#i know i don't post about him that much but

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch5. child's play

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 5/x

ᰔ words. 4.8k

a/n. helloo my ihm friends! long time no see. hope you're all doing well and thank you so much to everyone who sent me kind messages about the whole ihm gojo ex wife thing haha. i really appreciate it :) i feel more confident about my writing decisions now, and that's all thanks to you guys! anyways, i will be posting shorter chapters for ihm going forward, so sorry if some chapters have slightly abrupt endings or stuff like that. i guess my goal is to post shorter chapters but more frequently! we'll see how it works out. anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter and see you at the bottom!!

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 :: ch5 :: ch6 (pending)

Ever since admitting your mother into hospice, things have been calmer inside your mind. After passing the initial wave of agony that came with no longer hearing her voice down the hall or seeing her silhouette in her bedroom as you walked past it, you realized that…a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. No longer setting alarms at the height of every other hour to remind your mother to take her medication, no longer viewing every interaction you had with her as some form of study you needed to jot down in a binder for her neurologist’s records, and no longer driving her to all of her chemotherapy appointments, only to leave them feeling like you purposefully just took your mother to a place where they sucked all the life out of her in exchange for the slim promise of giving it all back to her someday.

Maybe it was evident in the way your shoulders felt less tense as you rolled them back, tilting your neck to the side and no longer feeling the painful strain that tugs a wince onto your face. The other day, you caught yourself humming a song as you drove to work. Your skin, usually feeling cracked and dry from stress and exhaustion, now has a slight plumpness to it like before. A more youthful glow, like the version of yourself you were before your mother became sick. The version of you that so quickly deteriorated, and one you didn’t even know still existed somewhere within you. 

There has also been time for hobbies. Rarest of occasions, you find yourself sauteing some yellow and white peaches in a saucepan over medium heat in Gojo’s kitchen, humming that song once again that’s been stuck in your head. The sundress you’re wearing matches the pink of the syrup that pools at the bottom of the pan, and you feel like you’re living your cottage core dreams in this brief moment of reprieve you’ve allowed yourself to fall into.

The sound of slippers tapping down onto the hardwood floor startles you out of your gleeful trance, and you turn your neck to the right to see a pajama-clad messy-haired Gojo shuffling his feet across the open area into the kitchen with a dark black mug in his hand.

“Why aren’t you dressed??” you ask him in a panic.

“I’ll get dressed later,” he tells you dismissively as he grabs the glass pitcher of coffee from where the coffee machine was nestled up against one of the counter corners.

“You’re stressing me out. Your mom told us to be there in two hours,” you say, putting your hands on your hips in disapproval as you hear the sizzle of the peaches in the saucepan. 

He entirely ignores you, choosing to instead drag his gaze down the form of your body. “Woooow, twice this month I get to see you in a cute dress,” he comments, pouring coffee into his mug but his eyes are still on you, “lucky me.”

“Oh Shut. Up,” you sneer at him with a harsh roll of your eyes, “your fake flattery might work on the lonely middle-aged women you seduce to make a living, but it won’t work on me.”

His shoulders push back before he slumps them slightly, his brow lifting with confusion. “It’s not fake though? I mean it. You look really nice right now.”

You point an accusatory sugar-syrup coated wooden spatula at him. “You’ve just been conditioned by the patriarchy to get a boner at the sight of a woman in a kitchen.”

“What–...no–...why do you always have to say stuff like that whenever I compliment you? Can’t you just accept it?”

You cross your arms over your chest. “I refuse to be flattered by an insolent man like you.”

He sighs, setting his coffee mug down on the counter, and you watch the way the fringe of his hair hangs over his forehead as he gazes into the contents, swirling it around with a loose grip on the handle. “Is this how it’s going to be everyday? I try to be nice, and you–...well, you know, are you.”

“Well who else should I be?”

His eyes lift up to meet yours, the slightest of a cheeky grin on his face as his eyes wander down the form of you again. “I don’t know. Someone a little…softer? Like, you’ve got this really pretty dress on, and then you’re telling me off about patriarchy-induced boners. It’s a little, uh, contradictory?”

You gasp. “You’re trying to control me. I knew it. You are poisoned by the patriarchy.”

“What?”

Your eyes narrow at him. “You have this image of a perfect and cute little wife, who’s gonna wear pretty dresses all the time, and bake stuff in the kitchen, and get all blushy when you tell her she looks beautiful, and you expect her to have this soft little personality that never argues with you or disagrees with you…ALL BECAUSE OF THE PATRIARCHY!!!”

“...I–...Okay, you’ve lost me.”

You let out a hmph! noise. “Can’t even discern his own brainwashing. Sad.”

“All of this just because I tried to tell you that you look nice?”

“I know what your ulterior motives are, you creep.”

His eyes spark a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a cheeky grin as he sets the coffee mug down onto the marble counter and he straightens his spine. You blink, watching with confusion as he crosses the distance between the two of you, to where you’re taking a small few steps backwards until your lower back presses against the edge of the island countertop. He cages you into the surface with his frame, followed by the palms of his hands sliding over the marble on both sides of you, and you feel his forearms press against the curve of your waist as he traps you in with no way out.

“S-Satoru,” you stutter, looking up at him with wide eyes, “what are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?” he says, his voice deeper with a nonchalance that has you shiver, his gaze dropping to your lips when you part them slightly.

“T-The patriar–” you squeak out, but he suddenly dips his head down to kiss you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, eyes immediately closing when he moves his lips against yours, one of his strong arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him and your hesitation is something that only lasts a brief second before you find yourself kissing him back. Some noise leaves his throat, deep and raw and sounding pleasantly surprised as he captures your lips more fervidly now, his hands smoothing down to hold your hips and his teeth slightly nip at your bottom lip. 

You grab a fistful of his shirt, unsure of whether you want to pull him closer to you or push him away, but the moan that you mumble against his lips only makes his grip on your hips even stronger, fingers digging into the softness through the thin fabric of your dress. 

The oven suddenly starts beeping, startling you and you pull away from the kiss with a gasp, eyes rounded as you look up at him, but his are lidded and dilated as his gaze remains glued to your lips. 

With a heaving chest, you try to push him away by a weak fist to his sternum but he’s unrelenting.

“You taste sweet,” he says, like some comment he noted in his head but accidentally voiced out loud.

“I–...” you inhale sharply, “I just ate three macerated peaches.”

“Uh-huh,” he barely acknowledges before leaning in to get another taste, but you push him away harsher this time.

His hands let go of your hips entirely, finally breaking out of that kiss-induced trance he was in, but he still remains close to you in proximity, so much so to where you can feel the heat from his body. It’s comforting almost, radiating through the soft cotton of his long sleeve shirt, and you find yourself subconsciously leaning towards him before you snap out of it too, and rock your weight back against the island countertop.

You cross your arms over your chest, hoping the flush to your cheeks isn’t showing. “Oh okay so we just casually kiss now?”

He shoves his hands into his plaid pajama pant pockets, leaning away from you slightly. “For as long as I can get away with it, yeah.”

“You are breaking the rules.”

“You never said no kissing.”

“I said no touching.”

“Ehhh kissing isn’t really touching, though, is it?”

“You sound stupid.”

“I always sound stupid to you.”

The oven starts beeping again, and you realize it’s long been preheated to the setting you had placed earlier. You slip away from him with haste, feeling his gaze on you as you press a button on the oven to turn the alarm off, and you stare at the handle for a moment or two to calm the beating of your heart down. 

Your eyes catch sight of something on the side of the fridge. A little magnet made of rubber that has the word London on it as well as the design of the Westminster Cathedral with golden accents. You recall that Gojo went on a trip to London recently, and that he didn’t bring you back any souvenirs from there like he did for your other neighbors. And you want to pretend, you want to shove it down, that incessantly childish feeling that wonders why he didn’t bring you anything back. You want to continue to pretend like it doesn’t hurt your feelings. Something so miniscule and small. But you–...well, you can’t.

You spin around to face him. “Do you hate me?” you bluntly ask.

He blinks at you. “Huh?”

“Do you, what, I don’t know, think I’m annoying or something?”

He shrugs with his hands still in his pockets. “I mean, yeah, I do think you’re annoying sometimes. But in a silly way. Like we’re just pals horsin’ around, y’know?”

You snarl at him, putting your hands on your hips and narrowing your gaze until he’s hardly even visible anymore. “No. I actually find you annoying. Like, wanna-run-you-over-with-a-bus annoying. You just have horrendous social awareness and think that everyone loves you.”

“You actually don’t like me?” he asks, like he can’t even believe that someone wouldn’t.

“Yes,” you say, “now get out of my way.” You make an attempt to push past him, purposefully knocking your shoulder into him to assert dominance but he is unfortunately much bigger than you and so all it does is make you stumble ungracefully from the recoil.

He quickly grabs your arm to steady you, and you glare up at him before yanking yourself away and then step backwards until your back hits the fridge.

He studies your demeanor for a second before taking a deep inhale, and then lets it all go in a heaving sigh. “What do I have to do to get you to lighten up a bit?” he asks.

“You really want to know?” you sneer at him.

“Yes,” he says with a slight hint of frustration in his tone.

You cross your arms. “Pay for the fucking fence.”

He blinks at you, confusion replacing whatever frustration was previously decorating his tone. “What?”

“The fence,” you reiterate with a step forwards towards him, “the one I built six months ago. The one where you laughed in my face when I told you to help pay for it.”

He leans forward. “Yeah. Because I never wanted that fence built. Like I said, it fucked up the roots on my avocado tree. You should’ve asked me before building it. In fact, it’s illegal to build a fence without joint consent of both neighboring property owne–”

“Oh my god, okay, see? This is why I can’t stand you,” you snarl at him and make another move to get past him but he easily steps in front of you to keep you from going anywhere.

With a sigh, he relents. “Fine, I’ll pay for the fence.”

You try to keep the twitching muscles of your face still as you resolutely stare up at him, pressing your lips into a thin line. Through a strained tone, you say, “No. I don’t want you to pay for it anymore.”

He lifts a brow, utterly bewildered at this point. “Huh?”

“Now it just feels like pity. And I don’t want your pity money.”

“Two seconds ago, you did.”

“Yeah, well, whatever. That was two seconds ago.”

“So…let me get this straight, you don’t want me to pitch in?”

“No. I want you to have wanted to pitch in SIX MONTHS AGO.”

“Okay but what the fuck am I supposed to do about that now?”

“NOTHING!!!” you finally snap at him, the shrill to your voice startling him slightly to where you see his shoulders jump, and his eyes are now rounded blue as he looks at you. “There’s nothing you can do about it, there’s nothing you can do to get me to ‘lighten up’ or ‘act softer’ or whatever the fuck kind of damage control you aim to achieve with me due to your pestering incessant need to be liked by every fucking person you come across. So just deal with the fact that I hate you and let me do it in peace.”

He’s silent for what feels like a long time as he blinks at you, his bottom lip pushing up slightly in a way that suggests he’s almost impressed by your little outburst, then he takes a step forward, and in that one large stride, he’s closed any distance between the two of you. Your back is up against the frigid steel of the fridge, your heels tucked under the warm rubber at the foot of it, and you’re looking up at Gojo as he towers over you, his hands still annoyingly and relaxedly shoved into his pockets.

“Do you think it’s gonna be a problem that I think you’re kinda hot when you’re mad?” he asks you.

A small puff of air leaves your lips, like you just can’t believe the audacity, but also having him this close to you suddenly made it a little harder to breathe. “C–...Can you just be fucking serious for one second?”

His head dips down, the fringe of his hair tickling your forehead, tip of his nose slightly brushing against yours, but his gaze never falls to your lips. “You think I’m not being stupid fuckin’ serious when I say that you’re hot?”

“S–” your breath hitches in your throat, and his gaze finally falls to the lick you pass over your lips, “Satoru–”

Like God himself answered to your (cognitively dissonant) prayers, the bell rings, and Gojo leans himself away from you, straightening his spine so he can glance over his shoulder towards the door, a slight look of irritation on his face through the furrow of his brow.

You blink up at him. “A–...Are you expecting someone?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “No. Don’t think so.” He sighs before shuffling around the kitchen island and across the dining hall towards the entryway of the house, and you peer at the sight from across the hall.

When he opens the door, you see Sana standing outside, dressed in mom jeans and a t-shirt with her black Coach purse slung around her shoulder, arms crossed, and you barely register the fact that she looks pissed.

“Sana?” Gojo says, “what’s up.”

She entirely ignores him when she catches sight of you, pushing right past him and into the family room that you were currently finding solace in.

“You,” she points at you, storming right up to your personal space, “what the hell did you say to Juno when you were babysitting her?!”

“H-Huh??” you squeak out, taking a step backwards. “What are you talking about?”

“You told her to fight kids at school?!” she snarls at you, and your eyes widen.

“What?” you say, your face twisting with confusion, “I–...I never said that. I just said that she should stand up for herself if she needs to.”

Sana inhales deeply with rage, leaning back and jutting her hip out as she crosses her arms again. “Yeah, well, I had to pick her up early from school today because the principal called and told me she shoved a little girl on the playground during recess, and now she’s facing suspension.”

Gojo approaches suddenly from your periphery, standing in front of you as he faces Sana. You stand on your tiptoes to peer at her over his shoulder. “What? Why would Juno do something like that?

You hear Sana start to tap her foot impatiently against the hardwood floor, and then she turns her head away from Gojo as a slight hmph! noise leaves her throat. “The why is irrelevant.”

You poke your head out from behind Gojo and glare at her, but then Gojo turns around suddenly to look at you.

“y/n,” he says, “what’s going on?”

“I–” you start, glancing at Sana again who now has a solemn look on her face with pursed lips. You glance back at Gojo, who’s looking at you with confusion and anticipation. A heat spreads down your neck from the attention of the both of them on you, and you’re not sure what the smart thing to say is, so you figure you’ll just tell the truth as it is. “...I just didn’t want her getting bullied and thinking she can’t stick up for herself.”

At that, you see Gojo’s shoulders stiffen. “Bullied?” he repeats after you, then quickly turns towards Sana, “what does she mean, bullied? Juno’s getting bullied at school?”

Sana faces him full-on, raising a stern pointed finger between the two of them “No. Satoru. Stop. You always do this. This has nothing to do with you, so don’t even start. It’s not a big deal, let’s not make it one.”

“The fuck do you mean it’s not a big deal? She’s getting bullied at school, and you want her to just suck it up?” he asks, venom dripping from his tone. 

“It’s for her benefit!” Sana exclaims. “Jun and I have spent months trying to get her into this school! We don’t want her getting kicked out.”

“Y’know, I’m–” you stutter, “I’m gonna–...I’m just gonna go upstairs,” you say, “this seems like a family matter. I think you guys should probably just settle this on your ow–”

“No,” Gojo says, pointing to the couch that you were standing in front of, “sit down.”

You sit.

Gojo turns to face Sana again, and although you can’t see his face, you imagine he’s pissed off from the way Sana’s shoulders drop slightly and her sharp expression is cut into a more sheepish one.

“Who cares if Juno is suspended for sticking up for herself? It’s the teachers’ fault for not making sure she’s safe,” he says.

“Shoving other kids is not the solution.”

“Well if you fuck around, then you find out. Kids are too soft these days.”

“This is not the 90s, Satoru.”

You watch the back and forth between the two of them for the better part of an entire minute, feeling uneasy in the hostile environment of the room, but there’s a sense of underlying familiarity between the two, one that is recognizable amongst family. And you feel rather foreign, but then remember that, technically speaking, now that you’re married to Gojo, this is your family too.

Amongst the arguing of the adults, none of you noticed that Juno had gotten out of the car in the driveway and was now standing in the doorframe of the front entrance. She looks scared and guilty, fidgeting with her fingers in front of her, and you notice her scrapes and bruises that you tended to last week were now mostly healed. 

Gojo catches sight of her, and you see his shoulders relax. “Juno, c’mere.”

With the permission, she instantly runs towards him and into his arms from where he was crouched down to the floor in order to welcome her, and then she starts sobbing.

“I’m–hic,” she cries, “I’m so–hic–I’m so sowwyyy Uncle Toru…I’m–hic–I’m sorry mommyyyy.” 

You see Sana sigh and she makes a move to brush Juno’s tear-dampened hair out of her face when Gojo pulls her away from his shoulder by a delicate hold of her bony little shoulders.

“Juno. Listen. If people are being mean to you, then you do exactly as your auntie y/n said. You stand up for yourself. And if that doesn’t work, then you cuss at them and threaten to shove their faces into the dirt until they run away with their tails between their legs. Do you understand me?” Gojo tells her.

Sana gives you a pointed look.

“Oh, I–” you put your hands up in front of you, “I didn’t say any of that last part.”

“Do you understand me?” Gojo repeats again, and Juno nods her head slowly before she falls back into him and soaks his shirt with tears. “I’m soowwwwwyyyyyy.”

Gojo pats her back a few times to comfort her, and your heart breaks for the little girl. It’s bad enough to be bullied at school, but then to be reprimanded by your mother the one time you stand up for yourself…you can imagine how emotionally exhausting that would be for a five-year-old. 

Juno sniffles, rubbing her snot all over the cotton of Gojo’s shirt, and then pulls her face away to rub at her eye with a weakly closed fist. “I–hic–I just…I just wanted him to feel–hic–the same hurt.”

“Huh? Who?” Gojo asks.

“The boy,” Juno says, “the one that shoved me today.”

“It was a boy?!?!?!” Gojo yells. “Alright. That’s it. I’m grabbing my bat.”

“Satoru.” Sana deadpans.

Sana and Gojo continue to bicker about the ethics of threatening five-year-old boys with baseball bats, going back and forth about how Gojo wasn’t actually going to do anything but just wanted to instill fear (he’s lying), while Sana isn’t exactly sold on a single pacifist thing that he says, and you sigh, because you realize you’ve become invested in one of, what you feel like will become many, of their family quarrels.

Juno sneaks around Gojo’s legs and comes up to you while the arguing is taking place in the background, and she gently taps your knee as you’re seated on the couch. “Auntie y/n,” she whispers.

You rub an eye crustie from her face and then hold her hand in yours. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Mm? For what?”

She smiles at you, her cheeks pink and flush from crying but rounded now in glee. “My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.”

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean by that, sweetheart?”

Why wouldn’t Sana and Jun be on normal talking terms? What does Juno mean that it’s been a long time? What exactly was going on at home?

“Juno,” Sana’s voice interrupts your thoughts, her arms crossed across her chest, “c’mon. Let’s go.” She points a stern finger at Gojo. “Seriously. I mean it. No baseball bats or rodent traps involved. I’ll talk to the teachers and sort something out.” She glances at you, that strict look on her face now dissolving into one of pure exhaustion. One you can imagine only a mother can face. “See you later at dinner, you two.”

Juno runs up to her mom and grabs onto her outreached hand, and you see Gojo ruffle her hair as she walks past him, her giggles ringing in the air, and then he sees them out the door. 

The air is awkward, at least to you, the second he closes the door, and when he turns around to face you, your body stiffens up.

He leans back onto the front door, crossing his arms over his chest. “Thanks,” he says, “for telling Juno to stick up for herself.”

You blink at him. “Well. I don’t feel too great about it at the moment, to be honest.”

He sighs. “I just think that Jun and Sana are raising her to be…kinda meek. I wish they’d teach her to be more confident and take up space.”

“Mhm,” you nod. Because you agree. Little girls need to learn how to be that way at a young age, because the world is seldom very kind to them.

“Well, what you said to her is what I would’ve said to her anyways,” he says.

You roll your eyes, standing up from the couch and heading back into the kitchen to presume your work on your peach cobbler. “I never told her to shove kids’ faces into the dirt. But, uh, sure, I guess so.”

You see Gojo enter the kitchen too in your periphery, but you don’t give him any glance or look or attention. From what you can see as you stir around your macerated peaches in a Pyrex bowl, he’s leaning against the island counter about three feet away from you, his hands shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching you. A slight warmth radiates in your cheeks, but you attempt to ignore the nerves by being hypnotized by the pink syrup that pools at the bottom of the bowl.

My mommy and daddy spoke a lot today at home for first time in long time because of me. Because I listen’ded to you. Thank you.

An unsettling feeling takes over your senses. It could be the past few years you’ve spent walking on eggshells around your mother, or the way you’ve become so keen to her energy as a way of staying on top of any shift in her symptoms, any single sign of disease progression, any clue that she wasn’t getting better. Any clue that she wasn’t doing okay. And you feel a sense of dread, because that skill, you realize, has now made you aware of similar circumstances in the people around you.

Not to mention, you are a child of divorce. You know what that fear feels like.

You just want to know if Juno feels safe at home.

“Hey, um…” you start, turning slightly to finally face Gojo, your eyes hesitantly flickering up to meet his gaze, “when was the last time you saw your brother-in-law? And with Sana?”

He raises a brow at you. “I just saw them last weekend for one of Juno’s dance recitals.”

“Ah…I see,” you say. You purse your lips together. 

Right. Kids say things all the time. They believe in Santa Claus and think that blueberry pancakes are called blubbery pancakes. And they sometimes read too into things, and they sometimes read too little. Surely, things must be okay. Maybe Sana and Jun had had a little argument with some stubbornly thawing cold shoulders, a demeanor that was noticed by their child, and now things have resumed to normal. That was normal. Part of every family. “That’s good to know…” 

You turn away from Gojo to stare back down into the bowl of macerated peaches again. With a furrowed brow, you close your eyes tightly to try to shake the chilly feeling in your bones, and you feel better when you open them again. The slightly numb sensation in your hand dissipates and you have enough dexterity to mix the peaches around in the bowl.

“I wonder what news they want to share with us over dinner,” you say, to quell the awkward silence.

“Hm?” Gojo hums, and you see him turn around face the counter now, hovering over the bowl of raw crumble topping you had mixed together, prodding at it with the wooden spoon. “Oh, they’re moving.”

Your head snaps to look at him. “W-What?”

“Yeah,” he nonchalantly affirms, scooping up a spoonful of the crumble. “They wanted to up-size, and move a little closer to the school that Juno’s at. I found them a nice place about an hour from here on the outskirts of the city. They just signed the papers a couple weeks ago.” And then he shoves the spoon into his mouth.

“Oh…wow,” you say. “Okay…”

“Damn,” Gojo says with surprise laced in his tone, "this is really good.” He’s staring into the bowl in awe and then scoops up some more crumble with a spoon.

You blink at him, irritated that he’s eating all your ingredients without even asking, and before you’ve even finished your dessert. It’s like he was born to piss you off.

You walk up to him and yank the bowl away, “Gimme that.” Then you pull it into the divot of your waist possessively and glare at him. 

He sighs, and then says something out loud that you’re sure he meant to keep in his head:

“I’ll get used to it.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. it feels so strange to post such a short chapter bahaha hopefully the ending isn't too abrupt. but hope you enjoyed! i'm so sorry ab the slow burn in this series aaa but i can try to assure you that it'll all be worth it hopefully lol i'm really excited for what i have planned for this series!! alsooo sorry if there are errors or anything, i'm trying to spend less time editing since it really stalls me n leads to writer's block lol. hope to see you in the next one :) much love! - ellie

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[bunnys-kisses]

⋆⋅☆max v. with a trans masc partner☆⋅⋆

max verstappen knew what he liked. while he usually put the front as a heterosexual man, he had always been a little more fluid about his sexuality outside of the limelight. he had kissed many men in his life as with women, even those who were neither men nor women. kissing was fun, sex was fun. and he wasn't going to limit himself to one set of tools to get the job down. a cock down the throat could be as delightful as sinking into a sweet pussy.

so it was more of a surprise for you to receive max's advances than it was for him to give them.

you remembered when you grandmother told you that she was concerned about you transitioning because you may "never find love" and you told her that it didn't matter. cars were your love, you didn't need a person to fill that gap. so when you met the three time world champion as the new mechanic for the 2024 season, you honestly didn't think too much about wooing him romantically.

but, max was wooed by you. especially when he saw that your lockscreen of your phone was a picture of your two cats, and when he brought up his cats, you just lit up. max liked that you treated him like he was a person. and you simply said, "mate, i'm pretty certain they don't let robots drive these cars." then slapped him on the back, "but i will make you bleed red if you total my car." then flashed him a smile.

you remembered the first time max kissed you. the dutch grand prix had been a total success and within the quietness of the garage post-race with the trophy max had won near by. he took you by the waist and kissed you. he'd later admit that he wanted to do it right on the track.

"do you kiss all your mechanics like that, verstappen?"

"no, only the ones who allow me to win." you two had spent almost the entire season bitching about red bull. max wondered if or when he eventually jumped teams, if he could take you with him. as he held you in his arms. chest to chest.

you admitted close to his ear, a little insecure, "i hope you know. i've built myself... i was born a girl, but became something more. different." then tried to pull back, fearful of his response. you weren't trying to trick him, you'd rather have it on the table.

but he pulled you back in, his blue eyes on you, "you act like i don't know what transgender people are, mechanic." he said as he leaned you back a little, to get a fuller look at you, "you act like i've never been to bed with one."

"i don't want to be a one night stand." you said, your hands on the front of his polo shirt. his hat long hit the floor in the heat of the kiss. you swallowed, "i won't be a toy, verstappen. i have too much respect for myself."

he chuckled, "that's what i like to hear." he held you around the waist and you kissed once more. he could feel the rise in his blood pressure. while you could've easily done it in the garage, max gave you the address of where he was staying and the lie to tell security.

the mechanics team were in another hotel, but if you wore your red bull branded uniform and had your mechanic's pass then you'd get in easily. they'd never suspect that you'd be intimate with the star of the team. and you did just that. even flashing a smile at security before you headed up to the elevator. they didn't even ask questions, which made your life easier.

you found max's room and he happily brought you in. but once the door was closed behind you. his strong arms were around you. he smiled at you, happy to see you. you carefully touched his face, part of you believed this was a strange dream after too many rum and cokes. but as you felt his facial hair under your hand, this was all painfully real.

"do you want this?" he asked.

you nodded and responded with a question of your own, "do you?"

his smile grew a little more, he leaned in closer to you. you only now realized how blue his eyes were, "since the moment i saw you come to the garage. you were more impressed with the car than with me... i found it endearing." he chuckled.

you held his face with both hands and gazed at him, "yeah, because it's a piece of shit car for a champion. it's like giving the king aluminum instead of gold."

he laughed before he leaned in for a kiss. you held his face close to yourself and you felt something bloom in your gut. eventually you got your worn sneakers kicked off and the jacket of your uniform off. it left you in a white t-shirt and max started to strip as well. you eyed his form and he eyed yours.

you felt his heated gaze linger on your chest for a moment and without thinking you crossed your arms across where your top surgery scars were. it was habit at that point.

max was in just his jeans and socks. he reached for your arms. feeling your warm under his palm as he carefully moved your arms away. he wanted to admire you, all of you.

"must've felt very different after the surgery." he said as he held your wrists, his eyes gazed on the fading scars. he was in no way to judge about scarring. at least yours were for something worthwhile, to change yourself in such a fundamental way, "was it scary?"

you shook your head, "no... i wanted to do everything afterwards. my doctor basically put me on bed rest because i was trying to push myself too hard. what was a four week recovery turned in seven."

he placed his hands on your flat chest and could feel the slight raise of the scars under his palms, "you push yourself too hard."

you swallowed, feeling the heat in your cheeks, "if you want to be the best. you have to do more than your best." your gaze met his. it felt so painfully intimate. this wasn't just sex in a hotel room, this was intimacy. max wanted more than your body, he wanted to know all the nooks of your soul and what inhabited them.

he leaned in once more, "we have that in common." before he kissed you once more. his kiss was sweeter, an assurance that you and your body were nothing to be ashamed of. if anything he admired it, even though he couldn't relate to the feelings you carried. he could at least understand the guts it took to go through it.

to become more than you what was given to you. it endeared you to him as you broke the kiss and continued to get undressed. the more of your bodies exposed to one another, the hotter the room got. even with the air conditioning rattling in the room. you could feel the heat between you two.

max sighed, "i don't have condoms... i can pull out or we can do something else." he explained as he got into the bed with you. both naked. his broad hand grazed across your body.

you responded and placed his hand on your lower abdomen, right before your pussy, "hysterectomy. six months before i started. are you clean though?"

he replied, "yes. been a long time since i've been with someone anyway." he was telling the truth. since you started at the season, everything had become a blur with you and the championship being a central focus.

his pointer finger trailed across the scar for a moment before he took your face in his hands and kissed you once more. you could go on about the shape of your face, but in his hands it felt very small. you hadn't realized that max verstappen had paws instead of hands. the thought made you giggle a little into the kiss.

he pulled away and looked at you before he laid you out on your back. he asked with a small smile, "what are you laughing about?"

you looked up at him and said, "didn't realized that formula one drivers had such big hands. every seen them up close like this before." then yelped a little when max grabbed you by the hips and pushed himself up against you.

he curved his back over you and maintained eye contact, those blue eyes were swimming with lust, "well. it's good you haven't seen others this close up. i might get a little jealous."

you looked away for a moment with a stupid grin on your face, "okay, flirt. why don't we get to it before i melt into this bed." then a soft moan left your lips as he rubbed his cock up against your wet cunt.

he admired you for a moment, hoping the image of your naked body stayed with him for weeks to come. you looked masculine. he wasn't going to say "technically" it's not having sex with a man. you were a man just as much as he was if not more. you had to create your manhood and you made it to perfection.

"i want you." you said softly.

he leaned forward and kissed you gently on the lips before he eased his cock into you. he replied with an equal softness, "i want you too, mechanic." the nickname made your ears hot as he moved against you. he thrusts were gently but gained a steady momentum.

you held onto the covers under your back and let him move against you. once you got a hold of his rhythm, you were able to meet his movements as well. the kisses you two shared grew hot as max planted both hands on either side of you and moved.

you two were moving against one another, locked in a heated kiss. the bed shifted slightly under your movements. max was thankful that were was not a bed on the opposite side of the wall. and that this place had enough insulation to keep your noises muffled.

the last thing he wanted was your integrity to come into question. that you only got to where you were because of your seductive ways. the noises between you two were soft. there was no need to rush, the race was over and tomorrow you'd be on the flight to the next one.

he took your hands and held them by your head, which kept you two close but also allowed him to keep you pinned under him. when you broke the kiss, you rested your forehead against his. the noises were harder to keep under wraps the more you moved. the pleasure felt like fireworks in your brain.

you moaned a little bit before you said, "i was thinking something stupid."

max chuckled his sweaty forehead against yours, "tell me."

"i realized what your eyes remind me of." you admitted softly, "i couldn't quite pin it after we met." you were breathing heavily as you locked your fingers further with his.

"and what do they remind of you?" he asked, curiously. he had heard people refer to them like the ocean, the sky after a store, the definition of blue.

you replied, "home. the lake near where i lived. not scary like the ocean. familiar like the lakes i grew up near."

max had no words, he simply laid another kiss on you. his hands grasped your tightly as you two moved together more. the pace quickened and max knew that he wanted to be in your life for a long period of time. he wanted you to be his home.

you moaned against the kiss, feeling the heat leap in your belly as you felt closer to orgasm. you came first with your lips against his. your back arched but your hands were pinned to the bed. it felt good as pleasure rushed to your brain.

max broke the kiss and continued to move against you. he let go of your hands in favour of your hips where he bounced your further against his cock. it made crackles of pleasure appear in your brain. and he was no better, his heavy breathing and occasional moan fueled his need to finish. and when he did, he did so inside of you. max never thought too much about the surgery you had, but he was thankful for it tonight.

he stayed inside of you for a moment as he cooled down before he left a kiss on the corner of your mouth. full of such tenderness as he pulled out of you and ran his fingers through his short hair.

you laid out next to him and heavily panting, feeling so vulnerable. he stayed closer to you, eventually pulling you to him and resting his chin on top of your head. you got comfortable against him.

"if you have any questions, i can answer them... about the whole trans thing." you swallowed, even now you felt embarrassed bringing it up. you felt it was a mood killer.

he took you by the chin and made you face him. he smiled down at you. he asked one question, "are you happy? did you get the life you wanted?"

you nodded in response, "everything and more." and that was enough for max. anything else you felt the need to tell him would be told with time, after all, max expected to be in your life for many years to come. both as his mechanic and lover.

-

max would only come clean about the relationship two years later. the end of his contract with red bull and a final championship was enough for the driver to retire peacefully. and when he retired, you retired and you made a home in monaco.

the coming out post set the internet ablaze. especially given how long you two had been together. wasn't anything too special, just a small collection of photos that he had taken over your time together. like the time you wore his helmet in 2025 with a big thumbs up. and that time you thoroughly messed up a birthday cake for him, and with the camera in your face, he rubbed the icing off your cheek. the one that really captured eyes was the one that a friend took of you at a house party when max came to visit your home country, with his legs over your strong lap and his lips against your face. you were smiling like the sun. being the center of a media storm was only braved with max by your side. at one point turning your phone off and throwing it onto the couch. his kisses were still loving as always, his words soft, and his affirmations of your gender were often so sweet that you'd cover your face in embarrassment.

you were always comfortable with the idea of not meeting your 'other half', you had been given a second chance at life once you came out. and if no one could accept you then so be it. but as you laid out on the couch laid out against your boyfriend with sassy at your side and your cat between the crook of your knee, you felt loved. <3

a/n: i do write for masc readers as well, both cis and beyond. just not as often because many request femme readers. but if an idea is cooking in your head. hit me with it!

[itsrlymine]

stop calling your desires "desires" when they are a part of your everyday life.

literally stop. seriously. do you desire the skill to read this post or can you just read what i'm typing? do you desire the skill to be able to spell words in your first language or can you just spell? okay so then what's up with all the emphasis on your "desires"? i don't call anything i want to manifest a desire. why? because I have it already so wtf am I desiring? I don't think about things i want to manifest as "things I want to manifest." i think about them as mine, here and now. why? because it's literally here in my face staring me in my eyeballs.

I even hate calling them that when at the end of the day, they are just you. just you experiencing more you yet you put so much separation between you and that which you cannot even be separate from.

stop calling your sp your "sp" and call them by what they actually are. stop calling your circumstances "circumstances" when they don't f*cking exist. stop calling your desires "desires" when they are a regular part of your life. i'm pretty sure you don't call a pencil you've had for 3 weeks a desire of yours anymore. why? because you are already used to it and you just call it for what it is. a pencil. so what is the difference with anything else now????

"oh i just wanted to talk about my sp and how i want him to be more-"

i thought that was your man? so what is an sp?

" i want to move rn but i don't have the money, i don't know where i want to stay and my circumstances are just getting so overwhel-"

.... you moved out already and wtf are circumstances? i've never heard that word before.

"i just want to be certain i got the job but i haven't heard anything back in-"

babe.... the job is yours. what the h*ll are you talking about?

you never had to use this verbiage before you "learned" about manifesting so why must you now? acknowledge what is true and stop feeding into b*llshit. pls.

[sunnylucy31]

TheShatteredQueen posted in /r/AmITheAsshole:

AITA for doing whatever I can to save my people from genocide?

So obviously that title needs a bit of clarification. I (21f) am leader of a very small and tight knit minority group that's being persecuted by a very rich and very powerful man (3200m) and his family. For anonymity's sake we'll call him "Thunderbeard." He wants us all exterminated and our souls sent straight to eternal punishment, just because he has beef with our parents, my father (10000m) in particular. My father is also his father, but that doesn't really matter to him so we'll leave that aside.

We don't want anything to do with our parents; they made us solely to use as expendable soldiers, and we want more out of life. I literally diced one of them (7400m) and threw the pieces into super hell so we could avoid that. Unfortunately we only got a couple days of peace before Thunderbeard learned about us and had a bunch of his "employees" start hunting us. This was about five years ago.

I've lost good people. I can't imagine how they must be suffering right now, for no good reason. We'll all join them if we don't do something. I have a long term plan, but to enact it I need to buy us time.

Here's where things get complicated. Thunderbeard and his co-tyrants have kids similar to us, and a lot of them. Some are much younger than us, a few are much older, but they definitely outnumber us by a sizeable margin. Whenever Thunderbeard and Co need a job done, they typically send a few of the kids out to do it, more depending on how big the job is. The only reason they haven't been sent against us yet is because Thunderbeard thinks there's not enough of us to warrant it. My worry is that once he realizes he's wrong, he'll "rally the troops," as it were, and we'll be overwhelmed.

So I looked for ways to mitigate that, and happened on one that's a bit morally contentious. See, their kids are split into two groups (the criteria for which is a bit hard to follow and not really relevant atm) that have fought each other in the past. My thought was, if they fight again, maybe they'll weaken each other enough that we stand a chance against them. We've been laying the groundwork for that for a few years now, and earlier this week we kicked things firmly into motion. Barring any unforeseen mishaps, it could be the saving grace we've been praying for.

Now clearly that's not a good thing to do, I'm fully aware of that. It's already putting strain on my personal relationships. I just learned that I have a half-sister (19f) who I'd love to get to know, but she thinks I'm a "warmonger" and won't hear me out at all. It's all I can do some nights to fall asleep while the guilt eats away me.

But what else should we do? My people are counting on me to save them. We're damned even if we do nothing, so isn't the moral thing to fight however we can, even if it's sneaky and underhanded?

AITA?

StrengthAndEndurance: NTA. It's your job to think about what's best for the people under you, not anyone else. Keep your head high, don't let the guilt get to you.

FerrumMemoria: NTA. The oppressed have never gained anything by playing fair with their oppressors. In any liberation movement, bloodshed is inevitable. The ruler who does not recognize this is not fit to rule. Carry on as you have, and worry not about the judgement of history until you've survived to write it.

StargazerButch7: NTA. I understand feeling guilty, but there's no easy way out of this mess. We all appreciate the hard choices you have to make for our sakes. Keep the faith!

WaterloggedRedhead: NTA! Thunderbeard is the real asshole! Keep up the good work, we're all behind you!

Write an r/AmITheAsshole post told from your OC’s perspective. (Bonus: include replies from your other OCs.)

[mononijikayu]

no. 1 party anthem — geto suguru.

“....What about my laugh?” He asks you, his cheeks flustered like cherry wine. “Is…is the sound good?” You matched his flustered cheeks. “It’s…It’s like a song.” “A song?” “My favorite song.” You admitted to him, slowly smiling as you shyly looked up to his flustered gaze. “Your voice is my favorite lullaby. But your laugh? It’s my favorite song.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: post hidden inventory, pre-jjk 0, heavy angst, romance, falling in love, conflicted feelings, hurt/comfort, break up, slice of life, timeskip, depression, hurt, mourning, loneliness, trauma, pain, humor, guilt, pining, conflicted relationship, emotional distress, grief, profanity, depiction of break up, depiction of grief, depiction of complicated relationship, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of loneliness, mention of events post hidden inventory, mention of events in jjk 0, cursed user! suguru, jujutsu sorcerer! reader;

WORD COUNT: 7.7k words

NOTE: i've been getting into arctic monkeys again (as you can tell) and i have to say, no. 1 party anthem has done things to me these past few weeks. AM is such a good album. i really don't think that one can get any rawer in story telling about the sorrows of parting the way AM had depicted it. so i hope you listen to it one of these days, if you haven't already. anyway, i hope you all enjoy this. i love you all so much!!! see you on the next one <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

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IT WAS A SURPRISE, TO SEE HIM TONIGHT. It had been nearly five years since you last saw Geto Suguru, but the weight of his absence still lingered in the quiet moments of your life. And it had taken your breath away, you knew that much. Because you had already resigned yourself to never seeing him again since that night.

But you can’t help but wonder about all the suffering and grief that had carved its way through those five years, shaping the person who stands here now.

The you of the present feels like a stranger sometimes, a mosaic pieced together from shattered moments, each shard reflecting a memory too painful to hold but too significant to discard.

There were nights when you lay awake, your mind replaying fragments of what once were half-formed smiles, laughter that now seemed like it belonged to someone else, and the weight of a bond that had been torn apart, leaving jagged, unclean edges that never truly healed.

You’d press your fingers against the raw places, testing their tenderness, reminding yourself that the pain was real. That he was real. But he wasn’t here anymore. He had chosen his life. He had made his bed with his reality. And so must you. 

It all felt like another lifetime, one so distant it seemed almost like a dream. The person you were then, the one who loved him, trusted him, believed in him. That person feels impossibly far away now. You’d convinced yourself you’d buried that version of you alongside the memory of him. And with time, you believed it.

You never expected to see him again.

And yet, there he was.

The sight of him felt like a blow, like the ground had shifted beneath you and left you unsteady. His presence unraveled the delicate stitches you’d used to bind your wounds, pulling them loose thread by thread. He looked both the same and different, an unsettling contradiction that left you breathless.

Time has not been kind to either of you. You knew that much. Geto Suguru was a handsome man, he always was and he always will be. But you could see things that people wouldn’t. You see everything, you know everything about him. Maybe more than himself.

If time had not been kind to him, you could only judge from afar about things that had happened to him. You could see it in the lines etched into his face, the heaviness in his gaze. But what struck you most was the familiar ache you thought you’d buried. it resurfaced all at once, sharp and unforgiving.

You told yourself you’d moved on. You told yourself he was a ghost, a memory that had no power over you anymore. But standing here now, your heart betrays you.

And for a moment, all the pain, all the nights spent grieving, all the years spent rebuilding—none of it seems to matter. For a moment, you forget the hurt and only remember how it felt to love him.

It happened on a random Friday night at a bar you frequented with your other sorcerer friends. It was a hub for sorcerers to gather after missions. With how Satoru and Shoko were also getting too busy to hang out with you, and Nanami not frequenting such a place, you had no other choice but to find yourself some new people to mingle around too when they weren’t free. Life doesn’t stop when you lose someone.

So, you ended up finding this bar. And over the years, you have become a regular. Even more so, you found new people to meddle life with. You all of course still can’t meet everyday. But it was more regular than most of your other relationships. That gets you through the day most of the time.

The bar in itself wasn’t special. It was a cozy, dimly lit spot with just enough charm to make it feel like a second home. But it was yours, a place where you could laugh, unwind, and forget the world outside. It was ironic that he of all people would show up here. Perhaps the universe had a cruel sense of humor, or maybe fate had finally decided to intervene.

Geto Suguru hadn’t been looking for you that night. Or maybe he had, in some subconscious, desperate way. His sources, mutual acquaintances, whispers from insiders had led him here, for business.

It’s why he had a special grade glamour on. But even he didn’t fully understand why he had stayed for a while. He didn’t need to. Someone else could have done this for him. 

But when he stepped into the inner corners of the bar, his purple eyes scanned the room almost out of habit. Nothing much intrigued him in this place. It was too common, too crowded. It wasn’t his fashion. It wasn’t his scene. 

But then, he looked further away and stopped.

In that moment, he knew that he saw you.

The moment froze. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in the warmth of your friends’ laughter. But he noticed everything. The way your smile lit up the room, the easy way you leaned into your conversation, the carefree aura you carried. 

It was a stark contrast to the image he had of you locked in his mind: the you who had walked away from him, or maybe the you he had walked away from. He couldn’t decide anymore. He never made up his mind about that. Perhaps doing so would have hurt more.

When your eyes finally met, it hit you like a tidal wave. Recognition. Shock. Something unnameable. No one else would see the cursed energy glamour the way you would. You would notice.

You would see him. All of him. Only you could do that in a way people will never know how to. No one else could tear apart Geto Suguru the way you have, the way you will for all his life.

For a heartbeat, it felt like no time had passed, like you were back in that shared moment before everything fell apart. But then reality set in, and you turned away. Too quickly, too deliberately. You excused yourself from the table, and when you returned, he was gone.

Geto Suguru had fled back to the club he’d come from, his chest tight with a cocktail of emotions he couldn’t untangle. He should’ve known better. You were no longer a part of his life. He’d lost the right to be. And yet, he couldn’t let it go. 

After downing two more drinks, the gnawing need to see you again overpowered him. He left the club and returned to the bar, heart pounding, searching. Asking the bartender if they’d seen you, scanning every corner of the room for a glimpse of your face. But you were gone.

Suguru wasn’t sure what hurt more: the hope that had flared in his chest when he saw you or the emptiness left in its place when you disappeared.

He hadn’t planned on this—on seeing you, on unraveling in public like this. Life after you had been a blur of responsibility and regret. You’d moved to Fukuoka to teach to get as far away from Tokyo as possible and he focused on his new family, his new vision. 

Geto Suguru poured himself into work, convincing himself that distance was the answer. Just as much as you had thought the same thing. Out of sight, out of mind. But you were never truly gone from his thoughts, and the years only deepened the hollow ache. And perhaps, neither was he. 

Now, both of you are back in Tokyo, perhaps even just for tonight. He was sitting alone at the bar, he stared into his glass, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped the edges. He was alone, so far away from you and your warmth, and your smiles and you who was everything.

The laughter of strangers around him was a cruel echo of the joy you’d shared with your friends just hours ago. He drank to dull the pain, but it only sharpened the edges of his misery. Each sip dragged him further into the pit he’d been clawing his way out of for years.

Suguru hated himself for the way he felt, for the way his chest still tightened at the thought of you, for the way he still longed for something he’d already destroyed. He had made his choices, he stood by them firmly. 

And yet as the night wore on, his mind spiraled further into the what-ifs and could-have-beens, until he was too far gone to remember why he started drinking in the first place, he could only think how miserable he truly was.

By the time Suguru stumbled out of the bar, the night had deepened into an eerie quiet. The streets were nearly empty, save for the faint hum of passing cars and the distant laughter of people heading home.

The cold air stung his skin, but it didn’t sober him. Nothing could cut through the fog in his mind, the haze of alcohol and regret that weighed him down.

He wandered aimlessly, his thoughts circling back to you like a cruel refrain. How could you look so happy? How had you moved on so effortlessly when he was still stuck in the wreckage of what you once shared? Part of him wanted to be angry, but the anger never came. All that remained was the bitter taste of self-loathing.

When Suguru finally stopped walking, he found himself at a familiar park; a place you’d both loved. The benches were worn, the trees towering silhouettes against the starless sky. He sank onto a bench and buried his face in his hands, the chill of the night pressing against his flushed skin.

Memories rushed in unbidden, as vivid as the night you first kissed under those very trees. He could almost hear your laughter, feel the warmth of your hand in his.

It was unbearable, the way the past clung to him like a second skin. He didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the sheer weight of his emotions, but his chest heaved, and he let out a strangled sob, his breath fogging in the cold air.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He had convinced himself that leaving had been the right thing to do, that the distance would save you both from the inevitable pain of being together.

But in his effort to protect you, he had only condemned himself. And now, seeing you happy, surrounded by friends, made him realize just how deeply he had failed.

Meanwhile, you ended up back at your friend’s apartment, all the laughter and enjoyment had come fading as the events of the night replayed in your mind. Seeing Geto Suguru again had been a shock you weren’t prepared for. None else noticed but you. If anything, it was as if he had wanted you to know that it was him. 

You couldn’t help but feel sick at the thought. He’d come back. But for what? Why have he come back? You’d been doing fine for the past ten years. And now in an instant, you find yourself unable to do anything about these tears that just pours out. 

You’d spent years trying to bury the memories, to build a life that didn’t revolve around the void Suguru had left behind. And for the most part, you’d succeeded. But tonight had cracked something so deep within you, like a breaking dam. It was that wound you thought had healed. A wound so deep that maybe you never noticed it never healed.

Your friends noticed your distraction and tried to coax you back into the lighthearted energy of the evening, but it was no use. When it comes to Suguru, you knew you would never be able to pull yourself back from the brink. You left early, along with your friend and retreated to the quiet of your own space in her house. 

Sitting in the dim glow of your living room, you stared at your phone, your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts. It had been years since you’d last spoken, and the silence between you was deafening. But tonight, it felt heavier, like it was begging to be broken.

Suguru, in his drunken haze, finally pulled out his phone. His fingers trembled as he stared at the empty message thread between you from all those years ago. He never changed phones. He just couldn’t. 

Not when this held so much of you, more than you could ever know. And he’d hate to part with it. He hates parting with you. The cursor blinked at him mockingly, daring him to say something, anything. But what could he say? What words could possibly bridge the chasm he had created?

You both sat in separate silences, even far away from each other. Even then, you both carry the weight of your shared history hanging in the air, stifling you both whole. Somewhere between the spaces of what was and what could never be, a thread still connected the two of you in the frayed, fragile, but unbroken echoes of life.

And for the first time in years, you both wondered what it would have been like to say hello.

══════════════════

IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO, FLASHING IN YOUR MIND SO CLEARLY. Your relationship with Geto Suguru began like a slow sunrise—gentle, almost imperceptible at first. Everyone could see something beautiful about it. You could too.

But it wasn’t something either of you could pinpoint, the exact moment it started, but before long, the light of it had crept in, filling the cracks and chasing away the cold.

At first, you were just kids, thrown together in the chaotic, unforgiving world of jujutsu sorcery. Life and death weren’t just abstract concepts; they were constant, hovering over every breath you took, lurking in the shadows of every mission. But with him, there was something different. Something softer.

It started with stolen glances in the classroom, shared smirks over jokes that only you two seemed to find funny. Then came the late-night conversations that stretched far too long, but neither of you cared. You’d sit on the temple steps, the world silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“You ever think about what we’d be doing if we weren’t... this?” he asked one night, his voice low, almost hesitant. He looked at you then, his dark eyes searching yours like he might find some hidden answer there.

“Sometimes, when I have some time. I think about it. With you, me, Satoru and Shoko.” you admitted. “But then I think... would we have ever met? If we were just ordinary people?”

He smiled, that small, almost private smile he saved just for you. “I don’t think the universe would’ve let us miss each other.”

“Even just the two of us?” You wondered at him.

“Especially the two of us.” He grinned even wider, patting your head. 

Those words lingered with you long after that night, as did the quiet weight of his presence. Suguru wasn’t just your teammate or your classmate; he became your confidant, your safe place. The one person who could make you feel human, even when the world tried to strip that away.

There was lightness in your connection, a reprieve from the heaviness that came with your lives. The warmth of his laugh, the way his shoulders relaxed when you were around. It was as if the two of you carried pieces of each other’s burdens without ever having to say it out loud. 

Everytime you were with him, you felt like everything was whole.

The world made sense when you were with him.

And you were proven right each and every single time.

He was the only one for you in this world.

It had been a long day, and exhaustion lingered in the edges of your mind, but he sat across from you, legs crossed lazily, and the smallest smile teased at his lips. You remember telling a joke.

You don’t remember it in its entirety but you knew it was something about the absurdity of the higher-ups’ newest “ingenious” strategy and for a moment, his guarded composure shattered.

He laughed.

It wasn’t just a chuckle or a polite hum. No, it was a real laugh. It was as though life had existed the first time he laughed. It was so bright, unrestrained, and utterly disarming.

The sound was pure, and for a moment, you could almost forget the weight he carried, the things he wouldn’t talk about late at night when the shadows seemed to pull closer.

“God, that laugh.” you murmured, half to yourself, but he caught it.

“What about it?” His voice held a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with curiosity.

“It’s… nice. Unexpected.” you said, and you could feel your cheeks warming under his steady gaze.

“....What about my laugh?” He asks you, his cheeks flustered like cherry wine. “Is…is the sound good?”

You matched his flustered cheeks. “It’s…It’s like a song.”

“A song?”

“My favorite song.” You admitted to him, slowly smiling as you shyly looked up to his flustered gaze. “Your voice is my favorite lullaby. But your laugh? It’s my favorite song.”

That was the beginning. That laugh became your favorite sound, a lifeline in the chaos. It became the thing you sought, the thing you tried to coax out of him in fleeting moments between missions or during those rare stretches of quiet.

You had stolen moments, the two of you. Too many to count, too many to want to forget. It was when life wasn’t pressing its cruelty upon you. Late nights stretched into early mornings, both of you lying in the grass, the stars above almost as bright as his gaze.

“You see that one?” you whispered once, pointing to a cluster of stars. “It reminds me of you.”

“Oh? How’s that?” he asked, smirking slightly, his head tilted in mock challenge.

“It burns so brightly you can’t help but stare,” you said without thinking, and the smirk faded into something softer, something almost shy.

“Careful, I might start believing you, you know?” he murmured, looking away, but not before you caught the blush dusting his cheeks.

“But aren’t I correct with what I said?”

“Ah, you’re just as cheeky as Satoru.”

You grinned at him. “But I’m better than him, aren’t I? Because I’m your favorite!”

Suguru laughed, his cheeks warm like a scarlet sunrise. “Yeah, yeah. You are my favorite.”

And then there was the kiss. It happened on an evening like any other. It was only a normal day. A day like any other. Nothing special at all.

You had been talking, your words flowing so easily it felt as if you were spinning threads of a tapestry you had both been weaving for years. Somehow, you just belonged together.

When he leaned in, his hand brushing the side of your face, it wasn’t a surprise. It felt inevitable, like the tides meeting the shore. Like destiny itself had been guiding you here. You felt like you were home as you found yourself overtaken by him.

When his lips met yours, it was as if the world stopped turning. It wasn’t fireworks or an explosion. It was just warmth that was familiar. The breeze of evening moonlight. it was a sigh, a soft release of tension you didn’t realize you had been carrying. Everything else fell away. It was just him and you.

And in that moment, you knew.

He was the one for you.

He was the love of your life.

“This feels... right, don’t you think?” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was so soft you almost didn’t hear it.

“It does. Perfect.” you whispered back. “Like it was always supposed to happen.”

You didn’t just love him. No, you recognized him. Across time, across lives, across every distance imaginable. You had found him, and you would find him again.

Every time. Every lifetime. And you would love him, fiercely, until it burned you alive. Because he wasn’t just a part of your world—he was your world.

For a while, it was perfect. Together, you built a fragile sanctuary amidst the chaos. Even as the missions grew harder and the burden of protecting the world loomed heavier, you found solace in each other.

Geto Suguru would hold you close on nights when the horrors of your work were too much to bear, whispering reassurances that tomorrow would be better.

But tomorrow wasn’t better.

The world began to crack around him. He had blamed himself for Amanai Riko. For Satoru’s brush with death. For failure of a mission that relied so much on him. And that had buried him under, even before he had come and gone to the grim reaper’s arms. 

Everything you had loved about him slowly faded, like memories of yesterday. You saw it in the way his smiles became rarer, in the way his laughter came less easily. He grew quieter, more distant, and when he came back from missions, he wouldn’t talk about them anymore.

Instead, he’d sit in silence, staring at nothing, as if the weight of what he’d seen was too much to put into words. As if nothing in this world mattered at all. As if nothing was worth living for. 

At first, you tried to pull him out of it. You were the only person that could do something like that, if Satoru couldn’t. You have tried hard. You really did.

You did as much as you could to remind him of the ideals that had driven you both to fight in the first place. Of the future that you could have together, where you could be happy. 

But Suguru wasn’t just tired of everything—he was angry.

And he didn’t want to hear anything more about those ideas.

They had failed him, as much as the adults had already done.

He wasn’t in the mind to talk anymore, he was tired of talking.

“They don’t deserve it.” he said  harshly, that one night, his voice low and simmering. “The people we save—they don’t even know what we sacrifice for them. They go about their lives while we bleed for them. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not about fairness, Suguru.” you said, reaching for his hand. “It’s about doing what’s right. They are weaker than us. They don’t know the world of such suffering. But we do. Suguru—”

But he pulled away, shaking his head at you. “Maybe what’s right is letting them fend for themselves. Maybe what’s right is taking back control.”

“Suguru, you can’t—”

“I have had enough of it. I can’t….I can’t have any more of this bullshit. Please.”

You didn’t recognize the man sitting before you. His words were sharp, edged with bitterness that scared you. You tried to argue, to bring him back to the man you had fallen in love with, but Geto Suguru was slipping through your fingers, and no matter how tightly you held on, you couldn’t stop it. The more you tried, the more he pulled away. 

The breaking point came on a mission, one you didn’t share with him. You weren’t there to see the moment he made his choice—the moment he decided that humanity was no longer worth saving.

You only heard the aftermath: Suguru Geto, once a protector, had killed. He had killed too many people. Even his own parents. He had turned his back on everything he once stood for. And all to be free. All to stop those voices in his head. All to stop being miserable.

When you confronted him that day, you were trembling. A part from anger, part from heartbreak. You looked at him, eyes so brimming with tears as he stood there with those dark purple orbs narrowing at you. 

Almost as though he couldn’t care less about it all. It was as if he didn’t carry the world on his shoulders anymore. In that moment, it was better that their suffering freed him. That’s what it looked like to you. And that broke you. More than you could even say. More than you could even understand. 

“Tell me it’s not true, Suguru.” you said, your voice cracking. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”

But Geto Suguru didn’t lie. He’s never been good at lying. If anything, you didn’t need him to say anything. You already knew the truth. You’ve seen the bodies. You’ve seen the reports. But somehow, hearing him say it. 

Perhaps that’s the only way to make it real. That’s the only way to know the truth. He looked at you with calm, unflinching purple eyes, the same eyes that used to hold so much warmth. How could such warm eyes feel so cold, so lifeless, so devoid of the will to live?

“They deserved it.” he said simply, his hands resting on his pockets. “The world needs to change. And I’m going to change it.”

You stepped back, shaking your head, tears streaming down your face. “This isn’t you, Suguru. This isn’t who you are.I know…I know who you are. Please, just…Just…”

“It’s who I’ve always been.” he said, and the certainty in his voice shattered you.

Tears fell from your eyes, to the point that you couldn’t see anymore. You let out a guttering cry, your hand covering your lips as though you know you can’t let it out anymore. You can’t stand like this in front of him. But you couldn’t move. You couldn’t stop staring at him. Where did your Suguru go? Where was he?

“I don’t know you anymore.” you whispered, your voice barely audible. You sobbed, looking at the ground. “Who are you? Where’s my Suguru? Where is he?”

For a moment, just a moment, his mask slipped. You saw the guilt in his eyes, the pain he was trying so hard to bury. Not because he’s hurt others, no. But because he’s hurt you. That burns him more.

That kills him more. But then it was gone, replaced by the resolute facade he had built to shield himself. He knew he couldn't come back. He’s gone too far for him to walk away from it.

“I hope you know that….I’m sorry.” he said to you, watching you close your eyes. As though wanting to pretend that this was just a bad dream. “But this is the only way.”

You wanted to scream, to grab him and shake him until he saw reason. But you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. You always knew better than that. He was resolute. He always has been. And so, he would not turn back. Not even for you. 

The Geto Suguru you loved was gone. He was killed. He was consumed by the darkness he couldn’t escape. And you will never get him back. The last time you saw him, he was walking away, his silhouette fading into the distance. You stood there, rooted to the spot, the weight of his absence crushing you.

In the days and weeks that followed, you replayed every moment, every conversation, every sign you had missed. You blamed yourself, even though you knew, deep down, that this wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have saved him.

But that knowledge didn’t make the loss any easier. You were sure that he was the love of your life. Geto Suguru has been your love, your partner, your everything.

And now he was gone, leaving behind nothing but memories and the ghost of what could have been. And now you had to pick up what’s left from the desolation that swallowed everything whole. If not you, who will?

In the weeks that followed, life moved on around you, but you felt like you were frozen in place. The routines of being a jujutsu sorcerer continued. Day in day out, it was missions, training, meetings. But somehow,  it all felt hollow. 

Every face you saved, every curse you exorcised, felt like a mockery of what you had lost. How could you keep protecting a world that had taken Geto Suguru from you? How could you keep meeting with faces that didn’t know how to protect a child? How could you keep finding yourself living like this over and over?

But you still did it anyway.

You knew it was the right thing to do.

Suffering or not, you had to live.

You had to continue on.

Your nights were the hardest. Sleep became a distant memory, replaced by endless hours of replaying the past. You found yourself going back to the places you had shared with him.

The quiet park where you used to sit and watch the stars, the ramen shop where he’d always order extra broth, the training grounds where you’d spar until you were both breathless with laughter.

But those places were empty now, stripped of their meaning. Without him, they were just shadows of something you could never get back. Things that were just gone, forever lost in the abyss of his own making. An abyss you had sealed just as much, by continuing to live the way you have.

The news of Geto Suguru’s defection spread quickly. Whispers followed you wherever you went, people looking at you with pity, like you were some tragic figure in a story they couldn’t stop retelling.

Some were kind, offering empty condolences that only made you feel worse. Others were cruel, blaming you for not seeing the signs, for not stopping him before it was too late.

But the worst were the people who said nothing, who looked at you like you were a ticking time bomb, as if Suguru’s choices had tainted you by association. You could feel their looks, you could always hear the double entendre in their words. But you could hardly care at that point.

You tried to drown it all out, focusing on your missions, on anything that would keep your mind occupied. But no matter how hard you worked, no matter how many curses you destroyed, the weight of Suguru’s absence clung to you like a second skin.

And then, one day, you saw him again.

It was purely by accident, something you couldn’t expect.

It had only been a mere few months after he had left.

It was on a mission in a remote village, where rumors of a powerful curse had been reported. You had gone in prepared for anything—or so you thought. What you weren’t prepared for was the sight of Geto Suguru standing in the center of the chaos, his presence commanding, his expression unreadable.

Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. He looked the same, and yet so different. There was an edge to him now, a coldness that hadn’t been there before. A brutish layer that protected him from the world.

“Suguru.” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He turned to you, and for a split second, something flickered in his purple eyes—recognition, maybe even regret. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the calm detachment you had come to fear.

“You shouldn’t be here.” he said, his tone almost gentle.

“You don’t get to tell me where I should be. you shot back, your voice trembling. “Not after what you’ve done.” After what you’ve done to me.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t come here to fight you. Leave, and I’ll let you go.”

“Let me go?” you echoed, anger bubbling up inside you. “You don’t get to ‘let me go’ for shit, Suguru. You left. You broke everything, and now you’re standing here like none of it matters. I should kill you right now where you stand like the kill order says.”

“It does matter. Everything I do, it matters. To me, to the world I’m building.” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “More than you’ll ever understand. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“No, Suguru. You aren’t.” you said, stepping closer to him. “You’re doing this because you gave up. Because you let the worst parts of this world consume you. And now you’re trying to justify it by pretending. And I just….I have had enough of that excuse. Even when we fought, you used that excuse.”

He flinched at your words, the only crack in his otherwise unshakable composure. For a moment, you thought you had reached him. But then his expression hardened, and he took a step back from you.

“This isn’t about us, you know that.” he said. “It’s bigger than that. Bigger than you or me.”

“It was never just about us, you idiot.” you said, your voice breaking. “But we could have fought for something better—together. Instead, you threw it all away. You threw me away.”

He didn’t respond. He knew you were right. You could see it in your eyes. He tried to open his mouth, to say something. But instead, he turned and began to walk away, his figure fading into the distance once more.

You wanted to call out to him, to beg him to stay, to fight for the man you once knew. But you didn’t. Because deep down, you knew that man was gone. You would just be lying to yourself if you tried to pretend that it would work. 

And as you stood there, watching him disappear, you realized something: this was the last time you would let him break you. Geto Suguru had chosen his path, and now it was time for you to choose yours. You had to.

Even if it meant living with the weight of his absence for the rest of your life, you would carry it. Because that was what it meant to keep going. He wasn’t willing to live with you, for you. He wasn’t willing to do that. And so, you had to. You had to do it for you. To survive. 

══════════════════

HE FELT LIKE HE WAS GOING TO THROW UP. Geto Suguru stumbled into another bar, his head swimming with alcohol and frustration. The neon lights buzzed overhead, casting garish colors onto the crowd of strangers. 

It was a different place, but it might as well have been the same. Everywhere he went, it felt the same: loud, crowded, meaningless. He was chasing something he couldn’t name, knowing full well it wouldn’t fix the hollow ache inside him.

He spotted a girl at the bar, standing alone for just a moment, and something in him shifted. It wasn't an attraction—not really. It was desperation. I may suggest there’s somewhere I might know her, he thought, smirking to himself, just to get the ball to roll. 

He approached her with a feigned air of confidence, the kind that only comes from being far beyond tipsy. His words slurred slightly as he said something about a shared connection, a vague memory he knew didn’t exist. She tilted her head, intrigued despite herself.

Suguru leaned in closer, his voice low and coaxing. “Come on, before the moment’s gone.” 

It wasn’t like he was falling in love. That wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want her heart or her promises. He just wanted her to do him no good, to help him forget for a while. The girl gave him a look—soft, inviting, a subtle tilt of her lips that sent a rush of blood through his veins. 

It turned him on more than it should have. He didn’t care about her name, her life, or her story. It was the thrill of the chase, the electric jolt of fleeting desire. But before he could take another step, a hand clamped down on his shoulder. 

“She’s with me.”

Suguru turned to see a man standing there, tall and stern, his presence like a wall between them. The girl stepped back toward her boyfriend, her gaze dropping in awkward apology. Suguru laughed bitterly, holding his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Didn’t mean to intrude.” he said, though the sting of rejection burned.

He retreated to the edge of the dance floor, his drink in hand, watching the pulsing crowd around him. The music was deafening, the lights dizzying. The club was a house of fun—or at least that’s what it was supposed to be. People were laughing, dancing, losing themselves in the moment. But for Suguru, it was a prison. A trap.

The room spun, not from the alcohol but from the crushing realization that it wasn’t enough. This place wasn’t enough. These people weren’t enough. She’s not you. No, she isn’t. She never will be. No one else can ever be like you.

No matter how many drinks he had, no matter how many strangers he flirted with, the truth was inescapable. You and he weren’t together anymore. You had been the only thing that made sense in the chaos of his life, and now, without you, everything felt hollow.

The club blurred into a mess of sound and light, but all Suguru could feel was the emptiness gnawing at him. He was trapped in this cycle of meaningless nights, trying to fill the void you left behind. And deep down, he knew it would never work. Because no matter how hard he tried, no one could be you.

Nothing here was worth staying for.

So he comes outside, the cold greeting him.

But he could barely feel it stab through him.

The alcohol in his veins dulled everything except the gnawing ache in his chest. He stumbled down the street, the neon lights of the club fading behind him, replaced by the harsh glow of streetlights. His breath came out in uneven puffs, his mind swimming with thoughts he didn’t want to face.

His phone was a familiar weight in his pocket. He pulled it out, his fingers fumbling over the screen until he found your name. He was too drunk to be a coward now. He wasn’t going to let the cursor mock him this time. Not again.

Somehow, it was muscle memory—he didn’t even have to think about it. You were still in his contacts, still in his life in the smallest, cruelest way. If anything, he memorized your phone number. He knew it too well, he’d never forget it. He stared at your name for a long moment, the cursor blinking on the call button.

The voice in his head screamed at him to stop, to put the phone away and walk home.He didn’t need to do this. Not right now. Not ever. But the alcohol silenced that voice, replacing it with raw, unfiltered need. And seeing you tonight….what more did he need to be an excuse? He had to call you. Even if it was wrong, he had to. 

Before he could stop himself, he hit the button. The phone rang. Once, twice. With every passing second, his heart raced, his breathing shallow and unsteady. He almost hung up, almost let the moment slip away, but then you answered.

“Hello?” Your voice was soft, confused. You had changed phones. But you still used the same number. He knew that. But you probably, over time, had forgotten his phone number. He had expected it. He was after all, worth forgetting. “Who is this?”

It was late, and you hadn’t expected to hear from him—hadn’t heard from him in years. If anything, you never should expect anything from him. But the sound of you made his chest tighten, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He leaned against a lamppost, the phone pressed to his ear like it was his last lifeline.

“S’me again, babe.” he slurred finally, his voice thick with alcohol and emotion. “Suguru.”

There was a pause on your end, heavy and loaded. He could almost feel the weight of your hesitation, the way your breath hitched as you processed his call. It had been a long time. Ten long years. And now, just now, he called. 

“What do you want?” you asked, your tone cautious, guarded. It wasn’t the warmth he remembered, but it wasn’t cold either. It was somewhere in between, and that hurt more than anything.

“I don’t know, honestly.” he admitted, his voice breaking. He laughed bitterly, dragging a hand through his hair. “No, that’s a lie. I know. I just… And I just….I can’t stop thinking about you. I can’t stop… missing you.”

“Suguru…” Your voice softened, but there was something else there too—sadness, maybe even pity. 

He hated it. He didn’t want your pity. You had known that even when you were younger. But he knew you couldn't help it. Still, just maybe, even just tonight, you’d drop it. You’d pretend, just as he was. He wanted you to tell him that you missed him too, that you still thought about him late at night, that he wasn’t the only one trapped in this endless spiral.

“I saw you tonight.” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “At that bar. Can’t remember the name, honestly. But you just….You looked so happy. Like you don’t even think about me anymore. Like I’m nothing.”

You sighed on the other end of the line, and it cut through him like a knife. “Suguru, it’s been ten years. What did you expect? I….I didn’t expect my life to be frozen, waiting for an impossibility that will never come.”

“I don’t know. I just…” he said again, his voice rising with frustration. “I thought maybe—maybe you’d feel the same. Like… like this thing between us isn’t over. Like it’s still there.”

“It’s not. And you…you know this.” you said quietly, and the finality in your tone made his knees buckle. He sank onto the curb, his head in his hands.

“It is for you, maybe…. he whispered, his voice cracking. “But not for me. It’s not over for me, and I don’t know how to let it be. Babe, I loved you. I still do. Maybe for the rest of my fucking life. But I…I don’t know what to do.”

The silence on your end was deafening, and he filled it with a broken laugh. You had the right to  your silence, you always will. After what he had done, even just last night? Why shouldn’t you just be quiet? Why shouldn’t you just hang up right now? 

But on the other side of the line, you were bitterly weeping in the quiet. Just taking in his words. Everything about your lives had been a tragedy, a tragedy that you could never forget. Both of you were living those past lives that can never come back. And you shouldn’t. You can’t. Not now, not ever.

“I’m drunk, you know?” he said, as if that excused everything, as if it would make you forget the raw, painful truth he’d just laid bare. “I shouldn’t have called. I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

“You need to go home, Suguru.” you said gently. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but it was what he expected.”You have daughters to go home too, remember?”

You’d always been kind, even when you were hurting. Even to people that hurt you. He’d always known that. But somehow, he wondered if that kindness was why you’d stayed in his contacts all these years—because part of you knew he might need it someday. 

Because he knows you’d be merciful to him, no matter what he’d done. No matter what he’d caused you. You’d pick up that phone and answer him. You’d let him hear your voice, like you used to do for hours and hours when you were younger.

“Yeah, you’re right.” he said, dragging himself to his feet. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll go home.”

But as he stumbled down the street, the phone still pressed to his ear, he couldn’t help but say one last thing. “You were the best thing I ever had, you know that? The only thing that ever made sense. In all of my life. And I love you. I’ll love you forever for it.”

He heard you inhale sharply, but you didn’t respond. Not for a while. You took a moment to let out a small sob, as though trying to hold yourself together. And Suguru could imagine it. How it shatters him. Ah, he had made you cry again like this.

“You were the best of my life, Suguru.” You finally say, almost the saddest he’s ever heard you talk. You were still mourning him, he supposed. “The love of my life. You always will be, Suguru.”

The line went quiet, and then, mercifully, you hung up.

Suguru stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, the word “Disconnected” flashing at him in a cruel, mocking rhythm. His hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white as the fury bubbled beneath the surface. He nodded to himself.

He wanted to scream, to hurl the phone into the street and watch it shatter into irreparable pieces, as if that would somehow undo the splintering inside him. But instead, his anger collapsed inward, folding into a hollow resignation. 

He shoved the phone into his pocket with a rough, jerking motion, his breaths shallow and uneven. He reached for a cigarette with the same hand, fingers trembling as they pulled it free. His lighter almost instantly lit the edge into a fiery smoke.

The first drag burned, the bitter smoke searing his throat and filling his lungs. It didn’t matter. He needed the distraction, needed something to keep him grounded when it felt like the world had slipped from beneath his feet. He lit the next one before the first was even finished, the acrid haze curling around him like a suffocating ghost.

He kept walking. The city stretched out before him, a labyrinth of muted lights and shadows that felt more hostile than familiar. The streets were quiet, save for the occasional distant wail of a siren or the shuffle of a stray figure in the dark. Cold wind bit at his skin, cutting through the thin jacket he hadn’t bothered to zip up.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

This was the last time you’ll see each other.

He was going to do his plan soon enough.

And you won’t see him again, not ever again.

[mourn-and-watch]

no no i'm actually not done with timebomb/jayvik parallels. bear with me for a minute

the contrast between the everybody lives timeline ekko and heimerdinger ended up in and jayce's post-apocalyptic wasteland timeline is pretty funny indeed, but i love that juxtaposition because these practically opposite realities serve the same purpose for ekko and jayce. they solidify their goals and, by extension, their willingness to save the person they love.

ekko gets to see the world where his community is thriving; where his childhood friend/crush is loved and happy and enjoys her life in ways the version he knew couldn't. but he learns that this powder is not a complete stranger. this powder is just as talented as jinx, just as brilliant and quirky and so familiar despite all the differences. it has to mean that in his timeline, the girl he knew is still here. she was always there. nothing that has happened to her during these years managed to kill her. ekko would never left his people behind, but he also won't leave jinx: he's the only one who gets through to her and convinces her to do the right thing, even though she might think there's no way for her to be a good person whose life is worth something. ekko doesn't simply believes it's not true. he knows it for a fact.

jayce gets to see the world where viktor won; there's nothing besides corruption, abominations and death, and that's the fate that awaits jayce's timeline if he doesn't succeed. viktor caused all of this, but he's also the one that leads him to the top of piltover. he's the one who gives him a key to salvation, and it is as simple as it is intricate: it's jayce himself. this viktor is a lonely god trapped in a perfect hell he created and it took him ages to realize his mistake — and he believes jayce is the only person who can stop him before it's too late. in all outcomes, it's him. it is as much as a statement of a cosmic powerful being as a belief of a dear friend. jayce is not even certain there's something left of viktor in his timeline, but he has to be. he won't fail. it's a promise he keeps.

it is about saving the world, but also about saving someone very dear to you. someone who is so lost in their own faults and mistakes they forgot they're not beyond salvation, but they don't know you won't save the world without saving them

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ requiem of a cringe

did something embarrassing last night and was like "I need to go crawl in a hole and die. OR I could write"

type of post: blurbs characters: cater, rook, jack, vil, idia, malleus additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral (the term "damsel in distress" is used in vil's part, but it's meant to be teasing and not indicative of the reader's gender), reader is yuu, rook is rook

I. Talks Too Much

It's not that you're trying to be annoying.

Your mouth simply moves faster than your mind, and before you know it, you've been talking for twenty uninterrupted minutes about... well... nothing.

You always notice that uncomfortable, irritated look on their face just after you're done. And then you keep rambling in an attempt to make it less awkward (it never does).

And now you're here, hiding in the hedge maze outside Heartslabyul, thinking about getting lost and never coming out of it.

Of course, if anyone were to find you now, it'd be him.

"Hey, hon~ you busy?"

"Please, not now, Cater," you mutter.

The boy stills, looking a little taken aback by how miserable you sound.

"Are you still upset about that thing at the Unbirthday Party? That was hours ago, babe! I bet no one even remembers,"

You physically cringe. The faces of your uncomfortable tablemates won't seem to leave your memory...

"I remember it," you murmur, burying your face in your hands. "I'm so annoying."

For once, Cater is quiet. A minute goes by, and you think he may have left, until you hear the grass crunching under his knees as he kneels down and pulls you into a hug.

"You are not annoying. And even if you were, it'd only make me like you more," he mutters, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Understand?"

Your surprise at his change in tone doesn't stop you from hugging back. "Understood,"

You hadn't meant to say all of that.

You just spilled a potion you'd been working on for hours, and amidst your frustrated floor-scrubbing, you had vented about your entire week to your poor lab partner, a person you had been trying to impress all semester.

He had, gracefully, let you finish your rant, and then let you sit in it, just like the harmless potion now coating your knees as you cleaned up the floor.

Then, he awkwardly said: "That... sucks. I guess. I don't know what to say,"

There had probably never, in your whole life, been a person who looked more unhappy to be around you.

Afterwards, you found a nice spot in the woods behind campus to die.

You lie there, hoping nature would reclaim you before next alchemy class, when some purposefully loud rustling in the bushes catches your eye.

"Ah, Trickster! You really should not lie like that- a predator will take that as weakness, non? Are you injured?"

"Only my pride,"

"Talking about it will make you feel better," Rook says. It's more of a demand than a question.

You sigh. "I think I've done enough talking for... ever, actually,"

"Nonsense," he suddenly straddles your waist and pins your wrists to the earth. "I will not move until you tell me the problem, mon cœur."

You're like an animal in a snare. Once Rook has made up his mind, that's it. He will find out.

And so, with a sigh, you let him take the kill- that is, you tell him everything. Your whole, terrible week, the potion incident, the look on your lab partner's face...

When you're done, he's just. Smiling. "I see now. You are embarrassed,"

"Well... yes. You don't think that's embarrassing?"

He beams. "You are simply overflowing with beautiful emotion and passion for la vie! How could I ever find that embarrassing? You and I are not so different,"

In a weird way, that makes sense. Rook is never one to let shame hold him back from expressing his feelings.

He smiles at your pensive expression, and gives you a kiss on the head.

"Mais, next time you are upset, maybe you should come to me first, non?"

II. Clumsy

Forgetful, scatterbrained, oblivious, dimwitted are all words you've become used to hearing.

As well as a few colorful swears.

You have two left feet, even when you're not dancing- you're used to walking into walls, tripping, and dropping things- it just sucks that you have an audience now.

The first years that had gathered around the mess you made- tripping over your own feet and spilling the papers you were meant to deliver to Ace and Deuce all over the floor- are watching with grins and phones out.

You pretend they're not there, even with their taunts and whistles and laughter.

"Hey! Loitering is a waste of time!" someone barks. Literally.

You look up to see Jack moving through the crowd, scolding the other first years for blocking the hall.

When he sees you in the eye of the storm, on your hands and knees picking up your spilled papers, something upset takes his usually-stoic demeanor.

"What's the matter with you?!" he snarls at the boys. "Didn't anyone teach you any manners?! It's rude to stare- and laugh!"

His ears are flattened against his head when he kneels down beside you to help, collecting the papers, and putting them in your hands.

"Come on, we'll be late if you keep 'sittin there,"

Jack pulls you to your feet and gives one final snarl to the other first years before walking you off.

"...Thanks,"

"Eh? Don't mention it," he says. "Leona woulda had my tail if I just walked by..."

You know there's more to it than that, but you don't push. You're just happy he's forgotten to take his hand out of yours.

You can't handle being the center of attention.

For good reason, too- you're awkward, clumsy, and about the least graceful a person can get.

A true Ugly Duckling at a place like NRC. But Vil Schoenheit sees the swan in you. Perhaps that's why he's always been so patient and sweet.

It's a little distracting.

So much is obvious when he waves at you in the hall and, distracted by his smile, you walk right into a wall.

Though you can't see anything but stars after falling on your butt, the stares and snickers of everyone else are hard to miss.

Vil glares them away with a look that could kill twice over, and then stands over you as you lay on the floor.

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand. "I'll check you for concussion."

He brings you to Pomefiore and sits you down, shooing off a few curious underclassmen as he checks your pupils. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"Not really,"

"Then you'll be fine. Just a bump. You really should be more careful, though,"

You've heard that one before. Vil smiles at your dazed expression, and presses a cold compress against your head.

"This will help with the swelling,"

"Thanks," you mutter, still a little out of it. "You're my hero."

His eyebrows raise in true surprise, and then he chuckles. "And that makes you a damsel in distress?"

He doesn't give you a chance to respond before taking away the compress and kissing the red mark on your head.

"Don't think that being so cute is going to distract me. I'll make some time for lessons on poise this weekend,"

III. Unsociable

You'd think that being quiet and staying out of people's ways would get them to leave you alone, but it really just attracts more attention.

And after a grueling period of your tablemates making you the butt of every joke ("wow, I didn't know you could even talk!" "are you quiet because you hate us? come onnn, you can tell me!") you were ready to bury yourself alive.

"I don't ever want to leave," You mumble into the bundle of sheets and blankets on Idia's unmade bed.

"You could stay, y'know," Idia says from his desk, mindlessly scrolling through some gaming forum. "I should blackmail Crowley into letting you stay down here at least half the year."

"Couldn't it be the whole?"

"Nah. You need like, sunlight and stuff,"

"And you don't?!"

Idia snickers. "I'm built different. You know that. I get all my nutrients from blue light... You could at least stay for the weekend, though,"

You roll your eyes.

"...And I'll leak those normies' data. I'm sure I could get into their browser histories and have that emailed to their parents,"

Hm. You genuinely consider it for a moment, but eventually decide to give mercy. You're basically a saint.

"I think I just wanna pretend like I don't exist right now,"

Idia nods in understanding and pushes his gaming chair over to the edge of the bed, before crawling in and wrapping himself around you.

"That can be done. Pancakes tomorrow?"

Sure, there were people who talked to you, but you didn't talk back.

You just don't know how, you suppose. Every time you try, you end up saying the wrong thing, or are accidentally rude, or do something embarrassing.

You don't understand the references people make. You don't get social cues or hints. You have the social skills of an oyster.

Four months at Night Raven College, and you didn't have a single friend.

Well- except for him.

"How are you enjoying your tea?" Malleus asks, polite and curt as ever.

You take another sip- it's tangy, sweet, with a hint of bitterness. Some sort of Briar Valley blend that Malleus had imported just for you.

"I really like it,"

He smiles. "I'm pleased,"

One of the things you find so agreeable about Malleus is his simplicity. He often says exactly what he means; albeit, in a sort of 13th century Lord sort of way.

There's less stress with him. You don't have to pretend to be interesting, or outgoing, or cool. You can just be... you.

Because he likes you.

"You know," you say with a faint smile. "You're so nice to me. Sometimes I think that you're the only person I need. I could be happy with just you for the rest of my life."

You had meant that casually, but when you look back up from your cup, Malleus has this... look.

Wide-eyed, his lips pressed firmly together. There's even a dusting of color on his cheeks.

"Oh," you internally panic. Was that too much? Was that weird? Did you make things awkward again? Crap, you should have just acted normal, what's wrong with you?! "S-sorry, I-"

"Do you truly mean that?"

You go quiet, looking back at him with wide eyes. Your heart is pounding against your chest.

"...Yes,"

Malleus hums, his expression becoming more... pensive, and then...

He smiles. "I feel the same. Shall we go for a walk while the night is still young?"

[kanmom51]

Jikook came home

God, how I missed this.

How I miss them!!

Before getting into the whole JM post followed by the cute-flirty interaction that followed, I will take this opportunity in congratulating both JM and JK for their MAMA awards achievements.

JM winning Daesang fans choice of the year.🎉🎉

JK winning top 10 fans choice, best male artist and best dance performance (SNTY).🎉🎉

JM being the sweetheart that he is came to us with a lengthy post to thank Army for voting and receiving a Daesang.

There are a couple of nuanced differences in some of the translations, but all in all, they are pretty much on the same page.

The main difference I've seen is the translation of this part:

벙벙 벙벙 벙벙벙벙벙

Being it "dumbfounded" or "stunned" or "bemused".

I think this probably captures it best:

And then we had JK....

Who was most likely sitting there right by JM's side, the speed of their back and forth being one of the indications to that (we are talking within seconds here), not to mention patterns of past behaviour with those two.

Do we discuss for a second the Weverse translation of the discussion?

Like wtf? 🤣🤣

Ok, so the actual translation would be:

Insert the word of bemusement of your choice I guess, lol. But basically we have JM telling us he's stunned/dumbfounded and mainly happy and then that back and forth between those two right in front of our salads.

Oh, and can someone explain the @JK to me please? I mean, I get JM @JK -ing when posting his replies, but why the hell is JK @JK -ing when posting his replies to JM?🤣🤣

The way those two keep doing this shit (in such a good way, may I add) is just absolutely and utterly hilarious.

This whole exchange gives me these vibes:

And Idk why, but this interaction came straight to mind as well when I saw this back and forth between them...

Take those two and combine them and then picture that in mind with this back and forth going on:

Oh, and do I mention that obviously they had access to Internet, enough to have this back and forth between them, while both in the same place, and JK preferring to flirt in our faces with JM rather than post himself about his wins, which I can assure you he knew of. You know how it is when you don't want to take away from your boyfriend's thunder...

Maybe we'll hear from him later on maybe not, but this was about JM, his win, his moment, his post, his excitement.

And JK CANNOT miss out on a little teasing-flirtatious banter with his man, now can he?

Let's back track for one moment, because I do want to talk about JM inserting JK into his post. I do believe this is going to be a new standard/constant/reality. You know, the "me and JK"/ "JK and I" or "me and JM"/"JM and I". That very natural way of inserting one another in their interactions/conversations with us. Now, don't get me wrong, this is not a new thing what so ever. They have been doing this since forever. But I do think that it's going to become more of a constant and less of a "OMG, he mentioned JK/JM" moment for us. They have shown us for years, but more so over the past year, just how important they are to each other, but even more so, just how intertwined their lives are with one another. They literally could not even part ways to do their military service!! Choosing to spend those 18 months together, even if it meant having to endure much harsher conditions and a much more difficult service as a whole. All to be able to be together. With each other. What I'm saying is that I do think we will be getting so much more of "US" from those two.

Openly and proudly.

US.

One last thing, and again this is either Jikook coincidence or kismet or maybe not too much of a coincidence and more of a conscious decision, but JM's post yesterday, 23 Nov 2024, was posted on the year mark of Jikook leaving for their oh so very special and emotionally charged Japan trip, 23 Nov 2023.

💜💜💜

Coincidence or not, we got Jikook back then, and after radio silence from those two for such a long time, we got Jikook yesterday again!!!

[fillinforlater]

The Archive of Smite

This page belongs to the writer named Smite. He wrote fics starting in September of 2021 up until April 2024. In these 2,5 years, over 8.000 people followed him to read some of the craziest k-pop girl group smut out there. Almost 150 stories of sex in all kinds of positions, for many reasons, all over the world (and in outerspace), with too many kinks to count.

"When I started, I kinda wanted to become the best. I wanted my favorite writers at the time - Levi, Peach, Sins, and many more - to know that I could write as good as they can. I wanted to go wilder and crazier."

Smite, though ambitious, was also stupid and naive. At roughly the same time he started writing, two other community legends began their careers. IZ and Kaede crushed everything in their sight, especially the former becoming an absolute legend.

"Writing was fun. At times, it was escapism from everyday worries. At other times, it was fulfillment of fantasies I could never reach. Mostly though, it was just horny. BFH that just became words. If you go through my Masterlist, you might see which idols had some random heights or were just... Always on my hot list."

Smite never really stopped writing, not for long stretches that is. It didn't really occur to him that there might be a sudden, drastic reason to stop. He considered doing so anyways. Something about writing porn about irl people without them knowing or wanting - needless to say, it is an odd hobby. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it amd the community it brought with it.

"I fucking love these guys. So many hilarious peoplefrom all over the world. One became like my best friend, a rock during my emotional struggles. Another was my boyfriend for a short time. Man, I screwed up with him kekw. There are too many to mention. I've had long talks with some, others just came by and listened to me mald or something. I love you all, some of you I consider true friends - part of my soul - and I feel connected, even if you are thousands of miles away."

2024 started stressful for Smite. The pressure of Uni started to collapse on him. Even the thought of big kpop concerts wasn't enough to cheer him up. Luckily though, there was this girl. Sweet, kind, caring and in the same position. Soon, he had found something that seemed impossible. She was in love with him and he in love with her. And when everything unraveled.

"I stopped writing. I burried my drafts. I finished only one story and released it way later. I'm sorry I didn't announce it properly, but I just felt that this smut writing career was over. I don't regret it - I gained something beautiful I want to keep for the rest of my life. She is at least as pretty as Minju, so I call that the biggest win imaginable lol."

So no more smuts from Smite?

"99% no"

No more fanfictions/girl group stories in general?

"Eh, 80% no. Still some unfinished angst that I would love y'all to read tho"

Will you ever reach those 150 fics?

"We will see. In this count there are fics with less than 1000 words. I might just sneeze and finish it kekw"

Any fic you regret not writing?

"Not really? Maybe a proper ending for Starship: Horizon? Or yet another Minju fic? Futa stuff? Gaeul angst x female reader? Or how about a fic with 69 different idols at once? Who but me would dare to write something so stupid?"

Do you think you reached your initial goal?

"Do I consider myself the GOAT? No. That title belongs to either Peach, Levi or IZ. But I know that of my now 8.700 followers some consider me their favorite writer. I'm flattered and thank you very much for reading amd enjoying my work."

Now for the most important question: does this post mean you are finally leaving the community behind for good? Is this your last hoorah?

"..."

"Never."

[flowerywoso]

The Babysitter || Irene Paredes x Reader

Summary: You've had a thing for Irene ever since you started babysitting for her. When she comes home after a night out with the team, you realize that your feelings might not be as one-sided as you thought they were. Pairing: Irene Paredes x Reader Words: 3,992 Warnings: 🔞, smut with plot Notes: I haven't written anything in quite awhile (I honestly wasn't planning on writing ever again but here we are), so this might be a little rough! Please don't hesitate to let me know (politely, please!) if you notice any horrible grammatical errors or notes to myself that I somehow forgot to take out. Do not post my works on Ao3. And I am horrible at titles.

You peek your head into the room once more, carefully easing the door open and, just as quickly, shut, once you determine that the toddler is definitely still asleep. It’s a habit you adopted after your friends began to have their own children, and one you’ve maintained for the kids you babysit. Tiptoeing back down the hallway, making sure to keep your footfalls as quiet as you can, you plop back down on the sofa, settling into the corner and taking a sip of your sparkling water, grabbing your novel and flipping it back open as you wait for the boy’s mother to return home.

It’s not that much later, only long enough for you to finish a single chapter of your book, before you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, announcing Irene’s return from the Barcelona squad’s night out. You don’t get up from the couch, merely setting your novel aside and uncrossing your legs, letting one dangle off the cushions.

She enters the room quietly, the low heels she’d left the apartment in abandoned on the mat by the front door so they don’t click on the wood floors, and when you look up you can see the flush on her face. You're not sure if it's the result of the chilly evening air or of her night out, but either way it's enough to make you swallow around a lump in your throat. The top and pants she'd left the house in are just as enticing now as they were several hours ago, and you wonder as she walks further into the apartment how you manage to stay sane around her.

“Hola,” she says quietly, setting her purse down in the center of the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the sofa, sighing in relief as she relaxes into the cushions after a long night out. Your heart, as it so often does in the presence of the older woman, skips a beat as she comes nearer to you.

“How was everything?”

“All good,” you reply, beginning to recount your evening with Mateo. As always, the toddler had been easy, listening to you as well as one could expect a two-year-old to, and had fallen asleep on the sofa halfway through an episode of Bluey, only stirring briefly when you carried him to bed.

“He ate most of his dinner,” you relay with a smile, shaking your head at the memory of how the toddler had wrinkled his nose at the "yucky green" you'd provided for him, far more enthusiastic about the special treat that was the chicken nuggets unearthed from the freezer. “We had a bit of a struggle with the veggies, but other than that he was a perfect angel, like always.”

Your words bring a smile to the older woman’s face, and you can’t help but stop in your tracks for a moment, transfixed by the way her lips perk upwards, faint lines around her eyes becoming visible. You’ve seen her take an extra minute in the bathroom more than once after you arrive in the evenings, trying to conceal the bags beneath her eyes or the smile lines beginning to form at the corners, but you think that each and every part of her face is a work of art. 

You had no idea, when you first started babysitting for her, just how quickly your feelings for the older woman would grow. In the stolen moments at the beginning and end of the nights, before one of you walks out the door, you've learned more and more about Irene Paredes the person, not just the footballer, and something about her kept drawing you further and further in. You couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but you knew that you wanted her.

“Did you have a good night?”

Irene shrugs, shaking her head with a fond smile as she tells you about the Barcelona squad’s night out. She had mostly stayed on the sidelines alongside the other older players, keeping an eye on the girls closer to your own age as they enjoyed themselves, but Pina and Cata had managed to coax her and Alexia into having a drink and dance before she had excused herself.

The thought of Irene on the dance floor makes your heart pound, imagination beginning to run wild.

You’ve never been to Manuela’s, but from the way you’ve heard Irene describe it, there's absolutely no shortage of beautiful women. You know from the bits of information she’s given you that the Barcelona girls normally stick with one another, even while they’re out, but you’ve never been able to help yourself from wondering if any of the beautiful girls who frequent the club have tempted her enough that she’s taken one of them to her bed.

It's that thought, the unpleasant idea of her tangled between the sheets with a nameless, faceless girl from the club that makes your chest hurt. Before you fully notice what you're doing, you open your mouth and begin to speak, some jumbled mixture of thoughts spilling from between your traitorous lips.

"I mean if... If you ever wanted to stay out later... If someone..."

You trail off, clamping your lips shut as you realize just how inappropriate what you're implying is. You cringe, cursing yourself as you watch for her reaction, wait for her to get up off the couch and hand you your bags, let you know that now might be a good time for you to go home.

But she doesn't. Instead, all the older woman does is fix you with a questioning gaze, seemingly losing herself in thought for a moment.

She’s seated closer to you than she normally would be, than she ever has been before, and for a moment you wonder if she can hear your heart as it pounds in your chest, speeding up as she enters your space. You aren’t sure if it’s your imagination, the way her eyes seem to have fixed on you, tracing the details of your flushing face, eyes following your bottom lip as you nervously run your teeth over it.

“No,” she says at last. “None of the girls there have ever been who I wanted.”

Something about the word there catches your attention as it leaves her mouth, and you're certain that you must be losing your mind. Because there's no way, no way in the world that she wants you the way you want her.

The older woman reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve stopped breathing. Her hand pauses by your left cheek, which you're absolutely certain is flushing redder than the cap on her cherry flavored chapstick.

And suddenly, before you can even fully process the fact that her soft but strong hands are cupping your scarlet cheeks, the older woman is leaning forward and pressing her lips to yours.

You must have imagined this moment a thousand times, but never in your wildest dreams had you imagined it would actually come true. The older woman’s mouth is soft but insistent against your own, exploring your lips with hers, and every coherent thought you’ve ever had is a distant memory as you move with her, kissing her back.

Kissing Irene is even better than you imagined it would be - and you could fill a planner with the amount of times you’ve imagined this exact scenario. Her mouth is gentle, but there’s an edge to her kiss that contains a promise, the knowledge that she’s capable of being anything but.

When your lips finally part, after what feels like both an eternity and no time at all, you let out a little gasp, pupils blown wide as Irene stares into your eyes, both of you trying to process what has just happened. Even though she’s the one who kissed you first, Irene seems just as shocked as you are. But, behind her wide eyes is the same feeling you know she can easily spot in your own.

Desire.

“I… Fuck.”

You’re the one who leans forward this time, lips pressing against the older woman’s, the faint flavor of alcohol on her lips mixed with a hint of cherry from the chapstick you’ve seen her spread across her mouth more than once. The taste of her lips is intoxicating, and you can feel it going straight between your legs.

This kiss is deeper than the first, your arms wrapping around her strong shoulders to pull her closer, wanting to feel her body against your own. You part momentarily, gasping for air and only managing a brief breath before she’s kissing you again, every movement raising the stakes. You whine as her lips meet yours once more, hands coming to rest on your hips, pulling you closer. The older woman uses her own lips to pry yours open, her claiming tongue slipping into your mouth and beginning to explore further.

You let her take control of the kiss without protest, the arousal between your thighs intensifying exponentially with every second her body spends this close to your own. 

“Fuck,” she gasps, breaking away from your lips only long enough to grunt in your ear. “Fuck, I want you so badly.”

All you can do is nod, shaking your head up and down in agreement, because you don’t think you’ve ever wanted another person this badly in your entire life. 

“Irene,” you whine, pressing impossibly closer to her. “Please.” 

“Can I touch you?”

You’re nodding again before the question has even fully left her lips, and the older woman’s pupils go dark with how eager she is for you. She kisses you again, her football player’s strength showing as she pushes you backward onto the sofa, hands working their way up under your shirt. She doesn’t bother with the clasp of your bra, instead slipping her hands beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. Separating her lips from yours with a low groan, Irene immediately begins tracing a path over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending a further wave of shivers up and down your spine. You moan quietly, remembering that you two aren’t alone in the apartment, but tilt your head anyway, granting her better access to your throat.

Advantage is rapidly taken, the Barcelona player letting a hint of teeth scrape across the delicate flesh of your throat as she rolls one of your nipples between her fingers, moaning quietly at the way you arch, pressing your chest further into her touch. 

Your nipples aren’t normally this sensitive, but something about the way Irene rolls and tugs at them makes the two buds feel as if they’re direct links to your most sensitive spot. Her touch is magical, and all you want is more.

As if the older woman can read your mind, the hand not busy exploring your chest slides further down, slipping under your black leggings and making you gasp, bringing a hand up to muffle your own sounds as long fingers begin to rub at your pussy over your panties. 

There’s far too much fabric between the two of you, and every thread feels like a cage. You need it off, need the last bits of separation between your heat and her touch gone, now. 

“Off,” Irene commands and, needing the barrier gone just as badly as you do, she doesn’t wait for you to obey before she’s hooking her own fingers in the waistband of your leggings, yanking them down over your legs. Your panties are removed in the same motion, both pieces of fabric coming to rest at your ankles. You try to kick them fully off, but only manage to completely free one leg before the older woman is pushing her way between your thighs, eagerly beginning to explore your bare pussy.

Her experience is clear from the first touch of her slender fingers against your naked heat, and you can’t help but press closer, spreading your legs further to give her better access. The older woman draws in a sharp breath as she circles your clit gently with one finger, exploring, watching for your reactions, the others gathering the rapidly accumulating wetness at your entrance. Irene's touch is electric, and the older woman finds herself becoming rapidly obsessed with the way your clit seems to plead for her touch.

With two of her fingers, Irene traces the outline of your pussy, hyper aware of just how wet you are, how your hole is begging silently for her fingers inside as she continues to rub your clit.

You let your eyes fall shut, eagerly anticipating just how good it will feel when the fingers you can sense lingering just shy of your entrance finally slide home, burying themselves inside your welcoming cunt. You’re practically pulsing with it, with how badly you need her inside, need to know just how she’ll fill you, what previously unknown spots inside the tips of her long fingers will be able to brush.

“Where do you want my fingers, bebita?” 

You whine, shifting your hips in an attempt to get even closer to her, to get her to slide her fingers into your throbbing heat. The digits, wet from your own slick, only withdraw further away from your needy hole, and you nearly sob with how badly you need the older woman, need her touch. 

Obvious as it may be, this nonverbal expression of how desperate you are for her to take you isn’t enough to satisfy the older woman, and she rubs your inner thigh soothingly. 

“Use your words, baby,” she coaxes. “Tell me where you need my fingers.”

The idea of using your words seems borderline impossible at the moment, your brain simply too overwhelmed with the reality of just how close her fingers are to slipping inside, but you can tell that you won’t get what you need until you do.

“My pussy,” you manage to whine, trying to stay as quiet as possible while pulsing with the need for her. “Please, Irene, I need your fingers in my cunt.”

Your words, base and simple as they are, are enough to get you what you need, and when Irene finally slides her fingers home, you can’t conceal the moan that tears its way free from your throat. You’re wet enough that the stretch of going from zero to two fingers inside your cunt brings nothing but pleasure, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop yourself from moaning aloud when you feel the ridges of her fingers settle against your walls, the older woman pausing for a moment to let you adjust to the feeling of her digits inside.

Irene has to swallow a wrecked noise of her own as she finally slides her fingers inside your soaking pussy, the sensation of your silky walls against her skin sending her brain into overdrive. The sound of your voice, desperation tinging your whispers as you plead for her to move, to fuck you, is absolute music to her ears, and she doesn’t hesitate to comply with the enticing request. 

Her pace is slow at first as she starts to move, the older woman eagerly exploring every curve and contour of your cunt, leaking around her fingers. It’s so warm and inviting, and the older woman has no idea how she’s lasted this long without knowing what feel like inside.

Once she’s sure you’ve fully adjusted to the stretch of her digits inside of you, Irene speeds up her thrusts, curling her fingers in search of the most sensitive spots hidden inside your pretty cunt. 

It’s clear when she finds what she’s looking for, because your cunt clenches down around her fingers and you squeeze your pretty eyes shut as pleasure rocks your body. 

“Oh,” she says, voice a whisper that tickles your ear and makes you shudder happily. “Is that where you need me?”

You nod desperately, the entirety of your reality reduced to the sensation of her fingers against the sensitive tissue inside you, stroking it insistently as her thumb comes to brush against your swollen clit. As she fucks you with her fingers, the older woman tests out different motions on your bud with her thumb, searching for the pattern and pace to take what’s left of your breath away. 

You can’t help but let out a cry as she presses a little harder, circling your needy clit at just the right angle. Irene quickly presses her lips to yours again, reminding you that you’re not alone in the apartment.

“Shh,” the older woman says, swallowing your noises with her own tongue, collecting each one. “You’ve still gotta be quiet for me, bebita.”

You nod in understanding, kissing her back desperately, bringing a hand up to tangle in her hair. You can be quiet, no matter how good it feels, you can be quiet, just so long as she doesn’t stop what she’s doing between your legs. Irene chuckles against your lips, redoubling her efforts between your legs. Her talented fingers thrust in and out of your pussy, each time hitting the spot that makes you see stars.

“That’s it, baby,” she whispers, lips right beside your ear. “That’s it, take it for me. Take it, just like that.”

You toss your head back, more than willing to comply. Every cell of your body feels like it’s on fire, and you want nothing more than for the burning to consume you completely. 

Your orgasm arrives without warning, Irene’s thumb on your swollen clit combined with her talented fingers inside your cunt sending you crashing over the edge with a fury you haven’t felt in a long time. You have to bite down on your lip to keep in your sounds as your it overwhelms you, nails digging into Irene’s bare shoulders. You can feel the older woman’s smile as she kisses your neck, fingers still moving gently inside you, working you through your climax, helping you ride it for as long as you can.

You shudder, aftershocks still shaking your body as you begin to come down from your peak. She slides her fingers out and you bite down on your kiss-swollen lip to keep yourself from whining at the loss. It takes another minute before you're able to gather yourself, fully opening your eyes and taking in the sight of the gorgeous older woman above you.

Irene presses another kiss to your lips, this one gentle, and you can feel the smile on her face as you give a final shudder, sitting up and leaning into her.

"How was that, bebita?"

"Fucking perfect," you reply, unable to conceal a grin of your own as you note how flushed her face still is. Knowing that touching you has her seemingly almost as worked up as you are sends a thrill through your body and you reach for the button of her jeans, aiming to return the favor, only for the same pair of hands that had just brought you to such an incredible orgasm to push yours down, Irene’s lips brushing against your forehead.

“Don’t you worry about me, baby,” she says, and you feel your heart sink with sudden disappointment.

“Are you sure?”

Irene wraps an arm around you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head, clearly oblivious to the way your shoulders sink. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I promise. Don’t worry about me.”

You blush, wanting to protest that getting to touch her would be just about the furthest thing away from a worry- dream or fantasy come to life would be a more accurate description- but a sudden wave of shyness overcomes you, the whiplash of going from the high of your orgasm to the valley of being denied an opportunity to make Irene feel as good as she’s just made you feel making your throat close up.

“O-Oh,” you say quietly. “Okay. I just…”

You trail off, not sure what to say to that. It feels like, without meaning to or realizing what she’s done, the Barcelona defender has just tossed a bucket of ice water over you.

“I… I guess I should head home then,” you say quietly, trying not to let her hear the hurt in your voice, reaching down and pulling your leggings back up over your calves and thighs until they rest around your middle. Your panties aren’t quite soaked, for the pure fact that they had been around your ankles soon after her lips first met yours, but they’re still wet enough that putting them back on isn’t exactly comfortable. 

And more than that, you don’t want to leave. Your body is still purring with the aftermath of your orgasm, the last thing you want to do right now is leave her apartment and walk the few blocks home to your own. The route between your apartment and Irene’s is one you know well, lit with plenty of streetlamps and well-frequented on a Saturday night, so any anxiety you might feel can be connected purely to leaving her after what’s just happened, without being certain where you stand. 

Irene opens her mouth and you pause with your hand on the knob, waiting, hoping that she’ll say something, offer her bed to share for the night. 

“Let me know when you get home safe,” she says quietly, and you can’t help the way your chest clenches with a strange sort of pain. You hadn’t really expected her to offer for you to stay, not with the amount of eyes that could be watching someone like her at any given moment, but you still can’t help but wish she had.

You nod in response to her question, clutching your bag close to your side as you shut the door behind yourself, beginning the short walk home.

...

“Fuck.”

The second the door shuts behind you, the defender wishes she could throw it open again and call you back in.

She had wanted to, especially after watching you come apart under her touch, seeing how pretty you looked as your orgasm overwhelmed you. The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but you had beaten her to it, reaching for the door handle and exiling yourself before she could even offer, and she hadn’t offered any protests. 

Peeking in the door, ensuring that Mateo is still safe and sound in his bed, the Barcelona player tiptoes quietly down the hall, two doors down, and pushes her own door open and shut behind her.

As she pulls off her top, letting it fall to the floor, quickly followed by her pants and bra, Irene curses herself, pulling back the covers and slipping into the too-big bed on her own. It feels cold compared to the contrast of your warm body against her own, and her chest pangs with the regret of not asking you to stay the night. 

Back in your own apartment, you slide beneath your own covers, mind racing at a million miles an hour.

No matter how your chest might ache at the fact that you’re here, alone in your own bed, the memory of the older woman’s lips on yours, of her talented fingers bringing you to orgasm right there on the sofa, of muffling your moans in her shoulder, still sends a familiar jolt of electricity between your thighs. With a soft whine, you reach for your the bedside drawer where you keep your vibrator, turning it up before pressing it against your still-swollen clit.

Blocks away, Irene is doing the same, quietly gasping out a much-needed orgasm with your name on her lips, the memory of your mouth on hers and your silken flesh beneath her fingertips sending her over the edge.

As the older woman drifts off into an uneasy slumber, the space beside her conspicuously empty, she knows that, now she's had you once, she won't ever be able to get enough.

[tpwk-formula1]

Biggest Fan Pt 1 - CL16

Requested by @nina-or-anna-or-nora "Heyy!! 💕 I saw you were asking some requests so I have one for an Smau!! (If you want to do it ofc) I was thinking about the reader being kinda like Sabrina or Olivia (a performer) and then Charles being like her biggest fan🤭just a super cute fluffy thing and he goes to every show he can or posts her and stuff🥹"

AN - Had so much fun writing this SMAU for you! Don't be afraid to send in requests that aren't apart of the Pizza Menu! I love Sabrina but I'm not a die hard fan so I have no idea how many outfit changes she has or the order she performs so if it's a little messed up I apologize! Also LMK if you wanna see me do this with more drivers and make it a little series of the drivers being head over heels for their girl friend!

Summary: Just Charles being in love with Y/N... and basically everyone in the F1 community!

Charles insta stories over the fall break

Twitter

Charles instagram

Liked by landonorris, youruser, carlossainz, and 2,090,513 others

charlesleclerc We're ready for you Austin ft. Y/N and all the fan gifted hats that will make an appearance this weekend tagged carlossainz and youruser

user5 I love how he makes a post for work and still finds a way to get Y/N in there

user6 your honor... it's them. It's always them!

youruser I'm ready to be back in my home soil!

user7 I constantly forget our girl is from the US charlesleclerc you mean MY girl user8 Charles will never learn to share charlesleclerc not when it comes to MY Y/N youruser alright calm it down you charlesleclerc yes maam

user9 I hate feeling single but I do love you guys!

carlossainz Will I ever get a post with just us?

user10 Carlos... they're a package deal user11 If I don't expect anything less, you shouldn't either youruser damn... catching strays carlossainz Y/N I thought we were friends!

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Your insta story

user12 how does it feel to be living my dream

carlossainz he's been smiling at his phone for 10 minutes because you posted him

youruser I love knowing he loves me as much as I love him

user13 his eyes

charlesleclerc that's one lucky man

youruser he really is!

user14 I love the way you guys love each other

landonorris you guys disgust me with how cute you are together

youruser you wish this was you huh? landonorris I miss when you were to shy to interact with us... kinda a meanie youruser you'll learn to survive

Twitter

your Instagram

Liked by charlesleclerc, yourbff, oliviarodrigo, and 3,092,172 others

youruser Thanks for the warm welcome home... see you in a few weeks for Vegas!

Look for a surprise tomorrow around noon YeeHaw time!

charlesleclerc Ooooo I wanna know the surprise

user18 I can't believe I have notifications on and Charles is still here before me

charlesleclerc you snooze you lose! gotta be quicker than that! youruser love you need to be a bit nicer! user18 no this is on me... I should know no matter how much I love you Charles just loves you that much more! user19 I'm sobbing at this! Charles is so unhinged when it comes to Y/N

landonorris Can I also know the surprise

charlesleclerc NO!

user20 YeeHaw time is SENDING me! For anyone confused she's talking about CST

user21 THANK YOU! It makes so much sense now that you've explained but as a non F1 Y/N fan I didn't realize she was in Texas haha

user22 I love their height difference. I forget just how SMALL Y/N is.

Your Insta Story

charlesleclerc I can't wait to watch you!!

user23 HOLY SHIT! I can't fucking wait!

user24 omg! I'm so excited for this!!

landonorris: I hope you have a ticket saved with my name on it!

youruser: I do including the rest of the grid... spread the word pleaseeee

user25: Oh to be in the US rn to experience this concert! I just know it's gonna be amazing

Twitter

Charles Insta story during the show

Max's Insta story during the show

Youruser: Max! hahaha you had me cracking up in the first slide... then tearing up through laughter in the second. Thank you so much for finding time in your title fight to support!

maxverstappen1: I wouldn't have missed it! Had to see what all the hype was about. Please invite me again

Grid Members Stories (Lando, Carlos, Oscar, Yuki, Liam, Franco)

[thewitchblue]

"I'm curious about something."

Jason asked you one snowy November. You turned away from your computer to face him with a fond smile on your face. You were working on a case for him by researching the deceased and locating their soul to speak to the victim. He approached you and leaned against the desk. You asked,

"What's up, buttercup? What's on your pretty mind?"

You noticed his hand trying to hold yours, but you turn ghostly to prevent him from touching you. You're a grim reaper, one of several scattered throughout different continents, and very dead. Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he asks as casually as possible,

"Is it true about the embrace of death?"

Well, that's a new thought you didn't expect to hear him ask. You blinked in confusion before answering vaguely,

"I'm a Reaper, pretty boy. Consider me one of the Valkyries from Norse mythology; I'm here to guide souls to their specific place. I don't embrace or kiss the souls. Their soul is often already floating around when I get there. That's why some people experience after-death moments with loved ones. Grandma's last kiss, a child holding their mother's hand, parents embracing their newly orphaned children, little things like that."

You weren't sure how to explain your job in a way that makes sense for the living, but you tried. Jason seemed unsatisfied by your answer, so you asked kindly,

"What did you really want to know, my love?"

He frowned at your ghostly hand. Is it really too much to want to touch his partner? He paused and said after a beat of silence,

"I... want to hold your hand and kiss you, but you always pull away. I want to know why."

You gave him a sad look and softly admit,

"I've never touched a living soul since my death. I'm worried what will happen to you if I did touch you."

He grumbled and offered his father as a sacrificial lamb to find out what happens, but you laughed and softly said,

"If you can stomach Bruce being the first man to ever touch me post-mortem, I'll touch him."

You knew that wouldn't be the case. He huffed and pouted, but softly admitted,

"I want to be the first man you ever touch since your death."

You look at him seriously for a moment. You know Jason would drop the topic if you told him no, but part of you wanted to say yes. You weren't sure if you wanted to let this go. You want to hold his hand on a cold winter day and kiss him thousands of times to make up for lost time.

With great hesitation, you touched Jason's arm. He was warm against your timid hand and so muscular. You slowly run your hands along his arms while watching him carefully. You waited to see if he was feeling anything negative. You weren't sure if you felt his life force leaving him or his pulse racing under your hand as you held his wrist in your fingers.

Jason shivered under your light touch. You were freezing cold, but he didn't feel any different than he felt before. You looked in awe that you could touch a living soul without consequences, and he was so smug.

He had a feeling it would be okay to touch you. He thought it was adorable that you wanted to protect him from your ghostly touch, nonetheless. He was only 87% sure he would have been fine. He didn't know if you could turn your power on-and-off like he hoped and now knew was possible.

You hadn't known people could be this warm. You've been dead for so long, you had forgotten. Souls are cold, so you're never warm.

You grin at him and immediate pull him into a kiss. You could kiss him! His soul isn't being pulled out of him! You were ecstatic. Once you started, you found you couldn't stop.

You gave him thousands of kisses as he chuckled. He's never seen you so happy. You held both his hands in your scarred ones.

Your soul shines in happiness, which makes him grin. He loves you and loves the confirmation you loved him, too. Your soul tells him everything you're feeling, and he's never seen you this happy. It's reassuring to see your love for him pulsing throughout your ghostly spirit. It's like you couldn't keep it in.

Your eyes lit up at the new revolution. You were bursting with love and adoration. You tell him as you held his face in your hands,

"These hands are forever yours. You're going to be stuck with me now onwards."

He laughed at the serious tone and kissed your hands with a grin on his face. The lights in your apartment flicker in response to your happiness, but you can't help it. Your powers charge and pulse when you get emotional.

You murmur as you caress his face in your hands,

"I love you."

You run your fingers through his hair while he buries his face in your neck and wraps his arms around you.

"I know, pipsqueak."

He nips your neck playfully, partially surprised you let him. You kiss his forehead and draw him closer with your arms,

"Good. You deserve to know."

[eph3merall]

can you write something abt loser!reader x fratboy!chris, where reader starts seeing someone else and chris gets jealous. I love your writing sooo much !!!

it's been radio silence from you to chris for about a week now. he's confused, because what the hell? last time he noticed, he was the only guy who ever gave a shit about you. so to see you posting a picture on your instagram with you and another guy made his face twist into some disgusted expression while staring at his phone.

you looked happy. like, happier than you usually were with him. which he found fucking ridiculous, considering for a good chunk of time chris was the only one who put up with your rambling and annoying habits. the post didn't get many likes, barely up to 150. it was mostly just some of your friends who probably thought your new boyfriend was hot and some random people who thought you were pretty, based on the comments.

he doesn't notice the swirl of jealousy unfurling in his chest, a second later and chris is banging on your dorm room door only to be met with silence. his knuckles bang against the wooden door unsteady on it's hinges, jaw ticking and teeth grinding together subconsciously. only again, you don't peek your head out in the crack of your door like normal, you don't come to answer and smile almost immediately as you spot chris.

he's standing awkwardly in front of the door to your dorm, either no one's home and he looks like a fool right now or you're ignoring him. he knows that 'friend' of yours who shares a room with you is out at a frat party tonight, and you don't even go anywhere—so why the fuck aren't you answering?

he's about to blurt out your name but thought against it as the hallway was deathly silent right now, especially so late at night. he'd probably get complaints from whoever roomed here. his knuckles rap against the door again, shifting around awkwardly. a swirl of frustration and annoyance bloomed in his chest, because you couldn't possibly be busy.

he tries the knob—obviously nothing. until the sounds of shuffling are heard inside, and a second later you're standing in the doorway with messy hair and weary eyes. a yawn mixes in with your words, too tired to even realize this is chris. you've been ignoring him for a little now, afraid if your new boyfriend found out he'd call it cheating or something.

chris doesn't say or do anything before shoving you inside and closing your door, met with dim darkness and the only lighting provided from the warm lamp on your desk. your dorm room is a cluttered mess of trinkets and work and textbooks, tabletop a pile of studies and some clothing items littering the floor.

"what's your fuckin' problem, kid?" you stare at him. it's like this for a little, the two of you staring as chris impatiently waits for his words to register in your thick ass skull. you don't really know how to respond, truthfully. lips tugging into a frown and shoulders lifting up and down a little, you take a seat on your bed. the sheets are everywhere, having just woken up.

chris is standing there looking so out of place. he keeps on thinking about that stupid post of you and that guy, forcing himself to try and calm the fuck down. "what, gonna sit there in silence? fuckin' heard me, know y'did. what the hell is goin' on? you've been ignoring me like i have the flu."

the little space is silent, and you kind of hate it. normally, silence comes as a comfort to you. it relaxes your head and makes you much less anxious, but this time it felt uncomfortable. it felt deafening, as you gnaw on your bottom lip until it's started stinging from the constant abuse. "i dunno. i, uh, i got a boyfriend," you shrug, like it wasn't a big deal. because it technically wasn't, you and chris weren't even together.

"oh, alright. whatever, then, so you go n'give me the silent treatment? that's some childish shit n'you know it," he scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest lazily, obviously upset. but why? he was more so upset at you not telling him and forcing him to jerk off into his hand for the past week, than the boyfriend part. he couldn't give a shit if you started dating your best friend.

chris isnt good with feelings. he'll play everything off, ignoring the way his chest burns as you justify what you did. he's barely listening to a word you say, the particular label 'boyfriend' stuck in his head. he couldn't believe someone like you pulled.

"so.. y'know," you've crossed your legs together on the plush mattress of your bed, eyes darting around your littered floor and practically refusing to look chris in the eyes. "sorry. didn't mean to ignore you.." and that's the truth. because chris has stuck with you, while your life turned to practically shit and everyone started becoming someone you couldn't trust. chris just rolls his eyes, scoffing under his breath and starting towards you. he stands in front of you, lip curled in annoyance as he looks you up and down for a second.

"whatever. y'should pay me back for all that lost time though.. so uh," chris' hands are gravitating towards his belt without another second, unsure of how to deal with what he's feeling in his chest every time he hears you mumble the word 'boyfriend' in his mind. it makes him feel sick. he wont ever admit it though.

—

@conspiracy-ash @sturniolosfavkayleigh @lvrsturniolo @st7rnioioss @meatballlover10 @ashlishes @ferdzom @55sturn @chriseatingmeoutin4k @unknvhx @mattslolita @chaossturns @slut4brunettes

©eph3merall 2024

[tiktaalic]

pa said the well's run dry he said the bank came out yesterday and said we're gonna have to sell the blog and get work in the city like the rest of folks less we can come up with something real quick. he was all ready to sign the papers today but i begged him to wait to give me time to find something anything and he sighed and said he could give me a week and not a minute more. and i nodded and i cried because he was right when he said there was next to nothing i could do and even if i did find a miracle. all our neighbors shuffled off weeks months years ago because the posts dried up and the bank came knocking. i break open my piggy bank hoping there's enough drafts in there to tide us over. i sit there. and i have to decide if it's worth spending everything i have just to buy us an extra day. and i know this extra day will consist of walking around mute and shellshocked. and i decide. it's worth it. i give pa all my drafts and he looks at me and shakes his head and his voice cracks when he says i better keep hold of those for getting settled in the city. i could fight him. i don't. i leave all my drafts on the table and storm out the back door. there must be something. they must have just missed it. pa says he knows this blog better than anyone. but i grew up here, same as him. and as much as he loves it, i love it more. when i was seven years old he tore the place apart looking for me after i wandered off. but i wasn't lost. i'd found a tag to play in, happy as could be. he never found me, or the tag, i just wandered back out when i got hungry. it's pa's blog, but it's my home. i know where the creeks and streams and ponds are. i know if i look hard enough, i can find a new posting well.

day one, i strike out. i wake up before dawn. i come in after dusk with no posts to show for it. pa's boxing up our plates when i walk in. he doesn't say anything. i don't either.

day two, i wander a further. yesterday, i was following a map with areas of interest marked in order of likelihood of success. today, i pick a direction and walk. i have more to show for it, if only barely. i get home with one bucket of posts. pa tells me i should keep them.

day three i wake up because pa's dragging furniture into the yard for a yard sale. when i ask him what he's doing he says he'd rather be paid flop drafts by our neighbors than flop drafts by the bank. i walk back inside. get my map. i get home after midnight with empty hands.

day four. when i wasn't looking, the cold single minded determination turned into fear. i'm realizing i'm running out of time. i'm realizing the reason pa didn't put up a fight is because he knew there was nothing out here. i could kill him. what kind of farmer depends on one well? my heart isn't in it today. i head out after noon. i'm back before dusk. there's been a stack of empty boxes sitting outside my room since pa told me the news. i haven't touched them. tonight, i take one and put away some of my things.

day five. there's more ground to cover. it's more out of a sense of completion than anything. so that when we're in the city, i can say, i did everything i could. i looked everywhere. this was the only option. i stop midday for a rest. the ground i put my palms on is curiously softer than the rest. i dig. it comes away easily. it turns into mud. heart thudding in my ears, i keep digging. the mud gives way to a trickle of posts. ears roaring. i keep digging. hands covered in mud. the trickle turns into a stream. i start yelling for pa. i'm too far from the house for him to hear me, but i'm not thinking about that right now. i'm thinking about the posts in front of me, clear and fresh. text posts. gifs. amvs. there's enough to live another twenty years on this blog. i splash my face. i laugh. i fill my bucket. i'll have to bring more. we'll have to get the pump set up. because there are enough new supernatural posts here for me and my children to build a life.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I'm feeling very Little Lies about this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

"So this is the reason you missed Thanksgiving," a butter knife jabs in your direction as you poke at the white turkey meat; this? You look up then at Lloyd as he nearly chokes. 

"Uh, yeah," he coughs behind his fist and swallows, "we were out of the country..." 

"Yes, why would you bother to stay. No use in seeing your mother at the holidays, or the rest of your family," she reproaches. 

"Mom," he groans. 

"For ten years," William adds from his wife's side. "Now you show your face and you look as if you're eating rotten apples." 

"No," Lloyd argues. "It's just... I'm busy and I don't get a lot of time away from work." 

"We all have obligations," Gwenyth argues. 

"Well, I took her away so I could propose," he explains as he presses his fork into the whipped potatoes. "And it worked out perfect, right? Cause now I can bring her to meet everyone." 

Gwenyth hums flatly, "I suppose." She clicks her tongue and takes a healthy gulp of wine. 

"So, Pixie," Lillian drawls from further down, "what do you do for work? Oh let me guess. A librarian?" 

You don't let the suggestion bother you. You don't see it as an insult even if she says it like one. You shake your head. 

"No, I--" you begin and Lloyd stomps your foot so you bite down on your voice.  

"She is a corporate consultant. International corporation," he explains.  

"Oh, wow, sounds busy," Gwenyth remarks. 

"Yes, how will you have time for children?" Lillian challenges. 

"I'm sure they'll find time to make them," Benson chortles over his snifter.  

"Ben, please," William rebukes. 

"We're focusing on the wedding before all that," Lloyd says. 

You peer around as you chew your cheeks in frustration. You're annoyed by how they speak of you as if you're not even there, and so intimately. Yet, you don't have much to say for yourself. This whole facade is tiresome and you really don't care what they think about a made-up job. Or marriage, for that matter. 

"That will be done with quickly," Gwenyth sniffs. "And she will need to quit that job if she wants to do her duty as your wife." 

"I can handle a job and a husband," you blurt out. 

The table quiets as if stunned that you can speak. You blink and Lloyd puts his fork down and touches your arm, "sweet pea--" 

"I highly doubt you'd be marrying him for any other reason than that nest egg promised to him," Lillian scoffs. "You don't need to play a saint with us, darling. Marriage is a transaction in more ways than one; affection, money, sex--" 

"Lilly," William warns and she laughs. 

"Well?" She shrugs. "You do know, the wedding only guarantees a twenty percent payout. He needs an heir to get all of it." She pets her stomach smugly and smiles. "I can assure you it's well worth it. Once you meet Lorelai, you'll see." 

"Oh? Maybe when you meet her, you'll consider being a mother too," Lloyd retorts. 

"Excuse me?" Lillian snarls. "I love my daughter." 

"Of course you so," he sneers. "I'm sure she feels all that love right now as she enjoys her turkey and carrots with the nanny." 

"I can't have her around adults and alcohol. You can't possibly understand," she snaps. "And maybe it's better that you never do. I could never imagine you as a father, especially when you are such a child." 

"Takes one to know one," Lloyd growls. 

"Enough," William barks. "Both of you." 

Ransom laughs loudly at the end of the table. Lloyd shifts and Lillian rolls her eyes. You sigh at your plate. You miss your family. For the first time in years, you truly miss them. 

"What the hell are you laughing at, Hugh? The only reason you're here is because your grandpappy exiled you." 

Linda gasps, "He's not exiled--" 

"Oh, right, of course not, Lin, that's why you're here breaking bread with the peasants. That's what you called us at great grandmother's wake--" 

"Lloyd, watch your mouth," William snarls. "Better yet, shut it." 

Lloyd recoils in his chair and stiffens. His features sharpen then he lowers his chin and picks up his fork. His jaw is stone as he stirs the gravy into his potatoes. You wouldn't call him humbled, more whipped like a dog. These people make you feel something for him you never thought you could; sympathy. 

"I don't care about money that much," you say. "It can't buy respect. Besides, I would never marry a man without a prenup. Whatever Lloyd has will remain his." You push your shoulders back as a yawn tickles in your throat. "At this point, he can keep you lot as well." 

You stand up and take the cloth napkin from your lap. You fold it neatly, "Gwenyth, you can tell whoever cooked dinner that it was delicious. I appreciate you all having me but I'm going to go find a hotel and some peace." You step around the chair and push it into the table, "happy holidays." 

You turn, your insides jittering. What are you doing? Where did that come from? You could say you're tired and not thinking straight, but honestly, you're just so repulsed by these people that your head could explode. They're lucky they only got a a few pieces of shrapnel. 

You march out without looking back. Your cheeks tinge hotly with self-awareness. You've messed it all up. After years of harnessing your emotions under Hansen's thumb, you finally snapped. You blew it all. 

"What she said," another chair scrapes as Lloyd speaks. "Mom, dad, good night." 

You enter the hall and head for the entry way. You hear him beside you. You're still foggy with disbelief. It isn't until you sit to put on your boots that you notice Lloyd. 

"I know, I'm done. Fired." You pull on your leather booties. "I'll take the severance and figure it out." 

"I didn't say so," he says as he grabs a coat from the closet. 

"Um..." 

"You're completely right. We can't stay here. They're all a bunch of pricks and they wonder why I didn't come home for ten years," he pulls on his coat as he speaks. He pushes back his hair then smooths his mustache. "We're better off at the hotel. We'll sleep better there--" 

"We? Lloyd, please. Stay with your family. I need space," you stand and reach past him for your jacket. "Besides, I booked a single queen and it's Christmas Eve." 

"Queen's big enough. You're tiny--" 

"Okay, no, no," you hiss. "It's not happening. Stay--" 

"But I don't want to," he whines. 

"Mr. Hansen," you say. "You're out of your mind." 

"Well, after your blow up, I don't think I'm welcome," he puts his hand on his hip. "So this is your last chance to save your job. You made the mess, you clean it up." 

"Me?" You exclaim. 

He hushes you and step closer, "Pix, you already made a scene, let's not do the encore. I'm gonna grab my bags, alright?" 

"You can't be serious." You say. 

"Hey, I gotta play the loyal husband--" 

"And why exactly is that necessary? Why couldn't you get one of those Tinder girls?" 

"Woah, woah, come on, someone will hear you," he covers your mouth with his hand and you turn your face away with a blech. "Go warm up the car. We'll talk on the ride to the hotel." 

You stare at him. He watches you, as uncertain as you've ever seen him. In the silence, you can hear the din in the other room. 

"Always was such a baby," Lillian laughs venomously. 

"He could've chosen someone without an iron spine," Gwenyth adds. 

You grimace and throw your hands up, "fine, get your things." 

"You're the best," he grabs your shoulders but before he can kiss you, you put your hand up to pinch his nose. He recoils and rubs the tip, "ow." 

"No more of that," you say as you pull your keys out of your pocket. "Thank god I only had one glass of wine." 

You stomp out the front door. The frigid winter air hits you like a bus. Once one even ground, the swirling snow flecks onto your shoulders and hair. Great, now you get to drive in the snow with an unwanted passenger. 

You get in the driver seat and push the ignition. You turn on the heater and the heated seats. At least Hansen pays enough for the add-ons. Still, you’re not sure there’s any compensation equal to what you just went through. 

You look over as the front door opens and closes. Lloyd rolls a giant suitcase with him, another smaller bag strapped on top, and a third in his other hand. You don’t move as you watch him descend the steps, easing the wheels over the edge one-by-one. 

He comes down the long walk and jerks as his loafers slip on the icy pavement. It would be funny if you weren’t so damn exhausted. You steadies himself and continues on. You should get out and help him. You don’t. 

You pop the trunk with the button. He loads in his bags as you check the rear view. He comes around the passenger side and pulls the door open. He lets out an obnoxious ‘brrrr’ as he drops into the seat next to you. You shift gears as he shuts the door. 

“Ugh, I feel so much better getting out of there,” he says as he adjusts the seat, making room for his long legs. 

“Why?” 

“Um, why not? My family is the worst--” 

“No, why did you drag me into this?” You ask as you lean into the wheel and squint over it. The dark, the snow, the unplowed roads, it’s like the universe can’t stop throwing you obstacles. 

“You want the real answer or the nice answer?” He replies. 

“Mr. Hansen,” you growl. 

“Right, I had no other choice.” 

“No other choice?” You repeat. 

“Look, those long-legged beauties back home, they’re fun, but they don’t got much else going on. I needed someone who could play along,” he explains. 

“Play along?” 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re smart so--” 

“I’m smart...” 

“I wouldn’t hire you if you weren’t--” 

“Jeez, wow, Mr. Hansen, thank you so much. You think I’m so smart, so you should know I’m smart enough to know better than to believe you. You think I’m desperate,” you turn slowly onto the next street. “You think I have nothing else going on.” 

“No, that’s not--” he shifts in his seat. 

“It’s exactly what you think,” you huff. “Well, I do. I have a flight in...” you pause and check the time on the dash, “five hours so when we get to the hotel, I’m going to sleep and you’re going to let me. Then I’m going to catch my flight and the curtain can be pulled on this whole theatre.” 

“Your words, not mine. I don’t think you’re desperate.” 

You don’t respond. You’re tired. He just can’t leave things alone. He always has to say something. You wonder if he was truly left to his own thoughts, if his head would combust. 

“I’m actually impressed,” you says, “you held your own.” 

“Sir,” you utter. 

“It was good. Entertaining. I mean, all these years, you never once talked back to me but wow, that was... majestic, really. You didn’t even wait to see my mother’s face. Or my sister’s.” 

“Your family is weird,” you blurt out. “Sorry, uh, I didn’t mean--” 

“I mean, yeah, we probably are but I don’t really have anything to compare it to,” he says. 

You nod. He has a point. Yet, while that horde of entitled brats might explain his personality, it can’t excuse it. 

The hotel’s marquee shines like a beacon as you steer into the lot. You yawn and shut off the engine. You let yourself out and drag your feet around to the trunk. You take out your carry-on as Lloyd hovers at the other side. 

“All of your stuff, out,” you say. “I’m going straight to the airport in the morning. Checkout is ten so as long your gone by then, I don’t care what you do.” 

He’s quiet but he obeys. He takes his bags out and sets them on the ground. He pulls the rolling bag and slings his smallest bag on his shoulder. You snap the trunk shut and turn, shuffling across the icy tarmac. 

You enter through the automatic doors and cross the desolate lobby. You check in with your ID but as you look for your credit card, Lloyd flicks his between his fingers and offers it up to the clerk. 

“It’s on me,” he insists. 

You won’t argue. You really don’t trust him to leave by checkout. As you head for the elevators, he takes a deep breath. He doesn’t speak until you’re behind the sliding doors of the compartment. 

“You know, I’m still your boss so you can’t just order me around,” he says. 

You glance over at him. “Right, won’t happen again, sir.” 

“It could have been worse, you know? I could’ve actually had you come all the way out here just to drop off some gifts. If you think about it, you got a free dinner and some wine--” 

“Yeah, it was a great time,” you say dryly. “Mr. Hansen, I’m too tired to lie any more. Tonight was one of the worst nights of my life so no, I don’t think it could be worse.” 

The doors open and you stride out. You swipe the card at the door corresponding to the number written in the folio and let yourself in. He follows closely, nearly running over your heels with his suitcase. 

You take your bag to the bed and take out the cotton pajamas stuffed inside just for tonight. You bring them with you into the bedroom, doing your best to ignore your guest. Lloyd wanders along the wall and finds his way to the mini fridge. 

You’re in no rush to change, only to get to bed. You trade your dress and stockings for the cotton two-piece and emerge. You shove your bag and clothes beside the night table and slide under the blankets. You pull them up to your shoulders. 

“They got wine, tequila, beer--” 

“I’m going to sleep,” you insist. 

“The alcohol will help.” 

“No, it will make waking up even harder.” 

“After tonight, I think you need a shot.” 

“Mr. Hansen,” you grumble and cover your head. 

“Fine, more for me.” He snickers. 

You’re happy he can’t see the irritation on your face. You might just be better off to let him drink whatever. Eventually, he’ll have to pass out. At least, you can only hope he does. 

[gffa]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiii

Do you take rec requests? If so, can I ask for your recs for Obi Wan centric fics where Obi Wan is just absolutely adored by everyone around him? Like people love him, think he's great, beautiful, talented, etc. you could also include fics where Anakin isn't one of his adoring fans but he comes around eventually. If you've ever read the Shoulder The Sky series by @kcrabb88 ? Where Anakin is kind of weird about Obi Wan in the beginning but he'd die for him at the end? Yeah like that.

Preferably no Obitine please, and also no order 66, if you would. They can be fix its or maybe they just don't get to order 66 in canon. Long and short is fine. I just want to read fic to justify my absolute rabidity over Obi Wan Kenobi.

Yknow if you're going to answer the ask? Might as well include every fic that you know that portrays Obi Wan very well. Whether everyone thinks so or not, I just want an excuse to fangirl over Obi Wan. Whether it's cute adorable initiate obi wan; smart skilled Padawan Kenobi, best master in the galaxy Kenobi, best general in the gar Kenobi, unfuckwithable Kenobi that everyone knows not to piss off, the Jedi's best member, whatever. Just fics of obi wan being great, whether people acknowledge it and love him, or acknowledge it and go still like prey animals when he looks at them

Hi! Oh, this is going to be a bit of a difficult set, mostly because avoiding Order 66 is a tough one, and I'm not sure how you are with various Obi-Wan pairings (which tend to have some good Obi-Wan fic), but I can at least start you out with a few recs sets I've done that have a lot of Obi-Wan fic and hopefully the Order 66 fic will be pretty avoidable.

My Star Wars fic recs tag (pretty much anything that mentions Obi-Wan in the subject will treat him well)

Obi-Wan Kenobi epic fic

Post-OBW's first two episodes-centric set

It's hard because some of my favorites:

Reprise by Elfpen (absolutely epic time travel fic that does the really good, hard work of showing us the timeline shifting and why it has to be done in baby steps)

Fire and Ice by Yesac (set in an AU where Order 66 happened, but Anakin won the fight and took both Obi-Wan and Padme hostage, and it's about the incredibly long road to recovery from there, which does have some love = attachment minor, minor notes, but has an Obi-Wan characterization that was fundamental to how I see the character)

Aren't necessarily about Order 66, but it does happen in both those fics, as something that's either being avoided or fixing the aftermath of them, and I'm not sure where you stand on such things, since you don't want Order 66. Same for

The Desert Storm by Blue_Sunshine (time travel AU where Order 66 happened in Ben's timeline, but not in the one the fic is set during)

Knightrise by deviantaccumulation (this one includes Order 66 happening on-screen, but it's an AU where more Jedi survive and they go into hiding together to rebuild)

where it's time travel to fix things, is that still over your line? Is it about the other characters that love Obi-Wan or the narrative of the story that loves Obi-Wan, because that would change a lot of the recs I make! Not that he's unloved in them, but Cataclasm by dendral is one of my favorites, but it has Obi-Wan off on his own a lot of the time, so the narrative loves him, but the people around him aren't in the room with him, etc. I also have a Jedi culture set of recs, which you can scroll through to find Obi-Wan mentioned in the summary, it's probably going to be about how much everyone loves him. But some good places to start for you would be:

ruth baulding's Lineage series and then her Legacy series. The first series is an epic length run of adventures when Obi-Wan was a padawan with Qui-Gon, and then the second series is his time teaching Anakin, with more adventures

Remedial Jedi Theology by MarbleGlove, a fantastic look at Jedi theology, philosophy, and interaction, with Obi-Wan in a prominent role.

Supreme Chancellor Obi-Wan Kenobi stonefreeak, which is crack treated seriously, very Jedi-positive, and while it's an ensemble piece overall, Obi-Wan is very much at the heart of the story and the focus will always come back to him. Just so much fun and very soft on the heart, this is a universe where everything goes right.

Tano and Kenobi by FireflyFish, which is a time travel fic where Ahsoka goes back into the past and becomes Padawan Obi-Wan's Master instead of Qui-Gon. The fic is kind of harsh on Qui-Gon, but if you love the disaster lineage or if you just want more Obi-Wan & Ahsoka, this fic will scratch the itch so good.

Unexpected Awakening (The Rewrite) Rhiw, another time travel fic where Order 66 did happen, but the fic is about Legends!Obi-Wan taking a different path from what happened in the first Jedi Apprentice book, instead of becoming Qui-Gon's Padawan the way he did in canon, he and Bruck go to Bandomeer and then get wrapped up in an epic story about Obi-Wan slowly changing the galaxy's course.

walk by faith/tell no one what you've seen by Killbothtwins, which is time travel with Obi-Wan after the end of the galactic civil war (the one against the Empire) going back to his 12 year old self and diverting the timeline, with a really great voice for Obi-Wan's character in this fic.

The Uses of a Sandwich by Laura Kaye (laurakaye) is a fun young Padawan Obi-Wan fic where he meets Qui-Gon's first apprentice and has a great sense of comedy.

Uncle Ben and Little Luke by phoenixyfriend which is de-aged!Luke and suddenly alive again!Obi-Wan and is just so much fun for a dynamic that doesn't get enough fic. (NEVER ENOUGH.)

Well Met by avocadomoon is one if you don't mind Obi-Wan/Padme fic, where they develop a friendship and later in life just slowly fall into a relationship, where it's about discussions and politics and philosophy and worldbuilding, it's such a subtle dynamic between them in a way that felt so natural to me. I also enjoyed the author's other fic Anamorphosis just as much, too.