him. There was an angle to what this guy was saying and he didn’t like it one bit. 

Before you have a chance to respond, Frank finally joins your little group, greeting Andrew with a quick handshake. Much to Lando’s displeasure, he invites Andrew to your planned dinner that you had all planned on going to after the class was finished up. Fortunately for Lando, Andrew has to refuse due to an evening class but says if you’re free, you should give him a call, that he’d like to catch up and reminisce before you leave town later in the weekend. 

Over Lando’s dead fucking body. 

You nod noncommittally before saying a brief goodbye, quickly dodging the hug that Andrew tries to pull you into before Frank leads you and Lando out the door, leaving your ex-boyfriend to watch you leave with the man that he lost you to. 

Your hotel room felt suffocating. Like there had been a storm brewing since the door had snicked closed behind you and Lando that evening. Dinner had been mostly professors from your college along with a few closer classmates that were in town for the football game that weekend. Lando sat back the entire evening, watching you in your element, laughing and joking around with the people who had helped build you. 

It should have felt good, watching you come alive like that. And Lando did feel that comfortable ache that comes along with knowing who your person in the world is.

But there was something deeper beneath that pleasure.

Something sharper.

Seething and possessive. 

Lando had always thought of your past relationships in the abstract. He knew you’d been involved with other people but that was always in the past, somewhere hazy and not part of your fond memories. 

Seeing Andrew tonight had cracked something wide open in Lando’s chest. Here was a physical reminder of the other choices you’d had. Lando wasn't dumb. He knows you had other choices. Other choices that would have led to a different life. 

And God, sometimes it kept Lando up at night; wondering if you thought you’d made the wrong choice. If you were disappointed at where your choices had led you. 

Those choices that had led you to him. 

So when you got back to the hotel room that night, skin chilled from the cold October night, Lando had worked his way into a mood that he couldn’t seem to shrug off. It was like he’d felt the center of gravity shift this afternoon and he didn’t know where he stood. 

“Why don’t you go take a shower and relax.” You suggest gently as Lando flings himself onto the giant bed in your shared hotel room. 

You could practically feel the waves of anxiety and something deeper, something darker, rolling off Lando. The energy in the room shifts as Lando ignores you, turning his head towards the balcony outside. 

“Or you can take a nap.” You say lightly, wanting to tread carefully. 

Something was up. Clearly. But Lando didn’t seem open to doing any talking at the moment so you just kept to the opposite side of the room, catching up on some work emails. You were technically on vacation and didn’t need to check emails but next week was COTA and you didn’t want to miss anything important that might go down at the factory. 

“I genuinely can’t tell if you’re trying to provoke me or if you’re just that blind to what happened earlier today.” Lando spits into the tense silence. 

You blink, processing his outburst before slowly turning your head to look at your boyfriend. “Excuse me?” 

Lando sits up, brows pulled low over his eyes. His eyes are downcast towards the carpet but you know him well enough to read the anxiety sitting heavy on his shoulders, tense and taut up towards his ears. You had known he was probably not happy about being blindsided by Andrew earlier in the day but this reaction seemed to be a bit much, even for Lando. 

Finally he looks up, anger written all over his face. 

“You’re going to sit there and tell me that Andrew didn’t spend our entire conversation today either hitting on you or trying to remind me that he had you first? You didn’t pick up that? Or do you just not give a fuck that your ex is clearly still hung up on you after all these years?” 

You don’t respond right away. You can’t. You’re actually stunned into silence.

It takes a few moments but you eventually recover the ability to form words.

It wasn’t that you didn’t care that Andrew was apparently still hung up on you, though you didn’t think that was the case. It was that it genuinely didn’t matter to you what was going on in Andrew’s head to you.  

You stand and start pacing the bit of floor between the bed and desk. “That’s just how Andrew is. He’s full of himself and obnoxious. He was the same way when we…” You pause. 

Your eyes slice over to where Lando sits slouched against the headboard. He doesn’t look up but you can see his body tense. 

“He was the same way in college and he clearly hasn’t changed.” You change what you were about to say to spare Lando’s anxieties. 

“He said he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and wanted to compare notes with me, baby! How is that okay in any situation?” Lando tosses his hands up in the air. 

“Lando, that was a joke!” You cry, exasperated by the way this conversation is devolving. “He says a lot of stuff he doesn’t mean. He’s an idiot, yeah but I don’t think he meant anything by it.” 

You stand at the food of the bed, hands tucked into the team hoodie you’d been wearing that night. Before Lando has a chance to reply, your phone chimes with an incoming text message from where it sits on the desk. Letting Lando take a breath to cool down, you pick up the phone and read the message. 

“Ah, look. I bet that’s him now, isn’t it? Asking to get lunch tomorrow so he can stare at you some more, huh?” Lando mutters bitterly. 

Fire ignites in your chest, angry and molten. It was one thing for Lando to be uncomfortable with the way Andrew had spoken to you earlier that afternoon but insinuating you were texting your ex-boyfriend and planning to see him again? 

“Too far, Lando.” You whisper, the anger in your chest stoking down to something more smoldering, more painful. “Do you really think that I’d entertain any of that?” 

Lando shrugs, “You didn’t seem to have a problem with him flirting with you earlier, so maybe you think it’s okay to reconnect with him over lunch too.” 

Your head spins at the flawed logic. “What in the actual fuck are you talking about? I would never do that and you fucking know it.” 

It wasn’t often that you two got into fights like this. In fact, you could probably count the number of times you’d yelled at Lando like this on one hand.

“I thought I knew that but things seem different with Andrew.” Lando knows he’s crossed a line as soon as the words are out of his mouth. 

You go completely still. “Did you just accuse me of being capable of cheating on you?” 

Lando shoves his hands through his curls, groaning. This was all falling apart at the seams and he didn’t know how to get control of it anymore. “Fuck.” He breathes, “No that’s…”

“That’s not what you meant?” You interrupt, tone mocking. “Then what the fuck did you mean when you said you ‘thought you knew but things seem different’? Because that sounds a lot like you think I’m capable of cheating on you, Lando Norris.” 

Your heart ached so fiercely you have to lean against the door. Lando was your person. He had been since the day you’d met him. What had started out as a friendship had grown into the kind of relationship every one of your friends was jealous of.

Lando doted on you non-stop. Bought you things before you even asked for them. Flew you out on extravagant vacations. But even more than that, he was emotionally there for you whenever you needed him.

Insecure about something you said in a meeting? Lando would always find a way you feel better. Upset over a project at work? Lando would always be able to hype you up out of that awful self-doubt cycle you were so prone to falling into. 

And you tried to do the same for him too. Always. But this? This was too much. 

“I think I’m going to go take a walk before one of us says something we can’t take back.” You say quietly, reaching for your purse that sat discarded on the desk beside you. 

Lando stands. You’d never argued like this before. Never left mid-fight. Ever. The muscles in his shoulders bunched together, anxiety knitting the fibers together in tight knots. “Baby, no…wait…” 

You hold a hand up to stop him from reaching for you. 

You’d never done that either. Never resisted physical touch from him. 

Lando’s heart shatters. 

“I need some space.” You whisper, not trusting your voice to come out any stronger that that. 

You turn to leave the hotel room, Lando standing with his hands shoved in his pockets staring at you miserably. When your hand reaches for the doorknob, you turn back to Lando with a bitter smile on your face. 

“By the way, that text?” You pause, flipping your phone around in your hands, shaking your head. “That was Frank. Do you want to hear what he wrote?” 

Lando doesn’t say anything but doesn’t protest either, just looks at you all pale skin and wide eyes. 

“My sweet genius girl.” You begin, voice wobbling at the edges, you’re so full of warring emotions. “I am so proud of the woman you’ve become and the man you’ve found to love. He was the picture of besotted all night tonight and I am so glad you are the lucky one to be on the receiving end of that. I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you look at Lando. That’s the look of someone who’s found their soulmate. I know because that’s the way I look at my Joyce, even after 57 years together. Hold on to that tightly, my dear. Never let it go.”

Silence.

The words hit Lando with devastating force. 

His heart squeezes so painfully he gasps against the anguish. 

“Baby…” 

You shake your head. “No, I need a minute Lan. I’ll be back in a few hours.” 

With that, you turn back to the door, opening it wide before disappearing down the hallway, leaving Lando alone in the room.    

[mivogjk]

CHRIS LOVES EYE CONTACT

warnings: blurb, missionary, dirty talk, pet names, english is not my first language

words count: 0,4k

your eyes are tightly shut as you try to match chris’ rhythm while he fucks you impossibly hard. erotic moans escape your lips, your hands grip the sheets, and your hips rise to meet his thrusts. your body is covered in goosebumps and sweat, but you feel so good you can barely think—chris is pounding into you so rough, so perfect, it makes your toes curl.

"eyes on me, pretty girl. wanna see how i ruin you," he growls when a deep, powerful thrust makes his hips slap against yours with a loud, skin-on-skin sound. "c’mon, baby, look at me."

you open your eyes, and his bright blue, hungry ones meet yours. chris leans closer, his lips crashing against yours. god, how he loves your lips—so sweet, so tempting, making him kiss you over and over until you're dizzy. he bites down on your lower lip, tugging it down. you whimper and jerk your hips.

"what’s that, sweetheart? ya like it when i bite your lips, huh?" the soft, wet walls of your pussy suddenly clench around his cock, and he groans. "yeah, tha’s what i thought."

the next second, his big hands press against the inside of your smooth thighs, pinning them to the bed and spreading you wider. "fuck, look at all this mess ya made." he stares right where his cock disappears into your slick folds, how perfectly your pussy takes him. "this cunt was made f’me," he coos.

"chris—i’m gonna cum!" he can tell by the way your walls tighten around him, how your hips tense more with every thrust.

"then ya gotta look right into my eyes, pretty girl. wanna see how good you look cummin’ on my cock." his movements turn ruthless, the speed of his thrusts overwhelming.

the only sounds leaving your mouth are filthy moans, sharp gasps, and shaky breaths.

you feel his fingers brush your clit, but you don’t know if you’re allowed to look down. "yeah, keep those eyes right here, baby," he purrs, driving into you so deep it steals your breath.

chris speeds up, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. obscene, wet sounds fill the room, making everything feel even dirtier.

you could feel your arousal ready to explode at any second. "chris, oh my god! 'm cumming, 'm cumming!"

"let it go f'me, sweet girl." and then you did—so hard that you felt dizzy and your thighs were shaking. chris watched as you fell apart under him, because of him. so pretty like this.

"thaaaat’s it, good girl, juuust like that." he rolled his hips as you were lost in pleasure. your eyes wanted to close the second you felt his fingers on your chin. "nah, baby, you gon' watch me destroy this pussy. 'm not done with you yet."

chris loved eye contact. he’d keep making you look at him so he could see your beautiful face as pleasure took over your whole body.

lowkey hate it but wtv

with love, m ❤️

© mivogjk

[confessionsandcreampies]

sexual dynamics of the blue lock boys

isagi yoichi – duality king. gentle beast. at first, he’s sweet. soft touches, patient hands, checking in with that low, careful voice. but the moment you praise him? it’s over. something shifts. that competitor core of his snaps awake. now he’s got your legs over his shoulders, hips slamming into yours with obsessive precision, whispering, “am i doing it right, baby? you sound so good.” his praise kink is vicious. he wants eye contact while you fall apart. once he’s in the zone, he’s relentless, focused, filthy, and absolutely feral. dynamic: gentle dom turned primal competitor. will keep going until you’re brainless.

itoshi rin – emotionally repressed destroyer. he fucks like he’s trying to shove every unspoken emotion into your body. no words, just heavy breathing, a grip too tight on your hips, eyes locked on the way you fall apart. he’s cold, clinical, but there’s something burning underneath. he kisses like he hates how badly he needs you. no soft talking, no dirty moans. just raw, brutal need. and afterward? he brings you water, wraps an arm around you silently, and pretends it meant nothing. dynamic: silent dom. rough. controlled. secretly obsessive.

itoshi sae – detached, degrading, feral under pressure. sae makes you wait. he’s slow, mocking, runs his fingers down your stomach and says, “already begging?” but it’s a front. because once you whimper, once you say his name in that tone, he loses it. he’ll choke you just enough to feel you squirm, call you a dumb little thing for needing him so much, but fuck you like he’ll die without it. jealousy pushes him over the edge. he degrades with his words but worships with his body. dynamic: soft sadist. detached dom with a jealousy complex. dangerous in bed.

shidou ryusei – unhinged demon with a praise kink. he laughs when you can’t take it. growls when you cum. fucks you like he’s high off your moans. shidou is chaos. he bites, he scratches, he pins you to whatever surface is closest. nothing about him is quiet. but he’s obsessed with you telling him how good he is. praise him, moan for him, and he’ll wreck you. he gets harder the messier you get. there are no limits with him. just endless, feral energy and you trying to survive it. dynamic: bratty dom. feral, relentless, and addicted to your pleasure.

nagi seishiro – lazy lover turned obsessed addict. at first, it’s lazy. curious. his fingers trace you like he’s testing a new game. but the moment he tastes you? he’s addicted. gone. the laziness vanishes. he eats you out like a man starved, moaning into your thighs, overstimulating you without mercy. he loves when you ride him, all sleepy and messy, but don’t be fooled. once he’s deep enough in it, he’ll flip you over and show you he’s stronger than he looks. and he always wants “one more”. dynamic: pillow prince turned possessive switch. addicted to your taste.

barou shoei – growling power dom with a possessive streak. there’s no softness here. barou fucks like he owns you. pushes your face into the mattress, spanks you hard enough to leave fingerprints, fucks you until your legs give out. growls in your ear about how no one else gets to see you like this. he doesn’t talk sweet, but he shows his obsession through how rough he takes you. he’s a beast, pure dominance, and you’ll be lucky if he lets you walk straight afterward. dynamic: power dom. territorial. primal. hates sharing. hates teasing. wants full control.

bachira meguru – sweet pervert with a wild streak. he makes sex feel like play. giggles when you moan, kisses every inch of you, loves when you squirm. but bachira’s not all sugar, he’s secretly a deviant. rope? toys? mirror play? he’s already experimented. he watches your face when you cum and smiles like it’s art. let him know you want him, and he’ll flip the switch, going feral with a wild glint in his eyes and whispered filth between giggles. dynamic: playful dom. switchy and adventurous. loves every part of your pleasure.

mikage reo – worshipper in the sheets. sugar dom. you feel like royalty with him. he kisses down your thighs like they’re sacred, whispers “you’re so perfect” while pushing into you, buys you lingerie just to rip it off. he moans when you moan. tells you he’s lucky. but brat a little? call him soft? he’ll show you otherwise, pin your wrists and make you beg while smirking like the devil. he’s a giver, but he runs the game. dynamic: service dom. spoils you rotten. worships and controls with equal heat.

michael kaiser – egocentric menace with a fixation problem. kaiser fucks like he’s better than everyone else and then proves it. he loves to make you whine, cry, beg. denies your orgasm with a smirk, asks you who owns you while you’re shaking, makes you say it twice. but if someone else so much as looks at you? he’s jealous. rabid. grabs your throat and fucks you like he’s stamping his name into your soul. he gets off on the power on being the center of your world. dynamic: cocky, possessive dom. loves to dominate, loves it more when you submit.

[mikkies]

「 THE WINNER TAKES IT ALL, THE LOSER HAS TO FALL. 」

Guest 1337 x GN! Reader┆Shedletsky x GN! Reader┆Two Time x GN! Reader

warnings: uhh I think projection is a warning

notes: I didn't want to write for fuckass two time since he's winning the hottest poll with builderman but I gotta do what I gotta do. ANYWAYS ANGST, heavy angst or light idk.

☆ — GUEST 1337:

THE WOODS ARE quiet tonight. Quieter than usual. The kind of silence that presses in from all sides, thick like fog, humming with things left unsaid.

You’re inside the small wooden cabin you and Guest 1337 share. The fire is down to embers.

Your hands are raw from cleaning the mud off his vest.

He said nothing when he walked in—just dropped it on the floor, collapsed on the bed, and stared at the wall like he expected it to blink first.

“You’re back early,” you offer gently.

He doesn’t respond.

Just keeps rubbing his thumb against a stain on his pants that isn’t there.

“Are you hurt?” you ask, trying not to sound too concerned. He hates that.

He flinches, like your voice pulled him out of somewhere deeper than the forest. “No. Not really.”

You sit next to him on the bed.

His shoulders tense. You’re used to that.

You’ve learned to be quiet when it counts. He usually appreciates that.

But tonight feels different.

“You said something earlier,” he murmurs suddenly, staring into the dying fire. “About how the trees look like bones.”

You blink. “Yeah?”

He’s quiet again for a long moment. Then:

“Daisy used to say that. She’d look at the woods from our window, say they looked like a ribcage trying to trap the stars.”

You’re not sure what to say. You didn’t know her—not really.

You only know the way he gets distant when her name is mentioned. Like it conjures ghosts only he can see.

“I never told you that,” he says, and his voice is thick now. Not quite trembling—but close.

“I never told you anything about her. But you keep saying these things. Acting like her. Laughing like her. Even your handwriting…”

He trails off.

You feel something cold settle in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “That’s the worst part.”

He turns toward you. For once, he looks. Really looks. And what you see in his eyes isn’t love—it’s grief. It’s desperation.

“I think I started loving you because I missed her,” he says.

“I thought if I looked at you long enough, maybe I’d forget her face. Or maybe I’d start seeing hers on yours.”

You look away, heart lurching.

“I thought maybe the Spectre put you here for me,” he continues. “Some kind of mercy. Someone to keep me from going completely hollow.”

You open your mouth, but your throat tightens. You feel like you’re going to choke.

“But it wasn’t mercy,” he says bitterly. “It was punishment. Because now I’m holding a good person hostage in a story that was never yours.”

He stands. Walks to the door.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “For what it’s worth.”

Then he leaves, letting the door creak open behind him.

You stay there by the fire, surrounded by the ashes of someone else’s memory.

☆ — SHEDLETSKY:

SHEDLETSKY IS QUIET tonight.

Not “funny quiet” where he’s holding in a joke, waiting for the perfect moment to strike with some dumb pun or impression. Not “tired quiet” after a long run through the woods with your hand in his.

This is a silence that hurts.

You watch him from the corner of the room. He’s sitting on the floor, hoodie pulled over his head, hands buried in his hair, wings twitching in his back like they’re trying to pull free and fly off without him.

The air in the cabin is thick. Like something is rotting between the walls. Something neither of you want to name.

“You’re not eating,” you say.

He doesn’t reply.

“I made your favorite. Well, as close to it as I can get in this hellhole.”

Still nothing.

You crouch next to him, gently brushing one of the head-wings. It droops, like it recognizes you, but not enough to lean into your touch.

“You okay?”

He exhales shakily.

“You laughed earlier,” he says softly. “It sounded just like her.”

Your hand stills. “Who?”

“BrightEyes.”

You feel your blood run cold.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he continues, voice far away.

“Thought if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be real. That maybe you were her. Or something close enough.”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

“You’ve got her smile,” he whispers. “Her warmth. That stupid thing you do with your nose when you’re thinking too hard.”

“I didn’t know I did that,” you say, voice fragile.

“She did.”

He laughs, a sound that breaks in the middle.

“And I let myself believe—just for a moment—that maybe I got lucky. Maybe the Spectre gave me one last chance.”

Your heart cracks.

He pulls back his hood. His eyes are glassy, dark, and distant. “But you’re not her.”

You know this. Of course you know this. But hearing it out loud shatters something inside you.

“I keep looking for her in you. Every time I hold your hand, every time you say my name, I try to convince myself it’s her voice. I make jokes because she used to laugh at them. I kiss you and close my eyes so maybe I can pretend.”

You feel your hands curl into fists.

“I’m not a replacement,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “And that’s why I hate myself for what I’ve done to you.”

The cabin is too quiet now.

“I should’ve stopped it,” he says. “Should’ve let you go when I realized.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

He looks at you finally. “Because I was scared. Because every time I looked at you, I felt warm again. Alive. Like maybe I wasn’t sent here.”

You say nothing. There’s nothing to say that won’t sound like begging.

He stands, wings flexing once, then folding tightly against his body.

“You deserve someone who loves you. Not the echo of someone I can’t let go.”

“Shed…”

“I’m sorry.”

He walks toward the door.

You want to stop him. You want to scream. You want to cry until the night ends.

But there’s no dawn in this place.

Only darkness.

And two silhouettes—one that left, and one that was never truly seen.

☆ — TWO TIME:

IT WAS WEEKS before you found the photo.

Buried deep under the altar, folded in cloth soaked with dried candlewax and dark stains. 

The image was faded—Two Time, grinning, more human than you’d ever seen them, beside a boy with soft features and brighter eyes. 

His face had been gouged out with something sharp. Over the top, in black ink:

GLORY TO THE SPAWN.

You touched the torn edge. A chill ran down your spine.

They came back not long after. You were still holding it.

“Oh,” they said, softly. “You found it.”

You turned, photo still in your hand.

“This is Azure.”

It wasn’t a question.

They didn’t deny it.

They stepped forward, slow, like approaching something fragile. 

Their smile was sad now—gentler than you expected.

“I used to love him,” they said.

Silence stretched between you, thick and brittle.

“Why?” you asked.

They sat across from you, folding their hands. The dagger gleamed faintly in the firelight.

“He believed in me,” they said. “He believed in the Spawn like me. And he loved me enough to let me use him when the doctrine demanded sacrifice. He never begged. He just… looked at me. And smiled.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“But you’re with me now,” you said. “You moved on.”

They looked at you like they didn’t understand the words.

“I didn’t move on,” they said, and the words sank like stones. “I found you.”

The silence turned sharp.

“You remind me of him,” they added. “Not just your voice or your eyes. But the way you hesitate before you speak. The way you ask questions even when you’re scared of the answers.”

Your blood ran cold.

“So that’s why you wanted me,” you said slowly. “Because I look like him.”

They didn’t deny it.

You stood up.

“That’s all I am to you. A shadow.”

“You’re more than that,” they said, quickly. “You’re his echo. His proof. The Spawn sent you to remind me that I’m on the right path.”

You stared at them, horror dawning like frost.

“I’m not a message from your god,” you said. “I’m not some ghost. I’m a person. And I loved you.”

They looked away, something bitter twisting their features.

“I know,” they whispered. “That’s why it worked.”

You felt your chest crack. “What worked?”

“This,” they gestured to you—your body, your pain. 

“The comfort. The feeling. The illusion that he never left.”

You backed away.

“You should’ve let me go,” you said. “You should’ve let him stay dead instead of pulling me into your grave.”

“I couldn’t,” they said. “Because when I’m with you, it’s like I never stabbed him. Like he forgave me. Like we’re still—”

“But we’re not!” you snapped. “I’m not him! I’m not his forgiveness!”

Their voice dropped to a whisper. “But you’re the closest I’ll ever get.”

You turned away.

They didn’t stop you.

You opened the door and stepped into the night—cold, still, endless.

Behind you, Two Time sat in silence, holding a torn photograph and the warmth of someone who never truly belonged to them.

And you left, knowing you were never loved.

Just remembered.

[fairestbeard]

Carmy has always been jealous of Syd and Richie's relationship

The terrific trio: A great deal of this show really is centered around the relationship between these three people

We all saw how heartbroken Carmy looked at Syd saying she needed Richie. That was one of his biggest fears coming to pass. He's always been jealous of Syd and Richie's relationship and it started right from the moment the three of them met in that walk in freezer.

Syd and Richie's meeting is my favorite meeting between two characters of all time. It was so dramatic and funny and interesting and I can't get enough of that scene. It was Richie being his charismatic but obnoxious self and Syd just matching fire for fire with the quickness, which is the first thing that made me fall instantly in love with her. Carmy all the while is in the middle of that whole run-in acting very protective of Syd in the moment.

We all assume with good reason that he cut between them because Richie said something inappropriate, calling Syd sweetheart. But his reaction started the moment Richie reached out to Sydney, introducing himself.

Maybe he was anticipating the inappropriateness? Or maybe it was something else?

Exhibit 2: His reaction in Ceres after Richie and Syd had a traumatic experience together and had to check in with each other, as they should.

He turns away and looks very sulky after he sees that exchange between them.

Exhibit 3: The way he leaves the kitchen just to find out what they are talking about? Come on, Carmen, it's like 10 minutes to service lol.

Also here's another example of him just being done with whatever was going on with them in "The Beef" in S2. He's given up at this point 😂. He can't stop them from being them. It is what it is.

Season 2 explored the swing and miss attempt at a potential closer relationship between Sydney and Carmy which ultimately culminates in the fridge incident. By the time Carmy comes out of that fridge, the relationship between Richie and Syd is completely transformed

This scene marks the turning point of the Syd/Richie relationship, mirroring the climax of their fallout in S1

They are friends now.

Carmy crashing out in the margins about Syd and Richie's friendship (1. F_ck Richie, 2. Richie's friend?)

Their friendship has been a beautiful thing to watch blossom and Carmy secretly hates it. You can see it in the way he passive aggressively tells Sydney to handle Richie when they're fighting and Syd steps in, even in S1.

But why?

Run into each other!

He could tell they were going to something from the moment they met, I think. But seeing them get closer reminds him yet again of his inadequacies. Richie and Syd have been able to do the one thing he and Syd have been unable to do:

Whatever turn their relationship has taken, it's been honest everytime. They weren't afraid to explore whatever it is that was happening between them. It didn't matter if it was ugly, if it was messy, if it was painful. It didn't matter if it ended with someone getting stabbed in the ass. They were ready to face each other as they were, with all their messiness. And somewhere in there, they were able to really see each other.

Syd was able to recognize his pain through all his bitchiness in Hands and it's significant that he was the first person to let her in about what happened with Mikey and she was able to see that he was suffering from the loss. He also didn't hesitate to act out when he felt insecure about her abilities and she was not afraid to call him out for the loser that he was being.

They were willing and able to throw that mess at each other and get it out of the way so that they could actually bond. And it's mostly because of how much of an open book Richie is and Syd's ability to match his intensity.

That's something that Carmy is unable to do.

Like he admitted in Goodbye, he resented Richie for having the relationship he couldn't have with Mikey. Not because he wanted Mikey all to himself but because he recognized he didn't know Mikey the way Richie did and that's, at least partially, because of how closed off he is. We even see Mike complain of having to "drag things out of" Carmy. That's the same reason he "hates" Pete. He wants to be more intimate with the people that he loves but never manages to do so and has to watch other people do the things he's bad at and get to know his own people more than he can.

He hated that Richie was inside his family in a way that he couldn't be and now Richie is inside his would be best friend/wife/lover/muse the way he hasn't been able to manage.

So when he looks at Sydney with so much hurt at the season finale, it's him realizing that it is history repeating itself. She's grown to not need him. But she's grown to need Richie. They've become self actualized in that relationship and he has not, so they're out of the loop and he's not. Or maybe he's the one out of the loop idk. But he's not where they are.

[jamereadsmanga]

Toji got a real big dick. Big, thick, and hung. And not one of those 13 inch monster cocks. It's a respected 7 or 8 and half on a good day. Size dont matter anyway. It's real heavy and always stretches your jaw out. He's uncircumcised and hates, pulling the skin back when he showers, so it's mad crusty under there. A little treat. He doesn't wipe when he's finished pissing so there's always a salty after taste. His boxers have holes and steak marks in it. That's the only reason you started washing his clothes for him.

Toji hates wearing condoms. They reduce the sensitivity and always so tight on his fat dick. His loads are heavy with an acidic taste. He doesn't shave so whenever he's throat fucking you, all that sweaty hair gets in you mouth. You would be at work still pulling it out. But he will throw a fit if you dont shape up. He loves nutting in you. He's says he can't pull out because you're so tight that he's practically trapped in there. Before you go to work, you stop by the corner store to pick up a plan b. You always take it there because if your coworkers knew how often you took it, they would get worried. You don't wanna take birth control because it would fuck up your chances of having a baby in the future (not with him of course).

Toji loves watching you get ready for work, though. He'd sit there, right hand in his drawers left hand behind his head just wanking it while staring at you. Legs spread, giving you a perfect view of thick thighs and jiggling balls peeping through the holes. You work an office job. High paying. So you it takes a minute for you to get ready since you have to look extra nice and really composed. Sitting in meetings trying to ignore his cum finally making its way out of you. You guys don't live together, but he's always at your doorstep waiting for you to get home. Sometimes, he would meet you at work, and you would swing by a fast food joint for dinner. Sometimes, he would pick you up because he had your car the entire day. The next morning he would steal money from tour purse to put gas in it.

Toji loves to keep his options open, though. You're not a couple, and he makes it clear whenever he can. That doesn't bother you, though. Why would you marry a man like that. He's a good fuck and nothing more. Besides, you get a kick out of watching him beg you for money. He fucks extra good when he really needs it. Still, you can't help but feel a bit annoyed when his other bitches start calling him up at random times of the day. Worst of all is when he ignores you to talk to them. Such a whore.

Toji keeps his phone on dnd. You were lucky enough to get on the exception list. Probably because you give him the most money and you do have a car. But then there's this Megumi bitch that's always blowing up his phone. He would quickly leave in the middle of the night if she called. Drops everything for her. He tells you it's his son, but you don't believe him. No way this bum that's spent 50% of his income on horse racing also has a kid at home. As far as you're concerned, he doesn't even have a house, so where would "Megumi" live? He says he stays with his grandma, but he also said he isn't in contact with his family, so what's the truth. You two have been fucking for months now and never once did you meet his fabled son. You checked his messages with the bitch and it's just calls and direct deposits. Such a lying bum.

But none of that really matters to you anyway. Nobody fucks like Toji does. You're willing to put up with all his fuckery if it ends with your face in a pillow and his hot cum fulling up your cunt. But you can't lie. It did suck when he suddenly ghosted you after taking a work trip. That was years ago. Tonight you're going to a Halloween party in Shibuya. On your way there, you see a scrawny kid with crazy hair. Your heart sunk for a second. He looked so much like Toji. You wanted to stop and ask his name, but you needed to catch the train so you let it go.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Common Romance Tropes

If you want to write a romantic short story or novel, it’s vital that you learn the basic love tropes that are a part of the genre, so that you can work with them (or against them) to form a love story your readers will identify with.

Love Triangle. One of the most common tropes of romance literature: three characters are competing for each other’s love, and only two will pair off. This is a favorite romance trope for creating tension, since the reader wonders who will pair off and who will be left alone with their painfully unrequited love. Will she choose the bad boy or the geek? Will he choose the cheerleader or the ugly duckling? Love triangles are the ultimate trope to appeal to “shippers”—readers who like to pick a side and play matchmaker. Example: Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins (2008).

Secret Billionaire. A billionaire or member of a royal family is tired of their lavish lifestyle, and they sneak out of the spotlight—and, in disguise, run into someone who treats them as if they’re an ordinary person. Whether or not this leaves them frustrated or entranced, it has a little more pizzazz than the standard “boy meets girl” story—and the end result is often true love. Example: Naked in Death by Nora Roberts (1995).

Friends to Lovers. They’ve known each other since they were childhood friends or they recently met each other, and now things are heating up—even though they used to see each other as just friends, they now see each other as a potential love interest. This trope is popular because we get to see two characters bond with each other as friends first, which allows them to be more open with each other without a physical relationship getting in the way. As their feelings for one another—and the sexual tension—build, we can’t help but want them to get together so we can watch them go from “best friends since high school” to “happily ever after.” Example: Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell (2012).

Stuck Together. There are plenty of variations of the “stuck together” trope, which is often a staple of romantic comedies: two people trapped in a snowed-in cabin, forced to stay with each other overnight at the office, on a road trip, or even stuck in an arranged marriage. However it happens, this trope will trap two characters—whether they’re sworn enemies or already attracted to one another—in the same place and let the drama ensue. Example: From Lukov with Love by Mariana Zapata (2018).

Enemies to Lovers. Enemies to lovers is a beloved trope, made popular by Jane Austen in the classic novel Pride & Prejudice: two people who hate each others’ guts (usually for ridiculous reasons) end up overcoming their differences and angst and ending the story with a (spoiler!) declaration of love. The “enemies to lovers” trope often goes hand-in-hand with the “stuck together” trope, since putting two enemies in a room together can lead to some very juicy results. Example: The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare (1594).

Forbidden Love. One of the most famous love stories of all time, Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, is a classic example of forbidden love: two characters who aren’t allowed to have feelings for each other can’t help but become entangled in a romantic relationship. The things that separate them could range from the family politics in Romeo and Juliet to the bloodsucking problem in Stephenie Meyer’s paranormal romance Twilight. And of course, things will always get more complicated—whether the couple is discovered sneaking out together or with a secret baby after an accidental pregnancy. Example: The Notebook by Nicholas Sparks (1996).

Second Chance. Two lovers break up and then long for each other. Someone is looking for love again after a bad divorce. Or the hero/heroine’s fairytale turned out to be a nightmare, and now a new romance will give them hope again. The “second chance” trope is where our character missed their chance during their first love and are about to encounter a second. Their next blind date or one-night stand might be the experience that helps them believe in love again. Example: Once in a Lifetime by Harper Bliss (2015).

Soul Mates. The “soul mates” trope is a story about two characters who are meant to be together as each others’ “one true love.” But any story would be boring if everything were going just fine for the couple—that’s why many romance writers that use the “soul mates” trope need to also drive them apart somehow. Whether there’s a horrible misunderstanding or a natural disaster that separates them, soul mates in love stories always find a way to get back together. Example: The Princess Bride by William Golding (1973).

Fake Relationship. They didn’t ask for this. Maybe they’re tired of telling everyone they’re single, or they have to pretend like they’re in love to get out of an awkward social situation. Maybe two characters agree to a marriage of convenience in order to subvert the law or get a better tax break, or a friends with benefits situation to stave off their loneliness. But of course, in many “fake relationship” stories, what began as a fake relationship quickly turns into true love. Example: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before by Jenny Han (2014).

A trope in literary terms is a plot device or character attribute that is used so commonly in the genre that it’s seen as commonplace or conventional. For example, a trope in superhero stories is a villain who wants to take over the world. The romance genre, in particular, is full of tropes—from Shakespeare plays to modern-day bestsellers, it’s easy to see patterns when you start to look.

Ways Tropes Are Helpful to Writers

Help offer readers things that are familiar. Tropes are popular for a reason—if something has been written about over and over again, there’s a good chance that it’s something romance readers enjoy reading! Popular romance tropes are a great place to start when coming up with your love story idea, because they’re guaranteed to be familiar territory to readers that they’ll enjoy.

Give you a jumping-off-place to innovate. Tropes can be helpful, but a novel made up only of tropes will quickly start to feel stale and predictable to readers. That’s why you need to read up on romance tropes—and then innovate. Deliberately taking a favorite trope and turning it on its head is a great way to put your own unique spin on the genre and keep your readers interested.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[formulafanfics13]

An Oscar fic where the F1 grid has cheer teams (like the NFL does) and the reader cheers for one of the teams and Oscar is very flirty with her and etc.

Eyes On Me, Boy - OP81

Masterlist

Summary: When F1 launches a cheer squad initiative — Grid Girls 2.0 — you become Ferrari’s top performer. What starts as light teasing turns into a months-long slow burn between you and Oscar Piastri. From backstage banter to thigh-high marker flirtations, the tension builds until Monaco, where one pre-race high kick too many finally breaks him. You find him after the race. And this time, he doesn’t just watch.

Warnings: Slow burn tension, flirty banter, public teasing, paddock gossip, heavy sexual tension, suggestive content, makeout scene, implied smut, cheerleader uniforms, mutual pining, Oscar Piastri being dangerously hot in race gear and saying exactlythe right things.

It’s the weirdest thing Formula 1 has done in years. And that’s saying something. The FIA’s latest rebrand idea, likely cooked up in a post-Monaco marketing coma, is simple: if the NFL has cheerleaders, why can’t F1?

Enter: The Grid Girls 2.0.

They’re nothing like the grid girls of old. This isn’t about standing still with an umbrella. This is choreography. Uniforms. Sponsor tie-ins. Full-on routines. Each team gets a cheer squad, custom kits, custom chants, fan interactions, full paddock presence. And somehow, you end up on the squad for Ferrari.

Which means every race weekend, you show up in navy blue crop tops and white pleated skirts, pom-poms in hand, fake lashes on, ready to sweat your ass off through a three-minute pre-quali routine that gets live-streamed to the world.

At first, the drivers hate it. Then they start watching. And then Oscar Piastri starts noticing you. It begins in Bahrain.

You’re stretching behind the paddock before your first run-through when he walks past. McLaren shirt. Slightly disheveled hair. Backpack slung over one shoulder. He slows. Glances back.

And doesn’t look away. You raise an eyebrow, grinning. “Can I help you, Piastri?”

He smirks. “Just admiring the competition.”

“I cheer for Ferrari.”

“I know. That’s what makes it fun.”

The teasing escalates. In Saudi, he brings you a Gatorade after practice and says, “Didn’t want you fainting in the heat. Gotta keep the entertainment alive.”

In Australia, you write “GO #81” on your thigh in marker as a joke. He notices. Hard. Can’t stop staring during media rounds.

In Miami, you’re mid-routine when you catch him filming you from the McLaren pit wall with a smug little smile. Later, he reposts the clip with a simple caption: “Good form. Could use work on the dismount though. — Coach”

In Spain, he shows up early to watch your full rehearsal. You come off the stage sweaty and out of breath. He offers you a towel and two fingers of a protein bar. “You stalking me?” you ask, tilting your head.

Oscar shrugs. “Maybe I like watching.”

You blink. He grins.

You eat the bar. “I’m still not switching teams.”

“Oh, I’m not trying to recruit you.” His eyes drop to your legs. “I just think you look better in orange.”

The paddock starts noticing. Lando’s the first to tease. Charles joins in when he sees you high-fiving Oscar outside the McLaren motorhome like it’s something you do now. Alex mutters “he’s gone” after Oscar zones out mid-strategy meeting staring at a TikTok you posted. Even Christian Horner asks if Oscar’s “considering a switch to cheer management.”

Oscar plays it cool. You don’t. You walk past the McLaren garage before every race and blow him a kiss. You leave little stickers with your squad number on his water bottle. You write “nice overtake, baby” on his driver room mirror in lipstick after his best quali of the year. And he loves it.

It comes to a head in Monaco. You’re in a new uniform, short white tennis skirt, tiny red tank, team logo embroidered in black thread. Hair up. Lip glossed. Confidence dialed to one thousand. You’re mid-pitlane walk for the pre-race hype routine, high kicks in full force, when Oscar stops walking to watch you. In front of everyone.

Sky Sports is mid-interview with Lando. Charles is tying his shoes. Lewis is sipping his bottle. And Oscar? Frozen. Staring. You catch his eye and wink. He mouths something. You can’t hear it over the music, but you read his lips perfectly.

“Come find me after.”

You do. His hotel room smells like eucalyptus and cologne. He opens the door shirtless, still in race pants, damp hair curling over his forehead, eyes dark with something that makes your stomach flip. “Took you long enough,” he murmurs.

You raise an eyebrow. “I was stretching.”

He steps closer. “I’ve been watching you stretch for months.”

Your breath catches. He notices. Of course he does. You shove him lightly in the chest. “You gonna kiss me or just flirt forever?”

He grins. “Both.”

And then he kisses you. Hard. Sweet. Addictive. Like he’s been waiting to do it since Bahrain. Like he wants to kiss you through every routine you’ve ever done.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and smile against his mouth. “Still think I look better in orange?”

He pulls you closer. Slides a hand up your thigh. Smirks. “I think you look best on top.”

[vaginalvr]

Hii, I have a fic idea that stuck in my head for a while,so here I am. What about postprison!spencer×nonbau!reader (age gape or no as you wish) where they’ve been dating for a little while,but she doesn’t know about this prison situation and then somehow she finds out about it and his all nervous about it and worry that she’ll stop loving him, but reader reassures him and telling that it doesn’t change anything and only thing she feels bad about that such awesome person as Spencer gone through it,and after this conversation they had the most sweet and hot and amazing sex.BUT when he wake ups in the morning she’s not in the bed and nowhere around apartments so he start to think that actually it all was a lie and he did scare her off, but the truth is that she just wake up early to get his favorite bakery from his favorite place and then returns back to him and he’s just be like “you don’t leave me 🥹” and reader be like “ofc no, I told you I’m not going anywhere “ and then just sweet moment with them.

I hope you it’s comfortable for you to write about, but it’s okay if not,thank u anyway! And also English not my native language so sorry for mistakes!

content warning: Explicit but tender PIV sex, Oral references (non-graphic), Emotional vulnerability during sex (crying, apologizing), Consensual but intense physical closeness (bruising grip)

a/n: this took forever so i apoligize, i had to keep stopping to cry, enjoy!

word count ~ 1.4k

You had always loved mornings with Spencer. He wasn’t the easiest sleeper—nightmares, insomnia, or just that ceaseless mind of his—but on the nights he did rest well, you’d wake to his face so calm, softened, as though whatever weight he carried had been left somewhere you couldn’t see.

Tonight, though, sleep felt impossible for either of you.

It had started with an argument—not between you and him, exactly, but with the world. You had been watching something on the news, some trial coverage, and you’d muttered how horrible it was to imagine being wrongfully imprisoned.

You hadn’t known.

Spencer had gone quiet in that still, terrified way that made your heart sink. He wouldn’t look at you. When you asked him what was wrong, his voice cracked as he admitted it.

Prison.

He tried to explain, but his hands shook.

The nightmares you’d soothed before made too much sense.

“I didn’t want to tell you.” His voice sounded almost childishly small. “I thought if you knew... you wouldn’t want me.”

Your own heart hurt so badly it felt like a physical wound. You wanted to scream at the universe for ever doing that to him.

Instead you crawled into his lap on the couch, ignoring his flinch at first, forcing your palms to stay gentle as they framed his face.

“Spencer,” you whispered. “Look at me.”

His eyes were glassy, but he obeyed.

“I don’t care that you were in prison. I care that you went through that.”

He blinked, tears falling.

“I’m sorry you had to survive that. I hate that you were alone.”

You kissed him before he could say anything else, holding onto him so tightly he trembled.

His breath hitched when you shifted in his lap.

“Don’t you dare think I’m going anywhere.”

He swallowed, eyes wet and wide. “You... you mean that?”

“Spencer. I love you. All of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

Your thumbs caught his tears. His mouth found yours again with desperate, uneven heat, his hands tangling in your hair.

That was when you felt the change—like something in him broke open.

He let you guide him to the bedroom, let you push him gently onto the mattress, watching you with feverish, disbelieving eyes as you straddled his hips.

You tugged his shirt over his head and pressed kisses to every inch of pale skin, your lips lingering on old scars, on the places where tattoos or brands of the system had faded but never fully disappeared.

His breath stuttered when you unbuttoned your blouse.

“Please,” he rasped.

You smiled, slow and aching. “I’m here.”

His hands were trembling when he ran them over your bare back, pulling you flush against him, his cock hard and twitching between you. You ground against him slowly, making him gasp, shiver, cling.

When you finally guided him inside you, it was careful at first, deliberate.

But he didn’t stay careful.

He let go.

His fingers bruised your hips. His breath came in hot, desperate moans against your throat. He kept apologizing, and you kept silencing him with your mouth, your body rocking against his.

When he came, he sobbed.

You held him through it.

After, you let him roll you over so he could bury his face against your chest, his breathing harsh but calming.

He whispered, broken and quiet, that he loved you.

You kissed the crown of his hair and told him you loved him too.

Eventually, finally, you both slept.

You woke before dawn.

You lay there a long moment, watching the tiny crease between his brows, even relaxed as he was. You ran a fingertip over his cheekbone. He looked so peaceful.

And you thought about what you could do.

He’d mentioned once—offhand, in one of those encyclopedic rambles you adored—that there was this bakery he loved as a kid, that he hadn’t had it in years. You realized you knew the place. It wasn’t too far.

You pressed a final kiss to his forehead, slipped from the bed as quietly as you could, and dressed in the half-light.

He didn’t stir.

You smiled.

Spencer woke to an empty bed.

The cold sheets.

The apartment silent.

His chest caved in with dread so visceral he thought he might throw up.

She left.

Of course she left.

Last night had been too much. He’d dumped all of it on her, sobbed in her arms, fucked her like he was starved. And she’d said she wouldn’t go, but people said things in the moment.

They didn’t mean it.

Not once they saw.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers twisting in his hair.

He felt so stupid.

So sure he’d ruined everything.

He almost didn’t hear the key in the lock.

He flinched at the sound, then froze, listening.

“Spencer?”

Your voice, soft, uncertain.

He surged off the bed, tripping over his own feet, heart slamming.

You were standing in the doorway, bags in both hands.

You blinked at him, confused.

“Hey. Good morning? Sorry—I tried to be quiet so you could sleep...”

He stared at you.

And then, helplessly, his voice cracked.

“You didn’t leave?”

Your face fell in instant, horrified understanding. You dropped the bags on the counter and rushed to him.

“Oh my god. Oh, baby. No. No. Come here.”

You pulled him in, arms wrapping around his waist.

“I told you I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered fiercely against his shoulder.

He trembled under your hands.

“You were gone—”

“I went to get you your favorite pastry. Look.” You pulled back just enough to fumble the bag open, showing the warm, flaky thing he’d once mentioned missing so much.

His vision blurred.

You watched him, so worried.

“Spencer,” you said softly, firmly. “I love you. I want you. All of you.”

He buried his face against your neck, inhaling you like air.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he choked out.

“You won’t,” you promised. “Not ever.”

He held you so tightly it hurt.

You eventually coaxed him to sit on the bed with you, feeding him bits of the pastry, kissing sugar from his lips, hands tangling in his hair.

He smiled for you then, raw but real.

And you smiled back.

In the pale morning light, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered:

“I’m here. Always.”

His eyes shone with tears.

He exhaled, long and shaking, and let you hold him.

Because for the first time in far too long, he let himself believe you.

[revelboo]

Ok but am I the only who's reading these with crashboombangers voices? Or am I just old and desperately missing him?

I had to google to see what you were talking about and I love his voices so much! Thank you for introducing me to it!

I was discussing spikes with another TF writer and realized that while I’ve had a couple of Cybertronians knot, I hadn’t really explained that in my head it’s technically something they can all do, but it’s a sort of social faux pas- a bit of old primitive instinct from the early days of the Cybertronian race and no one actually does it because it’s embarrassing/frowned upon so that urge is actively suppressed. It’s associated with younger Cybertronians interfacing for the first time and not being able to control themselves so they knot and get stuck. Two Cybertronians interfacing and one knots accidentally, they’re going to be judged by their partner for their lack of control. With a human that doesn’t know about the stigma associated, there’s no shame in accidentally knotting, because their human partner doesn’t know that’s not normal and just writes it off alien weirdness. 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

Impulse Control

Bluestreak x Reader

• Staring at you naked on top of him, anxiety has him by the throat. “Are you sure this is okay?” Bluestreak asks even as he hates himself for asking, because what if you come to your senses? Realize you’d rather have literally anyone but him? What if he’s bad at this? If you two do this and it’s so bad that you’re embarrassed for him? And he becomes just a pity frag because he’s so awful you can’t even admit it to him. Freezing when you cup his face in your hands and his door wings lift slightly.

• “You sure you’re okay?” Because he looks like he’s working himself up to a panic attack. Searching his optics as he slowly nods, servos wrapping around your wrist, his worry leaves you warm. Tugging your hand to him as his mouth brushes against your palm. So sweet and uncertain and hopeful. “We can wait if you’re not into this right now.” And now he does look panicked, his erect spike pulsing with biolights as his free hand lands on your hip as if to keep you from escaping him.

• “Please, don’t go,” he growls, wincing at the desperation in his voice. How many times has he dreamed about this during recharge? About you? Fantasizing about being inside you while you’re lying there against him. Groaning when you sit up on him and shift, you rock against the underside of his spike in slow, deliberate moves. Can scent you when he vents, your need and heat drugging him as you grind against him before lifting up. “Guide me to you,” he groans, feeling you grip his spike and line him up. And you’re silken inside, so slick and hot as you slowly take him deep.

• His hips lift under you on a growl and you have to splay your palms on him for balance. Hearing him babbling in alien growls, rasps, and whirs he’s so keyed up that he can’t remember that you have no idea what he’s saying right now. Hoping he’s not asking anything important. Hips rolling as you get used to the feel of him stretching you before you’re moving on him in earnest to find a rhythm. Lips parting on a moan when his servos flex on your hips and waist. Letting you have your way as you ride him.

• You’re wrapped so tight around him as you lift up and drop. Bouncing on his spike with breathy moans and gasps and you’re beautiful riding him. Unable to believe you’re his. You are his. Spark thrumming as he watches you chase pleasure with his body and he needs more. To bond you, fill you. You’d let him, wouldn’t you? You’ve said you loved him, so bonding you would be okay. You’re moving faster on him, clenching on his spike as his servos tighten on you. Feels you grab his wrists, hips rocking and rutting against him as your head falls back on a cry when you come apart.

• He’s still talking at you as you keep moving on him, trying to make it last longer and he’s not overloaded, yet. Maybe too tangled in his head and worked up to be able to find pleasure. “Come for me, Blue,” you moan, hips rocking.

• Groaning as you fist his spike, trembling, he drags you down to him, carefully rolling you under him as his hips pump. Feels your hands grab onto his door wings while you moan his name and he’s overloading, hips grinding as he shifts his plating. And there you are as his spark reaches and claims you. Aware of the base of his spike swelling to knot inside you, of you arching tangled in his spark. Feeling your warmth drifting into him as he clings to you. To that feeling of acceptance and being needed. Because he needs you. All of you. To claim you and never be alone again. Feels your emotions and memories and knows you’re seeing things he didn’t mean to share, but can’t stop.

• Hearing it is one thing, but now you’re living that moment, grieving for a young Bluestreak trapped and scared. Alone, waiting for rescue. Not yet understanding that no one’s coming. That no one else survived the attack. And he’s wrapping tighter around you, smothering you with his overwhelming, desperate need to be loved to not be left behind. Feel a question there as he hangs onto you. A coaxing, hungry pull that you give in to. More of him tangling in you, seeing all of you like you’re seeing and understanding him. And the pull shifts. Becomes a demand and you give him that to, feeling a pang of something you don’t quite understand.

• Groaning and shuddering as his hips rock against you, it’s so hard to stop even though he can’t really thrust his knot is so swollen he’s just grinding urgently. Needs to break the connection but he just wants to savor it. Wants to ignore that uneasy feeling that’s breaking through the hungry need. Your lips are parted, eyes dark with need when his spark releases you and his door wings tuck back as it sinks in that he’s stuck inside you, his knot so swollen there’s no pulling out. Knotted inside you like an inexperienced youngling interfacing for the first time. And he winces when you shiver under him. ‘What was that?’ You mumble, staring up at him and he wilts. “We bonded. And I um, might have sparked you?” Isn’t actually sure, hadn’t meant to. He’d wanted to, though. And you’re just staring up at him in confusion. He didn’t actually just spark you, did he? ‘Sparked?’ You echo and he cringes even harder. He can’t have just sparked you.

[a99jazzybean]

An Old Fashioned for the Live Wire

(Part 2)

Part 1

synop: Volt asks you to stay after the bar closes, needing to have a "chat" with you. Dorian takes you out on an uncle/daughter date and discovers some truths about you he would rather not know. Out of spite, you schedule a meeting with your white haired boss. Hoping something interesting will come of it.

words: 8.3K

includes: voltxfem!reader, eddiexfem!reader, age difference, boss/employee, drinking, choking, spanking, manhandling, smut, oral, squirting, dacryphilia

a/n: I will be making a third and final part to this series. (Two Bad Bitches at the Same Damn Time). Also, this has smut. No minors!

“I need to have a word with you before you leave.” 

Looking up from stirring a drink, you see Volt watching you expectantly. Part of you was wondering when this would happen. Of course, it just so happened to be the day you felt your neck was clear enough to wear a regular collar again. With only the faintest outlines of Eddie’s marks visible. You’d have to squint to see them. 

“Of course.” You gave him a nod before handing off the drink to a customer. 

“Good.” He said lowly. The sultry voice made your thighs involuntarily clench together. 

When you looked up at him you felt a shiver up your spine. His gaze was dark, hungry. It made you feel as if you were prey being watched by a predator. You couldn’t tell if it was something you liked or not. In the end, though, there was something exciting about it. 

The rest of your time at the bar moved both extremely fast and very slow. A warring was happening in your mind.

Should you pursue Volt as well? 

Or would it be betraying Eddie in some way?

Glancing up, you spotted the dark haired man working on some type of electrical appliance. As if he could tell you were watching him, he looked up at you. The steely intense gaze made your heart jolt. You noticed it in him too, that hunger. Something that craved whatever you could offer him carnally. And he knew you had it in you. 

You hadn’t slept with Eddie since the night in the office, but he continued to tease you. His hands linger just a bit too long on your body. Whispering something hot and heavy in your ear, then leaving a small kiss on your neck. Then there was the time he teased you about the turtlenecks you had been wearing. 

Calloused fingers pulled it down when you two were alone. You held your breath as his eyes trailed over the column of your throat. Leaning in, he spoke lowly in your ear. 

“You know, I don’t particularly appreciate you covering these up.” He pulled back to watch your expression. 

Your eyes were wide, filled with confusion. 

“W-why not?” 

“How else will others know that you’re mine? Unless you’ve decided otherwise.” He let out a low chuckle. “In which case, I’ll just have to give you another demonstration. Understand?” 

Your eyes flitted around the bar. It was just you and Eddie. 

“Well?” He gazed over you, drinking in your form. 

“I understand.” You felt your throat go dry as he gave you those hungry eyes.

He leaned in, making your eyes go wide. Lips barely brushing against yours. 

“Good girl.” He mumbled, then turned away with a smirk. Leaving you behind the bar, extremely turned on and flustered. 

You shook your head of the memory, attempting to focus on your job. The task was mightier than it seemed. Forcing yourself to not look at the man that set your skin ablaze with want. If you allowed yourself to cave, you would be too flustered to continue. You couldn’t tell if you hated or loved his teasing. Hated the lack of physical attention that had you almost begging for more. At the same time you loved the adventure of it all. 

“How’s it goin’, live wire?” You hadn’t realized he had made his way to the bar. 

You felt your face burning as you turned to him. Letting out an awkward chuckle at the surprising sight. 

“Not much. Just working!” You gave him a fake cheery smile. “It's mighty busy tonight!” 

“ I can tell.” There it was again, that hungry gaze. 

“Is there anything I can get you?” You heard your voice crack. 

“Jack and Coke, please.” 

Nodding, you fixed up his drink quickly. When you placed the drink down, Eddie’s fingers caught yours against the glass. The feeling of his touch sent sparks up your arm. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Pulling away, he took a swig of the drink with a sigh. 

“Long day?” You asked. 

“You could say that, yeah.” He eyed some customers at the bar. “Though I don’t think you have time for idle chit chat.” With that, he grabbed his drink and walked off. Leaving you with a smirk and a wave. 

Letting out a frustrated huff, you clenched your fists. Releasing them with a sigh, you turned back to your work. Taking customers orders and making them to the best of your abilities. Which was fairly lackluster considering your mind kept wandering. 

Thoughts of what Eddie had done with you flooding your mind, making you shiver. Then there were the thoughts of the future. What did Volt have planned for you tonight? There was no way it was just “a chat.” From his gaze you could tell he had something planned. Though, there were many possibilities of what that could be.

The man wasn’t shy about his attraction to you. While Eddie was subtle with his advances, Volt preferred to be bold and straightforward. Sprinkling you with compliments throughout the day. Obviously touching you in a flirtatious manner. One of his hands always found its way onto you when in close proximity. His touch had you melting everytime. 

Beverly had been keeping an eye on you. One too many times, you messed up someone’s drink order. Your mind was clearly somewhere else. Normally, she wouldn’t care, but something felt fishy. After seeing your reactions around Eddie and Volt, she clocked the reason immediately. 

“Everything alright?” She asked you when you had a bit of a breather from the rush. 

“Yeah. Why?” You cursed yourself internally.

Am I that obvious?

“You just seem a bit off today. Lots of orders made incorrectly, and I know that you know what you’re doing when it comes to the bar.” She said pointedly, hand on her hip.

“I guess my mind has been wandering a lot.” Not a lie, but also not the full truth. “I’m sorry I keep messing up tonight.” 

Sighing, she shook her head. Walking up she poked you hard on the forehead.

“Hey!” You rubbed the spot on your head. “What was that for?” 

“To help you get focused. Don’t need you swooning over older men while on the job.” She smirked as your eyes widened. 

“W-what? Swooning? Older men?” You sputtered, trying to find a way to argue back.

She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It doesn’t take a genius to know their sweet on you. Especially Eddie. That man goes out of his way to not talk to anyone, then suddenly is super chipper to talk to the new girl?” She let out a scoff. “Like I’ll believe it’s anything beside trying to get into your pants.” 

Red bloomed on your face and she let out a hearty laugh. 

“Oh you poor thing.” She chuckled lightly. “Look, you’re an adult, so I can’t make life choices for you. That being said, I’d be a bit careful fooling around with your bosses.” 

“I’m not fooling around with my bosses!” Your face grew redder.

“If you say so.” She put her hands up in surrender. 

Sighing, you returned to work. Hoping your conversation with Beverly would help you push away the thoughts somewhat. It kinda worked. That was until you saw one of the mentioned men in your peripheral. Then you were flooded once more with unseemly thoughts. This was going to be a long night. 

Finally, 2:00 am hit, and you were free from the customers. The last stragglers made their way out of the bar as you cleaned up your workspace. Throughout the rest of your shift, you felt Beverly’s eyes on you. As if she was trying to get a read on what you were thinking. She was probably accurate with what she thought she saw. The woman practically slapped you in the face with her analysis of your current situation. Embarrassing, to say the least. 

“Welp, I’m heading out.” Beverly stretched and yawned. “You headin’ out?” She asked.

“Uh, no.” You felt a blush creeping up your neck. 

“Asked to stay late again?” She gave you a knowing look.

“Yeah. Volt says he wanted to chat with me.” You couldn’t look at her.

“Is that so?” She let a silence hang in the air. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Oh, actually you won’t. I took it off.” Maybe it was a good thing you wouldn’t see her immediately after this night.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’ll see ya when I see ya then!” She headed out of the building, leaving you alone behind the bar.

You finished up cleaning up your space, then took in a deep breath. Surely, this “talk” would be nothing. Right?

“You staying late?” Eddie looked like he was about to head out when he spotted you.

“Yeah. Volt asked to speak with me.” Your eyes looked to the floor, afraid to see what would be swirling in his gaze.

“Is that right?” There was an edge to his voice. 

You nodded quickly. 

“Ah, you’re still here!” Volt waltzed in the room, paying no mind to Eddie. “Shall we?” He motioned to the office. 

“Um…” Your gaze flitted between the men. “Yes.” You joined Volt, avoiding Eddie’s searing gaze. 

“Have a goodnight!” Volt looked over his shoulder at Eddie with a smirk. 

“Night.” Eddie said, before exiting the building. 

When you entered the office, Volt motioned for you to sit in the chair in front of the desk. 

From behind, you heard the familiar sound of the lock being clicked shut. You could feel your palms begin to sweat. Thighs clenching together. 

Sauntering over, Volt smoothly sat in the seat on the other side of the desk. Clasping his hands together, he placed his chin on them. Bright eyes studying you, made you sweat even more. 

“Are you concerned?” He asked, a smirk on his face. 

“No. More like nervous.” You admitted. There’s no use in lying, not when your expressions were so easily readable. 

“And why would you be nervous?” That mischievous grin grew as he watched you squirm in your seat. 

“Because one of my bosses asked to have a chat after my shift? That’s not typically a good sign.” You bit your lip.

“Hmm… fair enough.” He moved to crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back. “However, now that I’m thinking about it. Why would you be nervous if you have done nothing wrong? Hmm?” 

Your eyes widened, and your palms grew clammy.

“I-I well… I don’t believe I have done anything wrong.” Your gaze flitted to the floor, afraid of showing off your expression.

“I see. You don’t believe you’ve done anything wrong. So there’s a possibility you have?” Oh, he was having too much fun with this. Especially based on that smile on his face. 

“Like I said. I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong.” You took in a deep breath, attempting to steel your resolve. 

“Hmmm…” He turned to the computer on the desk, typing for a few moments. “What if I told you, I know you have done something bad?” He raised a brow.

“Well, I haven’t.” Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck… 

“Is that so?”

Volt turned the monitor on the desk around for you to see. Immediately, your complexion went white. Looking up in the corner of the office you spotted a camera, red light flashing. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. 

On the monitor played a video of you and Eddie’s rendezvous. How did you not notice the camera? Did Eddie know? 

“I know what you’re thinking. Did Eddie know about the camera? Yes.” He gave an almost irritated sigh. “But, yes, there is a but. I think he forgot about it.” 

You let out a bit of the breath you were holding. A slight sigh of relief, but there were still issues to be concerned about. 

“We keep the safe in here. I thought it best to have at least a little security. Eddie thought it was a bit frivolous.” Volt rolled his eyes, remembering the conversation.  

Eddie didn’t see a point in a camera when someone would be at the bar for the majority of the day. Volt thought otherwise and got a camera installed anyways. 

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Volt pressed. While he was attempting to be professional, you could see a curl of a smirk at the corners of his lips. 

Chewing on your lip, you thought of what to say. Then an idea hit you. 

“Actually, I have a question.” 

Volt raised an amused brow, that smirk now fully on display. 

“Proceed.” He motioned for you to continue. 

“Why were you looking at the camera feed?” A smirk of your own was on your face as you caught the look of surprise in his eyes. 

Well played, live wire. 

“I have a sneaking suspicion you won’t believe me if I say it was a regular check-up?” 

You shook your head “no”.

“Very well, darling. You have caught me.” He let out an amused huff. “After learning about your late stays, I decided to check and see what you two were doing after hours. To my surprise, it was this.” He pointed at the monitor. It was still playing the video of Eddie ramming into you over the desk. 

The image made you recall the feeling of him inside you. You suppressed a moan, squeezing your thighs together. Volt caught the action, a hungry gaze now turned to you. 

“Does it excite you?” He walked around the desk, standing beside you. Reminiscent of how Eddie behaved. 

“Does it excite you?” You questioned back, attempting to be sassy. Ultimately you sounded nervous with a shaken voice. 

Volt leaned down, cupping your chin delicately. Turning your head, he eyed the remnants of Eddie’s marks on your neck. 

“Nice try, live wire, but I’m not flustered so easily.” His hand trailed down to your throat, giving it a squeeze that had you gasping. “At least, not as easily as you are.” He released his grip with a wink. 

Walking away, he returned to his chair. Slumping down with his legs spread wide. 

“Now, what should we do about you?” A glint of mischief danced in his eyes. 

“You’re not gonna fire me, are you?” Worry filled your voice. 

“I could, or you could take a punishment and we call it good.” He tapped on the armrests of the chair as he waited for your response. 

“And you’ll delete the video?” You gave him a pleading look.

“Darling, I’m not keeping it regardless.” He let out a sigh. “I enjoy voyeurism as much as anyone, but not nonconsensually.” 

You cocked your head in confusion, but he had watched it?

“I actually haven’t watched it in it’s entirety. I saw what Eddie started, and immediately stopped.”

“Then why show it to me?”

“I wanted to see how you would respond.” He gave you a smirk. 

Thinking about it, he had turned the monitor to face you. And when he walked to the front of the desk his eyes remained on you. What a fucking tease.

“What exactly do you constitute as a punishment?” You asked quietly, hands wringing your skirt. 

“I’d say about…hmm.” He stood up, tapping on his chin. “Twenty spakings? Yes, I think that would suffice.” He gave you a toothy grin, the hunger returning to his eyes. 

“Spankings?!” You yelped.

“Yes. Or I could fire you.” He shrugged as if it was the easiest decision for him to make. 

“This is blackmail!” You spat.

“You had sex on my desk, I think that is a fireable offense.” Volt’s demeanor grew cold, almost… jealous. “Now, choose.” His tone had you shivering. 

Fuck. You needed this job. Dorian would be pissed if you got fired two weeks in. Especially since he vouched for you. 

“Fine. I’ll take the punishment.” You grumbled, avoiding eye contact. 

“Wonderful.” He returned to his seat, legs set for you to lay over. “Now, come here.” He commanded. 

Red in the face, you walked over. Before you could lean over his legs, he cupped your chin. Forcing you to lean down, he made sure you were looking in his eyes. His expression grew serious.

“If it’s too much, tell me. I will stop.” He let go of your chin, then patted his lap. 

Nodding, you leaned over lap. Arms slung over his leg. A warm hand slid up your thigh, making you shiver. He flipped your skirt up, revealing your panty-clad ass. He hummed in approval at the pair of lacy panties you had on.

“Very nice.” He looped a finger under the band and snapped it, making you yelp. 

His warm hand caressed your back and thighs, then landed on your ass. 

“Now, you’re going to count for me. Do you remember how many I said you would get?” His voice was teasing.

“Twenty.” You mumbled.

“Good girl. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You squeaked out.

Part of you was extremely humiliated at this turn of events while another part of you was buzzing with excitement. The feel of his hand on your skin shooting sparks through your body.

The first slap surprised you, and you gave out another yelp. Volt waited for you to respond.

“One.” You said softly.

“I didn’t hear you!” He said in a sing-song voice, hand tenderly caressing the blooming mark.

“One.” You said louder this time.

“Very good.” 

This time, the slap was harder. Again, you yelped. However, you found yourself enjoying this. The sharp pain dissolved into pleasure when his hand turned to tenderly caress the damage from the slap. It was hot, really hot. 

Volt continued to spank you, with you counting. When you were half-way there you could tell your ass was going to be incredibly sore the next day. Still, you soldiered on. You completed the punishment with tears pricking at your eyes as you  soaked your  panties. The latter Volt noticed. Spotting the dark patch that had grown on the fabric. 

“I had a feeling you would like this.” He teased, snapping your panties again. 

Looking over your shoulder at him, you saw he was smirking at you. His eyes dark with want. 

The man assisted you in standing. You found your legs to be quite wobbly after the hits on your ass. Volt gave you an apologetic look followed by a shrug. 

“Let’s get you home.” He walked you to the front door. “I recommend aloe. It’ll help with the stinging.” 

“Thanks.” You grumbled.

“Don’t mention it.” He paused, then smirked. “Have a good day off tomorrow. I hope you and Dorian enjoy your day out.” He waved you off with a chuckle. Leaving you standing wide eyed.

Oh no. You had forgotten that you had taken the day off to spend with Dorian. Oh no. Your ass was going to hurt tomorrow. Oh no. Dorian would 100% notice your discomfort. Oh no. How would you explain this to him? 

Uh, you fell on your ass? Oh! Maybe hemorrhoids? Both excuses would have him concerned for you regardless. 

Fuck. What were you going to do?

By the next day, you still hadn’t come up with an excuse. As you got ready for the day, you could feel the ache on your butt. You spread aloe over your cheeks, but it only helped with the residual stinging. The aching was something else entirely. Likely something you would have to ice. 

A knock on your apartment door brought you out of your thoughts. Shit, he’s here already! You checked the time on your phone. Of course, as always, he was right on time. Damn you time blindness! 

Quickly, you made your way to the door. With a quick sigh, you opened it with a bright smile. Dorian stood with a bouquet and a smile of his own. 

“Good morning, love.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek. “How’ve you been?” 

“Um, pretty good.” He handed you the flowers. “Thank you! They’re lovely.” 

Once a month Dorian took you out on “Uncle/Daughter” dates. An odd title, but the man had his reasons for avoiding the father moniker. Each time he brought you flowers or a treat that you liked. It was something he started when he first adopted you as a child and he continued the tradition ever since. 

Dorian never wanted to let you down. When he became the father-figure in your life, he wore it as a badge of honor. Though he would never refer to himself as such. Claiming that your birth-father deserved the title. Thus, Dorian became “Uncle Dorian.” The man saw you as his daughter though. It was an odd relationship, but one that you had accepted years ago. There were times that you slipped up. Almost calling the man “Dad”. While he appreciated the sentiment, he was still very stuck in his own ways. So, Uncle it is.

After arranging the flowers in a vase, you decided to make some coffee for the two of you. Freshly grinding up some beans and using your French press. Alcoholic beverages weren’t the only drinks you were a bit pretentious about. You poured a mug out for Dorian and slid it over. He took a good whiff of it, then sighed with content. 

“You always know the way I like it.” He gave you a soft smile. 

“Of course. You were the one that taught me.” You rolled your eyes and nudged him. 

“I can’t take all the credit. You watched those, uh, online videos. They taught you well.” 

You giggled, shaking your head. 

“So, how’s the new job?” He asked, setting the mug down.

Your mind flashed back to your nights with Eddie and Volt. Taking a moment, you settled your mind.

“It’s pretty good. I’m glad the place actually cares about craft cocktails.” 

“Better than that college bar?” He teased.

Your previous bartending gig had you making huge batches of sugar water filled with vodka. It was disappointing. Especially when you wanted to have more fun with your drinks. With how crowded the joint got though, you understood the owner’s mentality. 

“So much better than the old bar.” 

“How’re your bosses treating you?” Dorian’s voice remained cheery, but his eyes became serious.

“They’re… fine? I don’t really interact with them all too much.” Liar.

Dorian raised a brow. Eddie? Sure that tracks. But Volt? No way he wasn’t up in your business. While he hated to admit it to himself, Dorian knew that you had grown into quite the beautiful young woman. He did his best to protect you, but could only do so much now that you were an adult. Still, he wanted to keep his girl safe. 

“Really? That doesn’t sound like Volt.” His gaze bore into you, attempting to read your tells.

“Well, I guess he interacts with me somewhat. But it’s fairly innocuous. He mostly focuses on MCing the joint and running the numbers.” You tried to shrug it off. 

Dorian wasn’t buying it. He reached for your hand, with a worried brow.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” He hated when you lied to him.

In high school you had a bit of a mean streak hiding things from him. Ultimately, it was chalked up to a rebellious phase. From then on you were an open book to the man, so you closing off again was concerning.

“Of course I know that.” You patted his hand. “Volt hasn’t been weird with me, if that’s what you’re implying. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s scared of you. Likely why he hasn’t tried anything.” You poked at his nose teasingly. 

Your words seemed to have worked. He let out a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad, I wouldn’t want to make you look for a new job.” 

“Dorian, I can fight my own battles.” 

His expression grew serious.

“I know, but there’s always a part of me that will be your protector.” 

His words made your heart swell. You gave him a soft smile. 

“You’ll always be my protector, Dorian.” 

The rest of the day you spent going to an art museum and piano lounge that Dorian had supplied a bouncer for. As always, you ended the day at your favorite diner, Freddy’s. And as always, Freddy himself greeted you as you came in. 

“There’s my two favorite people! Was wondering what time you were coming this month.” He followed you to your favorite booth, pulling out a notepad. “What can I getcha?”

You rolled your eyes with an airy laugh.

“You know what I want, Freddy.” 

“Ah yes, the usual. Are you going to be trying something new today?” He turned to Dorian.

“You know me, creature of comfort. I’ll take my usual as well.” 

“Sounds good. Two usuals for my favorite customers!” Freddy made a big show of clipping your tickets up. 

As you sat in the booth, you shuffled around. Attempting to get comfortable despite the ache from your ass. Huffing in frustration, you slumped into the booth. Dorian gave you a concerned look that had you worrying.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes reading you again.

“Yeah!” You responded a bit too quickly. “Sorry, yes. I think I might have worked out a bit too hard the other day. Those glute machines sure are something.” Perfect! You had found a good excuse. 

Leaning back, Dorian appeared to accept your answer. You let out a quiet sigh of relief. 

“Make sure you stretch out better then, yeah?” 

“Uh yeah. I’ll be sure to do that.” You shuffled more in the seat. 

Freddy returned to your table with your drinks. As you turned to acknowledge him, Dorian spotted the remnants of a mark on your neck. His jaw tightened at the sight, eyes narrowing in on the faded bruise. 

When Freddy left, you notice Dorian’s change in demeanor. Worry furrowed your brow as you bit your lip.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, concerned about the answer.

“Peachy.” He was short with you.

“It doesn’t sound it.” 

“Are you seeing anyone?” His eyes bore into you.

Your eyes widened. What started this? 

Watching Dorian, you spotted his eyes darting from your neck back to your face. Instinctively,your hand covered your neck. The action made Dorian’s eyes narrow further.

“Um. No I’m not.” 

“Really?” He leaned over the table, removing your hand from your neck. “It don’t look like it to me.” 

“It’s nothing, Dorian.” You needed this conversation to end. 

“I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Dorian softened slightly.

“I’m not hurt.” 

“Your neck is bruised.” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. 

“It’s a hickey, big deal!” You felt like a teenager again.

“Still a type of bruise.” Dorian knew he was fighting a losing battle, but he didn’t appreciate someone marking you up like that.

“Da-, Dorian, it’s fine. I’m an adult.” 

“I know, but again, I don’t want to see you hurt.” He sighed sadly.

“I’m not hurt. I like it!” You felt your cheeks heat up at the confession. “Forget I said that.”

“You like it?” Dorian’s eyes widened. “Why?” 

“I really don’t want to explain my sex-life to you.” Again, you blushed. 

“Sex life?” Sure, he knew you were an adult that likely had lovers, but to have it confirmed? The image of the little girl he knew was shattering. 

“Again, can we just forget I said that.” You covered your face with your hands. 

“Are you at least being safe?” Dad mode had returned.

“Yes, of course.” Liar. 

“Are you actually dating this person? You’re an adult, but I’ve heard the way the younger men are treating women in those casual types…” He trailed, trying his best to come off as helpful, but only digging himself further into a hole of embarrassment. 

“Okay, this conversation is done!” You exclaimed as Freddy arrived back at your table, food in hand.

“Did I interrupt something?” He asked, eyes darting between you and Dorian. 

“No! Thank you, Freddy!” You tried to shoo him off.

“Actually, I would like your opinion on something.” Dorian stopped Freddy from leaving.

“Um, is it quick? It’s kinda the dinner rush.” 

“Dorian…” You hissed through your teeth. 

“I just want another man’s opinion.” He turned to Freddy. “What would you say if you found out your daughter was engaging with people casually?” 

“Engaging with- oh! You mean sleeping around?” He chuckled awkwardly. 

Your face bloomed bright red. “I guess I would just want them to be safe.” Freddy shrugged his shoulders, trying to avoid eye-contact with you. 

“Alright! This conversation is done! You can go, Freddy.” You had a crazed look in your eyes that had Freddy scampering off. Whipping your head around to Dorian, you gave him a glare.

“Why the fuck would you bring someone else into that conversation?” You hissed.

“Language, sweetheart.” Dorian crossed his arms, giving you an amused look.

“You did not have to embarrass me like that.” 

“I was just trying to show you that any good parent would care about their kid.”

“By announcing their sex life?!” You realized you were a bit too loud. Multiple people turned their heads in your direction. 

“Why don’t we calm down and eat?” Dorian picked up his fork, stabbing it into an egg. 

“I’m not particularly hungry anymore. Considering you just implied to Freddy that I sleep around!” 

“I did not imply such a thing.” He shoved egg into his mouth, swallowing it thickly. It was donning on Dorian how badly he had just fucked up. 

“Urgh! You can be so frustrating!” You stood up. “I’m going to the car.” 

Dorian finished up alone in the restaurant as you waited in his car. You watched as people made their way around downtown, sighing. Then, a burst of spite shot through you. Pulling out your phone you scrolled down your contact list. This could ruin you in a good or bad way, but you decided to risk it. 

Hey, I’m gonna stay after work tomorrow. Wincing, you sent the message. 

After a moment, you saw response bubbles pop up. Bouncing in your seat, you eagerly awaited their reply. 

It’s a date then. Followed by a winking emoji. Oh you were fucked up in the head. 

A few minutes later, Dorian joined you in the car. He handed you your meal boxed up. You gave him a nod, then stared forward. It was an awkward drive home, but you preferred to let him stew in his regret. 

When you arrived at your apartment, you exited the car. Dorian opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. Rolling your eyes, you scoffed.

“By the way, since you care so much about my sex life. My ass doesn’t hurt because I worked out. I let a grown-ass man spank me.” With that you slammed the car door. 

As soon as you turn around, you regret your actions. Dorian watched as you made it safely inside, then hit his head on the steering wheel. Sighing, he admonished himself.

“Dorian, you fucking idiot.” 

The next day you were back at the bar. Feeling eyes burning into you throughout your entire shift. Nerves were shooting through you all night. It was very cocky of you to send that message, and you had no idea if you were going to regret it. Based on how the man was already responding to you, you had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case. 

The night went by slowly, your body buzzing with excitement. Excitement that Eddie noticed. 

“What’s got you so energized?” He studied you.

“Energized?” You feigned ignorance.

“Yeah, you keep fidgeting and bouncing on your toes.” He took a sip of the drink you just made him, steely eyes still studying you.

“Well, I guess that’s what three Monsters will do to you.” You shrugged. 

“I guess so.” He didn’t seem convinced. “You planning on staying late again?” 

Shit. The man could read you like a book. It seemed like he wanted to crack you open like one too. 

“Um, yeah. Volt asked me to.” You darted your eyes away from Eddie.

“Did he?” He watched you with an amused smirk.

“Yeah, he did.” You said bluntly.

Groaning, the man stood up then made his way around the bar. Beverly had left early, leaving you alone. The man took opportunity of your isolation, blocking you against the counter. 

“That’s funny.” He leaned in toward you. “I recall asking him if he needed any help. You wanna know what he said?” His steely eyes bore into you, looking to rip out the truth.

“No, I don’t.” You didn’t budge.

“He said he didn’t. So, did Volt really ask you to stay?” “I did.” The man himself appeared on the other side of the bar. An unamused look on his face. 

Eddie slid away from you, clenching his jaw. His hand cupped your chin, thumb at your bottom lip. Unconsciously, your tongue flicked out against it. Catching the action, he smirked.

“You remember what I told you. You know what to expect.” He gave you a heated gaze as you nodded. 

With that, he walked away. Leaving you and Volt alone. 

“You’re quite bold.” He said, his own heated gaze now on you. 

“I am?” You bit your lip nervously.

“Indeed you are.” His eyes flitted to your lips. “I’ll see you in the office after close.” 

Once closing time came around, Eddie made another stop to see you before he left. Volt was already in the office. Eddie watched as you finished mopping up the bar, arms crossed. You could feel his steely gaze on you the entire time. 

When you finished, he came up to you. Hand immediately reaching for your throat, he pulled you to him. 

“What are you?” He huffed against your lips.

“Y-yours.” You responded instinctively.

“Good.” His lips grazed against yours. “I need you to understand that. No matter what happens to you, you are mine.” His hand squeezed your throat. “Understand?” He pulled back to look into your eyes. The hunger in his made your heart rate speed up. 

With wide eyes, you nodded. To which he clicked his tongue at you.

“Try again. Say it.”

“I understand.” You breathed out. 

“Hmm. Good.” He released his hold on you. Leaving you with just the whisper of his lips. 

Now alone, you decided to make your way to the back office. Buzzing on multiple forms of adrenaline at this point. As you opened the door, you knocked on it to announce your presence. Behind the desk, Volt sat, waiting. The familiar glean of hunger in his eyes as they raked over you. 

He stood up, walking toward you. A large hand pressed the door closed behind you, then locked it. The hand moved to cup your face, he leaned in toward you. Eyes fluttering shut, you leaned in. However, he didn’t kiss you. Instead letting out an amused chuckle. The hot air of his breath fanning your face. 

“My my, how eager.” 

You opened your eyes to see him studying you. 

“Volt…”

“Yes?”

“Please fuck me.”

His eyes widened at your brazen request. He was planning on teasing you for a while, but there was something desperate in your eyes. A different kind of hunger, needy, and very very enticing. 

Suddenly, he pulled you back in. Pressing his soft lips against your own. His tongue immediately searched for yours in the heated kiss. When you reciprocated, he moaned into your mouth. God, you tasted good. 

Pulling away for a breath, a string of saliva snapped between the two of you. The sight had you diving back up at him. Messily pressing your lips against his once more. 

As you kissed, his hands wandered over your body. The touch was electrifying, making you whine into his mouth. Oh, he needed to hear more. 

Breaking away again, he ran over to a futon in the corner of the office. Quickly removing various papers and boxes off of it. So that was there the whole time… and you were fucked on a desk. Cool.

“Lay down, darling.” He pulled you over to him. “I’ll take care of you.” He kissed you again, his body pushing you down onto the futon. 

Volt’s lips pressed down your jaw and neck, in between your clothed breasts, and down to your thighs. Pushing up your dress, he groaned. Another cute pair of lacy panties. Already soaking with a dark patch. It really was easy to rile you up. 

His fingers pet you over your panties, making you keen. He watched your body respond to his touch with an amused grin. Eyes sparkling as they took in your writhing body and moans. 

“So sensitive…” He said to himself. 

Seeing your clear desperation, he decided to push forward. Sliding your panties down after receiving a nod of approval. Spreading your thighs he moaned loudly. Feeling blood rush to his cock at the sight. Your cunt glistening with need. 

His fingers returned to your sex, making you writhe and whine. He inserted two fingers, pumping and curling them against your sweet spot. 

“That feels… oh!” You cried out as his fingers continued to pump.

“Do you like that?” He purred, nipping your ear.

“Y-yes. Ah!” 

Suddenly, he pulled out his fingers. You whined at the loss as he brought them to his lips. He moaned as he sucked off your slick. 

“Delicious. I must have more, if I may?” 

“Y-yes, please.” You shook with anticipation. 

Volt shifted to a comfortable position between your legs. Slowly he pressed teasing kisses up your thighs. Each touch of his lips sent sparks through you. The burning need inside you was growing with each feather-light kiss. 

Squirming in his hold you let out a pathetic whine. He paid no mind, opting to hold down your legs as he continued to tease around your needy cunt. Lips just barely moving over your sensitive clit, making you jolt. 

“Voooolt…” The sound of your whining made his cock twitch. 

He stopped kissing your thighs. Sitting up to get a better look at you. All sprawled out on the futon, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Eyes drooping in lust as your mouth hung slightly open. Just begging to be kissed. So he did. 

The man crawling over you to press his lips against yours deeply. His tongue  prodding at your lips, begging to have another taste of you. As you felt his tongue tangle with yours you let out a low moan. Volt’s hand trailed up your thigh, fingers brushing against your pussy. With a quick slap of his fingers, he sent sparks of pleasurable pain through you. He caught your yelp of surprise with his mouth pressed against yours. 

Oh you were being so good for him. So needy, malleable . Just what he needed. 

He pulled away to look at you. Your eyes filled with a desperate want. 

“Volt, stop teasing!” You pouted. 

He nipped at your bottom  lip, then placed a tender kiss against it. 

“Is that how you ask nicely?” He asked lowly. 

His words made you shiver and blush.

“Please?” 

“Please what? Kiss you, touch you, tease you?” He hummed with an amused smirk. 

Clenching your fists, you let out a frustrated huff. 

Narrowing your eyes, you threw a glare at him. To which he let out a loud laugh. 

“We can stop. I can leave you like this.” He waved over your body. “Wanting and needy. Desperate for my touch.” He spoke lowly against your ear. 

“N-no!” You were surprised at the sudden outburst. 

“No? Then be a good girl, and ask nicely.” He grinned at you. 

“Please…” you winced at the fact that you were about to lose some pride. “Please eat me out.” 

“Now, was that so hard?” He kissed you, then trailed down your body. 

Finally his lips had arrived where you needed them to be most. He gave your clit a soft kiss that had you shivering. Tentatively, he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub. Your hips jolted at the spark of pleasure that shot through you. His tongue began to languidly lap at your folds, making you moan with each stroke. Your thighs around his head were already shaking from his ministrations. 

Volt hummed with content as he ate you out. Continuing a slow pace as he enjoyed you. Fuck you tasted good, and you had such a pretty pussy too. He decided to treat you a bit more delicately before utterly ruining you with his cock. With you already shaking and moaning, he wondered how you were going to handle him fucking you. He was excited to find out. 

“You taste divine, darling.” He lifted his head briefly to take a look at you. Just from his mouth on you, you already looked fucked out. 

He kissed down your tummy, back to your weeping cunt. Tongue plunging in once more, sending pleasure coursing through you. It felt like you couldn’t hold back your moans. Each lick made you cry out louder and louder. Each sound made Volt’s cock twitch against the constraint of his pants. Begging to fill you up already. However, he could have some patience. Especially considering how close you were.

You could feel that familiar knot growing within you, readying itself to snap. 

Volt brought two of his fingers to your hole. Easily pressing them in as you were soaked. He groaned at the feeling of your heat sucking up his fingers. His mouth continued to flick at your clit while his fingers pumped inside you. Brushing against that spongy spot that had you crying out in pleasure. The knot was getting tighter and tighter. A buzzing energy, ready to burst. 

“Volt! Ah!” The way you cried out his name had him moaning against you. 

A final suck on your clit along with a pump from his curled fingers had the knot snapping. Thighs tightening around his head, your release splashed over his mouth and chin. Fuck, that was hot. Volt’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he continued to lap slowly. Bringing you down from your high. 

When your thighs released from around him, he stood up. Mouth glistening with your slick as he smiled down at you. The want in his eyes burning bright. 

With his fingers, he teased your overstimulated cunt. Letting out a low chuckle, he watched you squirm beneath him. 

“My, my. So messy.” He crooned at you. 

You whined when he took his fingers away, but then moaned as you watched him remove his belt. His pants and boxers followed, making his cock hit back against his stomach. He was very long, with a decent girth. Yet another delicious looking cock. 

Before you could move to sit up, Volt pushed you back down by your shoulder. 

“You really are eager.” He smirked. “As lovely as having you suck my cock sounds, I wish to enjoy other parts of you.” He licked his lips, before crawling on top of you. 

His cock brushed up against your soaked pussy lips, making him groan. Fuck, you already felt so good. All he needed now was to feel that warm and welcoming heat. He couldn’t wait and pushed into you in one swift motion. The feeling of him filling you had you moaning. Your hands reached for his arms. Something to ground you as you felt the blunt head push against your sweet spot. 

“Volt! Oooohh…” Your eyes scrunched shut. 

With just one thrust against that gummy spot, you were already clenching around him. Squirting onto the lower half of his torso. He watched you spasm around him in awe, never experiencing anything like this before. The feeling of you squeezing his cock had him groaning. It felt like you were trying to milk him, not that he minded. 

“F-fuck, darling. Mmph…” He moved inside you as your orgasm still rocked you. 

Each brush of his cock within you had the pleasure lasting longer. It was almost becoming too much as tears pricked at the corner of your eyes. Something about seeing you cry had Volt’s cock twitching inside you. God, you looked so pretty. When he thought about ruining you, he didn’t think it would be this easy. 

He wasn’t even close to finishing yet. It left him wondering how many more times he could make you cum around his length. As he watched you writhe and moan beneath him, he decided he needed to find out. 

Nimble fingers reached for your clit as he pounded into you. You reached to stop his hand, but his free hand grabbed yours and pinned them above your head. Tears were now streaming down your face at the overstimulation. It felt so fucking good, but you didn’t know if you could handle more.

“Volt! It’s- ah! It’s too much!” You cried out, hips jolting as he continued to rub at your clit. 

“I know you can handle it, my live wire.” He pressed his lips to yours. 

With each circle around your clit he could feel you tightening. Another orgasm on the horizon. It made him smile as he moaned at the feeling. Oh, he could get used to this. Fucking you silly, making you cum over and over on his cock. 

Hips meeting his thrusts, you felt another orgasm shoot pleasure through you. Your pussy clenching around Volt once again. A guttural groan passing through his lips at how good you felt. As if you couldn’t help it, your hips still kept meeting his movements. Riding out your orgasm moaning over and over. 

Your pussy pulsed around his cock. So full and overstimulated. How much more could you feasibly take? Volt was going to find out. 

His hand released yours, moving to your hip. Quickly, he folded you over into a mean mating press. The head of his cock pummeling against your sweet spot. 

The pleasure was growing again, it was too much. Yet, you still wanted it. No, needed it. 

Volt was nearing his end. Balls tightening as he thrusted deep into your soaked cunt. All you could do was take it. Tears of overstimulation still flowed from your eyes as you sobbed from his continual pounding. 

The man used your body, desperate to have you cum around him one more time. Just one more, then he’d join you. Filling you up so nicely. The thought had his cock twitching, a warning that he was on the precipice of his climax. 

With precision, the head of his cock continued to pump against that sweet spot within you. Your eyes were wide as you could feel another orgasm about to slam into you. Letting out a weak moan, your pussy throbbed against him.

“Just one more, darling. I know you can handle it. Please.” He practically whimpered. 

Your pussy clenched around him tighter than before, making you scream out. He followed, filling you up with hot ropes of cum. A long moan escaped him as he was overwhelmed with pleasure. It felt like forever before he stopped pumping into your overstimulated cunt. His cock twitching and pulsing as your walls released around it. 

“Ah!” He moaned, pulling out of you. 

His eyes focused on your glistening pussy, a smirk on his face as he watched his spend trail down your thighs. His focus flitted back to your face. Boneless, your gaze was glazed over. Every nerve in your body was extremely sensitive. Thighs shaking with aftershocks of your orgasms. 

Ever the gentleman, Volt took care of you. Cleaning you up, and pulling your panties back up. As much as he could, he cuddled and caressed you on the futon, helping you come down from the experience. 

When you returned to earth, you turned to face him. He caressed your cheek with fondness, a soft smile on his face. Your eyes flitted to his lips, an action he caught with a smirk.

“Do you wish to kiss me again?” He teased, barely brushing his lips against yours.

“Yes.” You breathed out, then pressed your lips to his.

It was soft… sweet. Seemed like both Volt and Eddie had at least some softness to their rougher edges. You enjoyed the fact that you were the one that just so happened to experience them. 

Volt’s gaze moved to your neck. He grumbled to himself, realizing he had forgotten to do something. Before you knew it, you felt his lips on your neck. Mouth biting and sucking a purple mark onto your skin. Pulling back, he admired his work with a smirk. 

“Looks like you’ll have to pull out that turtleneck again.”

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

The next night you did in fact don another turtleneck. Beverly eyed you suspiciously, then shrugged her shoulders. It’s your life, she supposed. 

As soon as Eddie arrived at the bar, he practically beelined to you. When he saw your outfit, you noticed his expression turn cold. Steely gaze making you shiver. 

“Help me grab more ice from the back.” He practically growled at you. 

Beverly let out a scoff. Wow, he was not trying to hide anything whatsoever. As long as it didn’t affect her, she wouldn’t get involved. Let you deal with whatever drama was happening. 

Timidly, you followed Eddie to the backroom. Part of you shaking with excitement, the other with fear of what was to come. 

When the door was shut, Eddie walked up to you and pulled down your collar. His frown growing deeper at the sight of the new mark. 

“Have a fun night?” He asked lowly, eyes now locked with yours. 

“Yes.” You tried standing taller, attempting to make yourself look less afraid. 

“Do you remember what I said?”

“Yes.” You waited with bated breath for whatever came next.

“Then tell me.” He commanded, making you shiver. 

“I’m yours.” You stared back into his eyes, seeing a glimmer of something within them. 

“Good.” He sighed. 

He reached around you, pulling out a bag of ice from a deep freeze. Shoving it in your arms, he motioned for you to leave the room. Before you exited, he had one more thing to say.

“I hope you know that you’re staying late tonight.”