#the two-face celebrity drawing challenge

[drawfee-quot3s]

this little mouth of mine

this little mouth of mine 🎵

i'm gonna let it shine

me when i swallow a flashlight

- jacob, nathan, + karina

[episodes-without-incident]

7/18/2024:

4 episodes since Drawfee last referenced Cats (2019)

4 episodes since Drawfee last referenced Everytime We Touch (2005)

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (11)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships

notes. 12k wc. we're so close to the finale <3 thanks so much for the continued support and for the patience you guys have with this series :')

series masterlist -> episode twelve

For better and worse. 

Weddings are funny things. Despite the strict adherence to ceremonial traditions, they didn’t guarantee a happily ever after. Exchanging vows and the signing of marriage certificates could become meaningless when a couple faces challenges that would drive them apart. Consider the high-profile divorces of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt, Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck, or Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. Divorce had become so common that it almost seemed inevitable for many couples, even the ones with the most fairytale-like relationships. No one was safe from the idea of a divorce. So, was having a wedding really that important? Would it really define the quality and longevity of a relationship?

Satoru might have been thinking bitterly about it, given that his own marriage wasn’t exactly a shining success. However, he was also being rational when he said that weddings weren’t necessary to prove your love for each other. Early in his marriage, he certainly wasn’t the best husband, but over time, he learned to genuinely become a good partner to his ex-wife. There was no specific time frame for loving someone. You could be together for weeks, months, or years, yet the depth of love you share might remain unchanged. This constancy can be either a blessing or a curse, depending on how deep your love was from the beginning.

Well… On the topic of marriages, Satoru had no good thing to say. But that didn’t mean he shouldn’t participate in it. Weddings were still considered a special celebration for families and close friends, and He would be selfish not to share in such a beautiful event with his best friends. Besides, wasn’t it always expected that Suguru and Shoko would end up marrying each other? They were lucky—fortunate because their marriage was built on a foundation of genuine love. In contrast, Satoru’s marriage began out of convenience, which ultimately led to all the terrible things that followed.

As the best man, Satoru strode confidently alongside Suguru down the aisle, both adorned in princely tuxedos, drawing the eyes of the guests as they followed their procession. There were teasing remarks, smiles all around, and even a comment from one of the groom’s female cousins about how handsome they both looked. Despite the gentle commotion, Satoru understood why Suguru remained nervous as they reached the end of the aisle. He comfortingly stood by his side, offered a reassuring pat on the back, silently communicating to his best friend that everything would be alright.

“Don’t tell me you’ll back out now,” Satoru jested, whispering in Suguru’s ear as they observed the guests entering in accordance with the processional order.

Suguru, with his once long hair now neatly trimmed and slicked back, cleared his throat in an attempt to appear less anxious. “What if she gets cold feet?” 

Gojou couldn’t help but tease. “Shoko? You really think she’d have cold feet?” he chuckled. “She’d be the one dragging your ass back to this garden if you tried to run away.”

“Fair enough.” 

Just the night before, they had checked into the Hoshinoya Fuji to celebrate Suguru's last night of freedom. While there was drinking involved, one of the groomsmen insisted it wouldn’t be a proper bachelor’s party without some female company. So, inevitably, there were women in the hotel room, one of whom even gave Suguru a lap dance even though he showed no interest whatsoever. It was amusing to Satoru, considering his best friend used to be the biggest casanova, and now he was a committed and loyal man who, not only was terrified out of his wits on his wedding day, but was also afraid that the one woman he loved might run away from him.

Such genuine, pure love. 

As Satoru pondered, his gaze landed on Akemi, who was seated a couple of rows back among the other guests. She had just arrived, her hair tied elegantly in a low ponytail and her silky sage dress accentuating her womanly figure flawlessly. She was wearing the diamond Tiffany & Co. earrings he had gifted her, which made her stand out among the rest of the people in that garden. Their eyes also met at the perfect moment, her gaze sparkling upon seeing Satoru in his tuxedo. He offered her a smile, one that silently conveyed ‘I’ll be there with you later,’ and she immediately understood. 

How fortunate was Satoru to have her? Perhaps the reason for her late appearance was because she had been looking after Sachiro back home, fulfilling the duties that his ex-wife should have been doing. She was truly a mother who stepped up, especially during a time when both he and his son felt most abandoned.

And what about you? Who knew if you would even attend the wedding? You were meant to be Ieiri’s maid-of-honor, yet you were conspicuously absent. Perhaps you were still in Monaco, enjoying your time playing house with Toji, making a wedding like this seem insignificant to you. You would have informed Miwa in advance and picked up Sachiro if you had returned to Tokyo, right? Suguru also hadn’t mentioned anything about your arrival at the accommodation, hinting that someone else would have to step in as Shoko's maid-of-honor.

But who would it be? Shoko’s cousin? One of her other female co-workers? Her high school friend? 

“Look, mom! She’s beautiful~”

Satoru was rendered speechless, utterly captivated by the sight before him. His fingers tingled with anticipation, his heart raced in his chest, his feet felt rooted to the ground, and his eyes remained fixed on the next lady gracefully making her way down the aisle. He couldn’t quite pinpoint what struck him the most: was it the sight of you in a stunning light green dress, resembling an angel descended from the heavens, or was it the haunting reminder of his own wedding day, when you walked down the same aisle as his most beautiful bride?

His breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening with each step you took down the aisle. Satoru felt like a statue, frozen in place, unable to tear his gaze away from you. You had become the sole focus of his attention, the rest of the world fading into a blur around him. He couldn’t comprehend it. Why was it so effortless for him to let his guard down around you?

This woman, he thought. This woman is Sachiro’s mother. This was the same woman that carried his flesh and blood for nine months, now appearing as radiant as a freshly bloomed flower, as if untouched by the stresses of unexpected motherhood. What had transpired in Monaco to transform you into this vision of beauty?

“You’re drooling.” Suguru nudged him on the chest. “This isn’t your wedding. You had your chance.” 

Yes, he was well aware. This wasn’t his wedding, and he needed to maintain composure. Yet, it felt as though he was being drawn inexorably towards the mesmerizing goddess before him. With each beat of his heart quickening, he struggled to remind himself: No, Satoru. She's nothing to you now.

And because he was lost in a trance, he remained oblivious to the bride’s entrance and even Suguru’s emotional reaction to seeing his bride. His attention was solely fixated on you as he stole glances your way whenever he could. It wasn’t until the exchanging of rings, when you two had to stand side by side to assist the bride and groom, that he snapped back to reality. With you so close yet seemingly distant, Satoru felt a pang of disappointment as you never returned his gaze. The whispers and side comments from the guests also added to his discomfort, making him acutely aware of the scrutiny placed upon the best man and maid-of-honor.

“Aren’t they divorced?”

“Yeah, their marriage was a wreck.” 

“They’re bad luck. I hope they don’t pass it onto the couple.”  

For the first time in a long time, Satoru was gripped by an unprecedented desire to retort, to refute the misconceptions surrounding his marriage. Yet, he knew it was futile. Engaging in a verbal sparring match with another guest would only ruin his best friends' special day. Moreover, he might risk causing unintentional hurt to Akemi by defending a marriage that had long ceased to exist. So, despite the internal turmoil, he remained silent, allowing the whispers to persist unchecked.

And, with that, the wedding ceremony ended. Shoko and Suguru were now declared husband and wife. 

— — 

The reception was a time for socializing, enjoying drinks and hors d’oeuvres, and congratulating the newlyweds. For Suguru and Shoko, this part of the celebration felt effortless and their energies were seamlessly complementing each other’s. Unlike arranged marriages, there was no sense of haste or coercion; theirs was a union born of genuine affection. You couldn’t help but feel foolish for ever entertaining the notion that this was merely a conventional wedding experience. Here, before your eyes, unfolded a true celebration of love between two people.

Did Satoru share the same sentiments? You wondered what thoughts raced through his mind during the proceedings. Did the event trigger memories of his own past, or stir feelings of longing for what could have been?

You refused to subject yourself to the torment of dwelling on your past. If anything, your time living alone in Monaco had been a crucial step in your healing journey. While the process was far from complete, that solitary retreat had provided a much-needed respite from the source of your stress. It afforded you the opportunity to contemplate the life you were destined to lead, albeit alone for the foreseeable future.

By allowing Sachiro to spend more time with his father, you not only facilitated the rebuilding of their fractured relationship, but also acclimated your child to your absence. It was a necessary adjustment, one that would prepare him for the reality of your impending solitary existence. At least, Sachiro had a chance to live in a loving household with Satoru and Akemi, instead of a miserable and lonely way of living together with you. 

In the end, it was all for your child. 

As for the potential emotional minefield of attending this wedding, you were there for Shoko, who had always been a steadfast and understanding presence in your life. Her genuine friendship meant more to you than mere familial bonds ever could. Even at the risk of stirring up unhealthy emotions by being in a room full of people who hurt you, you couldn’t bear to disappoint Ieiri. 

Admittedly though, navigating the wedding crowd was a delicate balance of warmth and formality. Ieiri’s side of the family, who were doctors heavily acquainted with your family, greeted you with genuine warmth. While Suguru’s relatives, who were more closely tied to the Gojou family, maintained a polite distance. Although there were occasional moments of discomfort, you knew how to maintain composure throughout. 

As for Toji’s absence, while a part of you wished he could have been there as a supportive presence, you also recognized the value in learning to handle situations involving your ex-husband independently. He had an unavoidable business trip, but that also provided an opportunity for you to stop relying on him and navigate such occasions like these on your own. He was nothing more than a friend now. 

While that ex-husband, Satoru, was here with your best friend. It didn’t surprise you that he had brought Akemi as a plus one. In fact, you had expected it to happen. It just wasn’t the best feeling to be the maid-of-honor when the best man clearly had another lady for it in mind. 

It was quite amusing, too. Not once had Akemi approached you during the reception. You understood that she wanted to keep her distance, but you found it disrespectful that she was ignoring your existence. Was she scared to talk to you? Scared of what you had to say? You had heard over a million hurtful things from other people, yet she was afraid to hear a few pieces of advice from you?  

Forget it. Forget her and Satoru. Focus on the reception, Y/N. 

But really, how could you? As the moment arrived for the newlyweds’ first dance, tradition dictated that the best man and maid-of-honor should also take to the floor. You sensed the tension in the air as Satoru hesitated, surrounded by urging groomsmen, deciding whether or not he should ask you for a dance. He looked like he was battling with what was right and wrong in his mind, yet ultimately he chose to pass by you, extending his hand to Akemi instead.

It wasn’t feelings of shame that slapped you to reality. It was seeing Satoru holding Akemi’s hand, another on her waist, as they slowly danced to Can’t Help Falling In Love, a song that was played on your wedding day. 

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

Oh, for I can’t help

Falling in love with you

It shouldn’t hurt anymore. You were doing better. You were doing so good, you were doing… you were okay. You should be okay. Or did you overestimate your emotions a little too much? Because this, seeing the man you loved with all your heart holding another woman in his arms, was tortuous to your soul. You could feel the pains of your past tugging at your heart, wondering why he never danced like that with you on your wedding day? Why he never stared at you like you were the most beautiful girl in the world, why he never showed you off in a room full of curious people, why he never respected you enough to treat you with such… with such love. 

“Everything okay?”

You didn’t expect Nanami, out of all people, to be offering you a handkerchief. You hadn’t even realized that your eyes were already pooling of the tears if he had not cut you out of trance, offering a comforting and sympathetic smile. You had to blink multiple times just to push your tears back in. 

“Yeah,” you answered with a grateful expression. I’m strong. I’ll be fine. “Thank you.” 

Nanami took that as a sign to offer his hand. “Care for a dance, then?” 

Wiping your eyes, you nodded, smiling at the man. “Why not?” 

After the dance, the reception continued as follows. The cake cutting, the dinner service, then the toasts and speeches. If it wasn’t for Nanami, you wouldn’t have been able to pick yourself back up after the humiliation of seeing Satoru and Akemi dancing together. You just needed a decent amount of air to breathe and gather yourself together again. It was a nice help from someone who wasn’t a personal acquaintance of yours, that despite being Satoru’s right hand man in the company, Nanami still had some kindness in him that you would forever be thankful for. 

And when it was time for you to do your speech as the MOH, you didn’t let a single vulnerable emotion slip out of you. For that short moment, you tried not to think about who was in the audience, about what they thought of you, and about what other preconceived notions they had of you. You focused on the newlyweds as you stood in front of the mic stand, eye-to-eye with Shoko and Suguru, who were holding each other’s hands. 

“Shoko,” you began, smiling genuinely at the couple, “Through the laughter and tears, you’ve been my constant, my confidante, my rock. And today, as I watch you embark on this new chapter of your life, I’m honestly a bit overwhelmed with emotion.” 

The bride returned your smile, and you can tell Shoko was holding back tears of her own as she glanced between you and Satoru. 

You continued your speech, observing Suguru’s supportive gesture towards his wife as you spoke. “Shoko, I recall our late-night conversations, the tears shed over broken marriages, and the pain of shattered relationships. Yet, through it all, you’ve remained steadfast in your belief in love, in hope, in the possibility of a happily ever after.” Turning to Suguru, although he still had that lingering discomfort around you, you offered him nothing but heartfelt words. “As I look at you and Suguru, I’m reminded that true love exists—a love that is patient, kind, and enduring. My wish for you both is a lifetime filled with laughter, joy, and unwavering support for each other. May you cherish each other’s hearts, protect each other’s dreams, and weather life’s storms together, stronger in your love. Suguru, during your challenging days as a married couple, I pray that you always look at Shoko and remember why you love her. I pray that you will always have the capacity to cherish and respect her as your wife and the future mother of your children. May you keep her in your heart, no matter what challenges may come your way.”

As tears welled in Ieiri’s eyes, your voice faltered, the magnitude of your wishes for their marriage weighing heavily on your own unfulfilled desires. You weren’t trying to make this about you, and you hoped they thought that, too. 

“As I raise my glass to toast this beautiful union,” you said, raising the champagne glass on your hand, “I do so with a heart full of love and a silent prayer—that your love story will be one of triumph, of healing, and of endless happiness. Congratulations, Shoko and Suguru!”

— —

Satoru was deeply affected by your speech. Both in good and bad ways. On one hand, he was touched by the sincerity of your words and the genuine wishes you extended to the newlywed couple. On the other hand, he couldn’t shake off the pang of guilt and remorse that accompanied your words, knowing all too well the history behind them. When you expressed your hopes for Suguru to always cherish and respect Shoko, Satoru couldn’t help but reflect on his own behavior during your marriage and the ways in which he may have fallen short.

Each action he did definitely had a lasting impact on you. 

But what about the good ones? Had you forgotten about the times he treated you well? Had you forgotten the lengths he took just to prove to you that he was a changed man? That at one point in his life, he would do everything in him just to show you how much he loved you? 

It was unfair. Why did you only ever look at the bad things he did and never the good ones? Why did you still see him as a villain in your marriage when he knew he had paid his dues after he lost you?

It was truly, honestly unfair, that you get to be happy with Toji, but he ought to feel guilty for being with Akemi. 

“I think they’re about to do the bouquet and garter toss,” spoke Akemi, tugging at Satoru’s arm while they sat on their designated table. She held a napkin on her other hand to wipe her partner’s chin, smiling in excitement. “You should go and join.” 

Where were you? After your speech, Satoru couldn’t seem to find you anymore. Where had you gone off to? Did you leave already? 

“Y-Yeah,” Satoru answered, looking around the venue before turning to Akemi. “What about you? Won’t you join the bouquet toss thing?” 

She shook her head, hesitantly. “Isn’t it only for bridesmaids?” 

He grabbed her hand and urged her up. “No, it’s for all unmarried female guests. Come on.” 

The reason Satoru dragged her along was because Akemi loved weddings, and she especially enjoyed the traditions that came with it. She herself once dreamt about the picture perfect wedding, but never got to fully have her own, so attending such occasions made up for the lack of personally experiencing it. 

Gojou couldn’t exactly remember if he did the garter toss in his own wedding. If so, who had caught it? Who had caught your bouquet? His eyes swept across the entire venue once more, searching for your familiar figure among the guests. He was too occupied to realize that Shoko had already tossed her bouquet, and the frenzy of eager ladies ensued until it landed in Akemi’s hands.

He genuinely felt happy for Akemi. The joy in her eyes upon catching Shoko’s bouquet was unmistakable. Yet, as the playful teasing about a potential wedding for him shifted in his direction, Satoru couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pressure. It wasn’t supposed to weigh on him like this. It was too soon to have that expectation of him. 

“Looks like someone’s getting married next!”

And while he was feeling suffocated from the pressure placed upon him, the receiver of the tossed garter happened to have been Nanami. 

Immediately, the teasing ensued, with the other guests urging Nanami to wear the garter on Akemi’s leg. Out of respect, Nanami looked at Gojou for permission, but honestly? He was just grateful he didn’t have to do all that and be pressured about another wedding that he had not yet thought about. Fuck it, thank God Nanami had caught the garter because Satoru was sure as hell starting to feel uneasy there. 

“Go for it,” was the only thing Satoru said to Nanami, gesturing his chin at Akemi’s direction. 

While everyone was focused on the situation between Nanami and Akemi, Satoru took that opportunity to escape from the crowd and find his peace at the balcony. He hastily made his way out of the reception hall, feeling a sense of relief as he could finally breathe. 

And there you were, standing alone, lost in contemplation, and your gaze fixed upon the tranquil expanse of the lakeside. The chill breeze caressed your hair softly, as if mirroring the calm that enveloped your countenance. In another universe, this would have been an opportune moment to hug you from behind, sharing the warmth of his embrace around your figure. But he was living in a universe where you and him weren’t meant to be together.

In fact, you were probably thinking about another man as you stared at the lake, hoping that he was there with you. 

“Did you have fun in Monaco with Toji?” Satoru was crazy for going straight to the point, and he knew it was a blunt inquiry, bordering on intrusive, but it tumbled out nonetheless, revealing the thoughts that had been plaguing in his mind. His words spilled out before he could rein them in, a question born of curiosity and perhaps a touch of jealousy.

As for you, with your peace in the balcony now ruined, you briefly opened your mouth to respond, but held back against it as you met Gojou’s eyes with a distant stare. You were even quick to look away and sigh, like he was not worth the conversation. You had not spoken a word to him since the wedding ceremony and you were definitely going to keep doing it. 

And man, did that hurt his ego. 

So, for a very stupid reason, he felt the need to hurt yours in return. “Do you know Sachi calls Akemi ‘mama’ in his sleep?” 

Your eyes remained empty. “Good for you, then. You won’t have a hard time getting him accustomed to it.” 

“Y/N.” Satoru’s voice came out as a warning, and he was about to start an argument on why you were abandoning him and Sachi over Toji, but he was interrupted at the appearance of Akemi carrying Shoko’s bouquet as she tried to search for her lover. This meant that the conversation with the ex-wife was over.

But as he glanced between you and Akemi, his bitter past and his sweet present, why did Satoru’s heart still lingered with you when it shouldn’t?

“You should go,” you briefly muttered, walking in the opposite direction, “Your future wife’s looking for you.”

Satoru’s sudden grip on your wrist halted your steps abruptly. His voice carried a bitter edge as he reminded you of the agreement you had made. “Y/N, we agreed to co-parent Sachiro properly. Why are you choosing Toji over your own son?” 

The accusation left a tense atmosphere, eliciting a sharp response from you as you yanked your hand away, a flash of anger igniting in your eyes. “You have no idea what you're talking about, Satoru.”

— —

“Welcome to Hoshinoya Fuji, Ms. L/N!” 

You stepped out of the car, taking in the serene beauty of the lakeside cabin that would be your sanctuary for the next three days and two nights. Nestled among towering pines and sturdy oaks, the cabin exuded a rustic charm that blended seamlessly with the natural landscape. Its weathered wooden exterior, adorned with a green tin roof, seemed to have grown organically from the earth itself.

The cabin sat on a gentle slope that led directly to the water’s edge. A wooden deck wrapped around the front, offering a perfect vantage point for gazing out over the tranquil lake. Your room also had the best view of Mount Fuji, which you thought was the highlight of this luxurious accommodation. 

After the newlywed send-off, you were quickly ushered in by Shoko and Suguru’s staff, who were in charge of attending to the special guests staying a few extra days at the cabin. Though the couple wouldn’t start their proper honeymoon until their 6-month long cruise trip in two weeks, they wanted their guests to enjoy the accommodations they had arranged. You were relieved to hear that, despite Satoru and Akemi also being among the friends staying, each guest had their own private cabin reserved.

The thing was, you could leave any time if you wanted to. Shoko also reassured you that it would be okay and that she would understand if you wanted to go home right away. She knew that the situation may be uncomfortable for you, and that she felt bad you even had to deal with it during the ceremony, but you made a promise to her. You were her maid-of-honor for a reason, and part of your duty was to help with the post-ceremony tasks to ensure that Shoko can focus on enjoying her pre and post-wedding activities. 

So, in some ways, you felt obliged to stay. You didn’t need to interact much with others during your stay, anyway. You were content staying in your room, perhaps taking some occasional walks outside. Satoru could do whatever he wanted with Akemi; you were determined to avoid crossing their paths.

Besides, inside the cabin was a cozy retreat. The main living area featured large windows that framed the picturesque view, allowing moonlight to spill in and illuminate the space. A stone fireplace, complete with a rustic mantel adorned with pinecones and candles, stood as the centerpiece of the room. Plush armchairs and a worn leather sofa invited relaxation, while a handwoven rug added a touch of warmth and color.

As you moved towards the bedroom, you found a comfortable queen-sized bed covered in a soft, plaid quilt. The scent of pine mingled with the faint aroma of fresh linens, creating an atmosphere of peaceful haven. An old-fashioned dresser and a bedside table, topped with a simple lamp, completed the room. The windows here, too, offered a glimpse of the sparkling lake, ensuring that the beauty of nature would greet you each morning.

Stepping outside, you walked down a short path to the water’s edge, where a small wooden dock extended into the lake. A pair of Adirondack chairs sat invitingly at the end of the dock, perfect for soaking in the sunset or stargazing at night. Nearby, a fire pit surrounded by stones and logs as seating promised cozy evenings under the stars, with the gentle sound of lapping water providing a soothing backdrop.

On your first night there, you ended up falling asleep right away. The physical and emotional exhaustion, combined with jetlag, knocked you out. However, the next day promised a few tasks to complete the post-wedding cleanup. 

The second night, however, was a different story.

When you returned to the cabin, the cool evening air was crisp against your skin. The temperature went down a couple of celsius compared to yesterday, so as you walked down the path toward the lakeside, you were drawn to the flickering glow of a fire pit illuminating the area near the water’s edge. Drawing closer, the soft sounds of laughter and conversation reached your ears, mingling with the gentle crackle of burning logs.

The fire pit was surrounded by a group, their faces lit by the warm, golden light of the flames. They sat on a circle of logs and foldable chairs, leaning in to feel the comforting heat. Some held mugs of steaming cocoa, while others toasted marshmallows on long sticks, their tips glowing bright orange before transforming into gooey, sugary treats.

You paused for a moment and took in the scene. Was it a safe space for you to be in? You noticed familiar faces among the group—some of the couple’s old friends from the wedding, now relaxed and enjoying the peaceful night. One of the guests strummed a guitar softly, the melody adding to the cozy, inviting atmosphere. Another guest told a story, their animated expressions and gestures causing bursts of laughter from the listeners.

There was no sight of Satoru and Akemi. Perhaps, it might be okay to join in.

As you approached, Suguru emerged from a nearby cabin, smiling in a way that felt unusual. Why was he being friendly all of a sudden? Last time you checked, he still held a grudge against you. But now, he showed no signs of antagonism, and was even approaching you with his usual friendly demeanor.

“Y/N,” he said, the fog of his breath visible in the cold air, “I never got to thank you properly for helping us with everything here. I didn’t think you’d make it last minute.”

You wrapped your shawl tighter around yourself to ward off the chill. “It’s no trouble. I’m glad to help out and be here for you guys,” you replied warmly. And while glancing around, you noticed the absence of Shoko. “Where’s the missus?”

Suguru’s smile took on a mischievous edge. “Sleeping. She’s still pretty tired and…”

You interrupted him with a laugh, catching onto his suggestive tone. “Alright, you two. You’re wild.”

His grin softened into a sincere expression. “No, seriously. I never got to properly thank you. I never got to apologize to you either.” Suguru looked down with guilt. “I’m sorry for being an asshole to you. I was focusing too much on Satoru’s point-of-view, dismissing how it must be like to be in your position amidst all that mess. Shoko helped me understand why you made certain decisions, why you had no other option. She helped me see things from your perspective, to realize the extent of your suffering. We all knew that, I guess. We all knew you were constantly dealt a bad hand, yet you remain kind and resilient. You continue to show empathy to others, even when the world hasn’t been fair to you.”

In the ensuing silence, your heart seemed to thunder in your chest. His words carried weight far beyond what he might have intended, and you genuinely appreciated his apology. Even if he didn’t need to say them. 

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, you’re a gem, Y/N.” Suguru gave your back a gentle pat. “You deserve to be happy in your own special way. And just like how you wished us well with our marriage, I hope you’ll find your own path to a happy marriage, too.” 

“Thank you,” you mumbled, looking down with a forlorn smile. 

“We’re here for you, okay?” he offered, “Shoko and I. You can count on us if you need us, if you need help with Sachiro, if you need help with life in general.” 

“I appreciate it, really.” 

And by then, he cleared his throat, opening up a topic that caught you off guard. You didn’t expect it from Suguru out of all people. “Y/N, I know why you were in Monaco.” 

Of course. He’d know it from Shoko. 

“I also know,” he continued, dark narrow eyes staring straight at yours, “why you left Sachiro with his father.” 

You were a deer caught in the headlights. You wouldn’t say it felt invasive to have someone be aware of the reasoning behind your personal decisions, but it was just an altogether different feeling to know that it was your ex-husband’s best friend who knew. 

“Why didn’t you tell him?” he asked, referring to Satoru, “That you broke up with Toji?” 

You took a deep breath. “I don’t see the point of telling him.”

“What if I were to tell you that he’d come running desperately to you the moment he finds out?” he posed another burning question. “You still love him, right? You and him would likely get together without much difficulty if he were aware. So, why hesitate?”

“Because I don’t want that,” you answered, feeling words caught in your throat in a moment of vulnerability. “Because I’m scared to get back with him. Because he has Akemi now. Because I don’t wanna keep ruining the lives of the people around me. We’re better off this way, Suguru. I don’t want to mess up the second time around, and I definitely don’t think Satoru would be able to fully move on with his life with me still in the picture. He seems to be happy with Akemi already.” 

Suguru smiled sadly. “You don’t even wanna get your revenge? Don’t wanna get back at your best friend for dating your ex?” he paused to correct himself, “Well, dating is the wrong term. Satoru insists they’re not exclusive, you know?” 

You shook your head, sighing. Satoru, you haven’t changed. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine with the way things are.” 

He was on the verge of continuing, poised to persuade further, but the arrival of the very individuals in question brought an abrupt halt to his words. Descending the cabin steps was Shoko, trailed by Satoru, who, in a gesture of warmth, had draped his jacket around Akemi, with his arms encircling her.

All five of you found yourselves in an awkward situation, now faced with two couples, one of which was at the core of your distress. The tension was palpable, and it didn’t help that Satoru’s vivid blue eyes met yours, seemingly trying to decode the conversation between you and Suguru. That was none of his business. He could continue his affectionate display with Akemi, while you had other matters to attend to than be part of an awkward quintet.

“I should go,” you declared, avoiding eye contact with everyone, unwilling to play the fifth wheel. You were hoping to evade Satoru and Akemi’s presence, but both Shoko and Suguru already caught your arm. 

“Y/N, please,” Shoko urged, her arm reaching out to you. “Don't isolate yourself tonight. Come join us.”

The memory of Bora Bora flooded your mind, a painful reminder of a similar situation when Shoko had extended the same invitation, leading to the discomfort of witnessing Sera’s closeness with Satoru. You knew that wasn’t Shoko’s intention, but it was your ex-husband who couldn’t stop catching himself in these situations. 

This was a bad idea. You knew that. 

So, why did you agree? 

Despite your reservations, curiosity got the best of you. You would vehemently deny it if asked, but deep down, you pondered whether Suguru’s words held any truth about Satoru’s lingering feelings for you. It wasn’t out of pettiness, but rather a desire to confirm if Satoru was truly committed to Akemi. You knew this could potentially hurt you, but after enduring so much pain, you couldn’t imagine anything worse.

“Hey, you guys!” 

“It’s nice of you to join us!” 

“What’s up newlyweds?” 

Upon joining the group at the fireplace, you were partly grateful that you weren’t exactly a fifth wheel in the situation. There were about ten or twelve people in total, with the earlier group still remaining in their seats. It just so happened that you were seated right across your ex-husband, who was too busy trying to keep Akemi warm and cozy. 

“So, Y/N…” spoke a man from the group, who appeared to be Suguru’s colleague. “Are you single?” 

The unexpected question caught you off guard, especially the tension it seemed to create, particularly with Satoru who sat stiffly next to Akemi. Even Shoko and Suguru seemed apologetic for their friend’s behavior, but you brushed it off, recognizing that he had probably indulged a bit too much with beer. He was harmless enough when sober.

“Don’t be asking questions like that,” Suguru intervened, tapping the back of his friend’s head in a playful scold. “That’s rude.” 

The friend protested, still oblivious to the discomfort he had caused. “I was just asking! She’s attractive. I have the right to know.”

You forced a smile, accepting the can of beer he had offered. “Thanks, but I—”

“Even if she’s single, she’s not interested in you,” Shoko chimed in, keeping a casual mien. She had to keep things cool, especially with an explosive Gojou around. You were just thankful that she didn’t exactly reveal the status of your relationship with Toji, and that she was doing her best to divert the attention away from you. 

In this little scene, you caught a glimpse of Akemi tugging at Satoru’s arm, like she was uncomfortable with the conversation. Why? Did it trigger an insecurity within her? She couldn’t even return eye-contact, constantly avoiding your eyes and reacting to any conversation remotely related to you. But Satoru was there acting like a concerned boyfriend, whispering reassurance into her ear, and rubbing her knee in a comforting fashion. 

“You two make a lovely couple,” remarked one of the girls, directing her compliment to Satoru and Akemi.“Weren’t you the girl who caught the bouquet? Looks like there might be another wedding on the horizon.”

“Oooh!” 

“They’re an attractive couple, too.” 

“You guys planning for any children?” 

Just like Bora Bora. A bitter smile lingered on your face, but you decided not to look at Satoru anymore. He must be enjoying this. 

Shoko leaned in and placed an arm around you to whisper her apologies. “I’m sorry, Y/N. This was a bad idea.” 

“It’s okay,” you assured, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I’ll leave after I finish my beer so it won’t be awkward.” 

As the night wore on, conversation flowed easily at first, with everyone exchanging stories and laughter, and eventually more beers and liquor were passed around. Shoko and Suguru were lost in the glow of newlywed bliss, while you found yourself increasingly uneasy as memories of the past mingled with the present.

Satoru’s presence beside Akemi was a constant reminder of your failed marriage, and you struggled to suppress the weakness in your chest that threatened to surface. They held hands and watched the fire together, her head resting on his shoulder, his lips on top of her head. She was trying to voice out a specific concern to him, and he was sweetly listening to her. Did they even realize the ex-wife was in the same area with them? It was insensitive. You never knew Satoru could be this insensitive around you, no matter what his reasons were, his romantic gestures towards her was a clear slap to your face. And he succeeded, because you would be foolish not to admit that it broke your heart in half to witness him choosing another woman over you. 

Again, Satoru. Here we go again. You tried to stop the pounding on your chest. Here we fucking are the second time around. 

Desperate to ease the tension, Shoko and Suguru attempted to steer the conversation toward lighter topics, but their efforts only served to highlight the underlying tension in the air. You forced a smile and nodded along with the conversation, but inside, your heart was heavy with unresolved emotions.

And then someone had to bring up that stupid truth or dare game. 

“Satoru-kun, I dare you to kiss the prettiest woman in this group.” 

“Whoo! Do it! Do it! Do it!” 

Satoru was initially hesitant as he clearly found himself at a crossroads. He had two options here. Should he risk hurting Akemi by refusing to kiss her? Or should he risk hurting you by kissing another woman in front of you?

The clear winner was Akemi, because as soon as Gojou pressed his lips onto hers, you were already walking out of there. You had already excused yourself from the group, your footsteps as heavy as your heart. And unbeknownst to you, Satoru watched you go with a flicker of remorse in his eyes, but it was too late for apologies or second chances. The fire continued to crackle and pop as you left, its flames casting long shadows across the empty space where you had sat.

It was game over. Satoru had won his game. 

— —

Satoru was puzzled by your behavior since the wedding. You seemed determined to avoid him, which made sense with Akemi constantly by his side, but there was also an air of desperation to your avoidance. What baffled him even more was the jealousy you exhibited, as if you weren’t involved with another man, to the point where you even flew to another country just to spend more time with him. 

Like you said, you two were no longer married. It was about time you moved on. Yet, how come you were acting heartbroken over seeing Satoru with another woman?

Did you really think leaving the fire pit so abruptly had gone unnoticed?

Did you really think he had taken his eyes off you?

If not for Akemi telling him that she was having pelvic cramps, Gojou would have run off to follow you the minute you left the fire pit. Clearly, you still had an issue seeing him with another girl and he wanted you to voice it out. But if there was anything he learned during your time together, you would never be the first one to admit that you were jealous. Heck, didn’t you even allow him to bring Sera to Bora Bora that one time?

Look, he didn’t want to hurt you all over again. And if you had walked up to him and called him an asshole for having Akemi around, he would even agree with you. But it was your decision to choose Toji, it was your request for Satoru to find someone else, so why did it seem like you were suddenly changing your mind?

“I’m sorry for being a party pooper,” Akemi groaned in discomfort as Gojou helped her back to their cabin. He quickly refocused on their conversation, reminding himself not to dwell on thoughts of you when Akemi needed his attention—it wouldn’t be fair to her. She was suffering from a terrible illness that he wouldn’t wish upon anyone and he had to be her rock. “It’s been hurting quite a bit lately. I really should start with my treatment.”

Once inside their room, he swiftly settled her into bed. “Where does it hurt?” He applied a gentle touch to her pelvic bone, massaging the area to alleviate her discomfort. “Here?”

“Mhm. Thank you,” she lightly spoke, her soft hand caressing his cheek. “I’ll be fine.”

“You look really pale, though. I’m worried,” he remarked, sympathizing with her. Her complexion betrayed the pain she was holding back, though she likely hesitated to admit she wanted to go home and rest. “Do you wanna go home? Even if it’s in the middle of the night, I can have my driver pick us up.”

She shook her head quickly. “No, no. Please, I'll be fine. You won't get to see Shoko and Suguru for a while once they’re on their honeymoon, so I want you to spend time with them here.”

“You sure? But you always come first.” 

“I’ll be okay.” 

As Satoru continued to massage the area where Akemi felt pain, his thoughts inevitably drifted to you. He recalled the time when you were pregnant with Sachiro, experiencing frequent lower abdominal pain as your body adjusted to the baby. Each night, Satoru stayed up, gently rubbing your belly until you drifted off to sleep. It was one of his happiest memories during your marriage—the domestic bliss of being your husband and the memory of him caring for his wife. He wasn’t sure if he was missing it, or if he was just recalling a past memory, but looking at Akemi, Satoru wondered if he was prepared to have all that again but with another woman. 

He couldn’t give himself an answer. 

“I’m such a terrible person.” 

He should be telling himself that, but it was Akemi who said those words out loud as her brown doe-eyes stared at him solemnly, an expression that reflected guilt and remorse in equal measure. 

“How come?” Satoru’s voice was barely above a whisper as he asked, gently tucking the sheets around her while perching on the edge of the bed.

Her smile held a touch of sorrow, yet there was a glimmer of relief in her eyes. “I feel like I’ve failed Y/N. She treated me like family, like a sister, and now I can’t even face her properly. I’m just terrified, you know? I don’t want to keep letting her down. I never meant to cause her pain.”

For a moment, Gojou fell silent at her admission. “It’s all my fault. You two never would have been in this position if it wasn’t for me.” 

“Absolutely not,” Akemi persisted before leaning in to plant a tender kiss on his cheek. “Tonight, you’ve shown me that you’ve truly moved on from her. I was starting to worry, afraid that I could never fill the space she held in your heart. But since the wedding, you’ve never sidelined me or made me feel like an afterthought. You’ve never made me feel like second best. You’ve always prioritized me. I understand it’s hard seeing your ex-wife, but I appreciate your efforts more than you know. You make me feel incredibly special.”

Satoru swallowed hard. The mention of your name sent a pang of guilt coursing through his chest. He knew he had hurt Akemi with his lingering attachment to his past and his inability to fully let go of the woman who had once held his heart in her hands. He wanted to agree with Akemi, to reassure her that he had chosen her, but the truth remained elusive, buried beneath layers of denial and self-deception. He even had to close his eyes for a minute, unable to meet her gaze as a tumult of conflicting emotions swirled within him. He wanted to tell her the truth, to confess the depth of his feelings for his ex-wife, but the words were caught in his throat.

In that moment, Satoru felt more lost and alone than ever before, trapped in a web of his own making, and unable to confront the truth behind his true feelings. Moved on? Had he truly moved on from you, or had he simply buried his feelings beneath a facade of indifference?

“You should rest your eyes,” was the only thing he could tell her, planting a kiss on her forehead before he had turned off the lights. 

With the clock ticking past 11 o’clock and their recent conversation still echoing in his mind, Satoru felt an urgent need for clarity. He knew he had to confront his thoughts alone. So, without disturbing Akemi’s peaceful slumber, he quietly slipped out of the cabin, seeking solace in the night air. Immediately, as he got out, he was met with the apologetic eyes of his best friend. 

“Hey,” Satoru greeted, confused by the urgency in Suguru’s expression. “What’s up?” 

Suguru took a deep breath before he rubbed the back of his head. “There’s something I ought to tell you.” 

— —

You had been standing at the edge of the lake for a while now, the cool night air sending shivers down your spine as you gazed out at the shimmering expanse of water before you. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the tranquil scene, its soft light dancing on the surface of the lake like a thousand tiny stars.

The temptation to dive into the dark waters below tugged at your heart like a siren’s song, beckoning you to leave behind the pain and sorrow that had plagued you for so long. You longed to feel the icy embrace of the lake envelop you, to lose yourself in its depths and wash away the memories that haunted you every waking moment.

Is this how it feels like to finally let go? 

As you stood on the shore, your toes just inches from the water’s edge, a wave of despair then washed over you, threatening to pull you under like the undertow of a riptide. You thought of Sachiro, your sweet, innocent son, asleep in his bed back in Tokyo, his laughter and smiles serving as an antidote to the pain in your heart.

And then him… 

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you thought of Satoru. Despite the pain he had caused you, it was impossible not to yearn for him still, because his memory was a ghost that haunted you in every waking moment. But you knew that you couldn’t continue to live in the shadow of your past marriage. You had to escape being trapped in a cycle of longing and regret. You owed it to Sachiro to be strong, to find the courage to let go of the man who had once been your everything.

With your empty gaze, the calm lake shimmered in the moonlight like a blanket of liquid silver. You had come to the lake seeking solace, seeking escape from the unbearable pain that gnawed at your heart like a relentless tide. But as tears left your eyes, your emotions threatened to drown you in a sea of despair. 

Without hesitation, you dropped your shawl to the side, shedding yourself off of the cloth with a sense of reckless abandon. The fright of swimming in open water, especially at night, could have you passed out in a matter of seconds, but you paid it no mind as you waded into the water. 

Is this how it feels to finally give up? 

The lake embraced you like an old friend, enfolding you in its cool embrace as you swam out into the darkness. Each stroke brought you closer to the center of the lake, closer to the heart of your pain, and yet you felt strangely at peace, as if the water itself held the key to your salvation. You took time floating on your back, staring up at the stars that glittered like diamonds in the night sky, you felt a sense of clarity wash over you. You knew that your love for Satoru was a burden you could no longer bear.

But more than that, you knew that you couldn’t let your own pain dictate the course of your son’s life. Sachiro deserved better than a mother consumed by sorrow, better than a life overshadowed by the ghosts of the past.

With a deep breath, you let go of the pain that had held you captive for so long. You submerged yourself into the depths of the lake, watching as the night sky vanished beneath the surface like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

In that moment, you felt a sense of freedom unlike anything you had ever known. You just had to stay still. You had to keep yourself underwater, hold your breath until you no longer needed it, and… 

And…

You struggled to breathe, your mind consumed in panic telling you that you would die if you had kept yourself submerged for another minute, but you were adamant on staying there. You fought battles in your own mind, despite your body fighting back to keep you alive. 

At least soon, you would finally meet your mom again. 

“...”

“......”

“....Y/N!” 

“.......Y/N!” 

Feeling your vision blur and your limbs growing limp, you surrendered to the natural sway of the water. Bubbles escaped from your nose, your mouth tightly sealed shut. And the next thing you knew, you were back on the water surface, drawing breath like a fish out of the water. You could feel someone tugging at your arm, could feel the presence of another person dragging you out of the water, his arms pulling you into an embrace. 

“Y/N! What the hell are you thinking?!” 

You sobbed uncontrollably, your heartache pouring out as Satoru cradled you in his arms, his white hair damp from his efforts to rescue you from the water. How and when did he arrive? Your mind couldn’t process the details amidst the turmoil. All you could do was surrender to the flood of tears, feeling paralyzed from head to toe as you cried into his embrace.

Is this another dream? 

Is this another hallucination? 

You released a bitter laugh. Please. You closed your eyes, laughing and crying like a mad person. Please stop the pain. 

“Y/N, please,” his whispers were tender, yet tinged with a sorrow that amplified your heartache. “What about Sachiro?” He, too, shed his own tears, his ocean-blue eyes shimmering in the moonlight as they filled with tears, his voice breaking. “What about me?”

Your face was pressed against his chest, anguish coursing through you, feeling as if your very soul was being torn asunder. “Th-That’s the... the same thing... I’ve been asking myself,” you managed between sobs, struggling to draw a steady breath. “I’m... I’m always th-thinking about other people... and never myself.”

He fell silent, his response lost in the weight of your words, perhaps laden with guilt or his own sorrow. But his presence there, holding you close, as if he still harbored love for you, tore another piece from your already battered heart. He shouldn’t be here. He should have been with Akemi. He should be anywhere but near you. With a surge of adrenaline, you began to push him away, propelling yourself through the water, racing toward the shore despite the weakness in your limbs. Satoru called out your name, his voice a desperate plea, as he followed after you, his movements slower but filled with urgency.

“Stop!” Your voice rose, echoing against the night as you stood on the shore, water cascading from your body in sync with the tears streaming down your face. “L-Leave me alone... Please. Why are you here?”

You knew Satoru well enough to understand what had driven him to chase after you. Perhaps he had grown concerned, either from noticing your absence or from someone informing him of your uncharacteristic nighttime swim. His actions were undoubtedly unusual; he knew all too well of your fear of open water, prompting him to leap into action to rescue you.

But you didn’t need him to be here. You didn’t need him anywhere. He wasn’t yours anymore. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice carrying the weight of confusion and concern, his steps cautious as he approached you. He looked at you with tears in his eyes, his expression vulnerable and pleading, like a child seeking comfort, desperately hoping to be understood, to be heard. “You’re not with Toji anymore.”

“Why should I?” You struggled to compose yourself, wiping away the tears that blurred your vision. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It fucking matters, Y/N!”

“It shouldn’t matter!” Your voice cracked with emotion, your heart pounding painfully against your ribs. “Why should it matter, huh?”

“Because I love you!” His words echoed through the night, raw with emotion that had never been confronted until now. “Because I can’t fucking get over you. Because I’m a fool for you!”

You pushed him away, a surge of anger and hurt rising within you. “H-How dare you,” you choked out, your fists trembling as you struck his chest. “How dare you say that to me when you’re with someone else! You n-never truly loved me, Satoru. Y-You never did!”

“You wanted me to find someone new, Y/N,” his voice cracked with emotion, pained by his own words, “I just did what you asked me to do, even if that wasn’t what I truly wanted.” 

You vehemently denied his assertion in your mind, shaking your head in refusal. “Stop saying that. Just stop. Please.”

He already had his grip on your hand, pulling you closer. “Y/N—”

You jerked your hand away sharply, but then a wave of despair washed over you. “Every time I see you with her, I convince myself that I’m fine with it, that this is what I wanted, what I chose.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled every heartbreak. “I tell myself that I deserve it, that you deserve to be with someone who can make you happier. But then I remember our past…” You paused, closing your eyes to stem the tears. “And then I compare it to your relationship with her now. I can’t help but wonder, why didn��t I receive that kind of love and respect from the beginning? Why did it take me nearly drowning in an ocean for you to realize and try to make things right three years ago?”

His grip on your hand tightened, as if he wanted to hold onto you and never let go, as if he wanted to reassure you with his touch that he was there, listening, understanding, feeling every word you uttered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible amidst the crashing waves and the heavy weight of your emotions. “I’m sorry for everything I did wrong, for every moment I failed to show you the love and respect you deserved, Y/N.”

You hated it. You hated hearing his words now, because it was three years all too late. You had already gone through so much suffering, so much anguish that you didn’t deserve, just because you wanted a happy marriage. Just because you wanted to love and be loved. By him. By the person you married. 

“It d-doesn’t change anything,” you murmured, your voice breaking with sorrow. “I can’t undo the pain, the heartache. I can’t erase the memories.”

“I know,” he replied softly, his eyes filled with remorse. “But let’s try again. Let me try again, Y/N. Please.”

You wanted to believe him, to believe that he meant every word, that he was sincere in his intentions. But the wounds of the past were still fresh, and the memories of betrayal were still lingering in your mind.

“You know what hurts me more?” you asked, “It’s the fact that you didn’t lose your memories of me, but you still ended up falling for her,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Satoru’s silence felt like a confirmation to you. Perhaps he had indeed fallen in love with Akemi, and you were the obstacle standing in the way of his complete commitment to her. You were just a relic of his past, a piece that he needed to discard in order to embrace his future with Akemi. It seemed that fate had already decided that you and Satoru would never find happiness together, and this should serve as nothing more than a closure. 

But god be damned, it was tearing you apart. 

You tugged at the necklace around your neck, the pendant bearing half of his heart, and in your trembling hand, you ripped it off. As painful as it was, your next action was to hurl it into the darkness of the lake, discarding the last remnant that linked him to you, watching as it disappeared beneath the surface of the lake with a soft splash.

You know the difference between us, Satoru? You thought silently. I dove into the ocean just to find our wedding ring, but you would never plunge into that lake to retrieve that necklace.

With determined steps, you turned away before he could react, walking away from that place, walking away from him. You resolved that this would be your final encounter with Satoru Gojou in your lifetime, because there was no need for him in your life, just as he no longer needed you in his. You two would remain in the past, a memory best left behind.

This was you letting him go. 

But then, just as you were about to walk away, you heard a faint noise from the darkness behind you—a splash, followed by the sound of another frantic splashing.

Your heart pounded heavily in your chest. You turned back toward the lake, your eyes widening in shock as you saw Satoru thrashing in the water, his arms flailing as he searched desperately for the necklace you had thrown away.

“Satoru, you idiot!” you cried out, your voice filled with disbelief and concern and pain and overwhelming heartache. Without a second thought, you ran back to the cold water, your feet sinking into the soft sand as you waded into the lake. “Satoru, what are you doing?!” you called out again, your heart racing as you reached out to him, your fingers brushing against his arm as he struggled to stay afloat.

“I have to find it,” Satoru gasped, his voice strained with exertion. “I have to find the necklace you threw.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his eyes, seeing the desperation and determination that burned within them. You knew then that you couldn’t let him risk his life for a piece of jewelry, no matter how sentimental it may be.

“Satoru, please,” you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s not worth it. Let it go—”

But Satoru shook his head, his gaze fixed on the dark waters below. “I have to find it," he insisted, his eyes tearful. “It’s my heart. I gave it to you.”

 I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. 

The tension between you crackled like electricity in the air. In that moment, all of your walls came crashing down, your heart laid bare before the man you had once loved with all your soul.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you reached out and pulled Satoru into your arms, your lips meeting his in a desperate, longing kiss. It was a kiss filled with years of pent-up emotion, a bittersweet union of love and pain that left you both breathless and raw. Your lips moved together in a tender dance, each kiss a silent plea for forgiveness, for understanding, for a second chance at the love you had lost. It was a kiss that spoke of regrets and what-ifs, of dreams left unfulfilled and promises broken.

For years, you had been strangers, your hearts closed off to each other in an attempt to shield yourselves from the pain of your past. But in that moment, as you clung to each other in the darkness, you couldn’t deny the truth that still lingered between you—that your love for each other had never truly died.

As you finally pulled apart, gasping for air, you looked into Satoru’s eyes, seeing the depth of his pain mirrored in your own. “I hate you,” you whispered, your voice laced with grief and surrender, "so much."

Satoru reached out and brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and tender. “I hate me, too,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, his eyes shining with guilt, “for hurting you.”

You couldn’t erase the past, nor could you predict the future. But as you stood together in the middle of the lake, your hearts entwined once more, you found solace in the simple act of being together, of sharing your pain and your love in the darkness of the night. And as you held each other tight, the gravity of your connection pulled you to kiss him again. 

Once more, you met his lips in a deeper kiss. His lips moved in perfect sync with yours, and the taste of his tongue was met with the familiarity you two shared. It was as if your bodies were moving on its own, and you allowed it to dictate whatever action it desired. Forget everything for now, was all you could think of in your head. In your mind, it was all Satoru. It was the man you love. The man you married. The man you share a child with. 

You were too engrossed with the feeling of his lips that you didn’t even realize he had your legs wrapped around his waist. And with your arms around his neck, you could feel him lift you up, never breaking the kiss as he carried you out of the lake. With each step he took, your kiss only got deeper and deeper. You had never felt such intensity throughout your marriage, and you were intoxicated by the feeling of kissing him again. 

Of feeling his lips around your jawline. Your neck. Your chest. You were gasping on his mouth, had his lips completely enveloped with yours, not realizing you were stumbling inside your cabin, desperate to find somewhere to lay on. 

And before you knew it, the night had played way differently than expected.

Both your wet clothes were on the floor in a tangle of fabric, forgotten in the heat of your passion. And now, with your bare body on top of him. His arms caressed the smooth skin of your back, his lips feathering kisses along your bust. As you moved your hips slowly, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped your lips. Satoru’s member was warm inside you. Your bodies were tingling from the intensity of your lovemaking in the dimly lit room. And when you pulled away, your eyes were locked in a silent exchange of yearning.

Without a word, Satoru reached out and gently cupped your breast, his touch sending electricity down your spine. You leaned into his touch, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you felt the heat of his body pressing against yours.

Your lips met once more, a tender exploration of each other’s mouths, and he was taking that chance to shift the position you were in. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he began to enter you again. You were whimpering under him, melting into his passionate movements. You have had sex with Satoru multiple times before, but it was never this emotional. It was never this passionate. You could feel the difference with the way he kissed you, with the way he looked at you, with the way he touched you. 

“S-Satoru—!” 

“Mmm… I missed you so fucking much, Y/N.”

And then, finally, you came together in a flurry of hands and lips and skin, your bodies melding into one as you gave yourselves over to the exquisite pleasure of your lovemaking. 

At that exact moment, as you moved together in perfect harmony, you knew that you were home.

— —

When Akemi woke up, she could tell something felt wrong. 

It didn’t help that Satoru was not by her side as she opened her eyes, blinded by the sunlight that peeked through the window. Was he out for a morning run? Or perhaps he was indulging in a leisurely bath? She entertained the idea of joining him, wanting to express her gratitude for his care and support.

Her heart swelled with love for him, despite all the risks and uncertainties. He was her rock, her confidant, her everything. In him, she found solace and strength, and she couldn’t imagine her life without him. Despite the troubles of his past, she felt blessed to have crossed paths with him. She longed for the kind of deep connection and lasting commitment that she saw in others’ marriages, a dream she harbored for her own future. And in Satoru, she saw the perfect partner to share that dream with, to build a family and a life together that she had always yearned for.

Akemi wasn’t ashamed by how smitten she was with him. In fact, she was beginning to have more confidence in her decision to pursue a relationship with him. She just hoped you would understand, that you would eventually let go of the grudge in your heart. At the end of the day, she wasn’t trying to hurt you. She was only trying to pursue her happiness. 

And the exact source of her happiness was someone she endeavored to find that morning. She put on a robe and searched every room in the cabin, calling out for his name, wondering why she couldn’t hear his voice. 

With no response forthcoming, Akemi decided to exit the cabin in search of Satoru. Assuming he had likely been with Suguru all night, she scanned the vicinity, expecting to spot his tall, white-haired figure. Yet, after several minutes of fruitless searching, she couldn’t find him and instead, encountered a hotel staff member. That was when she decided to finally inquire about his whereabouts.

“Excuse me,” she began, halting the staff member’s stride, “Have you seen my boyfriend? He’s tall, with white hair and blue eyes.”

“Ah, Mr. Gojou?” the hotel staff responded, scratching her head as realization dawned. She then gestured toward the last place Akemi wished him to be. “Um, I think he’s in there.”

Akemi’s heart raced as if she had seen a ghost. Her complexion drained of color, her heart pounding in her chest as she realized that the cabin she had been directed to was yours. And in a twist of fate, just as she stood there in shock, the man she loved emerged from the cabin, equally wide-eyed.

“‘Kemi…” he began, frozen in place, “Let’s talk first—”

But she cut him off with a scoff. Her hands trembled with a tumult of emotions—anger, pain, and betrayal—threatening to overwhelm her. She was on the verge of collapse, her mind reeling with questions. Was he going to explain his actions? No, there was only one question that demanded an answer.

“Did you… did you do it?” she asked through gritted teeth, her voice laced with accusation.

Satoru didn’t need to respond. As Akemi pushed the door open, her worst fears were confirmed as she saw you standing behind him, draped in nothing but a blanket. Tears welled in her eyes, and before she could think, her body reacted, her hand connecting with Gojou’s cheek in a resounding slap.

“You never changed!” she cried out, her voice cracking with anguish. “You’re still a cheater!”

Satoru struggled to deflect each fist she hurled at him, but her rage and despair overwhelmed any attempt to reason with her. She was consumed by her pain and the looming betrayal she anticipated, unable to comprehend that her worst fears were coming true before her eyes.

“‘Kemi, please,” Satoru pleaded in vain.

“...Akemi, I'm sorry,” you interjected, your voice heavy with remorse as you wiped your tears. “It’s not his fault. It’s mine.”

Upon hearing your words, Akemi erupted. She disregarded your friendship, cast aside your shared memories, and denied that she had ever considered you a friend. Her tear-filled eyes bore into you with accusation. “Y-You,” she began, her voice choking with sobs, “You’re a hypocrite, Y/N!”

You remained silent, absorbing her words.

Akemi pressed on with her onslaught. “You’re a hypocrite! You’ve become the person you despised the most when you were married,” she accused, recalling the anguish you endured during Gojou’s affair. “You’re no better than Sera! And that’s why you’re miserable, and you’ll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me,” she paused, betrayed by the anguish in her voice, “Then jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. He’ll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!”

She fled before she could hear your response, but Satoru’s whispered apology lingered in the air, unclear of who its intended recipient was. At that moment, she didn’t care anymore. She raced back to her cabin, tears streaming down her face as she hastily packed her belongings.

She moved mechanically, tossing her belongings into her luggage while grappling with the overwhelming pain of his infidelity. Try as she might to focus on the task at hand, her tears flowed freely, and she surrendered to her grief, cradling her face in her hands.

Amidst her anguish, she couldn’t ignore the escalating pain in her pelvic region, a physical echo of the agony in her heart. Each sob seemed to intensify both sensations, leaving her feeling utterly shattered.

With that confrontation, Satoru faced a pivotal choice: to stay with you or to pursue Akemi. 

While Akemi had anticipated that he might choose you, she was taken aback when she swung the door open,

bags in hand, 

only to find Satoru Gojou standing on her doorstep.

[jaylalolz]

,,BEST PART’’ nicholas chavez

a/n : since none of yall wanted to make a fic about this lovely man.. imma do it myself

warnings : none

summary : in an interview, actress Madelyn Kennedy reveals her celebrity crush on actor Nicholas Chavez, sparking excitement among her fans. It quickly gets attention on social media, with fans buzzing about the potential chemistry between the two.

Madelyn Kennedy adjusted her microphone and smiled brightly at the camera. The vibrant buzzed with energy as the host, Jake Harrington, settled into his chair across from her. The air was thick with anticipation, not just for Madelyn's upcoming projects, but for what might unfold during the interview.

“Welcome back to Hollywood Spotlight! Today, we have the incredibly talented Madelyn Kennedy with us,” Jake announced, his enthusiasm infectious. “Madelyn, it’s great to have you here!”

“Thanks for having me, Jake! I’m so excited to be here,” Madelyn replied, her heart racing slightly. She loved these moments, sharing her passion with fans who tuned in from all over the world.

“So, let’s dive right in! Fans are eagerly awaiting Outer Banks Season 4, which is set to premiere on October 10th. What can you tell us about it?” Jake leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Madelyn took a breath, her excitement bubbling over. “I can’t wait for everyone to see it! This season is going to be the biggest yet. We’ve really upped the stakes with the storylines. There’s more adventure, more twists, and a deeper exploration of our characters. I think fans are going to be on the edge of their seats!”

“Sounds thrilling! Any hints you can drop about what to expect?” Jake pressed, a grin spreading across his face.

“Well, without giving too much away,” she said, playfully biting her lip, “let’s just say the Pogues face some serious challenges that test their friendships and loyalty. It’s a wild ride!”

“Now that sounds like something to look forward to! But let’s switch gears a bit. On a more personal note, do you have any celebrity crushes?” Jake’s tone turned lighter, inviting her to share something more intimate.

Madelyn paused for a moment, a playful smirk creeping onto her face. “Actually, I do!” she said, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. “I have a crush on Nicholas Chavez. He’s just incredible!”

The studio erupted with a mix of gasps and excited chatter, and Madelyn’s cheeks flushed slightly. She could feel the buzz of energy in the air as Jake’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.“Nicholas Chavez! That’s a popular choice! What is it about him that draws you in?” Jake asked, clearly enjoying the moment.

Madelyn laughed, her confidence returning. “I mean, he’s such a talented actor. I loved his work on General Hospital and recently Monsters, and he just has this amazing energy. Plus, he seems like a genuinely nice person. What’s not to like?”

liked by madelynkennedy and 356,789 others

nicholasalexanderchavez muah

view all comments !

madelynkennedy just fainted

⤷ nicholasalexanderchavez need any help?

user the crossover we didn’t knew we needed

user wait bc they would be such a hot couple…

user madelyn forgetting that she’s on her main instead of spam LMAOO

user oh i’m living for this

user i ship

user white boy of the month

user no bc that one scene in monsters when he only had a towel on… DROP IT😫

user need him in a romcom w mads

user nicholas just pulled the baddest bitch

[zarameraki]

˖°🕷️ ࣪𖤐 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗽-𝗳𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶 ˖°🕷️𖤐

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 minors do not interact 𖥔 unprotected sex 𖥔 step-father x step-daughter 𖥔 porn with plot 𖥔 banter 𖥔 dom daddy and his little girl 𖥔 neck kissing 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 praise 𖥔 bj 𖥔 biting 𖥔 nipple play 𖥔 daddy issues 𖥔 dirty talking 𖥔 small pillow talk 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 smut

: ̗̀➛ words: 4.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: ok look, i was ovulating and i had to write this for some reason. i even wrote a nanami one (but he's your step-uncle). my mind was in the gutter and i wanted to challenge myself to something super taboo. if you have any requests, don’t hesitate to send them. pls follow, reblog, like, comment—whatever you want! okay love you and enjoy.

Here you were, standing on a worn-out welcome mat, staring at the door of your ex-stepfather’s house.

It’s surreal.

A month ago, when your mom dropped the bomb about their divorce, you felt like your world was crumbling. Part of you felt relieved, like you could finally breathe without suffocating under their constant tension. And the other part? Well, it felt like a piece of you was being ripped away.

Last week, when the papers were finalized, making it official that they were done, you locked yourself in your room. The silence was deafening, and you couldn’t shake off that nagging feeling of missing him. Missing Toji. It’s ridiculous, right? He’s not your step dad anymore. He’s just some guy now. Too old, too wrong, too different.

You should just turn around and leave, forget about all this.

But you couldn’t.

Not today.

Not when you’re clutching your hard-earned bachelor’s degree, wearing a stupid graduation gown that felt like a costume. He didn’t bother showing up for your biggest achievement, just like your mother. She was always occupied with her own life to care about you. You were just an accident, a spill on her pile of kitchen table bills. 

Toji, though, he was different. He actually paid attention, listened to you, cared about what you had to say. Maybe you’re being stupid for wanting to talk to him, to pour out everything that’s been eating you up for months. But you needed to do this, for yourself, even if it meant facing the reality that he’s not part of your life anymore.

So, you’d driven straight to his residence building, skipping the after parties with your friends. You were twenty-two for fuck’s sake. If you wanted to spend the night celebrating with your step-dad, then that’s exactly what you were going to do. 

Enough was enough. 

Your trembling finger hovered over the doorbell, each second feeling like an eternity. The sharp pricks of anxiety danced on your palms, and the weight on your shoulders threatened to crush you. But you couldn’t turn back now.

The ache in your chest demanded resolution, an answer to the haunting question that had plagued you since your mother first brought him into your life: Do I want to fuck my step-dad? 

Yes. Yes, you very much did. 

The clicks of the lock rattled and the door knob twisted clockwise. 

Toji stood in the doorway, his presence dominating the space as if he had devoured the entire door frame. His twelve abdomen muscles rippled, stark against his skin. Jet-black hair clung wetly to his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. With sweatpants slung low on his hips, a tantalizing trail of hair led downward, drawing attention to the area you often found yourself fantasizing about.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, realization dawning. “It was today, wasn’t it?”

“You’re such an ass,” you spat out, your body trembling with a mix of emotions—his forgetfulness, his proximity to you, the sheer presence of him. But at this moment, all your focus was on the pain of him abandoning you after promising he’d be there. “I was completely alone, Toji. Do you even understand how embarrassing it was to stand there by myself while everyone else had their families?”

“Sweetheart—”

“No. No, you don’t get to call me that. You don’t—You made me a promise, Toji. You swore you’d be there for me.”

“I know,” he murmured, running his hand down his face. “I’m sorry, kid. Come here.” He grasped your wrist and drew you towards him, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His strong arms wrapped around your body, reminiscent of the times he used to challenge you by having you sit on his back during push-ups to prove you wrong about being too heavy for him. “Better?”

“No,” you grumbled, resting your cheek against his chest. He had the scent of spruce and cigarettes that you found strangely comforting. What you wouldn’t do to sleep on his chest for hours, days and weeks. “Toji, I . . . I want to talk to you about something.” 

“What is it?” he asked, stepping back. 

“Can we sit down first?” 

He grinned. “Of course, baby.” 

With a shy smile of your own, you took his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch as he led you towards the plush couch at the center of the room. Memories of previous visits with your mother flashed briefly in your mind, but they were quickly replaced by the present moment.

The apartment’s decor was simple yet masculine, with red-brick walls lending a rustic charm. A mounted television, a large couch, and a hanging boxing bag added character to the space. The kitchen, though small, was designed in an L-shape, showcasing Toji’s dedication to fitness with his assortment of protein powders and supplements neatly arranged.

As you both settled onto the couch, Toji relaxed back, spreading out his legs and placing his arms on the backrest. His gaze lingered on you as you gracefully removed your graduation gown and placed your degree on his coffee table. 

“Your mother allowed you to wear that?” His thumb traced the curve of his lower lip as his gaze roamed shamelessly over you.

The gown you had on was a sleek, satin creation with a daring thigh-high slit. Its fabric was delicate, featuring thin straps and a plunging cleavage that barely contained your breasts. It was no secret that you had chosen it with Toji in mind, especially since your mother had been “too busy” to accompany you on your shopping trip.

“She doesn’t control my wardrobe,” you replied, your voice laced with confidence as you settled beside him. One leg tucked beneath you, the other languidly extended, the slit in your dress showcasing the smoothness of your skin. Toji’s gaze followed the line of exposed flesh before meeting your eyes. “Besides, you shouldn’t be the one to talk.” 

His smirk widened when you pointed out his lack of a shirt. “My house, my rules.”

You changed the subject. “Care to explain why you missed my graduation?”

“Work,” he replied shortly.

“Is that so?”

“I got a last-minute call for a match. The prize money was going to cover the next three months’ rent.” Toji was a professional MMA fighter. You had once attended one of his matches for ten minutes before almost passing out from witnessing how brutally he defeated his opponent. His persona in the ring was a juxtaposition to the sarcastic yet caring man he was at home with you.

“Did you win?” you asked, absently twirling the bracelet he had given you for your twenty-first birthday.

“Yeah,” he replied, his tone carrying a hint of pride. “I won.”

“Good.” You lifted your gaze to meet his, only to find his eyes fixed on you. “Do you miss home?”

“I am home.”

“You know what I mean.”

He took a deep breath, gazing at the blank television screen. Tilting his head back towards you, he wore a lopsided grin. “I miss you. Does that count?”

Your insides turned to jelly at his words, but you refused to let yourself falter, refusing to become the shy, sweet girl you once were, despite the depraved and forbidden reel playing in your mind. 

You missed watching television with your head on his lap. You missed cooking together. You missed doing the dishes afterward. You missed joining him on walks and runs just to spend a little extra time together. You missed dragging him to malls with you and trying on clothes, posing as sexily as you could, but obviously, he didn’t understand the signals. He never did. Even if you’d spend more time with him than your own mother. 

Silence ensued around you, only the subtle sounds of your choppy breaths and his composed ones were heard. 

“Why are you here, kid?” Toji’s gruff voice cut through the air.

“To see you.” 

“Why are you here?” 

You held your breath tightly in your chest. “I wanted to talk.” 

“About?” He was quick with the question, as if he knew what you were about to say, but wanted to hear it from your lips. Lips that he couldn’t pull his eyes away from. “Talk to me.” 

“I—” You felt a knot form in your throat. “I wanted to check up—”

“Bullshit.” 

Yeah, bullshit. 

What were you scared of? This was the man who cut up fruits for you when you were mentally deprived from crunching for your exams. This was the man who put a blanket on you if you fell asleep reading, even giving a kiss to your crown. This was the man who treated you like you were his own daughter, when in reality, you never were. And he never outwardly called you his daughter, either. You didn’t know why you never saw him as a father figure, but rather, you called him a friend. A really good friend. A friend you’d fallen stupidly in love with over the course of six months. 

Toji snapped his fingers in front of your face. You blinked out of the whirlpool of your thoughts. “Where’d you go?” 

“To you.” 

He lifted a brow. “To me?” 

Now or never, Y/N. Now or fucking never. 

You knelt down and moved closer, settling yourself onto his lap. His eyes widened momentarily at your boldness. “Toji, I like you. Hell, I love you. I love every version of the man you’ve been in my life. I know—I know you love me, too. Probably not in the way I want you to, but a girl can hope.” Your words were directed at the dog tag hanging from his neck as you gently placed your hands on his chest. “I did come here to scold you for not attending my graduation, but I also wanted to . . . I wanted to be with you. In more ways than one.” 

“You don’t know what you’re talk—”

“I do,” you stated firmly. Your lashes lifted and found his narrowed scrutiny. Unconsciously, his hands rested on your waist, molding to your curves. “I’ve known for a while now. It didn’t click in until you moved out. I swear Toji, it was like I couldn’t breathe without you.” 

“Baby . . . ” 

“I want you,” you confessed in a hushed tone, your fingers tracing the lines of his broad shoulders, then up to the sturdy column of his neck where his pulsing veins hinted at his emotions. “I know I seem desperate, but I don’t care. You’re not hers anymore. You were never hers.” 

“Y/N—”

“Please, Toji. Please, just touch me.” You tilted your head to plant a tender kiss on the sharp angle of his jawline. His faint stubble grazed against your lips as you continued to pepper kisses, stopping just short of his mouth. “Forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, they say.”

Toji tightly shut his eyes and took slow breaths through his nose, his inner turmoil evident in the way his head moved back and forth. Your lips traced gentle paths around his face, savoring the closeness and the rush of emotions it brought. Even if he rejected you, you would find solace in knowing you had expressed your love for the man who was once your stepfather. This night might mark the end of your time together, but it also freed you from the burden of hiding your feelings.. 

“Baby,” Toji whispered, gently caressing your cheek as he drew you closer. “You sure you want this?” 

“Yes.” 

“You know how risky this is, kid. We can’t just ignore the consequences.” 

“I know, Toji.” You leaned closer, your breath mingling with his. “But I can’t ignore how I feel about you either. I want this. I want you. I want all of you. You can do whatever you want to me. I promise I can take it.” 

Toji licked his lips and ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuck. Okay. Your mom—”

“She won’t know. I’m planning on moving out soon.” You dragged your hand up and down his soft, bare chest. “I should’ve moved out with you.” 

Toji took your hand in his and pressed a tender kiss to the center of your palm. “I don’t think I have any condoms on me.” 

“I’m on the pill.” 

His eyes narrowed on you. “You’ve been fucking around? Does your mom know?” 

“Hey, I had to have a little fun. Gain a little experience for this inevitable night.” Your infectious smile rubbed off on him and he enveloped you in his arms. 

“I fuck hard.” 

“Good.” 

“Last chance.” 

“Nope.” 

Toji rose on his feet, supporting your bottom with his hands as he took you to his bedroom. He laid you down on his bed, the soft mattress absorbing the weight with a slight bounce. “Fucking knew you had a little crush on me.” He clambered onto your body and held your jaw with his hand. “Tell me, sweetheart, did you touch yourself thinking of me?” 

“Every single night. Whether it’s in the shower or my bedroom,” you replied, feigning a pout and raising your hand. “I’m starting to think I’ve developed carpal tunnel from all of it.”

Toji laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face with his calloused fingers. But as his laughter faded into a knowing smirk, his next words sent a jolt through you, leaving your legs weak and your heart racing. “Yeah. Me, too.” 

“Really?” 

He answered by colliding his lips against yours. It was a brutal kiss. Pain and pleasure mingled together in a heated embrace. His tongue shoved deep into your mouth, exploring the source of your daring words. 

Pulling away momentarily, he squeezed your cheeks and sucked on your tongue like it was a delicious treat. “Gonna spit in your mouth.” 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Toji’s cheeks sucked in as he gathered his spit and spat it right onto your tongue. “Swallow.” 

You did, moaning as his warm saliva traveled down your throat. “You taste minty.”

“I was just about to crash before your demanding ass showed up,” he teased.

“Well, you should thank me then.” You planted a quick kiss on his nose.

Toji leaned in and kissed you deeply, tugging on your bottom lip and trailing his moist lips down to your neck. “You smell so good, baby.” 

“I’m wearing the perfume you bought me.” 

“You better fucking be. Do you know how much I get off on spoiling you?” His teeth bit your delicate flesh and pulled, making you whimper from the stinging pain. He sucked and bit on different areas of your neck, marking you with his love bites. He then helped you out of the dress and pressed you back on the mattress. “Knew you weren’t wearing a bra.” 

“No,” you said sarcastically. 

“Yeah,” he said, missing the teasing in your voice, “your nipples were in my face when we were talking.” He rounded his tongue around your areola. Gathering your breasts in both hands, Toji switched between suckling at your nipples, biting the sensitive bud that sent jerks in your body, and licking the burning pain. “I saw you undressing once. You know that?” 

You lifted a brow. “Uh, when?” And why didn't he do anything about it?

“You left your bedroom a bit open. I came to call you for dinner and instead feasted on the sight of your perky ass and these sexy tits.” He left your nipples numb and discolored from his teeth’s abuse. “You think you’re the only one who got off in that house? No, baby. Not at all. I was in the room right next to you, jerking off to your voice, or your smell.” This time, he kissed you gently and then each of your shoulders. “I had it worse. I had it so much worse.” 

“Toji . . . ”

“But you’re here now, and so am I. I’m not fucking leaving. You got that? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” 

“Yours,” you whispered. “God, Toji, I’m yours. I’m yours.” 

Toji removed his sweatpants and boxers, giving you a glorious display of his long, thick cock, corded with veins, sprouted up and proud. You had him like that, and so you gave yourself a mental pat on the back. “Like what you see?” 

“Yes,” you said, chuckling in disbelief at the anatomy of him. A surge of confidence washed over you. You slipped off your panties and spread out your legs, shaking your hair back from your face. “Like what you see?” 

Toji gleamed at the wetness pooled between your legs, soaking his sheets underneath, sticky and hot. Something feral rattled inside him. He gripped your knees and pried them farther apart, sinking in between. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck! Toji—ah!” Your back arched in ecstasy, fingers gripping his scalp as he ruthlessly ate you out. His large palm held your hips in place, nibbling and sucking at your quivering, swollen clit. “Toji, yes, yes, fuck. Right there. Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

You grinded against him with full power, pushing your pussy closer to his mouth. He drank your leaking juices, drove his skilled tongue into your tight entrance, and discovered the sweet, cry-worthy spots inside you.

Soon, he replaced his tongue with three fingers, plunging them deep inside you with a rough and unrelenting pace that sent shivers down your spine. His deep growls were the icing on top. 

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the bed creaked beneath you. He was exorcising your damn soul out of your body with his holy tongue and his blessed fingers.

“Ah!” You came down like a fucking waterfall and Toji stood with an open mouth, drinking in your essence, lapping at your cunt like a starved dog, cleaning you as best as he could. 

You gasped for air, clutching your chest as you coughed or laughed or wheezed—hard to tell which. You felt weightless, incredibly sore, teetering on the edge of passing out.

“Toji . . . am I dead?”

His laughter echoed nearby, then drew nearer until his face came into focus through your haze. “Your pussy tastes just as delicious as your mouth, baby.” 

He kissed you and gave you a hint of your release. Toji was a moaner—a loud one—as he sucked on your tongue, pulling it into his mouth. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull as he spit onto your tongue again, and ran his own coarse one over your palette.

You closed your mouth and pushed him back by his shoulders. “Let me touch you.” 

“Yeah? You want to suck me off, too?” 

“Yes, fuck. Please, Toji. Please let me suck your cock.” Your begging made him grunt as he got up on his knees. He moved closer, placing them firmly beside your hips. You sat up against the headboard, gripping his warm, aroused cock, while he entwined your hair around his hand, gaining control over your movements.

You looked up at his smirk and kissed his moist tip, savoring the salty taste. Goosebumps formed on your skin at the idea of taking him deeper into your mouth. It would definitely challenge your gag reflex, but if this was going to be a regular thing, you needed to practice.

“Part your lips for me, kid. Nice and wide. That’s it.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You winked at Toji’s alarmed expression. Oh, how you loved catching him off-guard by acting out of character. “You got a daddy kink, Toji?” You brushed your lips from the base to the head, swirling your tongue around the rim. “Since you love calling me kid, maybe I should start calling you daddy. Isn’t that what you were?” 

“You got a dirty mouth on you, kid.” 

“Learned it from my daddy.”  

Toji hissed through his teeth as you nibbled his tip. “Not dirty enough.” He gripped his length and forced it past your lips. Your nails plunged into his hips, gagging and shaking as he sunk past your uvula. “About time I fucked your smartass mouth with my cock, baby. Be a good girl and don’t tap out until I’ve come down your throat.” 

You closed your eyes briefly, gathering your resolve before meeting his gaze again with a playful glint. You weren’t entirely sure where this was going, but you were determined not to back down now. So, with a mischievous wink, you silently accepted the challenge.

Toji thrusted his hips back and forth, shoving his girth in and out without giving you space to breathe.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it. Fuck, you’re so good at sucking your daddy’s cock,” he groaned, his hands gently gripping your hair or caressing your cheek in a way that contrasted sharply with his dominant actions.

“My pretty whore.”

Thrust.

“My gorgeous girl.” 

Thrust.

“You belong to me, baby.” 

Thrust, thrust, thrust. 

He was a complete monster with you. 

Your face pressed against his pelvis, the brush of his happy trail tickling your nose. You knew from experience that most men came quicker if you fondled their balls. You squeezed his heavy, swollen sacs, making him hiss and violate your throat.

Toji couldn’t hold back. His release came with a roar, numbing your scalp from how tightly he was pulling on it. The thin ropes of his release and your saliva formed as he pulled out. You swallowed whatever was left around your mouth. To please him further, as if assaulting your throat wasn’t enough, you lapped at his tip like a devoted kitten. “You’re so good to me, baby.” 

That’s all you wanted to hear. 

“Turn around,” he commanded, and without hesitation, you dropped to your knees, arching your back to present yourself to him. “What a sight.” His hand glided over your left ass cheek tenderly before delivering a firm smack that made you jolt forward. Toji mirrored the action on your right cheek, preparing you while coating the tip of his cock with slickness from your own arousal. “Gonna put it in now, sweetheart.” 

“Finally, Jesus.” 

Toji spanked your ass which only elicited a giggle out of you. “Let’s see if you’ll be laughing soon, baby.” 

He pushed into you in one-quick go. 

You cried out and grabbed the top of the headboard with your sweaty palms. He pulled out just to the hilt then drove back in. The air smelled like your sweat and perfume and sex. Every nerve in your body was alive, your heart pounding fiercely as if trying to escape your chest. Your face flushed with heat, your blood singing with desire.

You moaned and cried and screamed his name, driving him to complete madness with the word “Daddy.” You begged him to go faster, push harder, to have you sore for weeks so you didn’t have to get out of his bed, out of his arms, out of his home. You wanted this to be your home. 

Toji spanked your ass repeatedly, skin slapping against skin, palming the back of your head so that your face was crushed on his pillow. It smelled like firewood. Smelled like him. You wanted to steal it, take it home, sleep with it, ride it while whispering his name. 

You both came together. 

Toji’s hot seed filled your stretched hole. He withdrew slowly, a teasing sensation that left you craving more. With deft fingers, he ensured not a drop was wasted. 

You collapsed onto your stomach, catching your breath before summoning the strength to turn and face him.

He exhaled heavily, laying beside you “Fuck, that was . . .” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“Best yeah.” You draped yourself onto his chest and kissed his chin. He massaged his fingers through your throbbing scalp, the other hand caressing your numb, bruised ass. 

Toji twirled a strand of your hair around his finger. “Does this make-up for missing your graduation?” 

You flicked his forehead. “I haven’t forgiven you for that.” 

“Maybe I should miss more of your events if this is the reward I’m gonna get.” 

You scowled. “I dare you to repeat that again.” 

Toji ironed out your scowl with his thumb. You kissed the pad of his rough finger, twice. “My cards are on the table for you, sweetheart.” 

Your lips met his, whispering, “I folded a while ago, Daddy.” 

“Fuck,” he breathed out. With a swift motion, he flipped you onto your back, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Round two, kid.” 

[hiitsm]

Beneath the Spotlight

You try to navigate the challenges of being in a private relationship with Alexia Putellas while facing invasive scrutiny from fans.

Angst, Hurt, Comfort

-

Dating Alexia Putellas was never going to be easy, but you didn’t expect it to feel like this.

In the beginning, it was a quiet, private love. Something just between the two of you, away from the public eye. Alexia’s world was already so exposed, every move she made scrutinized by millions of fans and the media. You were determined to keep what you had safe, to protect the fragile, beautiful thing you had built together from the harshness of the outside world.

At first, it worked. You kept a low profile, attending her matches when you could, but always blending into the background, just another face in the crowd. No public displays, no social media posts. It was just you and Alexia, sharing stolen moments of peace in a life otherwise defined by chaos and noise.

You vividly remember those stolen moments. The nights you spent celebrating her victories in the quiet of your shared space, away from the buzz of the stadium. You’d sit together with her family, sharing laughter and stories over home-cooked meals. The pride in her eyes when you’d cheer her on, the way she would snuggle into you after a game, savoring the simple comfort of being with you, were all part of the intimate support you offered.

But the more you fell for her, the harder it became to stay hidden. You wanted to be there for her, to support her at her games, to celebrate her victories and console her after defeats. And it wasn’t just about her. Your relationship was something you were proud of, something you wanted to share with the world. But every time you thought about making it public, you were reminded of what that would mean. The scrutiny, the opinions of strangers, the pressure to be perfect in a way that no one ever truly could be.

You were there with her family for some of her biggest matches, your heart swelling with pride every time she took to the pitch. You watched her in awe, this incredible woman who had captured your heart, as she led her team with the same determination and passion that she put into everything. But you were careful, always careful. You sat in the stands, far enough away from the other WAGs to avoid drawing attention, never lingering after games, slipping out before the crowd could catch sight of you.

But despite your best efforts, people began to notice. You were spotted at too many games, your face caught in the background of too many photos. The rumors started slowly, with fans speculating about who you might be, trying to piece together the puzzle that was your relationship with Alexia.

It started as innocent curiosity, but soon it turned into something more intense, more invasive. Fans began scouring social media, looking for any clues about your identity. They examined every photo, every post, trying to figure out who you were. You had always been careful with your online presence, but it wasn’t enough. They found you.

One day, you logged into your social media accounts to find hundreds of new notifications. Your private world had been cracked open, your name and face plastered across fan pages and discussion forums. They had pieced it all together. Your appearances at matches, your connection to Alexia. They knew who you were now, and they weren’t shy about sharing their opinions.

At first, the comments were mostly harmless. Fans gushing over how lucky Alexia was, how happy they were that she had found someone. But as more people became aware of you, the tone shifted. They started asking why you weren’t at every match, why you weren’t more visible on Alexia’s social media. Why weren’t you as dedicated as the other WAGs? Why didn’t you post about her victories, her achievements? Why weren’t you supporting her the way they thought you should?

You tried to ignore it. After all, what did these people know about your life, your relationship? But the comments kept coming, growing more pointed, more accusatory. "She’s not a real fan." "She doesn’t care about Alexia." "Why isn’t she at the games? Does she even love her?"

You had your own life, your own career, something you were deeply passionate about. It was one of the things that had drawn Alexia to you in the first place. Your independence, your ambition. She loved that you had your own goals, your own dreams, that you weren’t just riding on her coattails. You remembered the intimate moments you shared, like the time Alexia had whispered to you how amazing she found you, both in your quiet support and in the more passionate moments you shared behind closed doors.

Your independence, once a source of pride, was now being used against you. Each time you missed a match due to work commitments, the voices in your head grew louder, accusing you of failing Alexia. You remembered the quiet night at home when Alexia had pulled you close, her appreciation for your dedication and support evident in her every touch and word.

The harassment became relentless. Strangers flooded your social media accounts with messages questioning your dedication to Alexia, your love for her. They dissected your life, your every move, making you feel like you were under a microscope. You found yourself dreading the notifications on your phone, each one a reminder that you were failing in the eyes of people who didn’t even know you.

You began to pull back, retreating into yourself. The joy you once felt in your work started to dim, overshadowed by the guilt that you weren’t doing enough, that you weren’t enough. Every time you missed a match because of a work commitment, the knot in your stomach tightened, the voices in your head growing louder, telling you that you were letting Alexia down.

But you didn’t tell her. You couldn’t. Alexia had her own pressures to deal with, the weight of her team’s expectations, the demands of her career. The last thing you wanted was to burden her with your insecurities, to add to her stress. So you kept it to yourself, putting on a brave face whenever she was around, pretending that everything was fine.

The distance between you grew, not physically but emotionally. Alexia noticed, of course. She noticed how you hesitated before answering her questions, how your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. She saw the way you seemed to shrink into yourself, how you avoided talking about your day, how you seemed to flinch whenever her phone buzzed with notifications.

Alexia turned to you, her expression soft with concern. "Is everything okay, mi amor?" she asked gently, her voice laced with worry. Her hand reached out to touch yours, her fingers brushing against yours in a reassuring gesture. You felt the weight of her concern, but your mind was miles away, overwhelmed by the pressure and negativity that had been festering online.

“Yeah, just tired,” you replied, forcing a smile that felt more like a mask than a true reflection of how you felt. Alexia's eyes searched yours, her concern deepening. She had always been able to read you like an open book, and the worry in her gaze spoke volumes.

“You’ve been saying that a lot lately,” she said softly, her thumb gently caressing your knuckles. “Are you sure there’s nothing else going on? It’s not just work, is it?”

The memory of holding Alexia’s hand during a media scrum, offering her quiet strength, flashed through your mind. You wanted to share your pain, to let her in, but fear of adding to her burdens kept you silent. Her touch was a comfort, but the weight of your own struggles felt heavy.

You wanted to tell her, to let it all out and let her comfort you, but the fear of being a burden kept your mouth shut. "I’m fine, Ale," you insisted, leaning into her touch. "Just a lot on my mind with work."

She didn’t push you, but you could tell she wasn’t convinced. And that only made you feel worse because you hated keeping things from her. You hated the way this was affecting your relationship, the way it was making you pull away from the person you loved most in the world.

You started coming home later and later, using work as an excuse to avoid confronting the growing chasm between you and Alexia. She would be waiting for you, her eyes searching yours for the connection that was slipping away. But no matter how much you wanted to reach out, to bridge that gap, you couldn’t find the words. The guilt was too overwhelming, the fear of disappointing her too paralyzing.

The final straw came one afternoon after a particularly grueling day at work. You had just finished a major project, one that had taken weeks of late nights and early mornings to complete. You should have felt proud, but all you felt was emptiness. The satisfaction that usually came with accomplishing something big was nowhere to be found, replaced by a gnawing sense of inadequacy.

On the way home, you stopped by a coffee shop for a quick pick-me-up. You were waiting in line when you overheard a group of people at a nearby table, talking about the latest football match. At first, you didn’t pay much attention, but then you heard Alexia’s name.

"I don’t know how she does it," one of them was saying. "She’s got so much going on, and her girlfriend’s hardly ever around."

"Yeah, I saw on Instagram that she wasn’t even at the last match," another person chimed in. "I don’t get it. If I were dating someone like Alexia, I’d be at every single game, no matter what."

"Maybe she’s just not that into her," someone else suggested, and that was the final straw.

The words felt like a knife twisting in your chest. You could hardly breathe as you heard the cruel speculation. Without even grabbing your coffee, you stumbled out of the shop, your hands trembling uncontrollably. The hurt and frustration you’d been trying so hard to contain broke free, leaving you feeling as if the ground had been pulled from beneath you.

The tears started to fall as you made your way home, each step feeling heavier than the last. The weight of the online harassment, the accusations, and the misunderstandings crashed over you like a relentless tide. By the time you reached your apartment, you were a raw, shaking mess. The sobs that escaped you were more than just tears, they were a release of all the pain and guilt that had been building up inside.

You didn’t even make it to the bedroom. You collapsed onto the living room floor, your body heaving with the force of your sobs. Every ounce of your despair, every fragment of fear and guilt, poured out in a cascade of emotion. The room felt small and oppressive, the silence only magnifying the depth of your anguish.

Alexia came home to find you there, and her heart shattered at the sight. She had been looking forward to a quiet evening with you, but now, seeing you so broken, all her worries crystallized into an urgent need to comfort you. Without a moment’s hesitation, she dropped to her knees beside you, her face etched with concern and heartache.

"Mi amor, what happened?" Her voice was a trembling whisper, her hands reaching out to cradle your face gently. “Tell me what’s wrong. I’m here, and I want to help.”

You tried to speak, but all that came out were choked sobs. Alexia’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you close, her warmth a balm against the cold, overwhelming grief. She rocked you softly, her breath hitching as she held you, her love and sorrow palpable in every touch.

“Please,” she murmured, her voice breaking, “I need to know what’s hurting you. I can’t stand seeing you like this. Let me in, mi vida.”

In the cocoon of her embrace, you felt the walls you had built around your pain start to crumble. The comfort of her presence, the sincerity in her voice, made the flood of tears even harder to contain. You clung to her, the rawness of your feelings spilling out uncontrollably. Through your sobs, you managed to whisper, “They think I don’t care. They think I’m not supportive... and I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Alexia’s eyes filled with tears of her own, her love and empathy evident as she held you tighter. “You’re more than enough, mi amor,” she said softly, her voice filled with fierce tenderness. “What they say doesn’t matter. What matters is us. I see all that you do for me, all the love and support you give. Don’t let them make you doubt yourself. I’m here with you, always.”

Her words, so full of love and reassurance, began to heal the wounds that had felt so deep. Alexia stayed with you, her embrace a constant reminder that you weren’t alone. In that moment, surrounded by her unconditional support, the pain began to ease, replaced by a fragile but hopeful sense of connection.

As the tears subsided, Alexia gently stroked your hair, whispering comforting words and holding you close. You knew that together, despite the outside noise and pressure, you could face anything. Her presence was a testament to the strength of your bond, a reminder that no matter how harsh the world could be, your love for each other was a sanctuary from the storm.

-

Note: I wrote this piece as a reminder that we often don't see the full picture of someone’s life. It's important to remember that kindness and understanding can make a world of difference. Let’s strive to support and uplift one another, rather than judging from the outside.

-

[randombush3]

cool about it

alexia putellas x reader

summary: you can't find inspiration for your play

notes: this was rotting in my drafts and then i got drunk and finished it lolz

i refuse to read it back so have fun

The first time Alexia sees you, you are with your friends; sleeves rolled-up, wide smile on your face, a pool cue in your hand as you wield it like a weapon the minute one of the women beside you opens her mouth. She is drawn into observing, craving the knowledge of what you are being told; what is making you blush so furiously. She sees your mouth open, a blackhole that draws her in without mercy, and she barely survives the sound of your loud, raucous laughter

Suddenly, in the universe of football and media events and her little sister’s embarrassingly active love-life, you appear. Like a new star, burning bright, big and hot and… “You’re staring,” says Mapi with a smile. She knows not to tease, and she treads lightly. “You’ve been staring for a while.” 

“They’re speaking English.” It’s an incriminating sentence, but it would have been futile to deny Mapi’s accusation anyway. 

“I saw her at the bar. She spoke Spanish then.” 

“You’ve been stalking her.” 

Mapi nods, and holds Alexia’s drink in a silent push to get her over to the pool table. To you. “Because you’ve been staring. I was only making sure she wasn’t a psycho.” 

“Thanks,” she scoffs, but, in truth, she is grateful. 

As she saunters over (a newly regained skill, months down the line from her traumatic ACL reconstruction surgery), her confidence a believable façade, she decides that she is going to be Alexia Putellas. She is going to be cool about it, and she is going to impress you, and she is going to make you laugh so that she can hear that sound again. 

Again, again, again. 

“Yeah, sure, you can take over for Soph,” you say, nodding towards the woman who had been on the receiving end of your light prodding with the wooden stick all of friends regret allowing three-drink you to be in charge of. “So you’re spots, I’m stripes. I’ve got two left until I can pot the black, and you, er, you might be at a disadvantage here.” You rub the back of your neck as you peer at the balls on the table, almost all of them left behind by Soph’s inability to play pool. “How about we just, um–” 

“Está bien.” Alexia pretends to understand a lot more of what you said than she really does, regretting her choice to approach you in English, but she gets the jist. And, although you make her feel as though life has only just begun, she remembers her competitiveness very, very clearly. “Voy a ganar,” she scoffs. 

She holds in her celebration as you break out into a grin, immediately rising to the challenge, glad your friends have tired of the pool table so that no one can interrupt the battle you are about to commence. A battle with a very pretty woman, you must admit. 

You lose. 

You blame it on Alexia – she tells you her name as she pots three balls in a row – and try not to acknowledge the taunts from your friends at the bar, most of them having watched the entire game from afar to have something to talk about tomorrow. “You win,” comes your pitiful concession after a brutal defeat. “So, what will your prize be?” 

It’s an easy answer. 

That morning, throat hoarse from the cries that left it the night before, eyes red and tired and way too sensitive to light for you to consider drinking a drop of alcohol ever again, you wrap your arms around the warm body in the unfamiliar bed, finding the intimacy to have lived on longer than it should for a one-night-stand. Barcelona is warm and sunny, the day one to be enjoyed, and the company the best you have had in a while. 

It isn’t just that Alexia is a goddess. It isn’t the Amazonian ridges of her stomach and the firmness of her thighs, nor the softness of her hair or the deft movements of her fingers against your scarred skin. No, that is not what has, in just one evening, made you fall in love with her. (You bite your lip as you are overcome with emotion, chest filling up – with which feeling, you do not know –, heart pounding into your bones as the rhythm of your desire to be in Alexia’s life sets into the very framework of your being.) No! How could it be that? How could it be that when there is more? 

The coarseness of her determination; the slippery confidence, delicate and sharp, as though it is both the petal of a rose and the thorn that will prick you. Her humour, mistranslated at times, but always ready to make fun of idiots (most often, a specific idiot with a neck tattoo, as you come to realise). 

Personally, you believe it to be unfair that Alexia, Alexia Putellas, is simply ‘all that’. 

Getting to know each other fails to feel awkward, though you spend a lot of time waiting for the tension to appear. 

She discovers who you are, how you have moved to Barcelona for inspiration, finding that very thing lacking in dreary Leeds (the most depressing place on Earth, you could argue). She learns of your dream, although you label it as your ‘plan’: to write a play and to see it on the stage, preferably a grand theatre in the West End. Or in Stratford, where upon lies the greatest soil from which a playwright can grow. 

You show her your empty pages, devoid of black print marks. White and white, that goes on until it is clear that you have tired of pressing the ‘enter’ button as though it will ignite a story within. A story that hasn’t yet come, mind. 

“Do you think it will work?” she asks you, her accusation carrying nothing but curiosity once you see past the abrupt manner in which she interrupts your lengthy monologue about your severe case of writer’s block. 

Maybe you intend to be a little vague, for the sake of your racing heart and your delicate emotions, because you only shrug. You have already found your inspiration, not that you are going to tell her. 

Alexia is forward in the sense that she checks how temporary your presence is in her city before asking you out on a date. Your answer of ‘however long this shit takes’ is enough for her to be sure that she wants a second. A third, too. 

Then, before you know it, it has been a year. 

A year of Barcelona, a year of Spanish sun, and, excitingly, a year in which you have been cured; fingers blessed with movement and ideas and words on the tip of your tongue that run free in Alexia’s ear as you talk and talk and talk. She listens and listens and listens, and switches into the focus of your pairing when you go with her to watch her team play and play and play (why the fuck does football have so many matches?!). The final stage direction, all curling italics and sentimentality, sits at the bottom of the page. 

The end of your play. 

It is finished, it is done, and, soon after you have revised it one last time, it is sent to your producer friend with a nervous click of the ‘new email’ button and the hope that he is thankful for the times at university when you cared for him when he drank himself so silly that he barely made it to his lectures two days after the night-out. 

“It feels good,” you tell Ingrid, the girlfriend of the idiot with the neck tattoo, beaming as she inquires about your work. “I feel like I lived through it to get to this moment, you know? All that’s left to do is for him to read it and decide whether he’ll pick it up. Then, table reads and funding, of course. I’d want to direct, but, also, I’m not going to sell this one. Leasing it and taking a percentage of the royalties will make me loads more, because, Ingrid, this one is the best thing I’ve ever written.” 

There is a moment, usually, that comes after you have finished writing. A brief, sharp sort of panic, where you question your worth and your talent; you wonder if you have been lied to your whole life, and that your version of the same twenty-six letters of the alphabet, jumbled up on a white canvas as though you are (after a sleepless, usually) Picasso, is terrible. Or, worse, bad. 

Bad. Bad is so… plain. If it is just ‘bad’, you have failed as a writer. If it is not outrageous or unbelievably horrible, or, as one obviously hopes, incredible and amazing… if it is just ‘bad’, well: “Alexia, I’m terrified.” 

Alexia kisses your neck (you do not feel the finality of it, or maybe it is that you do not want to) because she knows it isn’t bad; she is more than aware that your play, your new creation, is really rather good. Brilliant, even. “Tranquila, mi amor,” she murmurs in your ear, bringing her arms to rest on your tense shoulders, a hand closing your laptop on its journey. “Le va a flipar.” 

“You think so?” 

“Sí.”

“Are you saying that because we’re together and you love me?” Your voice is small and unsure, and its teasing lilt is thrown off-kilter by the croak of your anxiety. “Or do you mean it? Please, I hope you mean it.” 

“I mean it.” She hates that she does. “Yes, of course I mean it. I love you and I am proud of you.” She hates it, she hates this, and she hates the talent your mind wields; something that is going to rip you from her grasp. It was bound to happen.

Your phone rings; soft, electronic trills dancing in the space between you and the coffee table it has been placed on. “I think that’s him,” you whisper, the volume you had intended to speak at smited by the nervous lump in your throat. Alexia nods mournfully, but you are too busy accepting the call to see.

“Let’s do this,” he says. 

…

The first frost of London comes that January. It’s unusual, the locals claim, because the city exists in its own polluted microclimate, but their statistics do not stop the layer of ice from freezing onto the windshield of your car. You are glad London feels just as cold as you do. 

Your play is beloved by the actors who speak your words, and the critics amongst your friend group, who for once, have no criticism to give. There is promise here. It is going very well. 

You drive to the theatre, ready to sit in on another rehearsal. Though your original intention had been to direct, you pawed off the role to an old school friend upon her return from Broadway. Your decision, you tell her, comes from a lack of experience in direction. You pretend to have had an epiphany: you only want to write the plays. 

In truth, this is a lie. 

Of course it is a lie. 

But how can you direct such happiness, such love and romance, if you know that the very thing that inspired each line has ceased to exist? 

Alexia feels like she has ceased to exist. 

On the outside, she seems relatively fine. She trains well, plays well, makes appearances where she should, says what you’d expect of her, hopes to make the world a better place. She walks Nala as though the Pomeranian does not whine for you to hold her leash, and she visits her mother and sister even though they continue to ask her why she did what she did. 

At night, she scrolls through social media, fingers always leading her back to you; your life; your work; your experiences that you no longer share with her. She cries, then, usually: a common occurrence nowadays. 

There is a gaping hole in her chest that has been made by her sticking her fucking foot in it. 

She has questions, naturally; each directed hatefully at herself. Why? Why, why why? Why on Earth did she tell you never to come back? Why did she blame you for leaving? 

You were always going to leave! Alexia knows that, hates that she knows that. 

You came to Barcelona because you couldn’t write, and you wrote. You wrote, you made her fall in love with you, and, when you had finished, you discarded the life you had unexpectedly built all because of some stupid, stupid play. 

A play titled–

A play. 

A… Alexia can’t even bring herself to think about it. 

No, all Alexia can think about is how insignificant she feels when you are no longer in love with her. You: sophisticated, intelligent, brilliant, adoring. Her? 

“Lex, you can’t mope if you’re the one who broke it off.” The words leave Alba’s mouth in jest but Alexia recoils as though she has been whipped by her sister’s tongue. 

“I’m trying to be cool about it,” she replies like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It seems as though the globe has spun a full circle on its axis by the time Alba formulates her response, dumb-struck by such fucking idiocy. 

Alba hopes her sister feels like a fool – she hopes Alexia looks at herself in the mirror and… laughs, at this point. The whole thing has been ridiculous, in her opinion. 

First, her sister claims she is in love with a playwright with no plays to her name (Alba is examining the facts objectively, here, because she did quite like you); then, poof! Like a rabbit in a magician’s hat played in twisted reverse, away you go, and it somehow isn’t even your fault. 

She’d like to hate you, for her sister’s sake, but she finds herself loathing her own blood as it thins and thins until it trickles just like water. 

Okay, maybe she is being a little dramatic there, but she is still annoyed with Alexia. 

Alexia – whose existence as more-than-a-footballer is fading as she loses herself to waves of futile guilt – hates that she cannot hate you. She is plagued by emotional constipation, and though she tries to squeeze the situation for a drop of cruelty from you, she fails to discover a gram of relief.

It would have been kinder for you to have been cruel. Mercy is getting Alexia nowhere, and she would run to you if it were fast enough. Mercy is what renders her in a perpetual state of regret. Mercy is what keeps her up at night, but maybe mercy is what she likes having because it is yours and, in that way, she carries a piece of you with her. 

To confuse herself even more, to skew her mind further onto a path of unconventional self-destruction, she silently begs the mercy you have left behind to disappear so that she can learn to do without it. It’ll become a crutch and she wants it ripped from her grasp so that she can learn to walk on her own. She’s capable of that, she tells herself. 

(It probably isn’t true.)

…

Opening night. 

You’re wearing something far too nice to be comfortable, and there has been a champagne flute in your hand since the lunch held by the investors of the production company. The bubbles have served their purpose, clouding your mind with thoughts that weren’t to do with Alexia and her Alexia life and her Alexia smile and her Alexia way of making an Alexia-shaped cavity in your heart. 

It gushes quite a bit, because Alexia is strong and big and capable of damaging you to this extent. You reckon your surprise is foolish but fuck off, you’re trying your best. 

Comfortingly, not one scrap of red velvet is visible once the audience is ushered inside the theatre. 

It’s beautiful here; small, old. The perfect place to fall in love, just as you did. Or at least, experience the good part through deliciously talented actors and a stellar script (your horn has been tooted enough times for you to give it a go). 

Fear creeps up your legs as you take your seat in the front row, guarded by friends and family and proud English teachers who’d believe in you, but you take another sip and it simmers down. 

“Careful,” whispers your mum, shoulder nudging yours as you place your plastic cup (no glass in the auditorium) on the patterned carpet just as the show is about to begin. “You’ll not remember this if you don’t take a break.” 

And you’re halfway to announcing you don’t want to remember anything at all when the curtain goes up and a woman walks onto stage. 

It’s sobering. 

The audience is restlessly quiet, anticipating the brilliance they’ve been promised with an impatience that demands to be sated, but the actress takes her sweet time. 

She walks from stage left to stage right, then up and down. She’s passively searching for something. 

Someone. 

(It’s the fucking point, and you knew this would happen because you typed out these exact stage directions once upon a time. Alexia had misplaced a sock – a lucky sock, she claimed – and her passion, her desire to discover it, had weirdly morphed into a scene you could see being played out on a stage.) 

“Figure this out later,” speaks the actress with a satisfied smile, folding her arms over her chest. Finally, the audience’s breaths catch, enraptured by the vaguest cop-out of opening lines you could’ve chosen. 

They love it, though; they lean forwards in their seats as they are plucked from London and dropped into the middle of Barcelona. It’s mildly unnerving that you can’t escape the journey, clearly a member of the audience even if you don’t need to be told the story, but you land without the masses in the rows behind you. 

You land right into Alexia’s arms. 

There she is before you, in all her glory, proudly displaying the blue and red that she is so admirably dedicated to. Muscular and tanned, beautiful in the way that she always is, but shining brighter than just that. 

And you fucking hate it. 

When you imagine Alexia, you imagine her crippled and bed-ridden. Cracked knuckles come to mind, too, and she can barely speak without descending into rattling sobs that hack on and on until she somehow falls into fitful rest. 

You come prepared for absolution, expecting to see her dying just as you are, so it’s no wonder that your fists clench at her blasé declaration of “no regrets”. 

(By the way, Alexia’s not really there. You’d been stalking her Instagram and so that’s why she’s wearing her training kit, and… and you’re drunk!)

There are many things you’d like to say to her. 

Alexia had always been apprehensive of your relationship. She was closed-off to new people, and though she was certain of your importance to her, she was untrusting of much else. It happens when you’re famous; there are many wrong turns to take. And she needed to stay on the right path. 

It was impossible to pass Alexia’s test. 

For you, that is clear. Broken up with, told to leave and never come back, and begged to find someone else are not descriptors of the winner, nor she who achieved full marks. You’re a bit of a stranger to failing, but you’re trying to forget about it so that it never happens again. 

You’re breaking a sweat trying to banish her from your brain, barely registering the applause rippling through the theatre as you reach the interval. Trying to get her out of your head is like tugging at your intestines – a hand down your throat renders you dumb, and pains sears through your stomach as you are emptied and left to be a carcass.

“Is it good?” you ask your mum as you head to the bar in the foyer. 

“I wish you had let me meet her.” 

…

Alexia has never been to London outside of football before. She’s played in the north and in the south – she’s won every time – and it’s summery enough right now, but she is still a foreigner in the city. 

It’s fitting, this feeling of being lost, and it’s acceptable to feel it here because she has an excuse. Lost in Barcelona would be ridiculous. 

(But she is.) 

Why is Alexia in London when she could be in Spain? 

Well the only answer is that she has a ticket to a play in a theatre just off the West End that reminds her of someone she once loved. 

She thought it might help, seeing as she hasn’t scored a goal in four weeks with no assists to excuse the drought. Her manager gladly gave her the weekend to recharge, and she escapes matchday seven of Liga F under the guise of illness. 

While sleeping with your pillow, your t-shirt, she must have absorbed whatever the fuck you were on. By osmosis. 

That block. 

And now she has to act like she can’t read your mind. 

Her ticket, acquired last minute by a friend in high places as a massive favour, means that she has a front row seat to a damned play. She is well-prepared for the dread that wrenches her gut. 

The silence settling over her is uncomfortable and impatient, and the lights go down with a sense of impending doom. It’s a bit like being on death row, Alexia thinks. Here she gets to see the good things – a last meal of whatever she would like (you, of course that’s you) – but it is only because of her inevitable execution that this happens. 

The necklace hanging from her collarbones is a noose, the seat is a wooden box about to be kicked out from underneath her, and she needs to make her decision now: does she scream? Should she– 

She’s pulled out of her insanely dramatic spiral by a woman walking onto the stage. 

Her shoulders are hunched slightly and she has that look in her eye; that pang of hunger. 

The actress is recognisable, sure, but that is not the familiarity that strikes Alexia. 

It’s the character. 

It’s you. 

Walking from right to left, towards the back, down to the front, the actress is desperately searching for something. 

Inspiration, Alexia assumes, a smug smile briefly brushing her lips as the opening line breaks the tense silence. 

“Figure this out later,” you say. 

The actress is experienced but she has never read a script like yours before. It moved her to tears, though you claimed it was very happy. 

She lies awake at night, furiously envying those who could love like you do. 

She pities you, partly, because it’s no secret that the story of this love ended when you came here to put the show on. 

She has had to fall in love with someone – method acting, according to the director. 

It’s not quite the universe exploding and stars being born that your relationship must have been, but it’s alright and she is glad to see him in the audience. 

He’s next to a woman who does not seem to be enamoured by the beauty of the plot. 

A woman who seems absolutely fucking horrified. 

Her eyes are wide, fists clenched.

You – the real you – are watching Alexia with curiosity, more interested in her reaction to the play than the play itself. You wonder if she knows the significance of tonight; the reason you are here once more. 

In one month, the set and costumes will be packed up in boxes and taken onto the main street. 

It’s a dream come true. 

You’re here to announce the good news at the end of the show. 

…

“Alexia.” 

She tries not to turn around but she does. 

The night is cool and fresher than she’d expected the London pollution to allow, and the lamp posts are scarily looming over her as she forces herself to not run into your arms. You don’t wear a coat, although your year in Barcelona has borne a certain nostalgia for a warmer climate, but Alexia is wrapped up warm. 

“How… how are you doing?” 

You cringe at how apologetic it sounds. She broke up with you. 

There is a year that will be forever lost to love and happiness, bliss in Barcelona that was always going to be too good to be true. 

There is a year that you will never get back, but there is a breakup you must deal with. 

It’s not a brick wall, it’s a hurdle to jump over. 

Breaking up won’t be the end of your worlds. 

Knowing this, despite the weakness in her knees and the aching of her heart, Alexia lies. For your sake, she lies. 

“I’m good. It’s nice to see you.” 

You’re drowning but you’ll eventually remember how to swim. 

“You too,” you say with formulated sincerity that one day will grow naturally. “Score a goal next time you play, though.” 

[its-avalon-08]

omg I love the protective Daniel post you just did, I feel like max would be so protective too, could I please request max and rival driver reader who always bicker but have undeniable tension..and after a race they’re celebrating at the club and mad max comes out seeing a really creepy guy hitting on her and manhandling her across the dance floor. Reader is a bit shaken up cause she hasn’t had things like that happen in a while since becoming more famous and the creepy guy was a lot bigger than her

and max drives her home and comforts her - I feel a hug from his big strong arms would fix all my problems lolz, maybe leading to some spice?? Thank you!!

hi bubs! im sorry im not super gr8 at writing spice so i didnt include any, myabe in the future! so sorry but hope u enjoy

hands. off. (mv1)

✦ pairing - max verstappen x female!driver!reader

✦ genre - enemies to lovers, angst, creepy guy, confessions, happy ending

The tension was palpable in the team garage as Max and Y/N prepared for the race. Mechanics bustled around, making final adjustments to the cars, while the two drivers stood on opposite sides, glaring at each other.

"You know, Max, just because you have a world championship doesn't mean you're invincible," Y/N said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she adjusted her gloves.

Max smirked, not looking up from his car. "And just because you're fast doesn't mean you're good enough to beat me. You should focus on keeping up."

Y/N took a step closer, her eyes flashing with anger. "Maybe if you stopped acting like you're the king of the track, you'd see that I'm right on your tail. You're not as untouchable as you think."

Max finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a challenging look. "I'll believe it when I see it, Y/N. Until then, you're just another driver trying to take my spot."

She crossed her arms, standing her ground. "You better watch out, Max. One mistake, and I'll be there to overtake you. And believe me, it'll happen sooner than you think. Until then fuck off."

Max's eyes narrowed. "Bring it on. Just don't cry when you can't handle the pressure."

Their team principal stepped in, sensing the rising tension. "Alright, you two, save it for the track. We need both of you focused if we're going to win today."

Max and Y/N exchanged one last glare before turning their attention back to their cars, the hostility between them lingering in the air.

post race

The race had been fierce, with Max narrowly edging out Y/N for the win. As they walked back to the garage, Y/N's frustration boiled over. She threw her helmet down in exasperation, drawing Max's attention.

"Nice job blocking me out there, Max. Real fucking classy," she snapped, her eyes blazing with anger.

Max shrugged, a smug smile playing on his lips. "It's called defending my position. Maybe you should learn how to do it."

Y/N stepped closer, her fists clenched. "Or maybe you should learn to win without playing dirty."

Max's smile faded, replaced by a cold stare. "I play to win, Y/N. If you can't handle that, maybe you're in the wrong sport."

Y/N's heart raced, not just from anger but from the proximity. She could feel the heat radiating off him, their faces inches apart. "Maybe if you weren't so obsessed with proving you're the best, you'd realize you don't have to be such an asshole all the time."

Max leaned in, his breath hot on her face. "And maybe if you stopped trying to compete with me, you'd see that I actually respect you."

Y/N's eyes widened, the air between them crackling with tension. "Respect? You have a funny way of showing it, Max."

Max's gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before meeting her eyes again. "It's called tough love sweetheart. You wouldn't want it any other way."

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "Don't flatter yourself. I don't need your respect."

Max's hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and touch her, but he held back. "Maybe not. But you have it, whether you like it or not."

The intensity of his gaze was overwhelming, making her head spin. For a moment, all the anger and frustration seemed to morph into something else, something neither of them was ready to admit.

"Why do you always have to make everything so complicated?" Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible.

Max's voice softened, the hostility fading. "Maybe because I don't know how else to deal with you. You're... different."

Y/N's breath hitched, her heart pounding in her chest. "Different how?"

Max's eyes softened, and for a moment, the walls between them seemed to crumble. "Different in a way that scares me. And I don't scare easily."

The vulnerability in his voice caught her off guard, and she felt a surge of emotion she couldn't quite name. Without thinking, she closed the distance between them, their bodies almost touching.

"Max..." she began, her voice trembling.

Before she could say anything more, Max leaned in, his forehead almost resting against hers. "Y/N, I..."

The moment was electric, the world around them fading away. For that brief second, all the rivalry, the anger, and the hostility melted into something raw and undeniable. But just as quickly, Max pulled back, the moment shattered and his rough facade was back up.

"We should get back to the team," he said, his voice hoarse.

Y/N nodded, her heart still racing. "Yeah. We should."

As they walked back to the garage, the tension between them was stronger than ever, but now it was laced with something more—something neither of them could ignore.

time skip

The club was alive with music and dancing, the perfect place to celebrate after a hard-fought race. Y/N tried to shake off the lingering tension from her earlier confrontation with Max, letting the music take over as she moved with her friends. But even in the crowded club, she could feel his eyes on her, a constant presence that sent shivers down her spine.

Max sat at the bar, nursing a drink, but his attention was entirely on Y/N. She danced with an easy grace, her movements drawing the eyes of everyone around her, but Max's gaze was different—intense, focused, and filled with the unresolved tension from their earlier confrontation.

As she danced, Y/N's eyes found Max's across the room. The connection was electric, the tension between them palpable. She locked eyes with him, her movements becoming more deliberate, more provocative, as if she was challenging him, daring him to react.

Max's grip tightened on his glass, his heart racing. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a silent, charged exchange. He wanted to go to her, to close the distance between them, but something held him back.

Suddenly, a large man approached Y/N on the dance floor, his intentions clear. He moved too close, his hands reaching out to touch her. Y/N tried to step away, but he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him with a force that made her stumble.

"What the fuck? Let go!" Y/N shouted, trying to free herself.

The man's grip tightened, his voice slurred with alcohol. "Come on, baby, don't be like that. Let's have some fun."

Panic flashed in Y/N's eyes. She was used to handling herself, but this man was larger and stronger, and the situation was spiraling out of control. She looked around for help, her gaze finally landing on Max.

Max's vision turned red as he saw the fear in Y/N's eyes. He pushed his way through the crowd, his protective instincts and anger flaring into his "Mad Max" persona.

"Get your hands off her," Max growled, his voice low and dangerous.

The man looked at Max, clearly unimpressed. "Who the hell are you?"

Max stepped closer, his glare icy. "I'm the fucking guy who's going to make sure you never touch her again. Now, let go."

The man sneered, but Max's cold fury was unmistakable. He released Y/N, but not before giving her a rough shove. She stumbled back, and Max caught her, pulling her close to him.

"You okay?" Max asked, his voice softening as he looked down at her.

Y/N nodded, but her eyes were wide, and she was clearly shaken. "Yeah, just... let's get out of here."

The man, not ready to back down, took a step towards them. "You think you can just walk away?"

Max turned back to him, his expression darkening. "I warned you."

Without another word, Max launched himself at the man, delivering a hard punch to his jaw. The man staggered back, and Max followed up with another punch, knocking him to the ground.

"Stay the fuck down," Max spat, his voice filled with anger.

The bouncers quickly moved in, grabbing the man and dragging him away. Max turned back to Y/N, his expression softening once again.

"Come on," he said, taking her hand. "Let's get out of here."

The ride home was silent except for Y/N’s quiet sniffles. She stared out the window, her hands still trembling. The events of the night played over and over in her mind, and she couldn't shake the fear that had gripped her. She let out a silent sob, tears streaming down her face.

Max glanced over, his heart aching at the sight of her distress. Without saying a word, he reached over and grabbed her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Y/N looked at him, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She squeezed his hand back, drawing strength from his presence.

They drove in silence for a while longer before Max finally spoke. "You don't have to be scared anymore, Y/N. I'm here. I'll always be here."

Y/N nodded, unable to find her voice. The tears kept coming, and she leaned over, resting her head on Max's shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her close as she sobbed into his shirt.

When they arrived at her apartment, Max turned off the engine and gently lifted her out of the car. She clung to him, too exhausted and shaken to protest. Max carried her inside, navigating the familiar path to her bedroom. He laid her down on the bed and sat beside her, brushing a stray hair from her face.

"Max," Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible. "I was so scared."

Max's heart clenched. "I know. But you're safe now. That guy will never touch you again. I promise."

Y/N looked into his eyes, searching for the strength she always saw there. "Why are you always there for me? Even when we fight, even when we're at each other's throats, you're always there."

Max took a deep breath, his gaze intense. He wordlessly pulled her into a warm, protective hug. His strong arms enveloped her, pulling her close against his chest.

Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, her voice a barely audible whisper. "I've dreamed about this."

Max’s heart skipped a beat. He held her tighter, his own emotions surfacing. "You’ve dreamed about this?"

She nodded, her voice muffled. "About being held like this… safe and cared for. I didn’t think it would ever actually happen."

Max tilted her chin up gently, looking into her eyes with a serious expression. "Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you."

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes filled with vulnerability. "What is it, Max?"

Max took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly. "I’ve been trying so hard to deny it, but I can’t anymore. I care about you more than I ever wanted to admit. The rivalry, the arguments—they’ve been a cover for what I really feel."

Y/N’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and relief washing over her. "Max, I’ve felt the same way. I’ve been pushing you away because I was scared of these feelings. I didn’t want to admit how much you mean to me."

Max’s fingers brushed a tear from her cheek. "I’ve been so caught up in the competition and the fights that I didn’t realize I was falling for you. But now, seeing you like this, I can’t ignore it any longer."

Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper. "It’s like everything else fades away when I’m with you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before."

Max’s gaze was intense, filled with affection. "You mean everything to me, Y/N. I don’t just want to win races with you; I want to be with you. I want to be the one who’s always there for you."

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes again, but this time they were tears of happiness. "I want that too, Max. I want us to be more than just rivals. I want us to be together, through everything."

Max’s smile was tender as he leaned in, his forehead resting against hers. "Then let’s make it real. Let’s be together."

Y/N nodded, her voice trembling with emotion. "Yes. I want that more than anything."

They leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss filled with all the emotions they had been holding back—passion, relief, and a deep, unspoken love. When they finally pulled away, their eyes locked, both of them knowing that their feelings were finally out in the open.

Max brushed a strand of hair from her face, his smile full of promise. "We have a lot to figure out, but we’ll do it together. I’m in this for the long haul."

Y/N nodded, her heart full. "Together. Always."

Max wrapped his arms around her again, holding her close as they lay down together, both of them finally at peace with the love they had discovered.

[daughter-of-sapph0]

"I hate when I say I could have made that and stupid art nerds say 'but you didn't'. it's so cringe"

but that's literally true. you didn't make that art.

take Barnett Newman's art for example. you didn't make it because you literally couldn't make it. you were not a Jew who lived during the holocaust. you did not experience two world wars before you turned fifty. you did not experience all this suffering and death all around you. you did not witness your people face genocide at the hands of fascism. you did not read about two atomic bombs dropping in the newspaper the week it happened while it was celebrated like a victory. you didn't become so jaded and disillusioned by the immense hatred of modern and surrealist art that you decided to make art that is so intrinsically tied to the Jewish experience with a modern twist, such as what he calls his "zips" being both the pillar of fire from the Tanakh and the flash of an atom bomb. you couldn't have made art that invoked such a negative reaction that to make an entire series of paintings as a response to specifically call out the people who are afraid of modern minimalist art.

sure, you could draw a blue line on a red canvas. but it won't have the same meaning behind it that Newman's art does.

don't let that discourage you, though. if you think "I could have done that" maybe you couldn't have specifically done THAT, but you can make something similar. you can put your thoughts and emotions into your art. you can make your art say something. you can't make Newman's art. but he couldn't make your art. because your art is yours, and Newman's art is Newman's. no one can make art the exact same way as someone else. every single brush stroke, every single line, every single thought put into planning is always different. there are never any two pieces of art that are exactly the same. it's always unique. just like you.

don't say "I could have made that". say "I could make something like that". let art be an inspiration, not a challenge to copy. you are a unique individual. your experiences and life and emotions are different from everyone else. so every single work of art you make is 100% yours and 100% unique.

[makingqueerhistory]

Queer Books Challenged in Florida Schools and Libraries

There are some affiliate links below in case you want to support MQH.

Gender Queer: A Memoir, Maia Kobabe: Now, Gender Queer is here. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears.

The Color Purple, Alice Walker: Separated as girls, sisters Celie and Nettie sustain their loyalty to and hope in each other across time, distance and silence. Through a series of letters spanning nearly thirty years, first from Celie to God, then the sisters to each other despite the unknown, the novel draws readers into its rich and memorable portrayals of Celie, Nettie, Shug Avery and Sofia and their experience. The Color Purple broke the silence around domestic and sexual abuse, narrating the lives of women through their pain and struggle, companionship and growth, resilience and bravery.

Julián Is a Mermaid, Jessica Love: While riding the subway home from the pool with his abuela one day, Julián notices three women spectacularly dressed up. Their hair billows in brilliant hues, their dresses end in fishtails, and their joy fills the train car. When Julián gets home, daydreaming of the magic he's seen, all he can think about is dressing up just like the ladies in his own fabulous mermaid costume: a butter-yellow curtain for his tail, the fronds of a potted fern for his headdress. But what will Abuela think about the mess he makes -- and even more importantly, what will she think about how Julián sees himself? Mesmerizing and full of heart, Jessica Love's author-illustrator debut is a jubilant picture of self-love and a radiant celebration of individuality.

Drama: A Graphic Novel, Raina Telgemeier: Callie loves theater. And while she would totally try out for her middle school's production of Moon over Mississippi, she can't really sing. Instead she's the set designer for the drama department's stage crew, and this year she's determined to create a set worthy of Broadway on a middle-school budget. But how can she, when she doesn't know much about carpentry, ticket sales are down, and the crew members are having trouble working together? Not to mention the onstage AND offstage drama that occurs once the actors are chosen. And when two cute brothers enter the picture, things get even crazier!

Cemetery Boys, Aiden Thomas: Yadriel has summoned a ghost, and now he can't get rid of him. When his traditional Latinx family has problems accepting his true gender, Yadriel becomes determined to prove himself a real brujo. With the help of his cousin and best friend Maritza, he performs the ritual himself, and then sets out to find the ghost of his murdered cousin and set it free. However, the ghost he summons is actually Julian Diaz, the school's resident bad boy, and Julian is not about to go quietly into death. He's determined to find out what happened and tie off some loose ends before he leaves. Left with no choice, Yadriel agrees to help Julian, so that they can both get what they want. But the longer Yadriel spends with Julian, the less he wants to let him leave.

I Am Billie Jean King, Brad Meltzer: This friendly, fun biography series focuses on the traits that made our heroes great--the traits that kids can aspire to in order to live heroically themselves. Each book tells the story of one of America's icons in a lively, conversational way that works well for the youngest nonfiction readers and that always includes the hero's childhood influences. At the back are an excellent timeline and photos. This volume features Billie Jean King, the world champion tennis player who fought successfully for women's rights. From a young age, Billie Jean King loved sports--especially tennis! But as she got older, she realized that plenty of people, even respected male athletes, didn't take women athletes seriously. She set to prove them wrong and show girls everywhere that sports are for everyone, regardless of gender.

This One Summer, Mariko Tamaki: Every summer, Rose goes with her mom and dad to a lake house in Awago Beach. It's their getaway, their refuge. Rosie's friend Windy is always there, too, like the little sister she never had. But this summer is different. Rose's mom and dad won't stop fighting, and when Rose and Windy seek a distraction from the drama, they find themselves with a whole new set of problems. One of the local teens - just a couple of years older than Rose and Windy - is caught up in something bad... Something life threatening. It's a summer of secrets, and sorrow, and growing up, and it's a good thing Rose and Windy have each other.

Marriage of a Thousand Lies, Sj Sindu: Lucky and her husband, Krishna, are gay. They present an illusion of marital bliss to their conservative Sri Lankan-American families, while each dates on the side. It's not ideal, but for Lucky, it seems to be working. She goes out dancing, she drinks a bit, she makes ends meet by doing digital art on commission. But when Lucky's grandmother has a nasty fall, Lucky returns to her childhood home and unexpectedly reconnects with her former best friend and first lover, Nisha, who is preparing for her own arranged wedding with a man she's never met.

And Tango Makes Three, Peter Parnell: At the penguin house at the Central Park Zoo, two penguins named Roy and Silo were a little bit different from the others. But their desire for a family was the same. And with the help of a kindly zookeeper, Roy and Silo got the chance to welcome a baby penguin of their very own.

More Happy Than Not, Adam Silvera: In the months following his father's suicide, sixteen-year-old Aaron Soto can't seem to find happiness again, despite the support of his girlfriend, Genevieve, and his overworked mom. Grief and the smile-shaped scar on his wrist won't let him forget the pain. But when Aaron meets Thomas, a new kid in the neighborhood, something starts to shift inside him. Aaron can't deny his unexpected feelings for Thomas despite the tensions their friendship has created with Genevieve and his tight-knit crew. Since Aaron can't stay away from Thomas or turn off his newfound happiness, he considers taking drastic actions. The Leteo Institute's revolutionary memory-altering procedure will straighten him out, even if it means forgetting who he truly is.

Melissa, Alex Gino: When people look at Melissa, they think they see a boy named George. But she knows she's not a boy. She knows she's a girl.

Melissa thinks she'll have to keep this a secret forever. Then her teacher announces that their class play is going to be Charlotte's Web. Melissa really, really, REALLY wants to play Charlotte. But the teacher says she can't even try out for the part... because she's a boy.

With the help of her best friend, Kelly, Melissa comes up with a plan. Not just so she can be Charlotte -- but so everyone can know who she is, once and for all.

A Quick & Easy Guide to Queer & Trans Identities, Mady G, Jules Zuckerberg: In this quick and easy guide to queer and trans identities, cartoonists Mady G and Jules Zuckerberg guide you through the basics of the LGBT+ world! Covering essential topics like sexuality, gender identity, coming out, and navigating relationships, this guide explains the spectrum of human experience through informative comics, interviews, worksheets, and imaginative examples. A great starting point for anyone curious about queer and trans life, and helpful for those already on their own journeys!

This Book Is Gay, Juno Dawson: This candid, funny, and uncensored exploration of sexuality and what it's like to grow up LGBTQ also includes real stories from people across the gender and sexual spectrums, not to mention hilarious illustrations.

Little & Lion, Brandy Colbert: When Suzette comes home to Los Angeles from her boarding school in New England, she's isn't sure if she'll ever want to go back. L.A. is where her friends and family are (as well as her crush, Emil). And her stepbrother, Lionel, who has been diagnosed with bipolar disorder, needs her emotional support. But as she settles into her old life, Suzette finds herself falling for someone new...the same girl her brother is in love with. When Lionel's disorder spirals out of control, Suzette is forced to confront her past mistakes and find a way to help her brother before he hurts himself--or worse.

King and the Dragonflies, Kacen Callender: Twelve-year-old Kingston James is sure his brother Khalid has turned into a dragonfly. When Khalid unexpectedly passed away, he shed what was his first skin for another to live down by the bayou in their small Louisiana town. Khalid still visits in dreams, and King must keep these secrets to himself as he watches grief transform his family.

It would be easier if King could talk with his best friend, Sandy Sanders. But just days before he died, Khalid told King to end their friendship, after overhearing a secret about Sandy-that he thinks he might be gay. "You don't want anyone to think you're gay too, do you?"

Sorted: Growing Up, Coming Out, and Finding My Place: A Transgender Memoir, Jackson Bird: An unflinching and endearing memoir from LGBTQ+ advocate Jackson Bird about how he finally sorted things out and came out as a transgender man.When Jackson Bird was twenty-five, he came out as transgender to his friends, family, and anyone in the world with an internet connection. Assigned female at birth and raised as a girl, he often wondered if he should have been born a boy. Jackson didn't share this thought with anyone because he didn't think he could share it with anyone.

The Black Flamingo, Dean Atta: Michael is a mixed-race gay teen growing up in London. All his life, he's navigated what it means to be Greek-Cypriot and Jamaican--but never quite feeling Greek or Black enough.

As he gets older, Michael's coming out is only the start of learning who he is and where he fits in. When he discovers the Drag Society, he finally finds where he belongs--and the Black Flamingo is born

Explore the full list here.

[grandline-fics]

Hi! Can I request OP men (monster trio, Ace, Law, or anyone ur comfy with doing!) reaction to reader becoming self conscious and suddenly anxious when there are too many ppl around and they try to ground them? It could be a crowd or even members from the ship! Thank you ^^

DESCRIPTION: You’re anxious when there’s too many people around

WARNINGS:  none

CHARACTERS: Luffy, Zoro

WORDS: 1,318

A/N:  Thank you for this request. I wanted to do more scenarios with some of the other OP men but could only manage two this time. I loved this idea so there'll be a part two in the future. I hope you like what I came up with for this

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

LUFFY

Wherever Luffy goes, a crowd is sure to follow. Whether its civilians drawn to his free and infectious nature or rivals getting into his face as a challenge that he doesn’t back down from the end result is always the same; very little breathing room because of the mass of people. For the most part you were used to this constant buzz of noise and cluster of presences but tonight it was getting to be too much for you. After a long battle of fighting groups of enemies to be immediately dragged into an all out celebration, you were reaching your limit of what you could take. 

You didn’t want to be rude to the people who were grateful for you playing your part in securing their freedom and leave the conversations or festivities too early but when eyes weren’t on you, you were definitely searching for something that could allow you to disappear without drawing too much attention or cause any offence. You breathed a sigh of relief when the current civilian you were talking to left you to grab something to eat. Idly sipping at your own drink you inched further away from the main hub of people, trying to feel some sense of security in a quieter section.

Suddenly from above you heard the loud and all too familiar laughter of your Captain that was already causing an infectious smile to pull at your lips before you had even looked up. Perched high on the town’s clocktower was Luffy, using the stone lion fixture adorning the rooftop as his own personal seat to look over the entire town’s celebration. Because your weren’t amongst the crowd you were easier to spot and when he saw you smiling up at him he grinned wide. 

Immediately he launched his arm out towards you and without waiting for your response he took your arm and pulled you through the air to land safely on the roof with him. Now out from the almost suffocating crowd you finally got a moment to breathe and look down at the view of the town now far enough away for you to appreciate the atmosphere and beauty of their joy. You smiled and settled down to sit next to your Captain, finally able to relax. “So why’re you all the up here in the first place? Would’ve thought you’d have more fun down there with the people.”

“Started to get annoyed when they kept calling me a hero, all I wanted was to eat.” Luffy explained with a grin, moving his enormous hoard of food back onto his lap to continue eating. “Besides when I saw the lion up here it made me think of the Sunny.” You smiled at the simplistic answer and looked at the fixture in question. As nice as it was, it paled in comparison to Sunny. You couldn’t help but let out a small sigh which didn’t go unnoticed by Luffy. He recalled how you hadn’t be with anyone before he brought you up here. “You not having fun?”

“Not exactly.” You shrugged, unable to lie to someone so open and honest with their feelings as Luffy was. You could always trust him to listen and not dismiss your feelings. “It’s just been a lot since we landed here. The people are friendly but it was beginning to feel like I couldn’t breathe around them. It was just getting to be a bit much.”

“How do you feel now?” Luffy asked curiously, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable either. 

“A lot better, definitely like I can breathe again.” You reassured with a bright grin that Luffy returned while also reminding himself to always check on you while in a crowd like this from now on. 

ZORO

Why did you have to land on an island that was virtually a Marine base in its own right? As much as you and some of the others wanted to leave and journey to the next island, Luffy’s orders were final and he wanted to stay. Just because there were a ton of Marines stationed on this island and lived here with their families, why should he change what he wanted to do. As much as you wanted to protest your Captain you knew no amount of logic or begging would change his determination to explore freely. 

The most everyone could compromise on was the promise to keep as low a profile as possible and only engage the Marines if-and only if-your cover was blown. To ensure that disaster of a situation didn’t happen, the more level-headed members of the crew paired up with the more instinctual and chaotic members. Today you were left to walk the town with Zoro, the added element of ensuring he didn’t wander off into areas that would certainly spell trouble meant your worries were doubling. Every step you made through the streets, you swept a nervous glance around trying to keep track of anyone in a Marine uniform while also trying to pinpoint escape routes if the worst did happen.

“You need to relax.” Zoro muttered from beside you and you flinched, your already tense body coiling even tighter. You looked up at him with widened eyes. “You’re going to draw their attention and blow our cover.” At that you bristled but then panic set in and you couldn’t help but look around you again. With a sharp sigh, Zoro turned his body so he was blocking you from view and more importantly you could only look at him. “If you’re getting nervous about keeping a low profile but keep looking around the way that you are, people are going to end up taking notice and cause suspicion.” You opened your mouth to argue but you couldn’t, not when he was making sense. Still you couldn’t just relax the way he was telling you to. Zoro watched you carefully and frowned. “What’s got you so wound up anyway? What’s your biggest worry here?”

“Look around you!” You whispered. “Everyone is either a Marine or related to one. If we get caught-”

“We’ll deal with it as a crew like we always do.” Sometimes Zoro’s clear cut view of a situation was a reassurance but other times it was annoying. Dealing with a situation that could have been avoided in the first place was not what you wanted and wouldn’t necessarily work out as perfect as it would in his head. 

“I just don’t want to be the reason one of us gets hurt when fighting didn’t need to be an option.” You shrugged helplessly. You didn’t want to seem weak, especially not to someone like Zoro but you couldn’t change how you felt in that moment. “I can’t be so laidback like you, sorry.”

Zoro rolled his good eye but threw you a small smirk to show he wasn’t annoyed. Silently he took your arm and swapped your original walking position. While he managed to keep one arm lazily around your shoulder, he also managed to be just ahead of you enough that his three swords were in front of you, almost like a shield. “As long as you’re part of the crew we work together and do our part to protect each other, yeah? So until someone spots us just relax and try not to look so panicked otherwise it looks like I’m kidnapping you.” 

At that you laughed for the first time since arriving on the island and nudged his side while making no move to step out from his arm. It was strange how just being like this managed to calm you immensely. “Let’s hope Sanji doesn’t see. He’ll attack you on the spot and that’ll definitely blow our cover.”

“Yeah…would be worth it though.” Zoro grinned only to wince when you nudged his ribs a little harder. “I was kidding!” Well for the most part he was. 

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot, rough p in v, oral (f & m receiving), wry & dom Dabi, f!reader, a lot of cursing and names calling, slapping, a little degradation, hate s*x Synopsis: arranging a birthday celebration for Dabi proved to be a mistake. It ignited his anger, driving him to his room in a fit of rage. When anger transformed into desire, Dabi insisted on celebrating in his own way, marking the first intimate encounter between the two of you A/N: the prompt was Dabi's first time with his girlfriend is on his birthday This marks the last story crafted in celebration of Dabi's birthday 💜

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST DABI'S BIRTHDAY EVENT

"You little cunt!" Dabi's voice thundered, a venomous edge cutting through the air. He didn't bother casting a glance in your direction.

In response to the verbal assault, you jerked your hand free from his grip. "What's the matter this time, Mr. Know-It-All? I merely intended to throw you a pleasant birthday celebration, and you act as though I threatened to annihilate your entire family!"

Dabi scoffed dismissively, striding purposefully toward his room. "Do you think I'd give a damn fuck if you did? Of course not. And I thought I made myself crystal clear — I want no bloody celebrations. I detest my birthday. I despise the very notion of being born. What is so challenging for your tiny, stupid brain to comprehend?"

A disbelieving sigh escaped your lips. While you were well aware of his aversion to birthdays, the magnitude of his anger caught you off guard. Baking him a cake and orchestrating a modest gathering with the assistance of Toga and Shigaraki seemed like a harmless gesture to celebrate his existence, yet it had evidently ignited an unexpected fury.

Dabi came to an abrupt halt and glanced back at you, seizing your wrist and pulling you closer to him. "No response, huh?" he sneered. "Fine, little cunt. So, you're keen on celebrating the day this damn pathetic villain, murderer, and arsonist was born? Well, we'll celebrate it, but we'll do it my damn way."

He forcibly pulled you behind him, and despite your inner desire to break free from his grip, the futility of any attempt was evident – he wielded a strength far surpassing your own.

Dabi swung open the door to his room and shoved you inside, the harsh sound of the door slamming shut resonating through the air as he entered, sealing the room in an oppressive silence.

In the midst of the heated altercation, the details of the argument eluded your memory. A palpable anger still hung in the air, the exchange of words escalating to a fever pitch.

Your gaze shifted toward Dabi, poised to retort, but the intensity in his turquoise eyes arrested your words. The pulsating vein in the black-haired man's neck became a focal point, a magnetic force compelling your desire to quell its frenetic rhythm with a kiss.

His recognition of the unspoken yearning reflected in your face halted his verbal assault, leaving his mouth slightly ajar.

In that suspended moment, the impulse to crush your lips against his neck overwhelmed you. You yearned to soothe the frenetic heartbeat beneath the surface.

As if reading your intentions, Dabi seized you abruptly, drawing you into the circle of his robust arms. It was as if he had glimpsed into the depths of your desires, a skill he wielded with uncanny accuracy. In that instant, he kissed you with the intensity you had yearned for, the clash of tongues mirroring the earlier verbal sparring. The taste of anger mingled with a surprising sweetness, and your body ignited with a white-hot desire, a fervor that only Dabi could unleash. The searing sensation surged from your chest down to your thighs, awakening every inch of your being.

You had sensed the fire kindling in Dabi's loins, the hardness growing almost instantly, and his whole body turning super hot due to his quirk.

Dabi grasped a handful of your hair, yanking your head back, and engaged in a fervent exchange of kisses, licks, and nips, each touch eliciting moans of pleasure from your slightly bruised, parted lips.

The yearning became unbearable, compelling you to crave the feel of Dabi's skin against yours. Almost as if he had divined your thoughts, he leaned back, swiftly discarding his shirt through his hair. His hands reached for your blouse, and with a forceful yank, he tore it open, sending buttons scattering across the tiny room. Despite the intimidating aura that surrounded Dabi, you harbored no fear.

Even though you were aware of his desires, the topic about sex was returning like a boomerang, resurfacing every few days. It had been over half a year since you both became a thing, yet you had not crossed the threshold into a physical relationship, and this restraint was gradually driving Dabi to the brink of madness. You suspected that today's outbursts were fueled, in part, by the previous night's rejection when, amidst a heated make-out session, you had declined his advances as his hand ventured into your shorts, teasing your folds through the fabric of your knickers.

Yet now, a curious mixture of emotions surged within you. Somehow, you found yourself yearning for him with an intensity that defied explanation. Despite no longer being a virgin, a concern lingered about the potential discomfort of engaging in sex with Dabi.

Dabi's lips sought yours once more as he simultaneously released the front clasp of your sheer bra. He took one of your nipples into his mouth, the exquisite pain of his teeth on your flesh intensifying the smoldering embers between your legs into a searing white-hot flame of desire.

"Dabi..." you whined loudly, rolling your head back, resting it against the wall, slipping one of your hands into his hair.

His impatient hands slipped under your skirt in a quest to discover your most sensitive spot. The intensity of his anger and desire surged as his hand encountered obstacles on its journey - your panties. Finally, locating the waistband, Dabi forcefully burnt your panties away, being careful enough to not hurt you. Free from the hindrance, his hungry fingers found what they sought.

Dabi inserted a finger into your wetness, gliding it upward over your swollen clit after finger fucking you for a moment, eliciting moans of ecstasy from you. Simultaneously, his lips continued their exploration, savoring the taste of yours, tracing a path from your lips to your earlobes and down to your neck. "Fucking little cunt," he sneered. "I'll certainly educate you on how I desire my birthday to be celebrated. Perhaps it will penetrate that thick, stupid skull of yours at last, you little whore."

Your moans of pleasure intensified, your hands exploring the contours of Dabi's body. His skin felt sensuous and super warm beneath your fingertips. Before long, your hands discovered his pierced nipple. Gently, you pinched it, coaxing a primal sound from Dabi's lips as he worked diligently on marking your neck, signaling to the world that you belonged to him.

The heightened arousal compelled you to push him away slightly. You replaced your fingers with your mouth after leaning forward, nipping and licking his chest. The tip of your tongue traced along his tensed muscles, whether concealed beneath healthy skin or adorned with scars and purple patches, relishing the taste that was undeniably manly and salty, yet sweet as nectar to your senses.

Dabi's fingers fucked you more, and had rendered you incredibly wet, your clitoris throbbing with anticipation, swollen with both pleasure and need. Seizing your chin in his hand, Dabi kissed you roughly, propelling you back against the wall. He then descended to his knees, lifting your skirt, and trailed his tongue up one thigh and then the other, savoring the juices that had escaped during the fervor of his fingers' endeavors.

Dabi's warm tongue resumed its task, leisurely stroking your sweet, swollen spot. He inserted a finger, moving in and out, synchronizing the motion with the skilled strokes of his tongue. His tongue circled around your sticky clit, while his finger worked diligently to pleasure your pussy. Suddenly, he sucked on it with a hunger reminiscent of a baby latching onto its mother's breast. Your moans grew louder, the sensation of his sucking propelling you closer to the edge, teetering on the brink of no return.

"Yes, Dabi, oh! Just like that!" you gasped, attempting to keep him in the spot to grind your pussy against his face, but Dabi swatted your hands away and rose to meet your gaze.

His eyes mirrored yours, smoky with unbridled lust. "Oh, no, no, little dirty slut. Not yet. No matter how you beg, you'll come when I say," he declared, denying you the release you sought as he asserted control over your pleasure. "Suck me off like a good slut and I'll think of rewarding you."

The overwhelming urge to taste the most manly of flavors had consumed you, leading your hands to fumble with Dabi's thick, white belt. Finally releasing it, the snap and zipper undone, you descended to your knees in front of him, pushing down his dark pants. Dabi's hardened member sprung free, pulsating with the burning lust, a little pearl of precum adorned the slit of its tip. Your cheeks reddened upon noticing the piercing just beneath the tip. Your tongue explored his shaft, moving around and under, tracing the prominent vein, finally reaching the head and swirling around it. It was moist, and the salty flavor was a delightful sensation, spilling all over your tongue. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you took him between your swollen lips, bobbing your head back and forth eagerly, moaning around him.

Dabi's sharp intake of breath signaled the pleasure coursing through him as he felt your lips on his dick. "That's it, dirty whore, suck that fat cock."

You sucked and licked, the intensity of his moans guiding the rhythm of your movements. The sweet labor of tasting your boyfriend drove you into a state of pure ecstasy.

With a resounding pop sound, you withdrew his dick from your mouth, using one hand to jerk it, spreading your saliva across the length of his shaft. Pressing the erect member against his abdomen, you then lowered your head to cradle his heavy balls in your mouth, delicately pressing on them with your tongue.

"Fuck," he growled, closing his eyes for a moment. "You're a fucking whore. My private fuck toy. You're nothing more than a whore, spreading your legs so willingly f'me right now. Look at you. And two days ago you were whining that you're not ready to let me fuck you just yet. Pathetic."

His lewd words elicited a moan from you as you resumed the task of sucking his cock. Ensuring to swirl your tongue around the head, you then proceeded to kiss along the vein running beneath the shaft before you pushed his dick back into your mouth, bobbing your head eagerly.

Suddenly, Dabi reached down, seizing your arm and pulling you up. "Enough, cunt. Time to fuck that pretty, little cunt, yeah?"

"I am so ready for you to fill my belly with your fat cock, daddy," your words quivered with desire.

Dabi grinned wryly. "You're a pathetic bitch, princess. You think with your fucking cunt. So disappointing."

Pressed against the wall, Dabi gripped one of your legs, lifting it up. In one fluid motion, he drove his cock deep inside you, easily bottoming out in your pussy.

"Dabi!" Your scream of pleasure echoed long and loud as the painful stretch overwhelmed your mind.

He lifted your other leg, picking you off the floor, impaling you against the wall, never losing the rhythmic, frantic thrusts.

One of your hands glided down from Dabi's shoulder to your wet clit, skillfully massaging it as he thrust into your pussy. He felt like a white-hot spear inside your pussy. You and Dabi stared into each other's eyes. Both your hands now rested on Dabi's shoulders. You arched your back, rolling your hips in his embrace to synchronize with each of his strokes. "More, more, more!" you begged, your tone pathetic.

Dabi encircled his arm around your ass, using his free hand to deliver a sharp slap to your face. "Look at me, bitch! Look at me!"

It proved challenging for you to maintain focus on his face, especially with every forceful thrust causing the aggressive tip of his cock to brush and nudge all the right spots deep within you. "I… I can't, D… Da…"

He didn't allow you to finish your sentence, responding by slapping your other cheek. "I. Said. Look. At. Me!"

Moaning unabashedly, like a cheap whore you apparently were in that moment, you gazed at him through teary eyes. The singular thought that occupied your mind was the anticipation of his cum, filling you to the brim.

Dabi intensified his rhythm, his buttocks flexing with each forceful thrust. He nibbled on the column of your neck, emitting guttural grunts. "Fucking bitch. Your cunt belongs to me. You belong to me. You fucking naughty whore."

In the final few thrusts, as Dabi's movements became increasingly erratic, he reached the peak of his release within the warmth of your pussy. "Take it, bitch, take it, take it," he growled through gritted teeth. The temperature of his skin soared, accompanied by wisps of dark smoke and the faint scent of burning flesh as he briefly lost the grip on his Blueflame quirk.

His hot seed spilled into your pussy, intensifying your own climax as your pussy clenched tightly around his throbbing shaft. "Dabi!!!" you screamed, the overwhelming sensations pushing you to the brink of consciousness, making it difficult to catch your breath.

Dabi lowered one of your legs, and then the other. Clinging to each other, you leaned against the wall, neither trusting your legs to support you. Dabi's semen mixed with your juices slowly traced down your shaking legs, leaving a trail of slickness in its wake.

Dabi cradled your chin between his thumb and forefinger, planting a tender kiss on your lips. "Now, you've been the good girl you are, princess. Satisfied with the fucking celebration?"

You trailed a series of soft kisses along the contours of his sharp jawline. "Yes, but… are you still upset with me, Dabi?"

Dabi scoffed, theatrically rolling his eyes. "No. I fucked away all the stress, yeah?"

"You burned my favorite panties," you complained, making a sad face.

He leaned down to hoist his pants back up, tucking his flaccid cock back into its confines and adjusting them before fastening the belt. "I'll buy you a new pair, just stop whining."

Dabi flopped onto his bed, sliding both hands under his head as he gazed up at the cracks on the ceiling.

Climbing onto the bed, you curled into a ball by his side, resting your head on his chest, attuning yourself to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "I'm sorry for riling you up."

"It's fine," he grumbled. "Let's not talk about that, doll."

A few moments of silence hung in the air before you whispered, "I just want you to know that I genuinely love you, every fiber of your being."

Dabi remained unresponsive initially, but after a prolonged and piercing silence, he wrapped his arm around you, leisurely stroking your shoulder. "Thanks, doll face. I love you too."

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter One:

The bar was abuzz with the kind of infectious energy that only comes from a group of friends riding the high of a celebratory night out. In the center of it all was Evelyn Gideon, her laughter a melody that seemed to turn heads and draw smiles even from strangers. She was the embodiment of sunshine—her allure as undeniable as the curves she carried with effortless grace.

Evelyn raised her glass, her eyes sparkling with excitement and liquor. "To new beginnings and breaking ceilings," she toasted, her voice carrying over the crowded room.

Her friends echoed the sentiment, "To Evelyn, the FBI's newest and brightest!"

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed easily, touching on memories, aspirations, and the occasional playful banter about the 'aesthetically pleasing' aspects of her new job.

Evelyn leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, "You know, I've had my fair share of late-night googling and let's just say the FBI isn't all work and no play. They've got some serious eye candy too."

Her friends giggled, urging her on, and she obliged, a little tipsy from the copious amounts of wine. "There's this one agent, my boss, Aaron Hotchner. Oh, and another, Spencer Reid. They're like the real-life versions of those FBI recruitment posters. So hot, it's criminal."

The group erupted into laughter, unaware that just a few tables away, two men had paused their conversation, a knowing look exchanged between them. They said nothing, just an awkward cough as they went back to their drinks.

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before averting his gaze.

Aaron's expression was unreadable as he scoffed, "Interns."

The laughter from Evelyn's table continued to ripple through the bar, a stark contrast to the muted tones of conversation at the agents' table. Spencer's eyes flickered back to his drink, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. Aaron, meanwhile, maintained his stoic facade, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile.

Evelyn, buoyed by the warmth of the wine and her company, leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting across the room. She caught Spencer's eye again, realization drawing on her face, and this time he held her gaze, an unspoken challenge passing between them.

One of her friends nudged her, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "He's cute."

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing with the implications. "I think that's my new boss and colleague."

Evelyn, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and her earlier comments, caught the agents' glance and felt a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over her. She fumbled with her purse, her laughter trailing off into a nervous giggle.

"Uh, I just remembered, I have an early meeting tomorrow, and I should really get going," Evelyn stammered, avoiding eye contact with the table of agents. Her friends, sensing her discomfort, offered her quick hugs and understanding nods as she made her hasty retreat.

As Evelyn vanished into the crowd, Aaron and Spencer's attention was momentarily captured by the bar's TV, where a breaking news segment flashed across the screen. They leaned in, their focus on a case they'd been following, the world around them fading into the background.

When they finally turned back, expecting to find the lively group still immersed in their celebration, they were met with the sight of an empty chair where Evelyn had been. A twinge of disappointment flickered across their faces, though neither would admit it aloud.

Spencer cleared his throat, "Well, interns are always full of surprises," he remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Aaron nodded, his gaze lingering on the now quieter table. "Indeed. But let's not forget, we were all there once," he said, raising a glass in a silent salute to their beginning memories.

"Statistically speaking," Spencer began, his voice barely above the murmur of the bar, "the chances of us overhearing a conversation about ourselves in such a setting are quite slim."

Hotch couldn't help but chuckle at Spencer's comment. "And yet here we are," he added, the hint of a smirk betraying his amusement.

—

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across Evelyn's sleep softened face as she awoke to the chirping of birds and the distant hum of the city. She lay in bed for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of memories from the night before. The laughter, the wine, the unexpected encounter with Dr. Reid and Hotchner.

She was Jason Gideon's daughter, a fact that filled her with pride yet weighed heavily on her. At 23, she was young to be joining the FBI, especially the BAU, and she felt the pressure to prove herself as more than just a legacy hire.

Evelyn sat up, pushing back the covers as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Today was the day. Her first day at the BAU. A mix of excitement and nerves bubbled within her, but there was something else too—a hint of mortification. She couldn't shake the memory of calling her new boss and coworker hot within earshot. She hoped against hope that they hadn't overheard.

With a deep breath she rose and made her way to the mirror. She took pride in her appearance, and today was no exception. She chose her outfit with care, professional yet undeniably her.

As she applied her makeup, each brush was an attempt to paint away the embarrassment of last night. She styled her hair, letting it fall into soft waves around her shoulders. We one last glance in the mirror, she was ready.

Evelyn grabbed her gun and badge, the weight of them both a reminder of the responsibility she was about to undertake. She was a member of the FBI now, and she had a role to play.

—

Evelyn's heels clicked against the polished floors of the FBI building, a steady rhythm that matched her racing heart. She drew a deep breath, letting her bubbly personality shine through her nervous smile as she passed through the security checkpoint. She didn't spot Hotch or Dr. Reid, a small mercy that allowed her to collect herself without the weight of their gazes.

The first day formalities were a blur—ID photos, paperwork, and the endless maze of hallways. It was all so technical and impersonal, yet it was the gateway to her dream.

Then, a beacon of light, she spotted Penelope Garcia. They had connected over an online forum for crime fiction enthusiasts, bonding over plot theories and character developments. Garcia's vibrant attire and smile were just as welcoming in person.

"Penelope!" Evelyn greeted, her voice a mix of relief and excitement.

"Evelyn! Honey, you're even more stunning in person!" Garcia beamed, pulling her into a hug. "Welcome to the BAU family!"

As they chatted, Garcia led her to the bullpen, where Evelyn was introduced to the team. Emily Prentiss's firm handshake and measured smile spoke of strength and understanding. JJ's friendly nod and Derek Morgan's charming grin were disarming, making Evelyn's nerves ease slightly.

"So you're the prodigy Gideon was always bragging about," Morgan teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Evelyn laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I hope to live up to at least half the hype," she replied, her tone playful yet sincere.

Prentiss leaned in, her voice low but encouraging. "We've all heard great things about you, Evelyn. We're glad to have you on board."

"And we'll make sure you find your footing," JJ added, her smile reassuring.

The warmth of the welcome eased the knots in her stomach. She was a part of the team, surrounded by legends, and yet, they made her feel like she was one of them—bright, capable.

"Gideon."

The newfound calm in Evelyn's stomach vanished as swiftly as it had arrived when she heard her last name echo across the bullpen. The authoritative tone of Aaron Hotchner snapped the easy atmosphere like a taut wire. She turned, her heart hitching as she met his gaze. For a fleeting moment, she saw the mask of his composure slip, a flicker of surprise that quickly schooled into neutrality. "A word, please?"

Derek couldn't resist the opportunity for a quip. "Don't keep the man waiting, he's not known for his patience," he said, eliciting a round of chuckles from the team.

Evelyn's heart pounded as she approached Hotchner's office, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts seeming to rest on one—he was going to confront me about what I said. She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

Hotchner's office was a stark contrast to the lively bullpen, its walls lined with commendations and case files. He gestured to a chair.

"Good morning, Evelyn," Hotchner began as he motioned her into his office. "Please, have a seat."

She moved past him, her senses heightened, astutely aware of the shift in his demeanor. As she settled into the chair, she caught him glancing at a file on his desk, his eyes momentarily distracted.

"I didn't expect you to be so..." he started, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

"Young?" Evelyn filled in, her voice a mix of confidence and self-deprecation, butterflies filling her stomach. "I get that a lot, but I assure you it won't affect my performance, sir."

In his mind, Hotchner corrected himself, Attractive, but he let the thought pass unspoken of course, cursing himself for even thinking it. "Of course," he said aloud. "Your age isn't a concern. Your qualifications speak for themselves."

He leaned back, interlacing his fingers as he regarded her. "As a new member of the BAU you'll be expected to undergo a period of observation. You'll accompany the team on cases, but your involvement will be limited until you've completed your training."

Evelyn nodded, absorbing every word.

"You'll be assigned a mentor," Hotch continued. "Dr. Reid will take on that role. He'll guide you through our protocols and procedures."

"I'm ready to learn and contribute, sir." Evelyn responded earnestly.

He had been called "sir" by many, but when the word left Evelyn's lips, it was as if he heard it for the first time. He caught himself staring at the lips at which the words came from, snapping his focus back to her eyes.

Hotchner's expression softened ever so slightly. "I believe you are. And remember, this team is a family. We rely on each other's strengths to face what most can't even imagine."

With a final nod, he stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Welcome to the BAU, Agent."

next

[luvvictoria]

Can you do sukuna seeing reader being happy with someone else🙏

( ♡ ) pairing : true form!Sukuna x s/o!reader

( ♡ ) warning : idk what the gender of the reader is 😭 gn probably , NOT PROOF READ , kinda cringe, idk bro

( ♡ ) a/n : hi there sweetheart, I hope this is good and is what you wanted. If not feel free to ask me again 🫶🏽

Echoes of Desire

The moon hung high in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the courtyard. Lanterns flickered gently, illuminating the laughter and joy of the gathering that spilled out from the main hall. Sukuna leaned against a wooden pillar, his two faces hidden in shadow, watching as you mingled with the guests, your presence a radiant beacon amidst the revelry.

You were dressed in a beautifully ornate kimono, colors vibrant against the soft light, your laughter ringing like chimes in the cool evening air. Beside you stood a man, his charm evident as he engaged you in conversation, his smile making your eyes sparkle in a way that tugged at something deep within Sukuna.

He clenched his jaw, a surge of irritation bubbling beneath his stoic facade. The sight of you being so freely happy with someone else stirred a possessive flame within him, a feeling he had long thought buried under layers of indifference.

As the festivities continued, Sukuna’s frustration grew. He had watched you from afar, the way you leaned in to share a secret with the man, the way your hand brushed against his arm—each gesture igniting a primal urge within him. The thought that you could be happy without him gnawed at his insides.

“ Why do you waste your time with him ? “ Sukuna murmured to himself, a shadowy figure lurking in the corners of the celebration.

Finally, unable to contain himself any longer, he stepped into the light, his presence drawing the attention of the nearby guests. You turned at the sound of his approach, surprise flickering across your features.

“ Sukuna,” you said, your voice a mix of joy and concern. “What are you doing here?”

“Observing,” he replied coolly, though the tension in his voice betrayed the tempest within. “ It seems you’ve found new entertainment. ” Your smile faltered slightly. “ It’s just a celebration. Everyone is having fun. ”

“ Fun? ” he echoed, a sharp edge to his tone. “ Is that what you call it? Spending time with a man who doesn’t know your worth ? “ You stepped closer, sensing the darkness that clung to him. “ He’s a friend, Sukuna. You know that.”

“ Friends do not make you glow with delight as you do with him, ” he snapped, unable to keep the jealousy from his voice. “ What does he offer you that I do not? “

The question hung heavily in the air, your heart racing at the challenge behind it. “ He doesn’t offer me anything more than companionship, Sukuna. But you—”

“Exactly!” Sukuna interjected, his voice a low growl. “ I am the King of Curses, not some common man to be tossed aside. Yet here I am, watching you be happy with someone else. “

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself against the storm brewing in his eyes. “ You need to understand that happiness isn’t just about being with someone powerful or dangerous. It’s about feeling safe, cherished. You can’t just assume I’ll choose you because of who you are. “

He stared at you, his two faces reflecting a mix of emotions—frustration, longing, and a flicker of vulnerability. “So you prefer him?”

“I don’t prefer anyone,” you said softly, stepping closer. “But you push me away with your darkness, Sukuna. You’ve built walls around yourself, and it’s hard to reach you.”

His expression softened at your words, the weight of truth settling in. He was silent for some moments before he spoke in a quiet tone “ I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, the fierceness in his gaze faltering.

You placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “Then don’t. Show me that you can be more than the King of Curses. Show me that you can let me in.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed, a flash of determination igniting within them. “I will not let anyone take you from me,” he declared, his voice low and filled with intent. “If he makes you happy, then I will make you happier.”

You smiled, warmth flooding through you. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Just be yourself. Let me see the man beneath the curse.”

The night felt alive as you stood before him, the air thick with unspoken promises. Sukuna leaned in, his breath ghosting over your skin, and in that moment, everything around you faded away. The laughter and chatter of the festival became distant, replaced by the intensity of his gaze.

“You are the light I didn’t know I needed,” he murmured, inching closer. “Let me show you how a king can love.”

As his lips brushed against yours, a spark ignited—a connection that transcended the darkness surrounding him. You could feel his walls crumbling, the fierce determination to change enveloping you both.

When the kiss broke, Sukuna looked into your eyes, the weight of the world seeming to lift. “I won’t let you go, not to anyone else,” he vowed.

And with that promise, you stepped away from the shadows of uncertainty, embracing the light of your bond, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead together.

In the Heian night, amidst the celebration and laughter, two souls found their way back to each other, forging a connection that would defy the darkness, a love that could conquer all.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

ivyyyyyyyy i think a frostbite with barty and "tell me three reasons why I should put up with you." "well, for starters, I'm cute." would be super adorable in your style <333 congrats again mwah

Carinaaaaa, thank you so much, love!! <333 You get me and my dramatic muse (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) I swear he’s my spirit animal in his over-the-top glory! I’m so glad you think he and my style fit well together, that means the world (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) And thank you for the congrats, mwah!

ivy's 1k celebration ❄️ navigation ❄️ prompt list

ˋ°•*⁀➷ BARTY CROUCH JR #44: "Tell me three reasons why I should put up with you." "Well, for starters, I'm cute."

You sigh, looking over at Barty with an eyebrow raised, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as he leans lazily against the wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets. You’re not sure what he’s done this time to drive you up the wall, but he’s certainly acting like he hasn’t just spent the last twenty minutes making it his life’s mission to be a menace.

“Tell me three reasons why I should even put up with you,” you say, arms crossed and giving him an unimpressed look.

Barty’s eyes spark mischievously, clearly ready to meet your challenge with enthusiasm. He straightens up, putting on a look of mock-seriousness as he dramatically flips an imaginary lock of hair over his shoulder, like he's about to deliver a line from a play.

“Welllllll,” he begins, drawing out the word as if he’s really contemplating it, “for starters, I’m cute.” He flashes you a grin that’s as smug as it is endearing, the corners of his mouth curving up like he’s already won.

You can’t help it—you scoff, rolling your eyes at him as you cross your arms tighter. “Yeah, sure, you’re cute.”

To your surprise, Barty’s face lights up in a way that’s so genuine it makes you falter for just a second. His eyes glint with excitement, and he practically beams at you, looking like a kid who’s just been handed a massive candy bar. “Oh! So you do think I’m cute!” he practically shouts, clearly reveling in the supposed compliment.

You can’t believe how easily he’s fallen for that, and a smirk tugs at your lips. You’re not going to let him have his little victory so easily. “If by ‘cute,’ you mean overly obnoxious, a bane to my existence, an insufferable little gremlin with no respect for personal space, then yes. You’re adorable,” you say, layering each word with as much sarcasm as you can muster.

Barty gasps, clutching his chest dramatically like he’s just been mortally wounded. “How could you?!” His voice cracks as he stumbles backward, casting you a wounded look as if you’ve stabbed him with betrayal itself. He clutches an invisible wound on his chest, stumbling back to collapse onto the couch like a tragic hero in the final act of his life. “Obnoxious? A gremlin? A bane to your existence?! How could you say such hurtful things? I thought we had something special!”

By now, you’re laughing despite yourself, trying to cover your mouth as a few giggles slip out. Barty peeks from under his hand, clearly pleased to have gotten a reaction out of you, his face breaking into a victorious grin as he sees your shoulders shaking with laughter.

“See?” he says, dropping the act entirely and flashing you that ever-smug grin. “That’s reason two: I make you laugh, and you know you love it.” He wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, looking at you with such exaggerated confidence that it’s impossible not to laugh harder.

“Oh, Merlin,” you mutter, trying to compose yourself even as he gazes at you with the utmost satisfaction. “I don’t know if I ‘love’ it, but you sure do keep things interesting.”

Barty pretends to be offended, once again clutching his chest like he’s barely holding himself together. “Only ‘interesting’? Treasure, please, don’t shortchange me,” he says, rolling his eyes in mock despair. “I’m magnificent. I’m a vision. A one-of-a-kind gem in your otherwise humdrum life. Who else brings the kind of sparkle, the absolute pizzazz, that I do?”

You try to keep a straight face as you reply, “Pizzazz? The only ‘pizzazz’ you bring is when you manage to knock over three things in a row and try to play it off like it was intentional.”

He gasps again, this time managing to look somehow even more insulted. “You think I’m clumsy?” he asks, eyes wide with faux horror. “No, no, my love, that’s just me leaving a mark on the world, showing my… my undeniably charming presence.”

“Oh, is that what you’re calling it now?” you reply, trying to fight back a grin. “And here I thought it was just you being a klutz.”

Barty sniffs, lifting his chin with a dignified air. “Well, I don’t expect you to understand the intricacies of my charm, Treasure. It’s a rare gift, one that mere mortals such as yourself might struggle to comprehend.”

“Rare gift?” you echo, chuckling as he leans into his own grandeur. “If anything, it’s a rare torture.”

He laughs, clearly enjoying every second of your banter. “Oh, admit it,” he says, leaning forward, “you’d be absolutely miserable without me. Who else would provide you with endless entertainment, constant compliments, and the kind of delightful companionship that I do?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to look as unimpressed as possible. “Endless entertainment, maybe. As for companionship… I think I could find quieter, less ego-inflated options.”

He gasps yet again, stumbling back into the couch as if he’s been struck. “Quieter? Quieter? How could you even suggest such a thing? The silence would be deafening, and you’d be haunted by the memory of my delightful voice, echoing in the void.”

“Haunted by your voice? That sounds more like a nightmare than a fond memory,” you say with a grin, unable to keep up the unimpressed act much longer.

Barty pauses, noticing the way you’re smiling at him, and his expression softens for a moment, a genuine glimmer of happiness slipping through his playful mask. “Alright, reason three,” he says, his voice lower and a little gentler. “I make you smile, and I know that’s worth something.”

You try to stifle your reaction, but the warmth in his voice catches you off guard, and you find yourself unable to hide your smile.

“You think that counts as a real reason?” you ask, half-jokingly, even though you’re fully aware that it’s a perfectly good reason.

“Of course it does,” he says, leaning in closer with a look of triumph. “So, tell me, have I convinced you?”

You give him a long look, trying to keep your face serious but failing as a smirk creeps in. “Fine. Maybe you’re not entirely unbearable,” you admit.

He grins, looking as overjoyed as if you’d just handed him the world. “I’ll take it!” he says with a flourish, sweeping you into a dramatic bow. “It is a privilege and a pleasure to be tolerated by you.”

Laughing, you give him a playful shove. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s far too late for that, Treasure.” He winks, flashing you that smug grin again, and you know, despite the constant teasing, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

the nickname 'Treasure' is taken from the lovely @ellecdc; aka the best barty writer everrr •ᴗ•

[skrrts]

I kissed, so it's mine (drabble)

✧ gn!reader x song mingi ✧ genre: non idol, established relationship, jealousy ✧ word count: 667 ✧ labels: soft jealousy

Mingi really hates it when others look at you in that one particular way, he doesn't doubt your feelings but he can't change it but wants to make sure they know you already had given your heart away.

a/n: short drabble i had saved but never posted, not proofread

Song Mingi never considered himself to be the jealous type because he really wasn't. He loved spending his evenings with you, fingers brushing through your hair while he tugged you closer and placed soft kisses on your head. The way you would chuckle, complain how it tickled, and then carefully look up to him before teasing how he always had this particular smile around you. The two of you were in love. Period. There was no doubt about your feelings or loyalty, oh no. The issue was him alone and the people who looked so longingly at you.

He could see that guy, his gaze wandering over your body while you sat at that library desk, your fingers playing with your hair while reading a book for your lecture tomorrow. You are stunning, beautiful, gorgeous. He could understand why people would do it but it did not change that he was having this weird feeling deep down in his stomach that wanted to walk right to them, telling them to piss off.

Mingi wanted them to know that you already belonged to somebody.

He would enjoy it if you did the same when others lingered too long around him, but unlike Mingi, your trust was strong enough never to lead to such a reaction. Oh, how he was jealous for just that as well! Even Yunho told him to just relax, not to think so much about it, as long as the two of you were on the same understanding, everything would be okay.

Why was he feeling like that then?

Mingi bit down on his lip when he saw that guy drawing closer to you after his friend very obviously challenged him to do so. This dumb smirk and handshake they exchanged. What did they think you were, a prey? A bet to entertain their boredom?! This thought made him angry because you deserved nothing but the world and anyone who didn't get that was beyond stupid.

A long time ago, before meeting his friend group, he'd probably have punched this guy right in the face, yelling to screw off just because there were times when something or somebody was really important to him and emotions run on a high that Mingi lost control but thanks to the people who loved and supported him, he had outgrown it.

Which did not mean he had no intentions to make a point. Mingi was yours, and you were his.

The same moment as the guy appeared, Mingi was by your side, pulling you closer and into a surprise kiss. Your little gasp was cute and just gave him further confidence. You wouldn't support him in making a scene but you did like it when he showed how much he was into you. He cared little that the two of you were in the library, others glaring and staring when his arms tugged you closer, bodies almost flushed against one another while he playfully bit down on your bottom lip. It took just a little bit of self-control to stop further events from taking place.

Your smile was almost innocent when you finally leaned back: "Mingi". Oh, how he enjoyed the burning gazes of the guy who had witnessed all of it. Unlike you, his voice wasn't quiet at all: "Sorry I'm late babe." You didn't know he was coming, it was intended to be a surprise.

The loud hiss and complaints about why people are into baby faces made you turn your head in confusion for a moment, watching how the other guy rushed off but Mingi had no intention of celebrating his personal little victory without wasting time on the guy. His fingers gently cupped your chin and turned your head gazes locked as he kissed you again.

You simply chuckled into the kiss, arm curled around your neck as you leaned in, unaware that Mingi always would make sure people wouldn't forget you were his, especially as this way of doing it was all so enjoyable.