#this should have been fixed days ago!!! weeks!!!!!

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 

   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 

   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 

   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 

   Live. 

   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 

   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 

   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 

   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 

   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 

   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 

   And that something is Joel.

   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 

   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 

   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 

   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 

   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 

   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 

   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 

   It’s too fucking much.

   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 

   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 

   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 

   Holy shit. 

   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 

   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 

   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 

   You could get lost in here.

   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 

   He’s warm. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 

   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 

   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 

   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 

   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 

   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 

   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

   “Really,” he nods with a smile.

   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 

   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 

   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 

   “I used to. A long time ago.”

   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 

   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 

   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 

   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 

   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 

   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 

   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 

   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 

   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 

   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 

   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 

   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 

   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 

   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 

   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 

   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 

   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 

   You can do this. Fight the fear. 

   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 

   You can do this. 

   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 

   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 

   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 

   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 

   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 

   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

   “I’ll take you back.”

   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 

   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 

   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 

   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 

   He thinks you’re important. 

   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 

   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 

   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 

   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

   “Is he still…”

   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 

   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  

   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 

   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 

   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 

   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 

   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 

   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 

   The parking lot…

   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 

   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 

   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 

   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 

   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

   “Joel… I…”

   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 

   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 

   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 

   You’re pathetic.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 

   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 

   Warm. He’s so warm. 

   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 

   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 

   Warm. He’s so warm.

   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 

   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

   “Mhm,” you hum back.

   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 

   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 

   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 

   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 

   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 

   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 

   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 

   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 

   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 

   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

   You’re so brave. He called you brave.

   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 

   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 

   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

   “Okay,” you whisper.

   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

   You can do this. 

   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

   “Always.”

   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 

   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 

   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 

   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 

   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 

   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 

   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 

   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 

   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 

   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 

   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 

   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 

   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 

   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  

   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 

   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 

   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 

   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 

   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 

   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 

   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 

   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 

   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 

   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 

   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 

   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

   He’s proud of you.

   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 

   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 

   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 

   It looks better on you. 

   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 

   He gave you his flannel.

   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 

   “Ice cream?”

   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

   “Whatever for?” you giggle.

   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

   “Well, yes. But…”

   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 

   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 

   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 

   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

   “I’d love some ice cream.”

   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 

   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

RTA, was Catherine treated for cancer or pre-cancer cells? Royal Reporter Rhiannon Mills wrote that "In March the princess confirmed that pre-cancerous cells had been found following abdominal surgery and that she would have to undergo a course of preventative chemotherapy." Kensington Palace never corrected that statement by Rhiannon Mills. I admire Catherine a lot but her two video statements to the public on her health left me confused so I thought I would ask you for clarification. Thanks!

Let's work through it step by step. I'll bold the timeline so if you don't care about analysis or explanation, you can scroll through quickly.

In January 2024, KP announced that Kate was undergoing a planned abdominal surgery.

Now, "planned surgery" has confused a lot of people, especially after KP announced in December 2023 that William and Kate were planning a visit to Italy at the request of the Foreign Office. If they knew Kate was having surgery in January, why did they announce the trip?

So all that "planned surgery" means is that Kate was under doctor's care for a medical condition and for whatever reason - either exploratory (e.g., she's had an issue for a long time, nothing's worked, let's open you up and see what's going on) or emergent (e.g., bloodwork came back wonky or new symptoms developed that only surgery could address) - they scheduled her for surgery.

Here's an example of planned emergent surgery. Many years ago on a Saturday afternoon, I - a professional klutz - badly hurt my ankle falling down the stairs. I went to urgent care believing it was a bad sprain, only to find out that it was actually a very bad break that most likely needed surgery to fix. Urgent Care referred me to an orthopedic surgeon. We called the orthopedic surgeon Monday morning, they fit me in Monday afternoon, and at the appointment, the orthopedic surgeon said "yeah, you really need surgery. I'm not in the OR until Thursday but my partner is operating tomorrow and he can fit you in in the morning." I said "Sign me up for tomorrow, doc." So even though the cause for my surgery was emergent, it was still a planned surgery because it was scheduled in advance.

An emergency surgery is when you're rushed to the hospital (usually an emergency room) and they roll you right into the operating room after being evaluated.

So all that said, it's likely that whatever medical issue Kate was having, the initial expectation was that her surgery would be an easy-breezy-outpatient cake with just a few days at home to rest and then back to work and onwards to Italy. Except it wasn't because KP announced Kate's recovery time was going to take a good several weeks and her and William's schedules were cleared.

At the end of March 2024, Kate announced that her condition had actually been cancerous and she was undergoing preventative chemotherapy.

Here's what she actually said: “In January, I underwent major abdominal surgery in London and at the time, it was thought that my condition was non-cancerous. The surgery was successful. However, tests after the operation found cancer had been present. My medical team therefore advised that I should undergo a course of preventative chemotherapy and I am now in the early stages of that treatment."

The read-between-the-lines is that whatever procedure Kate had done, it was totally routine and something had been removed, which was sent for biopsy, which concluded cancer was present, and further testing (most likely bloodwork and/or additional scans) determined that no other cancerous cells had been detected. And while the testing determined no other cancerous cells had been, Kate's medical team did a risk assessment and most likely they felt that there was a good risk that cancer could continue developing so they prescribed preventative chemotherapy to decrease that risk.

Now the issue is that "preventative chemotherapy" is a bit of a misnomer. The actual medical term is "adjuvant chemotherapy" ('preventative chemotherapy' is the colloquial everyman non-medical term), which is when a patient undergoes chemotherapy after a primary course of treatment to kill remaining cancer cells or to reduce the risk of cancer returning or spreading.

In Kate's case, the surgery she had in January ended up being the primary treatment to her cancer. She then underwent chemotherapy to reduce the risk of that cancer returning.

Kate's statement also revealed two other things about her condition:

That whatever Kate's initial issue was (the one that led to the surgery in the first place), the surgery addressed it and that problem was no longer afflicting her.

Preventative/adjuvant chemotherapy is a popular treatment for cancer of the breast, lung, bowel, and ovaries. Since KP and Kate both confirmed it was "abdominal surgery," we can probably safely conclude that whatever Kate's condition, it was related to her bowels/intestines.

In June 2024, Kate released a second statement about her treatment to manage everyone's expectations about her attendance at Trooping.

She said: I have been blown away by all the kind messages of support and encouragement over the last couple of months. It really has made the world of difference to William and me and has helped us both through some of the harder times. I am making good progress, but as anyone going through chemotherapy will know, there are good days and bad days. On those bad days you feel weak, tired and you have to give in to your body resting. But on the good days, when you feel stronger, you want to make the most of feeling well. My treatment is ongoing and will be for a few more months. On the days I feel well enough, it is a joy to engage with school life, spend personal time on the things that give me energy and positivity, as well as starting to do a little work from home.

I'm looking forward to attending The King's Birthday Parade this weekend with my family and hope to join a few public engagements over the summer, but equally knowing I am not out of the woods yet. I am learning how to be patient, especially with uncertainty. Taking each day as it comes, listening to my body, and allowing myself to take this much needed time to heal. Thank you so much for your continued understanding, and to all of you who have so bravely shared your stories with me.

For me, this message is very much targeted to the press and the public who may think her appearance at Trooping means everything is all good and she's back to work. I also feel like it is a very direct response to criticism that she isn't really sick if she's out and about smiling in public - and it's also probably the most direct response we've ever seen Kate give to the media since begging the paparazzi to leave her alone in her 20s.

In August 2024, Rebecca English revealed that Kate had been unwell long before January's procedure.

For me, Becky's article confirms that the January surgery was probably exploratory after other treatments didn't work.

And also for me, Becky's article is a KP-sanctioned clapback to more criticism of the "if she's well enough to go to Wimbledon, she's well enough to work" variety. I don't want to say it's a complete defense of Kate and KP's handling of her health issues (because her discussion of the Waleses' summer activities - though well-intentioned - further supports the workshy narrative that's dogged William and Kate since they married) but it does serve as a follow-up to Kate's June message about what her progress has been like and is another attempt to manage expectations about Kate's return to work.

In September 2024, Kate announced that she had completed her chemotherapy and was in a new phase of recovery and convalescence, and starting to look forward.

She said: As the summer comes to an end, I cannot tell you what a relief it is to have finally completed my chemotherapy treatment. The last nine months have been incredibly tough for us as a family...Doing what I can to stay cancer free is now my focus. Although I have finished chemotherapy, my path to healing and full recovery is long and I must continue to take each day as it comes.

Kate's use of the phrase "stay cancer free" likely means she will be under closer medical observation for the next several years. Whether that means more scans and tests to monitor her condition or medication she needed to take or substantial life changes she needs to make, all of that counts as work towards "stay[ing] cancer free". So Kate may be out of the woods as far as the initial diagnosis or emergency may go, but she still has a long road ahead of her in terms of recovery.

In fact, medical practice requires a patient to be in complete remission for five years to be considered cured of cancer so I suspect that may be what Kate is referring to, albeit in plainer non-medical language.

Shortly after Kate's statement, on September 9, 2024, Rhiannon Mills (reporting for Sky News) recapped Kate's condition.

She said: "In March the princess confirmed that pre-cancerous cells had been found following abdominal surgery and that she would have to undergo a course of preventative chemotherapy."

On November 11, 2024, Sky News republished Rhiannon's September 9th article to say "In March, the princess confirmed she was having preventative chemotherapy after cancer was found in tests."

The edit has caused conspiracy theorists all over the internet to pick up the story and begin accusing KP/Kate of faking cancer again because "pre-cancerous cells" isn't actually cancer. It's cells that could turn cancerous and even still, preventative chemotherapy is a proper course of treatment to address pre-cancerous cells.

But here's the thing. Out of everyone that was being briefed by KP and out of everyone who has access to royal and royal-adjacent circles, Rhiannon Mills is the only one to say "pre-cancerous cells." Everyone else cited Kate's own words and KP's own announcement. That's a big hint right there that Rhiannon and Sky News messed up.

And also, before KP released Kate's statement in March, others on the rota - including Bower (who specifically said this on television) - were hinting that Kate's surgery had been very serious, her condition was serious though not fatal, and the public would be shocked if we knew what they knew. That's not pre-cancerous cells.

So for me, all signs point to yes, Kate actually did have cancer. She didn't know she had cancer until whatever her surgeons removed in January 2024 was biopsied. She most likely underwent further tests after the biopsy results came back and those tests concluded cancer was no longer present but yet her doctors still advised preventative/adjuvant chemotherapy to reduce the risk of cancer returning or spreading. So that could mean that whatever additional tests Kate had done identified pre-cancerous cells or it could just mean that the doctors felt "this is the Princess of Wales, the future queen. We should give her the best treatment possible to ensure she remains healthy, which is preventative/adjuvant chemotherapy."

(Preventative precaution is the same reason Camilla had a hysterectomy in 2007; she's had several gynecological issues that could have developed into a bigger problem so rather than to "wait and see," her doctors advised hysterectomy. It really honestly is par for the course not just for women in the monarchy but for all women - and men too - who want to do everything they can to remain healthy. It’s why we get knees and hips replaced and we get cataracts removed and some women choose mastectomies despite having no diagnosis when there’s a family history of breast cancer or they have the BRCA gene, etc.)

What a lot of the conspiracy theorists and trolls are dismissing is that when you have cancer but you don't know it, you're still a cancer patient. When you have cancer and it's eradicated by whatever combination of treatments, you're still a cancer patient. When you've been diagnosed with pre-cancerous cells and your doctors prescribe preventative chemotherapy, you're still a chemotherapy patient. When you're going through a shitty time but you still show up for your family with a smile on your face because cameras are going to be there, your troubles are still there even if no one else sees it.

So I think Rhiannon Mills mispoke and no one caught it until just now when everyone was pouring over all the statements Kate has made in light of a very glamorous and normal (if you will) appearance on Saturday night while being pictured on Sunday looking tired and run-down.

But of course, YMMV.

And also, even Page Six has come to Kate's defense, saying that "Sky News correspondent Rhiannon Mills erroneously reported at the time that 'pre-cancerous cells had been found' in Middleton as opposed to the royal battling cancer." And when Page Six is defending the Waleses (considering that they're on the Sussexes' payroll), I really do lean towards Rhiannon Mills screwing up and no one catching it until the article started getting traction amongst the conspiracy theorists and trolls.

[rheanyraaaa]

Water Lilly Part 5

Enemies To Lovers

Robb Stark x Frey! Reader (F)

Summary: Reader and Robb do not enjoy each-others company, but it is mendable, and it is slowly mending, they are both, slowly understanding.

(Warnings none: this is a softer chapter)

AN: idk, i guess it’s a slow build if your into that stuff, any suggestions would help, i have so stuff planned, just need to figure out a timeline for those events.

——————————————————————————

The tension between you and Robb had started to wear you down, fraying at your patience and heart alike. After the conversation in your tent, the weight of the strained silence you shared seemed heavier, more burdensome than ever. That night, after a long stretch of quiet between you, you finally took a deep breath and looked at him with a small, hesitant softness you hadn’t allowed yourself to show before.

“Robb,” you began, voice quiet but steady, “I think we should start over. This hasn’t been easy on either of us, and I… I’d rather not live this way.” You met his gaze, surprised to see something softer flicker there. “Maybe we could at least try to be friends. Or, if that’s not possible… try to be kind to each other.”

For a moment, he seemed taken aback, his blue eyes fixed on you with something close to surprise. Then he nodded slowly, his expression softening, a hint of his guarded mask slipping away. “Aye… maybe we could,” he replied, his voice rough but genuine. “I’d like that.”

A small smile found its way onto your face, and after that, you both fell back into a quieter, gentler silence. It was a start and a fragile one at that but at least it was something.

In the days that followed, you threw yourself into archery, seeking comfort in the familiar, repetitive rhythm of drawing and releasing arrows. The bow was an old friend, a skill your brothers had passed on to you long ago, one that Walder Frey had sneered at but never quite forbidden. You could feel your mind clear with each shot, your muscles remembering the draw and release as if no time had passed. It was a welcome reprieve from the camp, from the eyes that watched you as Robb Stark’s wife, and from the tangled emotions that had come to fill your life since the wedding.

One chilly afternoon, while practicing on the edge of the training grounds, you spotted Robb across the field, walking alongside Talisa. She laughed softly at something he said, and he smiled down at her with a warmth you hadn’t seen him show anyone else. A pang of something sharp settled in your chest, but you pushed it aside, focusing back on your bow.

Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you saw something flash. Another soldier practicing his aim had let loose a stray arrow that arched in the direction of Robb and Talisa, unintentional but deadly all the same. Without thinking, you nocked an arrow, took aim, and released. Your arrow shot through the air, meeting the stray arrow with a sharp clink, both tumbling to the ground in a harmless tumble of wood and feathers.

Heart racing, you hurried over to the spot where the arrows had fallen, aware that both Robb and Talisa had turned, eyes wide with surprise. You knelt and picked up the arrows, offering Robb a brief, almost apologetic nod before mumbling, “Apologies. Loose arrows… bad aim, I suppose.” Then, before you could let the tension stretch into awkwardness, you quickly turned and headed off, bow still in hand, not trusting yourself to look back.

Yet as you walked away, you couldn’t ignore the feeling of his eyes following you, a quiet, lingering gaze that burned into your back. When you finally dared a glance over your shoulder, you saw Robb still watching you, an expression of disbelief and something else, something almost admiring etched across his face.

——————————————————————————-

The days turned into weeks, and slowly, something more than tolerance and polite words began to grow between you and Robb. He started seeking you out for conversations, and not just to exchange brief courtesies or to hear about the baby’s progress. Instead, he asked you questions about the running of the camp, listened to your opinions on morale, and even sought your advice.

As the weeks passed, your belly began to swell, the weight of the child becoming more noticeable with each passing day. The gentle curve of your abdomen grew unmistakable, and Robb, perhaps more mindful than he let on, seemed to remember it constantly. His hand would sometimes rest there when you spoke, fingers splayed protectively over the small bump, as if silently affirming both his duty and connection to you and the life you were carrying.

You still went to practice archery when you could, determined to keep some measure of independence and control. But as your fingers began to plump and your balance shifted, drawing the bowstring became more challenging. What once felt like an easy, natural motion now required careful focus, and even then, your aim was beginning to waver.

One brisk afternoon, as you struggled to keep your arrow steady, you heard a familiar voice call out from behind.

“Having trouble, my lady?” Robb’s tone was teasing but light, and as you turned, you saw a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You straightened, brushing a lock of hair from your face, and gave a small huff. “Only a little,” you admitted, casting an irritated glance at your slightly swollen fingers. “I was always good at this back home.”

He walked over, looking down at you with a slight smirk. “Looks like you’re blaming those stout fingers,” he said with a raised eyebrow. His voice was gentle, but there was a playfulness to his tone you hadn’t heard before, as though he found the situation as amusing as it was endearing.

“Stout?” you repeated, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, both embarrassed and indignant. “They’re just… adapting.” You wriggled your fingers in demonstration, but that only seemed to make his smile widen.

“Oh, of course,” he murmured, his smile turning softer as he took in the sight of you. Without warning, he stepped closer, and before you could protest, he moved behind you, positioning himself so his chest was against your back, his arms moving around you to cover your own.

“Here,” he said, his voice low and steady, guiding your hands with his as they settled around the bow. “Try it like this.”

The warmth of him at your back was overwhelming, and you tried to focus on the task at hand, though his presence made it hard to concentrate. His hands were firm, steadying yours as he adjusted your grip on the bowstring. He was close enough that you could feel his breath against your temple, his fingers covering your own as you struggled to draw the string back.

“Relax,” he murmured softly, his hands guiding you with a patient precision. “Focus on the target. Breathe in… then release.”

You tried to follow his instructions, but the embarrassment of your earlier miss, combined with the sudden closeness, made you fumble again. The string slipped from your fingers, the arrow dropping limply a few feet in front of you.

Robb chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that you could feel in his chest pressed against your back. “That’s a start,” he said, humor lacing his voice. “Though I don’t think the enemy will be trembling just yet.”

You rolled your eyes, a flush rising to your cheeks as you mumbled, “It’s these ridiculous fingers.” You glanced down at your hands, both apologetic and self-conscious.

He looked down at your hands as well, his own fingers sliding over yours as if in silent examination. “I’d hardly call them ridiculous,” he said, his voice softening. “Though, yes… perhaps a bit stout.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a faint smirk.

You felt the blush deepen, mortified but oddly charmed by the teasing. “You’re not helping,” you said, trying to hide your smile as you nudged him gently with your elbow.

He laughed again, his breath warm against the top of your head. “I’m only saying it because it’s true,” he replied, a grin playing at his lips. “Besides, I think they’re rather… well-suited. chubby or not.”

Before you could respond, he guided your arms back into position, his hands steady over yours as he adjusted your grip with surprising gentleness. You felt his chest press closer against your back, his warmth almost distracting you from the task at hand.

“Now,” he murmured, “just follow through this time. Draw, aim, release.”

With his hands covering yours and his voice a low murmur in your ear, you tried again, feeling steadier this time, even as your heart hammered in your chest. With his guidance, the arrow shot straight, striking close to the center of the target.

“There,” he said, his voice pleased. “See? All it takes is focus.” His hands lingered over yours for a moment, his fingers warm and solid, before he finally stepped back.

You turned to face him, feeling a bit breathless. “Thank you,” you said, unsure what else to add. But Robb only looked at you, his expression unreadable as he gave a small nod.

“Anytime,” he replied, though there was something softer in his gaze, something almost affectionate.

That evening was quiet, the camp subdued under a thick blanket of mist. Inside Robb’s tent, Catelyn watched her son with a keen gaze, her brow furrowed as she spoke, her voice low but unyielding.

“I’ve noticed you and your wife seem… better acquainted,” she remarked, her tone pointed yet gentle. “It’s good to see you speaking to her more often, Robb. She’s a bright girl, you know. Observant, strong in ways that I don’t think you’ve yet appreciated.” She paused, her expression softening slightly. “Perhaps it’s time to put the past aside and focus on this match, it could work, if you let it.”

Robb looked away, his jaw tight, as though wrestling with his own thoughts. “She’s… she’s alright,” he conceded, shrugging slightly. “I admit, she’s been more than I expected. She’s no coward, and there’s a wisdom to her that…” He trailed off, considering, but his tone hardened. “But I can’t let go of Talisa, Mother. I can’t… not her.” His voice softened, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

A tense silence hung in the air as Catelyn’s gaze sharpened, disappointment flashing in her eyes. Her voice grew colder, each word heavy with quiet judgment. “Robb, you’ve taken vows before gods and men. Vows that bind you to your wife. You have a child growing within her, your child, an heir to Winterfell.” She paused, folding her hands, as though to contain the strength of her disappointment. “If you’re wise, you’ll honor those vows and give your loyalty where it’s owed, not to some passing fancy. Do you want to dishonor her further?”

Robb’s head snapped up, his gaze troubled, but he held his ground. “Talisa isn’t a passing fancy,” he murmured defensively. “You don’t know her, Mother. She… she was with me when I had no one else. I can’t simply cast her aside.”

Catelyn took a step closer, her face tight with restrained anger. “And now, you have a wife. A girl who has sacrificed and suffered to be here, who is carrying your child and has earned the respect of this camp.” Her voice softened with a hint of pleading.

“Y/N is a young woman, forced into this, just like you. And she is proving herself worthy of your loyalty.”

He averted his gaze, the weight of his mother’s words sinking in, but he said nothing. Catelyn’s disappointment hung heavy between them, filling the silence with unspoken truths.

She shook her head slowly, a shadow of sadness crossing her face. “You are my son, Robb. But it pains me to say that you are letting me down.” She waited a beat, letting her words settle, then turned on her heel and walked out, leaving Robb alone with the growing ache of his thoughts, his heart torn between his past and his present.

——————————————————————————

tags!!

@samieree @maysileeewrites

[tortademaracuya]

I cant believe i have been stuck trying to get to work the most basic shit ever and Im gonna fail at everything because Im too dumb to realize what's not working 🙃

[dawnthefluffyduck]

New game interest unlocked

(crow in bottom right belongs to @patchwork-crow-writes)

[spaghett-onaplate]

i need to pack my bags and get the hell out of frown town

[arolesbianism]

Mental health shit is kicking my ass but at least I have my silly guys

[thethingything]

yesterday we were like "hmm I think I need a doctor's appointment. I guess I'll book one tomorrow if we happen to wake up early" and then we fucking woke up earlier than expected, checked our phone, and saw a message from the clinic we go to saying their phone lines are having issues and it's a town-wide problem so we can't book an appointment but we are awake early and sure our sleep schedule has been fucked for weeks anyway but I do not want to be awake right now

[paarksunghoon]

FIXED COMFORT | SUNGHOON

SUMMARY: typically, sunghoon’s the one who takes care of you when you’ve had one too many. but once in a blue moon, he lets his guard down and allows you to care for him the way he does for you.

or, the one where sunghoon’s drunk at a bar and misses his girlfriend a little too much.

NOTES: idk I just feel like someone should let him sleep for six months straight!!!

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 4.4K (4444 exactly—she’s a shortie).

WARNINGS: fluff on fluff on fluff.

***

“Hey, do you think you could come get Sunghoon from the bar? He’s been asking for you for the past hour.”  

Jay’s phone call pulls you out from a deep slumber on a Saturday night that falls on a day with no plans other than pure relaxation. Sunghoon had been preoccupied with work and classes this past week and wanted to unwind by drinking at his favorite bar with his closest friends and all you wanted to do was sleep the weekend away. 

Since the two of you started dating six months ago after being friends for a little over two years, you both agree on the notion that you’ve found a good balance between time spent together and apart respectively. Nothing fundamentally changed with the exception of kissing and touching one another in the way a couple would. He still respects your independence and you respect his time away from you as well. 

Sunghoon learned quickly that you’re the type of person who values your alone time more than anything else. When he first started developing feelings for you, grappling with your absence wasn’t easy. He initially thought you weren’t interested in getting to know him the way he was with you because you weren’t afraid to decline invitations and telling people ‘no.’ Slowly, over the course of many months of pining and late night conversations, did Sunghoon learn that you’re typically your best self after a moment of isolation. 

Your boyfriend is somewhere in between an introvert and extrovert. He tends to be shy when he meets people he isn’t familiar with while his loud, rambunctious attitude is typically reserved for those who know him best. He likes to keep to himself for the most part, giving some of his personality away when he feels his walls start to crumble naturally. You love that he has a good head on his shoulders and that he’s able to tell you about his feelings while maintaining an air of confidence. He doesn’t inherently need anybody; he likes your company and will do anything to keep it.

Moments like this are when your heart feels softer for Sunghoon than when the two of you were just friends.

“I know you wanted to spend the weekend alone but Hoon’s been saying your name all night,” Jay says. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“No, it’s fine.” You’re sure Jay can hear your brittle voice. “Are you guys at the bar near your place?”

“That’s the one. Thanks again and I’m really sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t sweat it. Cook me something next week if you still feel bad.” 

“I can do that. Chili oil noodles with shrimp sound good?”

“It’s almost like you know me.” He laughs at your sarcasm. 

“Drive safe.” 

When Jay hangs up, you allow yourself a few minutes to adjust and wake up, stretching your body from the warm comfort of your blankets. You change out of Sunghoon’s shirt to put on pajama pants and another one of his stolen shirts, opting not to take a jacket since you figure you won’t be out for very long. 

You thank your past self for filling up your gas tank before tonight after having put it off for a few days. Knowing Sunghoon, he would still scold you for allowing yourself to run nearly empty before filling it up even if he was inebriated. Somehow, knowing this about him brings a smile to your face.

Sunghoon’s the kind of guy who likes to have some control over certain things. He likes order and structure, often waking up at the same hour every weekday to build a routine his body can remember. He’s been like that since you first met him but you think it’s part of his charm. Even from two years ago, when you met him through Jake Sim, Sunghoon has maintained a level of confidence and control that he does now. On the heels of an impressive skating career before pivoting to focus on higher education, Sunghoon had his preferences and will stick by them. 

His discipline is the first thing you noticed when you met him for the first time. Jay, someone you were already familiar with, agreed to cook dinner with your friend group under the condition that everyone helped him shop and chip in for the meal. Sunghoon held Jake back from buying unnecessary things like boxed chocolate milk and candy because Jay had desserts back at his place. He held a checklist of items whereas the rest of your friends ran up and down the aisles without thinking much about what needed to be purchased.

Sunghoon’s near-meticulous behavior is juxtaposed to your chaotic and rambunctious nature. You often follow your gut instead of setting a solid plan because you’re not concerned with meeting deadlines, sans education. Whereas you tend to lean towards a go-with-the-flow attitude, Sunghoon is the opposite. But that’s something he loves about you.  

At a surface level distinction, it didn’t seem like the two of you would get along as well as you did. It surprised Jake when Sunghoon asked for your number so he could text you about seeing a comedy film with him as no one else in the group wanted to see it. Including you at an impromptu study session with him (Sunghoon was organized and neat while your pens were spread all over and your study methods, haphazard) felt like watching two people clash. 

Rather, you and Sunghoon complement one another. 

The idea of letting himself go with someone who wasn’t part of his friend collective was unheard of. Getting to know a girl who didn’t share similar lifestyles didn’t appeal to him before meeting you, and you’re inarguably the most chaotic person Sunghoon knows. But he finds that there’s order within your chaos—you know who you are and what you want, and you will not compromise yourself just to please other people. 

It’s what Sunghoon loves the most about you. There’s a boundary you never let anyone cross under the assumption that your own safety net feels compromised. He’s watched you lose friends for this same reason and has always admired the way you carry yourself like you know you deserve better than people who disrespect you. He’s witnessed the grace you maintain when people who call you a friend voice words of kindness but speak ill about you behind your back. If anything, Sunghoon feels pity for anyone who crosses you to the point of anger. To be envious of another’s confidence is one thing. To make that known is another. 

Sunghoon learns that you let your inhibitions go because holding control over yourself feels like a burden. It feels like setting a standard you will never be able to meet. He never thought of order in that way before getting to know you. Your approach to life sparked a new wave of emotions within him to the point where he was open and willing to let you farther into his life. 

His days were ruled by guidelines he had to maintain and proper etiquette that followed him even off the rink. The poise he carried from his career on the ice bled into his personal life too. Although, he doesn’t mind that it does. Sunghoon values any form of structure because it makes him feel like he has a purpose and that there’s something to be accomplished at the end of the day. 

Most times, Sunghoon’s feels like people judge him for his regimen and can’t fathom why he appreciates control so much. They tell him to let loose and enjoy his time away from his career. People always think he simply doesn’t know how to have fun because he’s set in his ways and won’t let other people coax him into doing something he’s not comfortable with. But not you. Sunghoon has never felt like you‘ve judged how he chooses to live his life. 

Before he knew it, a year had passed and he started to call you one of his best friends. The friendship was gradual. Sunghoon didn’t have many close female friends in the way he does with Heeseung, Jay, and Jake. You’re the first person since ending his career who hasn’t tried to pry into the why. In fact, Sunghoon enjoys that you didn’t bring it up. 

(You did, in the form of cooing over his younger self skating in competitions for the first time or roasting all of the outfits he had to wear. But somehow, all of your jabs made him feel happier than when people complimented his performance.)

Eventually, being around you felt too right. He loved it when you took naps on his bed and felt comfortable raiding your kitchen pantry without permission. Sunghoon could leave you in his apartment without him being in it and feel at ease. In fact, he started to look forward to coming home to you. All it took was seeing you wear his hoodie because you got too cold and forgot your jacket, to make him drop his bag by the front door and ask you to be his girlfriend. He hasn’t regretted anything with you since. 

The weather is cold outside since it’s approaching the middle of autumn. You let your car warm up and blast the heat all the way up while adjusting your defrosting settings before heading to the bar to pick up Sunghoon. You sift through your playlists and settle on soft indie melodies before you drive away from the curb. 

You’ve never seen Sunghoon get drunk to the point of needing extra help. Usually, you’re the one who goes a little too hard whenever Heeseung brings out the alcohol or if Jake offers an edible or two. Sunghoon likes to sit back and stay sober (or sober up by the end of the night) when he notices you having too much fun. He doesn’t mind, though. Sunghoon likes taking care of you because sometimes it gives him purpose. You’ve never understood that sentiment but to each their own. 

The only times you’ve seen him completely wasted are usually when you’re equally as gone, like on your first road trip as a couple. The five of you rented a lakehouse a few hours from Seoul and spent an entire weekend basking under the hot sun and chose to forget about university stress before finals would inevitably kick everyone’s ass. All five of you were cross-faded (but not without Jay and Sunghoon both prepping water bottles and snacks for when the munchies would hit prior to taking anything). You watched Sunghoon relax to the point where he was much quieter than he normally was and when you asked if he was doing alright, he looked you in the eye and told you he loved you for the first time. 

I always have, I think, he said as he brought your hand to his chest. You might not believe me because neither of us are sober but I swear I’ll tell you in the morning. 

Sunghoon gets affectionate when he’s drunk or high, often to the point of asking for reassurance. The rational side of his brain is temporarily disfigured. You don’t mind being there to tell him that he’s the love of your life and you’d never go anywhere when he gets like this. Although, you’re usually just as gone and gush all of your hidden emotionally-charged feelings, which pair well with Sunghoon’s need for validation sometimes. 

Your friends love your relationship. They don’t think it’s too much or too little, going so far as to take photos of the two of you when you aren’t looking. Some are funny like the pictures of you sleeping on his chest with drool pooling out of your mouth. Others are romantic and whimsical, like the pictures of Sunghoon looking at you like you’re the sunshine to his moonlight. They can’t get enough of you two. Your friends love knowing people they care about are deeply in love with one another and your relationship is somewhat of a reminder that true romance does exist. 

Thinking about this makes your heart swell as you park your car and tuck your keys inside your purse. The bouncer checks your ID and lets you inside the bar, and you already spot Jay off to the side. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he gives you a loose hug. “And sorry for waking you up.” 

You wave him off. “It’s fine. I’ve probably woken you up for worse.” 

“Yeah, like the time you and Jake wanted ramen at 3am and wouldn’t stop calling me because both of you got a little too high.” 

“Can you blame us?! You were like, two blocks away.” 

“Yeah, but did you need to eat with me?” 

“Duh. You’re like, the best person to eat a late night dinner with.” 

The two of you laugh as he leads you to the group. You see Sunghoon slumped over the table with his head in his arms and the rest of your friend group tries really hard not to seem too excited when they see you standing next to Jay. 

“Fucking finally.” Heeseung stands and gives you a quick side hug before Jake does the same. “Love you guys and all but he started to become unbearable when he kept showing us photos of you.”

Jake snorts. “Poor guy was almost about to cry.” That makes your heart soft. 

“He looks so cute,” you coo, tilting your head to savor this moment. It’s abnormal for you to be the sober one but you’re starting to understand why Sunghoon doesn’t mind taking care of you when you’re like this. 

Jay comes to stand next to you. “He’s not cute when he drank half his weight in alcohol and wouldn’t shut up about how pretty your hair is.” 

“What, do you don’t think my hair’s pretty?” The messy, unbrushed hair is enough to make the guys laugh. 

“Nah seriously, thanks for coming,” says Jake. “We felt bad calling you but he refuses to get out of his seat.” 

“It’s fine.” You wave him off and step closer to your boyfriend, who still hasn’t moved from his position. 

“Do your thing and we’ll be here if you need help bringing him to the car.” Heeseung smiles gratefully at you. 

Even the back of Sunghoon’s head is unfairly gorgeous. His hair always looks nice, although you credit that to his younger sister introducing him to a world of hair care products during his skating years. It feels soft to the touch as you stroke the back of his head until Sunghoon slowly comes to. You feel his body start to stir.

“Baby,” you say quietly, bending down until you’re next to him. “Wake up for me.” 

“Hm?” Sunghoon mumbles from his arms. He feels the sensation of your fingers carding through his hair and pulls himself from the table, wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth before realizing you’re standing next to him. “Y/N?”

“I’m right here.” 

He pulls his head up until he’s sitting upright in the booth, squinting up at you to adjust to the bar lights that disappeared when he closed his eyes. Your boyfriend looks so innocent like this. He looks at you with a wide, round gaze as if you’d appeared out of thin air and he’s trying his hardest to figure out how you’re standing in front of him. 

“Is it really you?” Sunghoon asks in a quiet voice. His tone makes your heart flutter and you reach your arms out until you’re cupping his jaw and rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his cheeks. Sunghoon melts into your touch and you feel his body start to relax. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, bug. Did you have fun tonight?”

He nods in your hands, “Mhm. Just tired now.”

“Jay said you were asking for me.” 

“I always ask for you.” Your cheeks heat up and you try to ignore the snickers from behind you. 

“Why don’t we go back to my place, yeah? You can sleep in my bed instead of this bar.” 

“Can we? I love the guys but I just missed you.”

“Simp,” Heeseung whispers before coughing into his fist. 

Sunghoon stands from the booth once you’ve taken a step back to give him the space to move. He’s surprisingly able to stand on his own and clutches onto his jacket as he makes his way to the door. 

“Sorry guys,” he mutters to the guys. 

“Yah, it’s fine,” Jay says as he waves Sunghoon off. 

“Get home safe,” Heeseung says as he opens the door for the two of you. Sunghoon waves behind him until you guide him to the car. 

“Can you put your jacket on for me?” You catch it in your hands after he nearly let them fall from his grasp. 

“Shit, sorry.” You watch Sunghoon put on one arm and then the other. He looks so childlike in this moment as he concentrates his hardest to put the jacket on without stumbling. 

It reminds you that he doesn’t show you this side of him often. Sunghoon, ever the poised individual who likes to know what’s ahead of him, has let his inhibitions down. Seeing his figure slowly push his body through the warm fabric has you biting back a smile. 

“Need help?”

Sunghoon looks down at his hands that are trying to zip his jacket up to no avail. He feels like his hands are too big and the zipper is too small. “Please.”

Your steady fingers cover Sunghoon’s and take over the tedious task. The metal is warm from his fingertips. You can feel him looking down at you and you temporarily fumble with the zipper, which makes him laugh.

“Silly,” he mutters. “Ah, fuck. I don’t know if I can open the door.”

You roll your eyes and open it for him. “You’re funny.” 

He slides into the seat as gracefully as he can without hitting his head on the roof. Sunghoon struggles, but manages to buckle himself in and grins up at you when he hears the click of the buckle. When you look down on him, the lamp post from above casts a soft glow on his face. He looks so youthful at this moment. Sunghoon has let go of his thoughts and couldn’t think about anything but the present moment even if he tried. 

He waits for you and mumbles about how cold it is when you turn the engine on. The warm air starts to uplift his spirits and he looks at you with us head pressed to the headrest.

“I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

“What?” you ask. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Usually I’m the one taking care of you.”

“You don’t always have to be brave, you know.” 

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything. He reaches out to envelope your hand in his and squeezes it until he’s holding it loosely in the quiet of the evening.

“I love you.” 

Your heart blooms. “I love you right back.” He seems satisfied with your response and lets go of your hand so that you can drive back to your apartment. 

When you park on the curb, Sunghoon’s sober enough to unbuckle his seatbelt and wait for you to turn the engine off before opening his door carefully. He steps outside and leans back on the car door until you walk around the hood of the vehicle and grabs your hands to pull you into him. 

You feel his lips on your before you register what’s happening. He tastes faintly of pineapple soju and beer, and his mouth is warm. Despite his inebriated state, Sunghoon’s able to hold you between his hands as he moves to place them on your hips to balance your body after you’ve stumbled into him. 

The kiss itself is slow. In fact, it feels as though Sunghoon has slowed time around so that the two of you could enjoy the late night kiss uninterrupted. You can barely hear anything besides the ringing in your ears after being caught by surprise due to your boyfriend’s abrupt movements. Your mouths move in slow tandem and Sunghoon nearly pushes his tongue inside your mouth before pulling away to rest his forehead against your own.

“My baby,” he whispers against your lips before giving you another quick peck. 

“You are so cute.” You blurt out this confession like you’re still pining after him. “Let’s go inside, yeah?” 

The apartment is warm compared to the environment outside and Sunghoon slips off his shoes in favor of wearing his designated slippers. He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time he does so, letting you pull him into the hallway until the two of you reach your bedroom. The hardwood floors feel better than the uneven pavement from outside.

He loves it here. It’s a sanctuary away from his apartment with the friends he will probably invite to his wedding. But something about your green comforter and hand-painted artwork adorning your walls makes Sunghoon feel like he would live by your side for the rest of his life. The scent of your room–warm peaches and vanilla–tugs at his heart strings. This is where he belongs. 

Likewise, you love seeing Sunghoon behave like this. It’s not commonplace for him to let people take care of him in the way you are now. He’s used to people looking out for his career and best interest but he struggles with allowing others to handle him with such care. After a decade of enduring harsh criticism and physical endurance, Sunghoon struggles to relax and allow others to take the reins. It’s partially why he loves taking care of you. Being able to provide that kind of love and support makes him feel wanted and needed, even if you tell him he’s more than enough a thousand times over. 

You leave him in your room to change his clothes taken from his designated drawer while you prepare skincare and the works. You hear him shuffle outside and fall onto the bed once, prompting you to hold your laughter in as you wash your hands and pull out hair clips for him to use. 

“I can’t lie,” Sunghoon says as you emerge from the bathroom to see him in a big t-shirt and pajama bottoms, “I’m really looking forward to you doing my skincare.” 

You snicker and pull your desk chair into the bathroom. “Now you know exactly how I feel every time I beg you to do mine when I’m drunk. Sit and close your eyes, please.” 

He follows your instructions and leans his back against the furniture. Sunghoon doesn’t fuss when you pin his hair back until it’s secure and allows you to make him feel pampered in a way he typically wouldn’t. 

“Did you have fun tonight?” 

Sunghoon hums. “Yeah, I did. The guys picked me up from my place and we had lunch at that seafood spot we’ve been meaning to try.” 

“Was it any good?”

“So good.” He licks his lips. “God, I’m still thinking about that shellfish soup. We ordered enough food to feed a village but it was so worth it. I wanna go with you.” 

“We can go wherever you want.” He smiles at your soft tone. 

“We also went to the beach and met some guys at the skate park by the highway. They were pretty nice and let us use their boards for a little. Heeseung got along with them the best, I think.”

“Heeseung makes friends with everybody.”

“He says he’s not social but that’s a lie.” Sunghoon twitches his nose when he feels a damp washcloth on his face. “We went to the bar afterwards and split it by round. I got the first and honestly, I don’t remember much after that.” 

“How are you feeling now, though?” you ask as you finish patting his skin dry. “Do you still feel dizzy?” Sunghoon opens his eyes and watches you apply a serum before dabbing it all over his face. 

“Not as much as before. I think I’m just tired.”

“And clingy, apparently.” 

Sunghoon smacks the back of your thighs. “Shut up. You love it.” You silence him by kissing his nose. 

While he brushes his teeth, you situate yourself underneath your plush covers and allow the weight of the blanket to fall on top of you. The sweet promise of a good night’s rest feels imminent, especially when you see your boyfriend emerge from the bathroom. He turns off the light and walks towards the empty side of the bed before he’s slipping himself beside you. 

Sunghoon’s an equal opportunist when it comes to sleeping positions. He loves it the most when your head is on his chest and when your arms are tangled in one another because he likes knowing that the two of you yearn for each other equally. But when he gets like this, Sunghoon takes initiative to maneuver himself until half of his chest and head are on top of you. He situates his arm around your waist and pulls himself closer to your body until a deep, satisfied sigh comes from the back of his throat. 

He hums in appreciation when your fingers begin to massage his scalp. Sunghoon’s hair is soft and silky and on most days, you’re the only person who gets to touch it. The slowness of your movements paired with the soft kiss you place on his temple makes his eyelids feel heavy. 

“Sorry you had to come pick me up,” Sunghoon mumbles against you. “I know we agreed to give each other some space this weekend.” 

“You should know by now that I’d do anything for you.” He feels you kiss the crown of his head. “Plus, we both know you’d do the same for me.” 

Sunghoon nods. “I would. You’re my girlfriend. Duh.” His sleepy nonsense makes you laugh. 

“You can go back to hanging out with the guys tomorrow if you want.” He shakes his head. 

“I want to get breakfast with you.” Sunghoon finds your free hand and presses a sleepy kiss to the back of it. 

“Whatever you want. We can get breakfast.” 

“If we wake up early enough.” 

You laugh again. “Yes, if we wake up early enough.” 

Sunghoon mumbles a few incoherent words that you can’t quite make out because of your own tiredness. When your own eyes start to droop, Sunghoon feels your fingers start to falter and looks up at you to see you’ve fallen fast asleep. 

He kisses the underside of your chin and falls asleep too.

***

comments and reblogs are appreciated! x

[nightingale-prompts]

God's TV- DC x DP prompt

Accidentally summoning a god from another dimension can happen, especially when cults are involved. However, no can could predict that the not only was the god a teenage boy but also a very bored teenage boy who didn't want to leave.

So he stayed and moved into Titans tower.

Danny is helpful (when he wants to be) but rarely goes out on missions. He says they are boring and nothing is dangerous enough to exert the effort. Instead, he minds the medical bay. Having a healer more than made up for the lack of help.

It's not like anyone disliked Danny or thought he didn't do anything it was just that he was unpredictable. Danny could be nice, considerate, and even sweet if he was working in the medbay. He could also be a pain in the ass anywhere else. He loved pranks and scaring people with his powers. He was harmless though.

No one really knew what he did all day. He was usually in his room doing something they guested. Said room was an anomaly. It was larger on the inside having been made into a pocket dimension. The appearance and organization of the room changed every time you went in.

It was after one mission that the team learned what was in the room.

A rogue had used their invention to erase Superboy's memories and they didn't know what to do. They took him to Danny who was currently rearranging the medicine by color. They hoped that his powers covered mind-altering afflictions. Unfortunately, Danny couldn't wave a hand and fix this.

Instead, Danny took the group to his room. The decor was neon Tokyo meets space right now. The furniture was currently floating and almost hitting Wonder Girl in the head with an end table. Of course, there was no gravity here.

"Stay here while I grab it," Danny said flying up the vertical corridor.

While he was gone the room rearranged itself into a contemporary format. The furniture grounded itself and shifted into a normal living room.

Danny returned with a cart and a headset. He placed a card he pulled out of the cart into the headset and put it on the dazed Superboy's head.

"Wait what is that?" Tim asked.

"It's his memories. I kept a backup in case this happened." Danny shrugged.

Immediately everyone began asking what the hell does that mean and why does he have that.

"Oh please, this dimension has this happened all the time. Amnesia is so cliché and cheap. I saw a pattern and decided the easiest way to prevent you from losing the entirety of your lives was to make save states of your memories." Danny said matter of fact.

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Impulse studied the rack of cases and looking for the card with his name on it.

Wondergirl sighed, she was used to this from Robin but even he wouldn't go this far.

"What? It's not like just anyone can find these. Only you can access your own memories anyways. I just decided to repurpose my RE:Viewer." Danny pouted.

"What is a reviewer?" Wally asked flipping through the cases. Each one had titles like moves or shows with an arrangement of stickers.

"The RE:Viewer is something I created to catalog things I've seen looking into other dimensions. I don't have an infinite memory you know. But the longer I have my title the more I'll lose touch with my mortality. These things help me stay close to people by giving me the chance to remember how it feels. I also have been using them to get the stories of others. Keeping their experiences like you'd keep a TV show or movie. So many stories could have been lost to time but now they are saved. I use them to teach myself." Danny smiled.

The concept genuinely sounded interesting. Like experiencing a movie in 4d.

It had been 3 minutes before Kon took off the headset and back to his old self.

Danny pulled the input card out and it disappeared into another realm with a flick of the wrist. Danny was completely honest that the copies were inaccessible to everyone but him.

"You feeling alright Superboy? Your memory should be backed up until a week ago." Danny said shining a light in his eye.

"I'm fine. I think. What happened?" Kon asked batting the light out of his eyes.

"Explanation later. Take a nap first. You aren't concussed at least." Danny informed.

"What are the stickers for?" Wally said pointing at the rainbow of colors the card cases had.

"Just the emotions associated with the experiences. Orange is comedy, red is action, pink is romance, and blue is tragedy." Danny listed. "That one with the pink is one of my favorites. I meddled a bit in that world. Two people who had never met fell in love at two points at different times. One of them was doomed to die but I worked my magic on a mirror that allowed them to meet once. They shared notes left in different places for the other months ahead. Makes you believe in true love. A real tear-jerker."

"What about the black stickers?" Wally asked.

"Don't touch the black ones," Danny said darkly, smacking his hand away. "You don't need to know about those. I don't like thinking about them."

"So you just take the memories of others and put them inside your machine to replay later?" Batgirl asked. "Isn't that kind of wrong?"

"No, I asked permission. I usually pull them aside at some point and ask. If it's my memories (that's the green stickers) I don't need to. The rainbow ones are simulations. Like a video games." Danny responded patting her on the back for not being to hard on him about this admittedly weird situation.

"So what's the black one with the rainbow sticker?" Wally asked picking up the case that was obviously stuffed in the back.

"STOP TOUCHING THOSE!" Danny yelled pulling him away.

[babyleostuff]

― BROKEN CAMERAS

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, domestic vibes, absolutely whipped kim mingyu 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: dad!mingyu x mom!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 1.2k

⦗💌 ⦘in which your little girl wants to take a picture of you and mingyu but drops the camera she stole from him in the process

„i was thinking,” mingyu murmured into your hair and turned the volume of the tv down, „that we could go to the farmer’s market tomorrow. since i don’t have any schedules, y’know.” 

you peeled your eyes from the screen and looked up at your husband from where your head was resting on his chest and nodded immediately, as if you’d ever say no to a day out with him and your daughter. „sounds perfect,” you sighed happily and fixed the blanket that mingyu wrapped you in some time ago. „maybe we’ll manage to find some vintage frames to match those in the living room.” 

he hummed and brushed his nose against your cheek. „just… this time we have to avoid the section where they keep the plushies.” 

ah yes, the plushies. 

your little girl’s current hyperfixation and your husband’s cause of nightmares. not that you minded, there was something endearing in a 6 foot something man sitting in a circle of bears and unicorns drinking tea from a miniature teacup. 

you smirked and lifted your head. „but she’ll be devastated, honey,” you fake-pouted.

she wouldn’t though, not really. your little girl has had her dad wrapped around her little finger since day one and she was a very smart kid, so figuring out how to get her dad to do anything for her wasn’t that difficult. she’s had the puppy-eyes technique figured out for a long time now, which… she used a lot to her advantage. 

mingyu groaned and lowered his head, bumping it against your shoulder. „there’s literally no room left in her bedroom. last night, when i was kissing her goodnight, i tripped over at least three of them!” he whined.  

that was very much true. you spent fifteen minutes this morning trying to find one of her shoes amongst the mess of unicorns of all shapes and sizes, and all you found in the end was a sock that you had been looking for for the past month. it didn’t help that soonyoug bought her tiger plushies every other week, not to mention seungcheol who loved spending his money on your daughter for some reason. 

but you couldn't help but throw your head back and laugh at your husband wholeheartedly. „gyu, you’re capable of tripping over air, it doesn’t count in your case,” you giggled and ran your fingers through his messy hair, pushing back the few curly strands that fell over his eyes. “besides, she’ll find a way to get those plushies either way. it’s not like you’ll ever say no to her.”  

you could feel your husband’s pouty lips against your collarbone as he said, “you’re right. but it’s unfair that mr.unicorn gets all the cuddles now. even that ugly monkey that looks like it had been through a car crash and a bad lip injection is more loved than i am.” 

heavens, sometimes you wondered who the real baby in your family was. 

“gyu, listen to me,” you took his face in your hands and peeled him away from you, “stop overreacting-,”. 

“but what if she’s all grown up now and won’t-,”. 

“she’s three, kim mingyu. besides, she loves you, you dumbass,” you ran your thumb over his cheek, though that didn’t seem to convince him. “she’s a daddy’s girl, okay? trust me, i am the one who should be complaining about the lack of cuddles,” you said and smoothed the crease between his brows.

“if you say so,” he sighed, and nuzzled his cheek into your hand. “but-,”. 

suddenly, out of nowhere, you heard a loud bang behind you, like something fell and... glass broke? mingyu being mingyu, almost fell off the couch, but you were quick to turn around to inspect where the sound came from. 

and your heart almost broke when you saw what, or rather who, was standing behind the couch.

"oh, honey," you cooed.

your little girl was standing in the middle of the room, clad in her pink nightgown mingyu had bought her on one of his trips abroad, only instead of the bright smile that always graced her face, there were tears in her gorgeous, brown eyes.

"what the?" your husband murmured next to you. “is that my camera?” 

your daughter’s eyes widened in panic as she looked at him. “‘m sorry, daddy,” her voice wobbled in the most heartbreaking way possible. the little girl’s tiny hands were clutching onto the neck strap that was supposed to be connected to the camera. “didn’ mean,” she sniffled, “to break it,” she said and the first tears started rolling down her puffy cheeks. 

you quickly untangled your limbs from the blanket but before you could get up, mingyu put his hand on your thigh. “no, no, no,” he almost tripped from how fast he got up from the couch. “it wasn’t your fault, princess.” 

you thanked whatever grace that your daughter was smart enough not to move because the floor around her was litreed in small glass shards and you weren’t sure what you and mingyu would do if anything happened to her. 

not even a second later, he was at her side, picking up her small body and engulfing her in his big arms. 

“don’ be angry, daddy,” your baby cried into mingyu's shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck. 

mingyu shook his head and turned around to face you with a heartbreakingly sad expression. “i’m not angry, baby. i was just scared,” he murmured. “daddy thought you hurt yourself.” 

you waved for them to come over to where you were sitting and muttered a quiet “come here”.  

your husband placed your daughter on his lap, her head pressed against his chest, on the same spot where yours was just a minute ago. her tiny fists were pressed against his naked tummy as she continued to sniffle quietly. 

wiping every tear that escaped her eyes you started to hum one of the lullababies mingyu used to sing to her when she was a newborn, something you still did when she was upset. your husband was stroking her hair the whole time, rocking her back and forth, as you continued to hum quietly.

“why did you take my camera, sweetheart?” mingyu asked after a while, when her breathing calmed down a bit. 

“i woke up,” she said, looking up at him with her big brown eyes. “and i saw you n’ mommy sittin’ and i wan’ to take picture. like you always take of me n’ mommy.” 

mingyu’s own eyes welled up with tears and he quickly tucked her head back to his chest so she wouldn’t see him upset. 

“oh, baby,” you whispered quietly, though you weren’t sure who needed more comforting at that point. “that’s so sweet, but next time ask me or daddy for help, okay? you could’ve seriously injured yourself.” 

your baby girl nodded and she scrambled off mingyu’s lap to throw herself in your embrace instead. well, it was nice to know that the unicorns and your husband hadn’t replaced you completely yet.  

“what do you say we go and grab a camera together, hm?” he asked. “and we can do a whole photoshoot, we can even make a white background with the sheets.” 

“pink. pink sheets,” she said and clapped her hands. it seemed that you and mingyu breathed a sigh of relief that your daughter was back to her normal, bubbly self.  

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[pucksandpower]

That’s That Me, Espresso

Charles Leclerc x barista!Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen seem determined to fight over the heart of their favorite barista … but soon they learn that sharing can be much more fulfilling

Warnings: 18+ content

You tie the green apron around your waist, smoothing out the wrinkles as you get ready for another day behind the counter. Working as a barista in the paddock club is not where you imagined you’d end up, but it pays the bills. And there are some nice perks — like getting to see the drivers up close when they come in for their daily coffee fix.

Two drivers in particular have caught your attention recently: Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen.

They started coming in separately a few weeks ago, always ordering the same drink — a latte with an extra shot of espresso for Charles and black coffee for Max. At first it was just polite small talk as you made their drinks, but gradually you’ve gotten to know them both a bit better.

Charles is charming, with an easy smile and a quick wit. He asks you about your day and remembers little details you’ve told him before. Max is more reserved, but has a dry sense of humor that catches you off guard and makes you laugh. You find yourself looking forward to their visits, wondering when you’ll see them next.

It’s another race weekend and the paddock club is buzzing with activity. You’re kept busy with a steady stream of drinks orders. A loud group of sponsors clusters around your counter, loudly debating team strategies. You handle their complicated orders, foaming milk and steaming pitchers like a pro.

As you hand off the last drink, you look up and see Charles walking in. He locks eyes with you and grins.

“Busy today, I see,” he says, sidling up to the counter.

“The usual?” You ask with a smile. Charles nods.

You turn to make his latte, hyperaware of his gaze following you. The espresso machine hisses as you pull his shots. You take your time with the milk, adjusting the froth just so.

“Here you go,” you say, placing the latte in front of him with a flourish. Your fingers brush as he takes it from you. Was that accidental or on purpose? His eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Looks perfect. You always make it just how I like it.” Charles takes a long sip, foam coating his upper lip. He swipes it away with his thumb. “Delicious. I don’t know how I’d get through race day without this.”

You feel your cheeks grow warm at the compliment. Before you can respond, Max walks up to the counter, focused on his phone. He glances up, does a slight double take at seeing Charles already there, then looks back at you.

“Morning,” he says briskly. “The usual, please.”

You nod and turn to make Max’s black coffee. As the coffee drips into the paper cup, you feel the awkward tension behind you. Charles and Max eye each other warily, a silent stand-off you don’t understand. You glance between them nervously as you hand Max his coffee.

“There you go. Enjoy!” Your voice comes out too bright and cheery.

Max takes the coffee without looking away from Charles. “Thanks,” he mutters. They keep staring at each other for a beat too long before Charles clears his throat.

“Well, I should get going. See you around,” he says lightly, with a meaningful look at you.

You nod, perplexed. As soon as Charles is out the door, Max seems to relax.

“So how’s your morning been so far?” He asks, taking a sip of coffee.

You make polite small talk, but your mind keeps going back to the weird tension between him and Charles. What was all that about?

The rest of the day flies by in a blur of foamed milk and espresso. Before you know it, it’s nearly closing time. You’re wiping down the counters when you hear footsteps approach. You look up to see both Charles and Max walking toward you, stopping short when they notice each other.

“You again?” Max frowns at Charles. “Does Ferrari not have their own coffee?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Charles shoots back. He turns to you with an easy grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The usual, please?”

You nod uncertainly and set to work making their drinks on autopilot, feeling the heavy weight of them watching your every move. The silence hangs heavy in the air. You can feel the animosity rolling off them in waves.

You finish the drinks and set them on the counter. “Here you go.”

Neither makes a move to take their coffee. The tension coils tighter. You glance between them nervously.

Finally Max turns to Charles. “Why do you keep coming here for coffee? Don’t tell me it’s for the scintillating conversation.”

Charles bristles. “Why do you care where I get my coffee? Unless ...” His eyes narrow. “Are you trying to keep me away from something? Or should I say, someone?”

You freeze. Are they talking about you?

Max scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m just trying to get my daily coffee in peace.”

“Oh really? You seem to be going out of your way when you could easily get coffee from Red Bull hospitality. Admit it, there’s another reason you keep coming here.” Charles crosses his arms.

“I could say the same about you! Don’t think I haven’t noticed you flirting with her every time you’re in here.”

You nearly drop the rag in your hand. Heat floods your cheeks. They are talking about you.

Charles laughs sharply. “Look who’s talking! The man who makes eyes at her whenever you think I’m not looking.”

“Makes eyes-” Max sputters. “You’re delusional.”

“No, you’re just blind. Anyone can see she likes me better.”

“As if! She obviously prefers me over some pretty boy.”

They’re nearly nose to nose now, fists clenched at their sides. You stand frozen behind the counter, heart hammering in your chest. This can’t be happening.

“Why don’t we let her decide then?” Charles turns to you. “What do you say? Want to settle this once and for all?”

Max whips his head toward you eagerly. You open your mouth but no words come out.

Charles barrels on. “You don’t have to say it out loud. I already know the answer.” He winks at you.

Max makes a disgusted noise. “Don’t listen to him. He’s so full of himself.”

“Better than being full of overhyped energy drinks and bad decisions like you!” Charles shoves Max’s shoulder.

A flicker of rage passes over Max’s face. He shoves back, hard. “Watch yourself, Leclerc.”

Charles stumbles into the counter, jostling your arm. You cry out as the steaming pitcher of milk spills down the front of your apron. Pain scalds your skin. You inhale sharply as the hot milk soaks through your shirt.

Charles grabs a damp dish towel and presses it to your arm. “Let me see.”

You lift the cloth with a wince. An angry red welt is already rising along your forearm.

“That looks bad,” Charles murmurs. “You should get it treated properly.”

Max edges closer, brows drawn together. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry-”

“She needs medical attention,” Charles interrupts. He takes your elbow gingerly. “Come on, I’ll take you to the medical center.”

Max puts a hand on your other arm. “No, I’ll take her. This is my fault.”

Charles tugs you toward him. “Back off, Verstappen. I’ve got this.”

You stumble between them as they play tug-of-war with your arms.

“Stop it!” You cry, wrenching away. They freeze. “You can both take me or I’ll go myself. But I am not a rope in a game of Red Bull versus Ferrari.”

Charles and Max have the decency to look ashamed.

“Of course, sorry,” Charles says quickly. “We’ll take you together.”

Max nods, biting his lip. You follow them from the paddock club to the medical center, cradling your arm. Mercifully they stay silent, the fight drained from them for now.

The medic clucks over your injury, applying a cooling gel and clean bandages. You sag in relief as the medicine soothes the burning. Charles and Max hover anxiously until the medic shoos them away.

“All done,” she announces. “Keep it clean and covered. Should heal in a few days.”

“Thank you.” You slide off the exam table, flexing your freshly wrapped arm.

Charles jumps up immediately. “How’s it feeling now?”

“Much better, thanks.” You offer him a small smile.

Max steps forward. “I’m really sorry about this. Let me make it up to you — can I take you to dinner tonight?”

Charles makes a strangled noise. “You’ve done enough, don’t you think?” He turns to you, expression earnest. “Please, allow me to take you to dinner instead. It’s the least I can do after you got hurt.”

You stare between them incredulously. Are they serious?

“Um, I don’t think-”

“Come on, what do you say?” Max presses. “Dinner, just the two of us.”

Charles crosses his arms. “Don’t listen to him. Let me take you out.”

“You already ruined her day,” Max snaps. “I’m not letting you mess up her evening too.”

Charles bristles. “If anyone ruined it, you did by shoving me into her!”

“I wouldn’t have shoved you if you weren’t being an annoying prick.”

“Obstinate show off!”

“Insecure brat!”

“Enough!” You yell. They fall silent. “This is absurd. You’re both acting like children.”

Charles scuffs his shoe. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Max nods, properly chastised. “Me too. That was stupid.”

You take a deep breath. “If you really want to make it up to me, we’ll do this: you can both take me to dinner. Together. To apologize. Take it or leave it.”

They share an uneasy look but don’t argue. You nod firmly.

“Good. I’ll be outside the paddock club after the race. Come get me then.” You fix them with a stern gaze. “And I expect you to be on your best behavior tonight. No fighting, no bickering. Got it?”

“Got it,” they mumble.

“See you tonight then.” With as much dignity as you can muster, you turn and sweep out of the medical center. You feel their eyes following you as the doors swing shut.

Your breath leaves in a whoosh when you’re alone again. What did you just get yourself into? A tense conciliatory dinner with two drivers who happen to hate each other? This night can only end in disaster.

But a small part of you tingles with excitement at the thought of having their undivided attention, if only for an evening. You push the feeling away. Don’t be foolish. This is just about apologizing for the coffee incident. Nothing more.

***

After the race, you freshen up and change into a flowy summer dress. As you apply a final coat of lipstick, nerves flutter in your stomach. This dinner will either go surprisingly well or be a total disaster.

With Charles and Max, it’s anyone’s guess.

Your pulse picks up when you exit the paddock club to see Charles and Max waiting, wearing nice button downs and trading murderous looks.

But as soon as they notice you, their faces morph into charming smiles. Charles steps forward first, eyes bright.

“You look beautiful,” he says, kissing your cheek in greeting. The press of his lips sends a thrill through you despite yourself.

Max moves closer, expression soft. “That dress is perfect on you.”

You thank them, trying not to blush. Max gestures to the row of sleek sports cars. “Shall we?”

Charles frowns. “She should ride with me, I asked her to dinner first.”

Max scoffs. “Only because you swooped in when you saw I was going to.”

“As if! I was being a gentleman, unlike you.”

They descend into bickering while you stand there awkwardly. Finally you interject.

“Or here’s a thought — how about we take an Uber together?”

Charles and Max stop arguing, properly chastised. “Of course, good idea,” Charles says smoothly.

You all pile into the back of the Uber, you wedged between them. Their thighs press against yours, muscular and distracting. Get it together, you scold yourself. This is just an apology dinner.

At the restaurant, Max holds your chair out while Charles arranges your napkin on your lap. Their efforts to dote on you would be sweet if they weren’t also trying to outdo each other. You settle in for an interesting night.

A waiter appears to take your order. Charles recommends the osso buco. Max argues the sea bass is better. You go for the risotto to avoid playing favorites.

When the food arrives, Charles insists on serving you first. “Try this, the sauce is exquisite,” he purrs, holding a forkful to your lips.

You let him feed you, hyperaware of Max watching hawkishly. “Delicious, thank you.”

Not to be outdone, Max spears a bite of his fish. “Here, you have to taste this.” He brings the fork to your mouth. You oblige, cheeks burning.

This continues through the whole meal. Charles and Max take turns hand feeding you, vying for your attention. Under different circumstances it would feel romantic, but their competitive edge ruins the mood.

Still, you have to admit the food is incredible. Charles was right about the osso buco. When your risotto is gone, he happily shares his plate. Max pushes his closer too, until you’re stuffed on bites of their entrees.

For dessert they order chocolate soufflé to share. Two forks battle for the privilege of feeding you. You finally snatch the dish between you, laughing.

“I think I can manage on my own now, thanks.”

Charles sits back with a rueful smile. “Sorry, got a bit carried away there.”

“We just want you to enjoy the food,” Max adds a touch sheepishly.

You take a bite and sigh blissfully. “Mission accomplished, trust me.”

Despite their antics, you’re surprised to realize you’re having a nice time. When Charles and Max aren’t competing over you, they’re charming dinner companions, trading funny racing stories and debating controversial penalties. You find yourself relaxing, giggling often at their witty banter.

Over digestifs, the mood shifts. The low lighting makes Charles’ gaze smolder. Max’s hand brushes your knee under the table. You shift, heart rate kicking up.

The bill comes and Charles snags it before Max can react. “Please, allow me.”

You start to protest but Max speaks up. “I guess I’ll get the next one then.”

The implication makes your pulse flutter. Next one?

Outside the restaurant, Charles offers his arm. “Let’s go somewhere more private to continue the evening.” His eyes glitter with promise.

You hesitate, feeling suddenly shy. Max steps closer.

“Don’t listen to him, he just wants you alone. Come out with me instead and I’ll show you a good time.”

He waggles his eyebrows. You blush fiercely as their suggestive stares make you squirm.

Charles drops your arm, scowling. “Back off, Verstappen. She’s coming with me.”

“She can make her own choices,” Max retorts. “But she’d clearly have more fun with me.”

Their flirting turns sour as they descend into bickering again. You clench your fists, frustration bubbling over.

“Enough!” You burst out. “I’m done being fought over like a trophy.”

Charles and Max stop arguing, looking properly scolded. You take a deep breath.

“My hotel is just around the corner. You’re both welcome to join me for a nightcap. But you need to stop this childish fighting or you can go back to your own rooms.”

They share an uneasy glance, then nod. “You’re right, sorry about that,” Charles says. “Lead the way.”

Max just gestures for you to walk ahead. You turn towards your hotel, nerves and anticipation swirling. A nightcap is harmless, you tell yourself. You’re just putting your foot down about their behavior.

At the hotel bar, you order a round of drinks and claim a small corner booth. Charles and Max slide in on either side of you. Their thighs press against yours under the tiny table.

You take a fortifying sip of your cocktail. “Okay look, tonight has been … fun, surprisingly. But the constant competing over me has to stop.”

You level them with your most serious gaze. They have the grace to look embarrassed.

“You’re right, that wasn’t fair to you,” Charles says earnestly. “I got carried away trying to, I don’t know, impress you, I guess. I’ll be more respectful from now on.”

Max clears his throat. “Yeah, me too. Didn’t mean to make you feel like a prize. I just ...” He ducks his head. “Really wanted you to like me.”

Your breath catches at the endearing admission. You place a hand over Max’s where it rests on his thigh. “I do like you. Both of you. When you’re not acting like idiots.”

Charles covers your other hand, expression softening. “I like you too. So much.”

Warmth spreads through you at their words. For a moment, you all just smile at each other, the atmosphere shifting into something … intimate.

The air suddenly feels charged with possibility. You wet your lips nervously. Two sets of eyes track the movement.

Charles moves his thumb in a slow sweep over the back of your hand, stirring up butterflies. “I’d really like to kiss you right now,” he murmurs. “If that’s okay.”

Your heartbeat stutters. You glance at Max. His eyes are dark, lips parted. Waiting for your answer.

You close the distance to Charles in response, pressing your mouth to his. He makes a soft sound and cups your jaw, kissing you back eagerly. His lips are soft and seeking.

When you part for air, Max clears his throat. “I believe you said no more competing tonight. So it’s my turn now.”

Before you can react, he captures your lips in a searing kiss. He kisses differently than Charles, more urgently, with the promise of heat. You grasp his shoulders to stay grounded.

You break away gasping. The three of you stare at each other, wide eyed and flushed.

Charles recovers first. “Why don’t we take this upstairs?” His expression leaves no doubt as to his meaning.

A spike of want goes through you. But uncertainty flickers too. Are you really ready for … all that? With both of them?

Sensing your hesitation, Max squeezes your hand. “Or we could just keep talking, if you’d prefer?” His tone is serious despite the desire in his eyes. “No pressure, okay?”

Charles nods, looking equally willing to follow your lead. You smile, grateful for their patience. As tempting as it is to fall into bed together, that feels rushed.

“Why don’t we have one more drink upstairs and see where things go?” You suggest.

“I’d love that,” Charles says.

Max signals the waiter for your tab. “Your room or one of ours?”

You laugh at his eagerness. “Mine. I have the key.”

***

In the elevator up to your hotel room, the air feels charged with possibility. Charles pins you to the wall, nuzzling your neck in a way that makes you shiver. Max crowds behind you, hands spanning your waist. You feel surrounded, but also safe between them.

At your door, Charles steals one more heated kiss before you unlock it. His eyes are dark with want when he pulls back. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

Max’s breath tickles your ear. “My turn now.” His low voice sends desire swirling through you.

You lead them inside, nerves and excitement making you giddy. Max pulls you into his arms immediately, kissing you deeply. Charles comes up behind you, trailing kisses down your neck in tandem with Max’s exploring tongue. You clutch their shirts, anchored between them.

When you part for air, Charles suggests opening a bottle of wine from the minibar. You nod, needing to steady your spinning head.

While Charles uncorks a bottle of red, Max comes up behind you, nuzzling your hair. “That dress looks amazing on you, but I bet it would look even better on the floor,” he murmurs suggestively.

You blush even as arousal stirs. But Charles interrupts before you can respond.

“Don’t be crude, Max,” he chides, handing you a glass of wine. His fingers linger on yours. “She deserves to be treated with respect.”

Max rolls his eyes. “I was complimenting her, not being crude.”

“It came off as objectifying. I know how to properly appreciate a woman.” Charles strokes your arm lightly, eyes smoldering.

Here we go again, you think. But Max just laughs.

“Oh it’s on now, Leclerc. We’ll see who can make her feel more … appreciated.” He waggles his eyebrows.

You nearly choke on your wine. “Um, I’m not sure this competition is necessary-”

“Shh, just relax, mon amour. Let us take care of you.” Charles silences you with a deep kiss, stealing your breath.

Max comes up behind you, trailing hot kisses over your exposed shoulders. His hands find your waist, pulling you back against him.

You’re surrounded by them, enveloped in wandering hands and seeking mouths. It’s overwhelming but intoxicating. You let yourself get lost in the sensations.

Charles lavishes attention on your neck, hitting sensitive spots that make you shiver. When he finds one that makes you moan, Max focuses on the same area until your knees go weak.

They maneuver you to the bed, shedding jackets and shoes along the way. Charles presses you back into the pillows, kissing you deeply as his fingers trail up your leg, rucking your dress higher.

Max pushes himself between your parted thighs, kissing along your inner leg. You grasp their hair, anchoring yourself.

“You’re both trying to kill me, I swear,” you gasp out.

Charles smiles against your neck. “On the contrary, we’re trying to make you feel as alive as possible.”

As if to prove it, Max hitches one of your legs over his shoulder and kisses along your inner thigh, making you squirm.

“Tell me what you want, cherié. I’m yours tonight,” Charles breathes in your ear.

You drag him down for a messy kiss. He groans as you press up into him.

Max works his way higher until his breath ghosts over your core. Your whole body tightens in anticipation.

“Can I taste you?” His voice is rough with need. “I want to make you feel so good, lekker ding.”

You nod frantically and he hooks his fingers under your underwear, sliding them off. The first touch of his tongue makes you cry out.

Charles swallows the sound, kissing you deeply. “That’s it, let go. We’ve got you.”

Overwhelmed by sensations, you can only clutch their hair and let yourself be carried away on waves of pleasure.

You lose track of time, of everything beyond their mouths and hands worshipping every inch of you. When Max finally has you teetering on the edge, he pulls back right before you tip over.

“Not yet. I want you to come with me inside you.”

The primal promise sends a bolt of need through you. Charles props himself up, pupils blown wide. “God, that’s hot.” His erection presses insistently against your hip. “But condoms first. I’ll grab some.”

While he digs through his wallet, Max strips you both bare. You run appreciative hands over his chiseled physique, anticipating having him inside you. But uncertainty flickers too.

“Have you … done this before?” You ask hesitantly. “With another guy, I mean?”

Max stills. “I haven’t. Have you?” At your head shake, he relaxes. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Reassured, you pull him down for a messy kiss. Charles rejoins you on the bed, rolling a condom onto Max.

“All set.” He kisses you lingeringly. “If you want to stop at any point, just say the word.”

You smile at his caretaking. “I’ll be vocal if I need you to stop or slow down, don’t worry.”

Max lines himself up at your entrance, holding your gaze. “You ready?”

At your eager nod, he pushes inside you in one long stroke. You arch up with a cry at the delicious stretch of him filling you so perfectly.

Charles lavishes kisses over your face and neck murmuring praise. “That’s it, you’re doing so well. You look incredible like this, taking him so beautifully.”

Max builds a steady rhythm, fucking into you almost leisurely, stoking the fire higher. “You feel incredible, so hot and tight around me.” He hits a spot that has you seeing stars.

Charles sheds his own clothes and rolls on a condom, eyes fixed on where you’re joined. “You two are so fucking gorgeous together. Makes me want a turn.”

“Yes, please,” you gasp out. You need them both tonight.

Max slows to shallow pumps, letting Charles take his place between your legs. He pushes in slowly and your body opens for him, welcoming the new stretch.

Charles curses breathlessly at your tight heat engulfing him. “You’re unbelievable. I could stay buried in you forever.”

He sets a steady pace while Max kisses you deeply, swallowing your moans. Having them both lavish you with such dedicated attention pushes you close to the edge again.

“Want to come with you around me,” Charles pants out. “Can I make you come, ma belle?”

“Yes, please, I’m so close-” you cry out as he reaches between you to stroke your clit.

The dual sensations send you hurtling over the edge with a sharp cry. Your inner walls pulse around Charles, pulling him over with you.

You cling to each other, breathing hard as you come down. Charles presses soft kisses over your face while Max smoothes back your hair.

“You’re incredible. How was that?” Charles asks gently once he catches his breath.

You huff out a giddy laugh. “Absolutely amazing.” You cup his cheek. “Both of you.”

Max smiles and kisses you sweetly. “I’m not done with you yet tonight.”

Anticipation sparks through you again. “Oh really?”

He licks his lips. “I want another taste of dessert.”

Charles nips your ear playfully. “And I want a round two with you. We’re just getting started.”

The promise in their heated looks makes your spent body begin to reawaken. You stretch like a cat between them.

“Well then, what are you waiting for?”

They pounce on you eagerly, hands and mouths roaming your sensitised skin. You surrender to their passionate attentions, mind blissfully blank of everything but pleasure.

Later, they lay you between them, bodies spent and entwined. Sleep tugs at the edges of your sated mind.

Charles nuzzles your shoulder. “Rest now, mon ange. You were perfect.”

Max pulls the blankets over you and presses a kiss to your hair. “We’re right here with you.”

Wrapped securely in their arms, you let yourself drift off, a contented smile on your face. Tonight was exactly what you needed — no more fighting or competing, just pure connection.

As you fall asleep cocooned between your two gorgeous drivers, you can’t imagine a more satisfying way to end the craziest day of your life.

***

The morning after the blissful night with Charles and Max, you wake up alone in tangled sheets. For a moment you wonder if it was just a dream. Then you spot a note on the bedside table.

Had early commitments but can’t stop thinking about you. See you at the paddock club soon - C & M

You grin and fall back against the pillows. Last night definitely happened. And based on that note, they’re already eager for a repeat. Happiness bubbles up in you.

Over the next few days, you text constantly with Charles and Max. They check on how you’re feeling (sore but satiated) and send increasingly flirty selfies that make you blush. The texts grow more suggestive as the next race weekend nears.

Can’t wait to get my hands on you again. I’ll sneak you off somewhere the minute I see you

I call dibs on stealing her away this time! We have some unfinished business

You smile at your phone, butterflies taking flight. You have a feeling this race weekend will be anything but routine.

Friday morning you show up early to prep the paddock club cafe. As the bustle of the weekend ramps up outside, your pulse quickens wondering if you’ll see Charles or Max first.

A gaggle of mechanics come in, followed by Fred Vasseur and Toto Wolff bickering over coffees. No sign of your drivers yet.

Finally Charles saunters in, sweaty from practice and still in his red race suit. His face lights up when he sees you.

“There’s my gorgeous girl.” He leans across the counter for a swift, burning kiss. “I missed you.”

You blush fiercely as hoots and whistles sound from the patrons. Charles just winks.

“The usual?” You ask, ducking to hide your glowing cheeks.

“Please. I need my favorite barista’s coffee to get through the day.”

You can feel his eyes on you as you work, warm and admiring. It makes your skin tingle.

As Charles collects his coffee, he murmurs low in your ear, “Dinner tonight? I want you all to myself.”

His steely gaze leaves no doubt as to his intentions. You shiver and nod eagerly.

“Here?”

“I was thinking your hotel bed again ...” His fingers graze your wrist suggestively.

Your breath catches. Before you can respond, Max strides up to the counter.

“Morning.” He gives Charles an unreadable look then smiles at you. “I’ll take my usual.”

He watches you work with a little smile playing about his lips, occasionally trading glances with Charles. They seem … chummy, almost conspiratorial.

You hand Max his coffee, brow arched. “Why do I feel like I’m missing something with you two?”

Max grins. “Let’s just say Charles and I … bonded recently over a mutual interest.” His meaningful look makes your cheeks flame.

“Oh really now?” You ask coyly.

“Really.” Charles slings an arm around Max’s shoulders. “We’ve discovered some shared enthusiasms lately.”

They smirk at each other and you have to fan yourself. If this new camaraderie is the result of your tryst, you heartily approve.

Over the rest of Friday you spot Charles and Max hanging out often, laughing together. The other drivers eye them curiously but they just share secret smiles.

In the media pen after practice, a reporter asks about their burgeoning bromance.

“I guess you could say we recently discovered some common ground that brought us closer,” Charles says vaguely.

Beside him, Max shrugs. “Let’s just say our relationship has … matured lately.”

They grin at the innuendo. You nearly spit out your drink watching the live feed, their slyness making you squirm. So much for discretion.

As promised, Charles takes you to dinner that night. In the car, he pulls you across the console for a heated kiss.

“Thought about doing this all day,” he growls against your lips.

At your hotel, clothes are hastily shed as you fall into bed together. Charles takes you apart ruthlessly, until you’re trembling and spent beneath him.

After, he gathers you close, nuzzling your hair. “I don’t know what hold you have over me, but I can’t get enough.”

You smile and kiss him lazily. “Right back at you. I could get used to this.”

Charles’ eyes darken. “Speaking of, Max was suggesting we all get together again before the race ...”

Tomorrow night is wide open in your schedule.

***

The next day buzzes by until Charles and Max finish their media duties. They saunter into the paddock club wearing matching smirks.

“Time for that break you promised us,” Max says, crowding you against the counter.

Charles nips your ear. “We’ll make it worth your while.” His hot promise makes you instantly pliant.

They lead you outside hand in hand, sneaking glances around until you reach the Ferrari motorhome. Inside Charles’ driver’s room, he pins you to the leather couch, kissing you ravenously.

Clothes melt away between heated kisses and grasping hands. Soon you’re naked on the couch, framed by Charles and Max’s toned bodies.

Charles trails kisses down between your breasts, laving his tongue over a nipple until you arch up with a cry.

“Sensitive here I see,” he murmurs smugly before redirecting his attention. You grasp his messy waves, overwhelmed.

Max slides a hand up your inner thigh, eyes blazing when he discovers you bare. “So wet already. I think she likes us teasing her, Charles.”

A thick finger slides through your folds and you gasp out his name. Chuckling darkly, Max repeats the motion until you’re rocking your hips desperately.

“Please … need you ...” you whimper.

He smirks. “How can I deny such a sweet request?”

Charles sits back to enjoy the show as Max lines up at your entrance. He pushes in slowly, groaning as your body opens to welcome his thick length. You clutch his shoulders, overwhelmed.

“Fuck, feel so perfect around me,” he grits out through clenched teeth, seated fully inside you. “You good?”

You nod frantically. No matter how many times you come together, that first blissful stretch when he fills you never gets old.

Charles strokes himself lazily, eyes fixed on where you’re joined. “God, that’s hot to watch. Starting to think we should share you more often if this is what I get to see.”

Max builds a relentless rhythm, spurred on by Charles’ avid stare. You grasp the leather couch, crying out with every deep stroke nudging that sweet spot inside.

“Look at those pretty tits bounce while you fuck her,” Charles rasps out. “You close, ma belle? I want to watch you come undone around him.”

That heated plea sends you over, clenching on Max’s length as pleasure crashes over you. He fucks you through it before chasing his own high.

“Want to feel you come in me,” you gasp out.

Groaning your name, Max pulls you tight and shudders his release inside you. He collapses forward, breathing ragged.

“Holy fuck that was intense,” he mutters, kissing you sloppily. You cling together, spent and grinning.

Until Charles clears his throat loudly. “Looked like fun but I believe you promised to share, Max.”

Unfurling from you, Max laughs. “All yours, mate. But only after I get one more taste.”

To your delight, he seals his lips over your swollen clit without warning, sucking firmly. The stimulation on your over-sensitized nerves straddles the line between pleasure and pain until you’re thrashing and begging.

Finally Max releases you with one last lick and a wolfish grin. “Had to have another hit of that sweetness.”

You can only whimper as Charles immediately replaces him between your legs. He kisses up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, eyes blazing.

“Please tell me you have another round in you, cherié. Because watching that made me very eager to play.”

As he pushes inside you in one long stroke, you clutch his back deliriously. Charles wastes no time building a ruthless rhythm, spurred on by watching you fall apart with Max. His thick length drags along your sensitive inner walls, wringing gasps and cries from you with every snap of his hips.

“That’s it, sing for me,” he grits out, angling to nudge against that sweet spot inside you. “Want the whole paddock to hear how good I can make you feel.”

You grasp his biceps, feeling his muscles flex powerfully with each pounding stroke. The lewd sound of skin slapping skin echoes through the room.

Charles snakes a hand between you, finding your throbbing clit and stroking in time with his deep thrusts. The sensations make you see stars, still so sensitive from Max’s attentions.

“Oh god, right there,” you sob, teetering dangerously on the edge again. “Gonna come ...”

“Look at me,” Charles commands sharply. You drag your eyes open to meet his burning gaze. “Come for me now.”

On cue your body seizes up, inner walls clamping down hard as a shockwave of pleasure crashes through you. You cry out Charles’ name hoarsely, barely hearing his own bitten off groan as he follows you over the edge.

Collapsing forward, Charles peppers your face with tender kisses as you cling together, panting through the aftershocks.

“Magnificent as always, mon amour,” he murmurs, nuzzling into your neck.

You comb lazy fingers through his hair, body coursing with endorphins. “Mmm. Pretty sure you two are going to kill me with great sex at this point, but I can’t bring myself to complain.”

Max’s laughter warms your skin as he slides up behind you. He trails a hand down your side, eyes glinting. “Oh we’re nowhere close to done with you yet ...”

[its-avalon-08]

Hi. I was thinking of something with Lando Norris where Lando has been secretive and hiding his phone and everything and reader thinks he's cheating on her and feels miserable thinking she's not enough. And when she asks Lando about it he feels extremely guilty because he was actually planning to PROPOSE!!

new passwords and new surnames (ln4)

✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader

✦ genre - angst, miscommunication, tears, fluff

Y/N sat on the couch, her knees pulled to her chest as she absentmindedly scrolled through social media. Her heart wasn’t in it, not really. It hadn’t been for weeks now. She couldn't help but replay the small, almost imperceptible changes in Lando's behavior that had slowly eroded her peace of mind.

It started so innocently. One night, while they were lying in bed, she noticed Lando's phone screen light up with a notification. His hand shot out faster than usual to grab it, turning it face-down. He flashed her a smile, that easy-going grin she adored, but something was off.

"You okay?" she had asked then, her voice soft and questioning.

"Yeah, love. Just a text from the team. Nothing important." He kissed her forehead, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary as if to erase any doubt. But the doubt had settled in that moment and had been growing ever since.

Tonight, it was all too much. The weight of uncertainty sat on her chest like a heavy stone. She couldn’t ignore how distant Lando had been lately. He changed the password on his phone, something he hadn’t done in years. When they were out together, he'd tuck his phone away whenever she got close or make some excuse to leave the room to answer calls. He laughed it off when she asked why he was being so secretive.

And she wanted to believe him. Desperately. But each time, the gnawing ache in her gut got worse. She wasn't paranoid—she was trying not to be. But the constant second-guessing was eating her alive.

"What if he's seeing someone else?" The thought pierced through her mind, sharper and more painful every time she allowed it to surface. She hated herself for even thinking it, but she couldn’t stop.

Y/N blinked, her vision blurring as tears welled up. She swallowed the lump in her throat, willing herself not to cry. Not yet.

She replayed another moment in her head. A few days ago, Lando had left for a race weekend. He’d been unusually flustered before leaving, fumbling around their shared apartment, misplacing his keys and wallet, which wasn’t like him. He barely looked her in the eyes when he kissed her goodbye, murmuring a quick, "Love you," before disappearing out the door. And later that night, when she texted him, he responded hours later with a vague, "Sorry, busy."

“Busy with what?” she whispered aloud to herself, the silence of the apartment engulfing her. Her mind filled with images of him with someone else—someone better, someone who wasn’t her.

She wasn’t enough, was she?

The thought felt like a punch to her gut. Maybe I’m not interesting anymore. Maybe he found someone who gets him better. Lando was famous, rich, and could have anyone he wanted. She wasn’t special. Not in the way some gorgeous model or influencer could be.

Y/N shifted on the couch, pressing her palms against her forehead, trying to stop the spiraling thoughts. I should ask him. No, I can’t. What if I’m wrong? What if he’s not cheating? The internal debate was killing her.

Suddenly, she heard the familiar jingle of keys at the door. Her stomach dropped. Lando was home.

He walked into the living room, looking tired but smiling at her, his blue eyes lighting up in that way that used to make her heart race. Now, all she felt was a deep ache.

"Hey, babe," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Miss me?"

She nodded but couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. Instead, she fixed her gaze on her hands, now trembling slightly in her lap. "Yeah. How was the day?"

"Busy as hell. Meetings, more meetings, and then training," he chuckled lightly. "I could use a beer."

She nodded again, offering a weak smile. "I'll grab it for you." She needed to move, to do anything to avoid this unbearable tension.

As she stood up, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Lando’s eyes darted to it, but his expression remained calm. He watched as she crossed the room to grab his beer from the fridge, her movements stiff and robotic. The distance between them felt like an ocean.

Her hands were cold when she handed him the drink, and for a moment, she debated whether to say anything. Should she ask him now? Her heart raced with anxiety as she stood awkwardly, her fingers gripping the fabric of her shirt as though it could keep her from unraveling completely.

She took a shaky breath and finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, “Lando… is there something going on? Something you're not telling me?"

He froze, his hand halfway to his mouth, beer bottle in hand. His eyes flickered with surprise, maybe even guilt, and that tiny moment of hesitation broke her. She saw it, clear as day.

“What do you mean?” His voice was cautious, like he was trying to tread lightly.

Y/N swallowed hard. “You’ve been so secretive lately. You’re hiding your phone, leaving the room to take calls. You changed your password… You—” her voice cracked, the vulnerability bleeding through. “You’ve never done that before.”

Lando set his beer down on the table, his expression shifting from surprise to something darker. “Y/N, no—”

“I can’t keep ignoring it!” she interrupted, her voice louder now, the emotion bubbling up uncontrollably. “I’m trying to be calm, I’m trying to trust you, but it feels like you’re hiding something from me! And I—” She paused, taking a sharp breath as tears threatened to spill over. “I keep wondering if… if I’m not enough for you anymore.”

Lando’s eyes widened in horror, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to say something, but she kept going.

“Am I losing you, Lando? Is there someone else? Because if there is, just tell me, okay? I don’t think I can take this anymore. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

The tears finally slipped down her cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away, frustrated with herself for breaking like this in front of him. But she couldn’t hold it in any longer. It had been eating her alive.

Lando stood frozen, his mouth slightly open as if trying to form words, but nothing came out. Guilt flooded his features, and Y/N’s heart shattered a little more seeing it.

She had been right all along, hadn’t she?

And now, she was about to lose him.

Chapter Two: The Unveiling

Lando took a step closer, his expression shifting from shock to concern as he reached out, brushing his thumb against her cheek to catch a tear. “Y/N, no… You’re everything to me. I would never cheat on you. I promise. It’s just…” He hesitated, his eyes searching hers as if trying to find the right words. “It’s just been a lot.”

She looked away, trying to compose herself, but the knot in her throat tightened. “Then why all the secrecy? Why the phone? I feel like I’m losing my mind here.”

His gaze softened, and he took a deep breath. “I know I’ve been distant, but please, let me explain. It’s not what you think. I’ve just been… planning something.”

“Planning what?” Her voice cracked, the confusion mixing with the hurt that had been building for weeks. “What could possibly require all this secrecy?”

Lando stepped back, taking her hands in his, squeezing them tightly as if grounding himself. “Y/N, I’ve been trying to plan the perfect way to ask you something. And I thought… I thought if I could surprise you, it would be amazing.”

Her heart raced. “What do you mean?”

He paused, his eyes shining with emotion. “I wanted to propose to you, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. I thought I could keep it under wraps until the right moment. I was going to do it this weekend, and I’ve just been so caught up in making it perfect that I didn’t realize how my actions were affecting you.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, her mind spinning as she tried to process his words. “You… you wanted to propose?”

“Yes!” Lando exclaimed, his voice a mixture of relief and excitement. “I love you, Y/N, and I want to spend my life with you. I just got so caught up in the planning that I forgot how important it is to communicate. I never wanted you to feel this way.”

Her heart fluttered at his words, but the hurt still lingered. “But you were hiding things from me, Lando. It felt like you were pushing me away.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice earnest. “I was being an idiot. I didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but I ended up making everything worse.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I should have trusted you enough to share this with you. I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough, because you are everything to me.”

Y/N’s heart softened at his sincerity, but the tears still streamed down her face. “You’re really serious about this?”

“More than anything,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion. “You deserve to know how much I love you, and I should’ve told you sooner. You make me a better person, and I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Just as Y/N was beginning to comprehend the gravity of his words, Lando knelt down on one knee, taking a small velvet box from his pocket. Her heart raced, and her breath caught in her throat as she realized what was happening.

“Y/N,” he said, looking up at her with all the sincerity in the world. “Will you marry me? Will you be my partner in this wild life? I promise to never hide anything from you again. I want us to share everything, no more secrets.”

For a moment, time stood still. The world around them faded, and all that mattered was the two of them in this small living room filled with unspoken fears and newfound hope. She looked into his eyes, and all she saw was love—pure, unwavering love.

“I—” she began, her voice breaking as more tears slipped down her cheeks. “I thought I was losing you, Lando. I thought I wasn’t enough.”

“You’re more than enough, Y/N,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re everything to me. So, what do you say?”

She blinked, her heart swelling as she finally let the reality of his proposal sink in. “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

Lando’s face broke into a huge smile as he slipped the ring onto her finger, a beautiful band that sparkled in the soft light. She gasped, lifting her hand to get a better look. It was perfect—simple, elegant, just like the love they shared.

“Really? You mean it?” he asked, rising to his feet, his eyes shining with joy.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, laughter spilling from her lips as she hugged him tightly. “I can’t believe you were hiding this from me!”

“I know, I know,” he chuckled, holding her close. “I’m so sorry for everything. I promise to do better.”

As they pulled away, she looked into his eyes, the weight of her earlier fears lifting. “Just promise me one thing, Lando.”

“Anything,” he replied, his gaze intense.

“From now on, no more secrets, okay? We talk about everything.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you, love.”

With that, they embraced again, the tension that had filled their apartment melting away, leaving only the warmth of their love and the promise of a beautiful future together.

[luveline]

hiii! i adore you jade so much and can’t thank you enough for all your amazing writing! your fics are incredible! can i have more reader and hotch with their new baby? maybe their night routine takeing care of their newborn? or literally just anything i just love the way you write hotch taking care of both babe and reader! thank you!! xoxo🤍🤍🤍

thank you for your request! fem

“Ready?” Jack asks.

“No. No, no, no!” you cry, giggles slipping through your facade as Jack pelts himself full force from the end of your bed to the pillows where you’re curled. You put your arms out just in time to avoid getting them snapped, catching Jack, and feeling the brunt of his face as he lands on your chest. “Oh! You broke me, Jack. I’m broken!”

“You’re not broken,” Jack says breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“You better not be breaking your stepmom, Jackers,” Hotch says from the bathroom. “I’m not getting you another one.”

“Boo!” you say.

“I don’t want another one,” Jack declares, still gasping for breath as he presses your faces together.

You pull him in for a cuddle. “Good, baby, I love you too much to be replaced. And I don’t mind dad either.”

“Jack, you gotta stop jumping on her, remember? She just had a baby. It really hurts to have a baby, and it hurts afterwards to get better. Gentle hands,” Hotch says, pulling the bathroom door open completely, the baby bathed and changed in his arms.

Hotch has cared for a baby before, so while you’re not useless, the majority of things have defaulted to him while you recover. You’re lucky, even if it’s how a woman should be treated —Hotch hasn’t made you get up once since you came home almost a week ago. He’s forced you to sit down a few times, actually. And you’d told him how thankful you were for it in whispers only yesterday night, grateful to be cared for with so much dedication.

I should've been better, for Haley, he’d whispered back. She was amazing all by herself when she didn’t need to be. You’ll be amazing too, but we’re gonna do it together.

Maybe he’s overcompensating for past regrets, maybe he’s just looking after you.

Jack strokes your cheek with a little hand. “Sorry. I don’t want to break you.”

“You won’t.” You lean back and attempt to bring him in with you, but Jack won’t be contained.

He springs down off of the bed to crowd Hotch’s legs, face up and smiling. “Dad, are you done?”

“I am.”

“Can you help with the robot now?”

“Yeah, yes. Sorry, I’m gonna fix your robot. You ready, honey?”

You open your arms eagerly. You’ve had a hug from Jack, and Hotch held you under his arm while you were eating your lunch, so all you need now for the trifecta is a cuddle with your baby. One day he’s gonna be able to hug you back, but for now he stretches out in the well of your arms and coos when you kiss his tiny forehead.

Hotch and Jack leave to fix their robot. You slink down, further and further, too tired and sore to want to sit, sliding the baby’s weight into one arm beside you and leaning down to watch him smack his lips. The few baths he’s had have made him tired each time. You feel sleepy just looking at him.

You’d hope that the baby will be handsome like his brother, though Jack looks so much like Haley they probably won’t be very similar. There are hints of Aaron in them both. Babies look like babies, sure, but he has the Hotchner nose. You can tell already.

“My handsome handsome boy,” you sing-song under your breath. He sniffles. You bring your pinky to his nose and give it a gentle touch. “Beautiful baby. I love you.” Your voice turns to sugar. “I love you, baby, you’re so beautiful, just like daddy.”

Footsteps creaking on the landing. You quieten without looking away from the baby, until you feel a familiar hand on your arm. “You okay?”

“Did you fix the robot?”

“Of course I did.” He leans down and in, lips and nose pressing to your arm. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

“I am tired. Maybe I’ll nap while he’s sleeping.”

“That’s a good idea. Give him a kiss and I’ll put him back in the crib.”

“No, no, can’t he stay?”

“You want me to stay here and watch you sleep?” he asks, laughing into your arm, pressing another kiss in a path toward your shoulder. “You can keep him until you fall asleep, okay? Then I’ll move him.”

“Will you do that thing to my cheek?” you ask quietly.

“If you tell me what you were saying before I walked in, yes.”

Hotch sits on the bed behind you where you’re sidled up to the baby, the back of his hand falling gently against your cheek, fingers curled and knuckles brushing the skin just shy of your eye one tender centimetre at a time. “Well?” he prompts.

You close your eyes with a contented smile. “Was just telling him he’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” He turns his hand, his pinky finger rubbing the delicate skin under your eye briefly, and the his palm flat to your face. His thumb takes up the guard. You feel fatigue pulling at you from the sheer comfort he offers, though you can manage a few more words, at least.

“He’s beautiful, he has his daddy’s nose.”

“I don’t think that’s what makes him so handsome.”

“No?” you mumble.

Hotch lets his face rest again on your arm. “No, that’s his mother. Couldn’t be anything else.”

[envy-of-the-apple]

Monsoon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

10.1k wc

Synopsis: Four years after Toji Fushiguro died, Satoru decided to give his widow a visit

(Warnings: age difference (nothing underaged), dark content, AFAB reader, pregnancy kink, non con, overstimulation, piv sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, rough sex)

It was raining when Gojo Satoru entered your flat. 

Not particularly harshly, but more than enough for a scare. You weren't in the mood for visitors; the rain made you drowsy, and it was coincidentally your one day off. You wanted to lean against the window and watch the droplets fall against the pavement with a warm blanket. You did not want to exchange pleasantries with some kid. 

The only reason you didn't slam the door in his face was because he said your husband's name. 

It was why you were bringing tea to someone who clearly couldn't care less about it as he lounged on the sofa. You sat on the other end, staring at the scuffed coffee table. Out of anxiety, you play with the ring wrapped around your finger. 

"...He's dead?" 

It's a question, but you already know the answer. Gojo doesn't even bother to reply, humming, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid. You still stare at the coffee table. It's slightly crooked. One of the legs was broken. Toji promised he'd fix it. 

That was four years ago. You hadn't seen him since. 

You should have expected this. You knew the kind of man Toji was even before he stuck that flimsy ring on your finger. The kinds of people he hung out with. The suspicious amounts of money he would shower you with. There would have never been a happy end for the two of you. 

You can still feel your throat close up, bile rise from your belly. You can't do anything but watch the old table you never threw out because he promised he'd come back and fix it. 

The only reason you close your eyes, sucked in a tight breath, was because you still had a guest over. One that clearly wouldn't care about your crocodile tears. 

You've never seen someone his age so apathetic before. That temperament was associated with the people of your generation. The people who've already been in the workforce, who carried stress on their backs and hips. You can't see his eyes, but the slouch in his posture is indicative enough. Maybe all kids his age were like this. Uncaring, indifferent, subtly disrespectful. 

Because he was a kid. It didn't matter how tall he was, how much bigger than you he was. A single look was all you needed to know that this boy was at least a decade younger than you. Unkept white hair, sunglasses despite the weather, a cocky smile, a voice oozing with misplaced confidence.

You don't acknowledge it; it's clear he didn't come here just to tell you your husband is dead. 

"How old's your kid? Eight?" Gojo tilts his head. "You gotta' know what that means, right?" 

You do. Even if you weren't steeped into the world your husband willfully left, you know enough. You know how important your son is. 

It's why you stop Gojo before he can make his offer. You've already heard this before, a week ago when men with Zenin as their last names knocked on your door. 

"Thank you for your concern," you tell him as calmly and respectfully as you can. For the first time, the man straightens up, as if your answer wasn't what he expected. You can sense he isn't used to being told no. 

 You keep your smile neutral, pleasant, final. 

"But we're fine as we are."

Moments later, when he's about to leave, you offer an umbrella, insistent on him taking it. It was raining after all. He takes it with him without any protest. 

You don't notice that, despite the downpour, he was perfectly dry when he stepped into your home.

☔︎︎

Megumi was always special. 

Every mother thinks that for their child. You're no exception. As soon as he was born, tiny in your arms, swaddled in blankets, something shifted within you. You'd always wanted children, but the concrete feeling of your child in your arms when he's so vulnerable. You'd never felt anything more right. 

To you, Megumi was always special. But when Megumi turned 5, he became special to the entire world. 

Toji was never tight-lipped about the world he came from. Shamans, sorcerers, shikigami, curses. You weren't an expert, but you certainly knew more than the average person. He'd often tell you things, when he was drunk, pulling you against his bare chest, underneath cheap blankets. You always heard the bitterness in his voice. That world had rejected him. It would reject anyone who wasn't special enough. Special people were rare. 

It's why you were convinced Megumi would never have to deal with any of that. His father wasn't a sorcerer, neither were you. He'd live a normal life and would only be special to you. 

"It's on your other shoulder." 

You switched hands, reaching over to tug on your sleeve. Like always, you couldn't feel anything. There was no weight on your skin, nothing tangible that you could grab and toss. There was just this small feeling of dread. A small ache in your bones. 

He waves a tiny hand. Instantly, the feeling of dread is gone. The ache lifts and you roll your shoulders. 

"Thank you," you tell him with a strained, but grateful smile. He nods, turning back to his food. 

"You're getting more, now," he simply says. 

"Haha, sorry," you reply instinctively because even though he's eight, you feel like you've burdened him. 

"It's okay," he mutters, quiet as always. His gaze flicks back up at you, before glancing back down. He takes a second to gnaw on his lip. 

"Are...are you okay?" 

You're being so obvious even your own son could see it. 

Your smile feels more forced as you placate him with the usual lie of 'Mommy's just tired, long day at work'. He doesn't buy it, but he doesn't say anything back. He's so much like his father in these moments. Truthfully, you didn't think Megumi got a single thing from you. His black hair is Toji's, his blue eyes are Toji's, his pale skin is Toji's, and even his forever-present scowl is your late husband's. You supposed that should have been the first sign: Megumi would be anything but normal. 

You hadn't told him about the visits. You're his parent, you had justified to yourself. He's a child. He doesn't need to know about the visits. Especially, considering you decided for him. Megumi would be raised out of the jujutsu world, away from curses, and sorcerers. 

You can't have your son taken away from you like his father was.

('Special Grade', Gojo had told you. A powerful cursed spirit. You hadn't gotten closure until you let him in. No body was ever recovered.)

You can't let your son end up like that. 

But was this the right life for him? You watch as Megumi's gaze trails up, like he's tracing the movement of a fly or something bigger that you would never see. 

You can't relate to Megumi. You don't have cursed energy. You can't see the things he can. As much as you loved him, you'd never be able to understand what he is. None of his classmates can. None of his teachers. It sounds lonely. Isolating. 

Only a handful of people that could ever give Megumi that connection exist. And they're willing to accept him with open arms. 

He had been an older man, flanked by another. They eyed your home with relative disgust; you, with mild derision. It'd been their words that echo in your head today. How much happier Megumi would be surrounded by his own kind. How the clan would welcome him and teach him to hone his technique. 

They were words that would sate the parent of a lonely boy, but you couldn't help but remember the disregard in his voice. Their words made Megumi sound like a tool, instead of a child. 

The offer of payment for your son was enough to turn them away. 

Was Gojo Satoru any better? From your brief encounter, you couldn't tell. There was always a smile on his lips whenever he talked about Megumi's future and Jujutsu Tech. The lilt of his voice felt fake, artificial. But at least he didn't ask to outright buy your son. 

When Megumi's tucked into bed, you pace around the living room. You glance at the slip of paper he'd left behind. The scrawl of numbers in neat handwriting. The thing he slipped into your unsuspecting hand. You've had a glass of wine before, maybe that's why your hands are a little more steady when you punch in the numbers. 

He picks up after the second ring. It oddly feels like he was waiting for your call. 

"Can jujutsu sorcerers live normal lives?"

There's a laugh on the other end. Light. Amused. 

"No," his response is cold, even when his tone isn't, "Even if they leave the jujutsu world, they will never have normal lives." 

The answer you were afraid of, but you weren't surprised. Special people rarely live normal lives. You knew what this meant: trying to protect Megumi from his father's fate would be pointless. No matter how far you run, no matter how far you take him, it will never be enough. 

"Does it really matter, then?" you ask, "who Megumi goes with." 

"In that sense, no, not really," his voice crackles back, "But I think you've already made your decision." 

You had days ago. You were just wasting time, picking up the phone only to drop it just as quickly. As much as you'd wanted to keep your son away from the jujutsu world, you knew, even before they knocked on your door, it was a failed endeavor. Megumi was special. Megumi was too special for you to hide. He shone too brightly. 

The Zenin clan would extinguish that. You knew it. Toji knew it too. It's why he took on your name. 

It's silent again. You bite your lip. You've been doing that a lot lately. 

"Gojo, may I ask a favor?" He gives a hum. 

"Please, don't tell him about Toji." 

There's a beat of silence. The line clicks. 

Two days later, Megumi meets the strongest sorcerer of the modern era. 

☔︎

There was always something clinical about Megumi's and Gojo's relationship. 

You wouldn't call them father-son, let alone brotherly. It was strictly student and teacher. From the start, it was clear Megumi wasn't impressed with the sorcerer. His scowl would somehow get deeper whenever the young man was around. 

Gojo didn't seem all that impressed either. He wasn't as blatant, but you could sense that it was a chore for him, rather than anything else. You don't think you can blame him. He's barely twenty. He should be doing other things. Living his youth, and continuing his education. 

Gojo grew up too fast. You can see it in his face. He's never not smiling, but it's never truly sincere. It's not clinical either. It looks exhausted. You wonder-if he wasn't wearing those glasses all the time-if you'd see dark circles. 

He's too young to be running around this much. He's too young to carry the entire world of jujutsu sorcery on his back. He's too young to be an educator. A mentor. 

Yet he is. Yet he does. All with a smile on his face. 

You're less intense nowadays to him. When Megumi comes home, clearly a bit more roughed up than when he left, you criticize Gojo less harshly. When you make lunch for Megumi, you ask if he'd like anything as well. Gojo has a bigger sweet tooth than your eight-year-old son does. You never nag him for it. 

The change doesn't fully happen until that fateful conversation. It's an offhanded remark he makes about him not being there to train Megumi for a few weeks because of a mission. 

"A curse?" you ask, as if they aren't all around you. 

Gojo grins because you've discovered he likes talking. "Reports are coming down from Sendai. The running bet currently is special grade." 

You frown. "Oh. Well, be careful." 

He freezes at that. You think he's staring at you, but you're not too sure. His glasses give away nothing. Your fingers dance with nerves. Had you said something wrong?

"What?" 

You tilt your head. "Oh! Uh, 'be careful'. Stay safe." You end your sentence awkwardly. 

Eventually, Gojo recovers. "Yeah. Well, obviously." He smiles. 

You watch him leave, keeping your eye on him until he disappears into the sleek black car. 

It doesn't occur to you until much later that Gojo probably hasn't had someone worry about him before. 

☔︎︎

Whenever Megumi's training continues much later in the evenings, you go to the Gojo estate to pick him up yourself. 

It's a grand house. Practically a mansion. You've never felt so embarrassed about your humble apartment until you saw the lavishness Satoru lived in. A part of you is now even more impressed by Megumi's stubbornness. Children are the first to fall for the affluent. 

It's big, but you've never quite gotten over how empty it looks. Every time you visit, there's always just Satoru. You haven't seen his mom, his dad, any siblings. It looks like a family home, but he's the only one who's ever there. 

He's never mentioned any family. You wonder what happened to them. Where they are now. 

Somedays, you arrive a bit earlier than needed. During that time, you tend to stroll through the gardens. They're so beautiful. Large and expansive. They're empty, however, just like that grand house. No flowers. Not even weeds. It's just a bunch of dirt and stones, plainly stacked on top of each other. It disappoints you a bit. The grounds had so much potential. 

"Whatcha' got for me this time?" You jump, whirling around. Satoru is right behind you, a teasing grin on his face. 

You give him a disapproving look, though it lacks any real heat. "I told you to stop doing that." 

"Doing what?" Though he may be twenty, he acts like he's younger than your son. Speaking of your child:

"Where's Megumi?" You prod, glancing behind Satoru, as though your grumpy child would pop up behind him. No such thing happens. Satoru's incriminating smile grows wider. 

"Homework," he cryptically replies, "also, he didn't want to disturb us adults having our grown-up conversations." 

"Of course he did," is all you say, but you acquiesce regardless, digging through your bag. 

You've always been taught to bring something when visiting another person's home. You found it rude not to, despite how casual Satoru acts around you. You discovered he liked sweets the most, so you have tried your best to satisfy his sweet tooth. He seems happy with whatever you give him. One thing you like about Satoru is how he cherishes all the gifts he's received from you without any complaint. You spotted the umbrella you'd given him all those weeks ago, sitting right by the door. He'd never given it back. You'd never asked for it. 

You try to ignore the feeling that the only reason he gets excited about your gifts is that it's rare for him to receive anything at all. Satoru doesn't need to be pitied. 

It's nothing too big, just a bag of saltwater taffy from an Americanized store. He's already ripping the package open, pulling one out of the wrapper to stick it in his mouth. 

You blink when he extends his hand, another piece of candy between his fingers. 

"Say 'ah'!" 

"Oh no, I'm fine. They're for you—" Satoru interrupts you by popping the piece right in your mouth. Your lips instinctively close. 

"Oh." You say after you taste the sweet. "Peppermint." 

He laughs, taking another one out for himself. You follow him through the abandoned gardens. 

"So, how's Megumi's-"

"Nuh-uh," Satoru immediately stops you, "enough about work. Let's talk about something else!" 

You roll your eyes, but your smile is too affectionate. You ask him about his latest trip overseas. He tells you about the country he visited, the curse he exorcised, practically giddy from excitement. Conversation starts there before moving onto other things, small talk, your job. 

"It's a shame the gardens are so empty," you say when the conversation reaches a lull. 

He stares at the bare patches of dirt with you. "When I was younger, the gardeners would take care of 'em for us. Flowers would bloom every spring." 

You feel him recoil. Satoru does that sometimes. Say something too intimate, hissing when it's too late to take them back. For his sake, you don't comment on it. 

"It must have looked beautiful." Is all you respond. Understanding, but closed enough to give him relief. 

You stand there in silence for a couple of seconds. In the dirt, you can see a tiny ant carrying a grain of sand. 

"Roleplay time!" Satoru suddenly exclaims. You whirl your head to look at him. "Imagine you become the great Gojo Satoru." You stifle a laugh at that. His grin only gets wider. "What kind of flowers would you choose?" 

Toji always thought bouquets were stupid. 'There's no point' he'd always say 'the weeds will just die anyway, why you somethin' like that?'. But sometimes, he'd bring home these tiny, golden flowers. Simple. Pretty. He'd tuck it behind your ear, grinning at his work. You'd kiss him in return. 

"Marigolds," you say at last. 

Satoru only hums in response. A few seconds later, he's leading you out of the garden, rambling about how expensive sushi was overseas. 

A few days later, you see men with barrels of soil, combing through the garden. 

A week after, tiny golden flowers start poking through the dirt. Simple. Pretty. 

☔︎︎

You had that same dream again. The day Toji left. 

It's rare to have these dreams. They wouldn't leave you alone the first year he'd disappeared. Back when you thought he'd gotten bored of you and your son, like he'd finally decided he was sick of the family life. 

They come back sporadically, nowadays. You can't sleep after you have them, so you often find yourself curled up in the living room, looking at the window. It was raining. Heavy droplets thud on the glass. The violence seems desperate somehow. Like the weather is begging to be let in, to snuggle underneath the warm blankets too. 

On nights like this, it's a habit to stare at the tiny golden band on your finger. You slip it off, holding it in your palm. It's nothing extravagant—tiny with a simple design—but it's the last thing you have of him. Toji was never that sentimental. 

It's not really a dream. Dreams are more whimsical, cloudy. You can remember everything, down to the outfit he'd been wearing, the fly that had been buzzing around your door. It was like you were there all over again, begging him not to go. 

"You promised you'd stop." 

"This is different," Toji said and you flinched when he tucks away his gun. You thought he'd gotten rid of it. 

"The money?" You're pressing, "we have enough money, you-" 

"This isn't about fuckin' cash," his voice cuts through you, sharper than any blade he carried. 

"It's somethin' else. Somethin' you wouldn't understand. It goes beyond money." 

Your gaze lowers, curling your fists on the table. You can't understand, not when he refuses to tell you. Not when he barely explains why he's going back to his old ways in the first place. 

Sensing he's upset you, Toji sighs. You can hear him place something down on the dining table, metallic and clanky. Calloused, rough fingers brush your cheek, your jaw, coaxing you to look at him. You don't, forcing him to lean forward, giving a chaste kiss on your cheek. His lips are rough, cracked, but overwhelmingly gentle on your skin. 

"I love you," Toji mutters into your skin. 

You don't respond. You wish you had, you wish you'd gotten over your pride and told him because maybe then he'd still be here with you. He's giving another sigh, tucking your hair into place before he's leaving. He closes the door behind him. 

That day, you told yourself you wouldn't forgive him. Whenever he came back, you'd tell him you were done. You'd take Megumi and you'd leave. 

Now, you think you would have forgiven him. Eventually. It would have taken a while, a lot more than measly flowers and apologies. But, if he had come back, you would have let him back into your heart.

"Couldn't sleep?" you ask. 

Megumi blinks his eyes. It's past his bedtime, but you aren't going to nag him for it. You place the cup of steaming tea down on the coffee table, clicking your tongue when it wobbles. Right, four years later and you still hadn't fixed it,

"The rain was too loud." He gives. 

Wordlessly, you invite him into the cocoon you'd nestled yourself into. The sofa sinks under his weight as he settles next to you, leaning against your side. You tuck the warm blanket around his tiny body. He's still small enough to fully wrap your arm around him, bringing him even closer. You take advantage of it. You don't know how much time you have until he's too big to cuddle with anymore. 

His breaths are even and slow. He's a boy of few words, but even you think he's asleep until he's mumbling something into your ear. 

"I hate him." 

You give a confused hum, leaning down, resting your head on top of his. The coffee table looks even more uneven at this angle. It burns to even look at, these days.

"He makes you cry, even when he's not around anymore." 

You laugh at that. It's a quiet huff. When you glance down, you think you spot a faint smile on the boy's lips. He’s so much like his fathers, in the little things. You don’t think you will ever tell Megumi that. You don’t think he’ll take that observation well.

"I wasn't crying.” You tell him. “I was just thinking.”

He doesn't give a response after that. A few minutes later when you look down again, his eyes are closed, and he's drooling against your shoulder. You laugh again before gently gathering your son in your arms and settling him down to bed. 

The next day, you notice the monstrous amount of duct tape wrapped around the leg of the coffee table. When you ask Megumi about it, he just shrugs, his ears twinging a bright red. 

You throw the coffee table away. It's replaced by a new one the following week. 

☔︎︎

Satoru didn't like talking about Toji. 

You only tried prying once or twice. He was tight-lipped about it. Not quite cold, but he'd shut the conversation down quickly, more than eager to talk about something else. You missed it the first few times, but it became clear that Satoru disdained even the mention of your late husband. You can't tell if it's whether Satoru admired Toji enough that the mere mention of his name sends him into grief, or if it's something a lot more complicated. 

Now that you think of it, you barely even knew the relationship Gojo had with Toji. Had they been close? Was he just an acquaintance? Satoru had always been so cryptic about it. 

Toji hadn't. 

"He's called the strongest man?" you ask, amusement twinged in your voice, "I thought he was 12." 

"They don't care about age when giving titles," Toji replied.

You were leaning onto his shoulder, watching your son sleep in his crib. Only three months old and he had this permanent frown on his face, as if he was already sick of the world. 'He already acts like you' you once told your husband. He'd scoffed, but he didn't disagree. 

"That's a little funny," you find yourself saying. "What, can he lift a car? Does he benchpress 200?" 

Toji doesn't find the image of a child casually lifting 150lb weights as funny. He only grunts, drawing you closer. 

"I met him once," he says after a beat of silence, "back when he was barely older than a toddler." 

"Hm?" you prodded, still mesmerized by a sleeping Megumi, "what'd you think?" 

"Power," Toji responds, "more power than I'd ever have." 

You tear your gaze away from your son, glancing at your husband. Toji's eyes were looking somewhere, farther than you could see. It's the envy in his voice that you can't help but keep. A mere child already has everything Toji could ever want. Strength, a name, honor. 

You should have realized then that Toji would never belong to you. Not truly. His heart, whether or not he swore up and down otherwise, would always belong to the Jujujtsu world. It's a tragedy. Someplace that he always longed for acceptance, will never truly see him. Even when he died for it. 

Satoru will probably never answer your questions about Toji, but perhaps you could get close. 

"Why did you do it?" 

It was after dinner. Satoru had dropped your son off, and you had practically dragged the white-haired man inside with you, sitting him down on the dining table. He'd complained, but you know he secretly liked being coddled. He didn't deny the second helpings, nor the thirds. Sometimes you wondered if he was a man or a black hole. 

Megumi had already gone to bed, and you supposed he had enough of Satoru for one day. It left you and him in the kitchen, putting away the dishes. Rather, you put away the dishes, and Satoru watched. Not that you minded. It was nice to have company. 

"Hm?" He was typing away at his phone, blearily turning back to look at you. You couldn't get why he didn't just go home if he was so uninterested. 

"Why did you interfere when the Zenin came?" You repeat your question, putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher. 

Looking back, things could have gone much differently for you. For your son. You didn't realize how much power the Zenin clan had back then. Had Satoru not stepped in, had you kept rejecting them, you honestly wonder what sorts of drastic measures men like them would take for the sake of power. 

"Are you upset?" He asks, tilting his head. 

"Of course not." You smile. You were grateful for Satoru, you always have been. He's helped your family out in more ways than you could imagine. After all he's helped Megumi with, there was nothing Satoru could do to get you mad at him, hate him, not truly. 

"I was just wondering. It's not like you had an obligation to." 

You close the dishwasher with a soft click. The machine starts with a soft hum. He doesn't reply, not for a long while, when you look up, you see him staring back at you. His sunglasses were off, folded, tucked under his collar. 

"Clans are bullshit." You're surprised by the venom in his voice. There's a cinch in his jaw. You wonder how many years his hatred has been festering like this. 

"The entire Jujujstu world is, honestly. But clans are the worst of all. The hierarchy. Traditions. All dogshit. They'd gobble the kid and spit him back out. I-I didn't want him-" He stops with a hiss, like he'd said too much.

This time, you don't let him run away. 

"...you didn't want him to end up like you." You finish. 

It clicks, fits together like a jigsaw piece. The Gojo name had ruined Satoru, turned him into something he was too young to be. The name forced him to grow up faster, stronger. The name forced him to be isolated, lonely.

That conversation with Toji curls up inside of you. Back then, you'd only empathized with Toji's pain, but what about Satoru's pain? What about the amount of expectations that had been piled on top of a 12-year-old boy? What about the responsibilities he's forced to carry, each weight growing heavier and heavier but he can't break because he is Gojo? 

Satoru stands before you, but you can easily picture him as Megumi. Tiny, small Megumi who didn't speak much but whose heart was bigger than anyone you knew. He could end up like Satoru. Standing at the top of the mountain. All powerful. All alone. 

You don't want Megumi to be alone. 

You don't want Satoru to be alone. 

"Satoru." You step forward. "Could...could I give you a hug?" 

He doesn't respond. You step closer. No barrier. 

When you wrap your arms around him, you think you can feel him tremble. It takes a moment for him to catch up, for his arms to drape across your back. You clutch onto him tighter, silently promising not to let go until he does. 

He doesn't, not for a long while. 

☔︎︎

Satoru had a mission on his twenty-second birthday. So, you celebrate five days after he turns twenty-two. 

"Again," you say for the nth time, "If-if you have other plans, or anything else, I don't have to stay-" 

"Will you stop it, already," Satoru interrupts, "You're gonna make me depressed. I already told you, I got no other plans." 

 "Well," you frown, "if you change your mind, and you'd rather spend time with your friends..." 

"What other friends? You're the only one I got." 

You frown at that. He smiles, barely lingering on his loneliness. He does that a lot lately, brush it off. Perhaps it's become easier to. Perhaps it's because you're here now. 

The sun had already set on the Gojo estate. The stars were already out. Typically, you would have been antsy staying too late over, especially when Megumi was still home, but your son was a few cities over. He was training with another sorcerer, his new mentor stating that your son wouldn't be back for a couple more days. 

Wait, now that you think of it. 

"Satoru," you say, your voice heavy with disapproval, "Did you send Megumi off purely because it was your birthday?”

He grins wider, showing off his pearly whites. "No idea what you’re talking about." 

You frown harder. He clicks his tongue in distaste.

"It's not like the kid would wanna come celebrate anyway, and now you can focus on me! Two birds one stone." He flops on the couch.

"Satoru." 

"Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!" Satoru chants, as if that'll distract you. 

Unfortunately, it does. You roll your eyes, but you lean down, pulling out the pastry out of the bag. It's nothing special, and you do not consider yourself an expert in baking. It certainly isn't fancy, but you were still a little proud. Simple, a small chocolate cake, perfect for two.

Satoru stares. 

"I know it isn't much-" 

"I love it," he says and you can't tell if he's joking or not, "I'm gonna make it a family heirloom." 

You laugh at that. It shakes your shoulders. 

"I don't think cakes are built to last that long. How about you just eat it, instead." 

"Much better plan," Satoru responds, grabbing a fork, eager to dig in. 

He yelps when you slap his hand away as you give him a stern look. You touched his skin. You try not to linger at that, at the fact that he let you touch him. 

"Not now," you say, but you still smile, "you need to blow out the candles first." 

He huffs but doesn't protest when you stick two candles into the soft frosting. It takes a while to work the old lighter; you have to shoo him away when he tries to snatch it from you. You force Satoru to sit there for at least a minute as you sing the dreadful happy birthday song. He doesn't seem to mind, a mean grin growing on his face, letting you finish up the lyrics. 

Toji was mortified every time you managed to stick a birthday hat onto him, dragging him to the living room for his cake. He'd hold his infant son in his arms, his frown even less amused. Even then, he never interrupted the stupid tradition you put him through. He'd sit through the entire ceremony, Megumi asleep on his chest. A scowl would twitch on his lips whenever you managed to smear a dab of frosting on his nose.

You clap when Satoru blows out the candles. 

"What did you wish for?" You ask minutes later, swallowing down a bite of frosting. He was already on his third piece. You know you should tell him to slow down but you don't think it will do much. 

"If I tell you, it won't come true," Satoru responds, his tone light.

"That's a myth," you point out, "but keep your secrets if you must." 

You set your plate down when Satoru speaks the next time. 

"I wished for us to do this again." 

His voice is shallow, echoing throughout the empty house. You look at him, his white hair, his pink lips, his blue eyes. Everything that encompasses Gojo Satoru is focused entirely on you.

"That next year, we'll celebrate the exact same way." 

He sounded so small, as though he were younger than 22. Perhaps, a part of him was. A gentle smile spreads on your face. 

"Of course we will," you assure, before your voice gets teasing, "the next year, the year after that, and the next year until you get sick of me." You laugh. He doesn't laugh back. It's silent again, the kind of quiet that's full and meaningful. Distantly, you hear a clock ticking somewhere. It's a nice night. Peaceful. God, you were so tired from all the stressing you did for the cake. Satoru wanted to watch a movie after the cake cutting, but you wonder if he'll forgive you if you fell asleep during the film. You were exhausted. 

That's why it takes you a second to register his lips are on yours. 

The kiss is soft, and patient. His mouth moves slowly against yours. You can taste the chocolate. It takes a second to understand what Satoru was doing that he wasn't Toji before your hands are moving, reaching up to his shoulders, keeping him there as you shy away, breaking the kiss. You two stay like that for a few more moments, still touching. You can hear your breath, feel your heartbeat. A little while later, he moves closer, intent on following your mouth, before your brain kicks in and you're shutting him down, standing up. 

Satoru blinks up at you, the realization of rejection sinking into his eyes before you stumble over yourself to apologize because, dear god, you should have seen this coming. 

"I'm so sorry, Satoru," your voice is coming out in clumps, "I never meant to... I always thought...I'm a decade older than you." 

The ocean eyes crystalize, turning into cold tanzanite. You're too muddled with guilt and self-hatred to notice. Of course, Satoru would take things the wrong way. Of course, he'd misunderstand. You always thought he was wise for his age, but he's still in his early twenties. You should have been better and made your boundaries known. God, you were so stupid. 

"So?" he asks, but his voice lacks the usual snark. "Who cares how old you are?" 

You resist the urge to say something accidentally condescending. 'You'll understand when you're older' stings in the back of your tongue, and you wonder if it's fair to say considering how you acted when you were younger than Satoru­­-- when Toji was an older man who found you amusing enough for dinner and a warm bed. 

It's different now. You were older, wiser. Toji had been a mistake. A mistake you miss every day. 

"Of course, you don't," you say, and despite it all, a laugh fumbles out your throat. Shaky, delirious. "Again, I'm so sorry. It's entirely my fault-I-I should have communicated things better."  

"Why does any of that matter?." It's his turn to stand up, and it makes everything so much worse because Satoru's taller than you. "It doesn't, not to me. I lo-" 

"Stop."

It's not a yell, but it's the harshest tone you've ever used on him. Still, it's enough for his breath to falter, to give you a moment of reprieve because the only other person who said that to you and meant it died six years ago. You touch the cold metal of your ring. You twist it around your finger. When Satoru's eyes gaze down, following your movements, you force yourself to stop self-soothing. 

The ticking of the clock starts back up again. You want to smash it. 

"I should go."

You already know it's a bad idea. You shouldn't leave Satoru alone. You should stay, sort things out, mend his heart, but you're human. You want to run, sort yourself out first. You want to take the cowards' way out. Satoru doesn't stop you. You can't bear to look at him, not when it's so much to even be here. Your mind is already being thrown into disarray and you're barely remembering to grab your purse. 

Your hands rest on the door when you pause. You don't bother turning around. You know he's already looking at you. 

"Happy birthday, Satoru." 

For some reason, you cry the entire ride home. 

☔︎︎

Surprisingly, it's Megumi who asks about it. 

It'd been a week since you'd last spoken to Satoru. Communication stills, and stops completely. It goes both ways, he doesn't randomly pop by anymore, scaring the daylights out of you. You no longer buy strange-sounding sweets because you know you won't be seeing him later. One week ago, Satoru was there. The next, he wasn't. 

"Has he said sorry yet?" 

You jolt up, staring at your son. Megumi is still glowering at the vegetables you'd put on his plate. At this point, you know he doesn't hate the food. He just always looks like that. 

"What?" 

"He obviously did something to you." He mutters. "Did he at least say sorry?" 

No matter how uninterested your son always portrayed himself as, he was very observant. Of course, he would. As much as you loved Megumi, you wish he'd be just 10 percent less attentive. 

You force yourself to laugh anyway. "Satoru didn't do anything." You assure. "What makes you say that?" 

"The idiot's been sulking all week," Megumi responds, "everyone's been wondering what's up with him." 

You give him a disapproving look, but you doubt it did anything. Instead, you glance down, mindlessly poking at your plate. 

"Don't call him that," you say softly.

Megumi only shrugs. Despite everything, you still have this strange urge to defend Satoru, if only to save your own dignity of fighting with someone 10 years younger than you.

"Nothing happened. It-it was a misunderstanding, that's all." You hope your smile doesn't look uncertain. He's only ten, but he's already so perceptive. You don't think it's enough to convince him. Your smile drops. You roll your shoulders. 

Another thing you should have seen coming. Of course, Megumi would notice. Despite how annoyed Megumi acts around him, there's still a sort of bond between the two boys. A connection between two sorcerers, something you will never have with your son. You were wrong about your initial assessment about their relationship. They were much closer than you thought. Satoru cared about Megumi, as did Megumi about Satoru. Your souring relationship with Satoru might break that. . 

Your actions have consequences. To everyone, not just yourself. 

"I'll talk to him soon about it, I promise." As if to placate him further, you reach over, patting his hair. He frowns deeper but doesn't make a move to shove you off. 

To your chagrin, soon comes later that evening. Satoru breaks the ice first with a single text. 

you free tomorrow

It's nothing like him. No emoticons. No exclamation marks. You say yes, regardless. The next evening, you step out of the taxi, thanking the driver before stepping onto the Gojo property. 

It was raining, barely a drizzle, not enough to make you want to bring an umbrella. Still, the air was chilly, just enough so that you clutched the coat covering your body tighter. You carefully avoid the puddles adorning the sidewalk. 

You agreed to come here, but it's hard to keep that in mind as you climb the patio steps. You stand in front of the door for an entire minute, counting each second, before you knock. 

"Finally! Took you long enough." 

It's hard to look at him. Already, your gaze threatens to waver. You force yourself not to wrap your arms around your sides. For once, you're glad he wears those sunglasses of his. 

Satoru, on the other hand, barely looks affected by the encounter. He's dressed well, in a white collared shirt and black pants. He smiles cheerily, widening the door so you can step inside. You thank him when he wordlessly mentions for your coat. 

Your eyes catch the living room, along with the coffee table. There'd been a half-eaten birthday cake the last time you'd been here. Now the table is completely clean. You wonder what Satoru had done with it. You hoped he threw it away because the thought of him sitting there, alone, finishing the pastry filled you with so much guilt you could almost feel sick. 

"Did you see the weather just an hour ago?" He asks offhandedly, "thought the rain would smash through my windows, from how loud it was." 

"Oh?" You ask genuinely because you honestly hadn't noticed anything regarding the weather. You'd been stressing about the reunion, mind too preoccupied to care about the skies. 

"'hope the violets survived. I just planted 'em yesterday." He glances out the window as though he could see through the sheets of rain. You hum, already feeling out of place. The silence is only accompanied by the rain lightly patting on the windows. 

"You still love him." When you don't answer right away, Satoru turns back. "That Zenin guy. You love him." 

It catches you so off guard that you can't help but tell the truth. You nod once. 

He's still smiling, but the air feels off somehow. Like you're passing unmarked territory. It's a silly thought, and you brush it off immediately. Despite how strained your relationship is currently, Satoru isn't dangerous. He never will be. 

"Yeah," he responds, "I just don't get why, y'know?" 

You try to smile, but it's like pulling teeth. "I-I don't see how-" 

"It just doesn't make sense. You and him, I mean. You two are so different." 

You couldn't argue with that. Toji and you were on opposite ends. He was from a world that you would never be able to reach, let alone touch. You were a regular woman. He was a man who fought curses on a regular basis. A man who died from it. 

Satoru's laughing; it takes you a moment to realize you might have said some of that out loud. 

"Right. Fuck I keep forgetting that's what I told you." Satoru leans against the counter. "A special grade killed Zenin." 

"I mean, technically, I didn't lie, right? A special grade did kill him. A special grade sorcerer." 

Your brain stops. You can only stare. Satoru reaches up, taking off his glasses, folding them before neatly placing them on the counter. His eyes were always so breathtaking; now they look empty. Soulness. 

You laugh. It sounds delirious. "But-but you said you were one of the only special grade sorcerers around." 

"Yeah." Satoru nods along. 

"Satoru...you're not making any sense..." 

"Really?" Satoru tilts his head. "What part of 'I killed your husband' is confusing for you?" 

He continues at your silence. "I mean, it wasn't like it wasn't for a good reason. The guy shot a junior high girl for cash. Knowing him, he's probably done worse. If you're asking me, I did a good thing by killing him--oh." Satoru pauses at your expression: horrified, broken.

He's smiling. You think that's the worst part. It's the same smile he's always worn. Playful and mischievous. 

"C'mon, you seriously didn't know what he was up to. I can't tell whether you're that stupid or if he was that good at hiding it." 

You should have denied it. You should have said Toji would never do the heinous act Satoru just accused him off, but can you? Could you honestly say that? You knew Toji was in bad shit. You'd always known that. He told you about the gambling, the drugs, the money. After he married you, he promised he walked away from that life, he was walking away with you. One last job, he'd said. Just one last job and he was done forever. 

Something that goes beyond money, Toji had said, something you would never understand. 

You can hardly breathe, sinking against the wall behind you as you collapse onto the floor. Your hands are pressed against your mouth, muffling your sobs as your eyes are filled with tears. Every interaction you've ever had with Toji is flitting through your mind. You can feel the bile in your stomach, threatening to leave your lips, splatter across the floor. 

Your husband was a murderer. 

Your husband was a monster. 

His fingers are cold as he firmly pushes your hands away from your face. You glance up. Satoru stares right back. His smile is gone, replaced by a frown. He squats before you, idly tracing his pointer figure around your cheeks, catching your falling tears. 

"He took everything from me, y'know," he says, quiet, low enough that the rain almost drowns his voice, "in just a day, my entire life changed. Someone died. A person I thought would be by my side my entire life disappeared." 

"But, I gotta' thank him. Without his help, I wouldn't have become stronger, and I wouldn't have you." 

You suck in a breath at that, but Satoru isn't paying attention. His hand traces down to your neck, feeling the skin. 

"I like to think that he gave me you as an apology of sorts. It's nice to think of it that way, right?" 

You look at him, absolutely horrified at how casual he was being. 

Your husband was a monster. 

And he’d left you with another one. 

Immediately, you slap his hands away. 

"Stop." You say, a weak hiss, "don't-don't touch me. Never ever touch me-" 

"Yeah," he interrupts, ignoring your wavering voice, "I didn't think you would jump into my arms after what I said, either. But, hey, a guy can dream, right?" 

What? And before you can think, he's pressing his lips against yours. 

It's not like his first kiss. Before, when it was soft and sweet and he barely pushed, like he was savoring you. This kiss was harsh. Filled with teeth and lust and endless greed. You can taste the inexperience, and the thought that this might be the second time Satoru’s ever kissed someone fills your head. The fight is almost pathetic as you sink into his hold, helpless to do anything but wilt until he's had enough of his fill. You push against his chest, but he only leaves on his terms.

You're both panting, but you're more frazzled. His lips are blushing pink, and there's a string of saliva that stretches before snapping apart. You can feel the way his hands are positioned on your hips. Disgust and self-hatred wells up within you.

"I meant what I said that day: I love you." You squeeze your eyes at his confession. "I mean, what's there not to love? You're sweet; you're hot."

His hands play with the hem of your shirt. You stiffen as you try to claw them off of you, but it doesn't help. You don't want to look, but you just can't help yourself. It's morbid curiosity. Looking at a car crash. Your eyes open and you stare at Satoru. 

"But I think the thing I love about you the most is that you'll never hate me." 

Two glowing blue eyes stare back at you. He looks ethereal like this. Even when he's kneeling, he's still taller than you. He's always been above you. Not just in height, you're slowly starting to realize. 

You always thought Satoru hated his last name. You always thought he blamed his lineage for his loneliness, his isolation. He grew up too fast, forced to become something for the sake of others. It's why you tried so hard to treat him like an equal, as though he were another human. 

When he leans in to kiss you again, you finally understand that Gojo never wanted to part from his last name. Why would he? It was always a part of him. It was your fault for trying to humanize and connect with him. You fought for years to see him as an equal that you neglected to ask if he even wanted to be on the same plane as you. 

Perhaps, once he did. Back when candlelight illuminated his face. When chocolate was the only thing you could taste.

"You can't hate me." He smiles against your lips. "You feel too sorry for me." 

"No matter what I do to you, you'll never hate me." 

You start crying again. Satoru hushes you, wiping away your tears in a way that suggests he's not used to being soft and delicate. Yet, he's trying to be. Soon, his gentleness fades, and his impatience seeps in again. It's all too easy for Satoru to haul you to your feet. He was the strongest, after all. You struggle anyway because you're human and your heart is filled with foolish hope. He laughs at your meager attempts to push him away, and you feel that this is all a game for him. Maybe it always was. 

"Satoru-Satoru," you're begging as he pulls you through his empty house, "you don't have to do this. Please just-" 

"See? You still aren't getting it." Satoru sighs, like he's disappointed before he's tossing you in a room. You flail against the bed, your chest pressed against the cushions before he's flipping you onto your back. It's worse when he's hovering over you, both hands on either side of your head, caging you in. 

"I'm not doing anything I don't want to do. I never have." 

You expect Satoru to kiss you again, that disgusting display where he rips you apart with his teeth, consuming you whole. Instead his pretty blue eyes flit to your clenched hand. He snatches up your wrist, easily unfurling your hand.

You react too late, only reaching up to stop him when he’s done pulling the ring off your finger. Satoru barely gives it an unimpressed look before he’s tossing it aside. You can only stare in the direction of it, watching as the last thing you had of him drops into the darkness. There’s two metallic clinks before it’s rolling to a stop. And then, you hear nothing.

He lets out a breath, like he’s relieved, dipping his head into the crook of your neck.

“I was so sick of looking at that.” He mumbles into your skin, giving it a playful nip. “Parading that thing around in front of another man like that. It’s kinda’ rude, y'know?”

You give another sob when his hands dig underneath your shirt. He presses on the softness of your belly, burying his face deeper into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“Fuck, you smell so good.” He groans into your neck. You can feel something press against your thigh.

You know what he was planning on doing, he made it clear ever since he dug himself into your skin with fangs. But the evidence. The hands twitching up your shirt, groping and feeling. The bulge grinding against your thigh

You can’t fight him, you stopped trying. Instead, you clench your fists again, letting the last of your tears drip down your face, praying and praying that what Satoru said wasn’t true.

Satoru isn’t nice to your clothes. You don’t know why you thought he ever would be. When he’s done with feeling and not looking, he pushes your shirt up, letting it catch just over the swell of your chest. He’s pushing your bra down, leaning down to trace your skin with his hot, wet tongue.

You jolt at the contact. It’d been so long since you’ve last been touched. He’s barely done anything and yet you’re already so sensitive. Something between a gasp and a moan is pulled out of your lips when Satoru swirls his tongue around your nipple, before he takes it fully in his mouth.

He’s tasting you, savoring you in a way you’d only seen him do for his cherished candy. He’s messy with it too, drool and spit spilling onto your skin, making you feel even colder than you already were.

Satoru has never stopped with just one candy, has he? He’s greedy, popping another and another in his mouth until the bag is all empty. It’s his natural essence to take until there’s nothing left. That’s why his hand trails down to your skirt, pushing it down before you can even decipher what he wants next from you.

You gasp when his hand presses against your panties, pushing them between your folds. The fabric lightly brushes against your clit, not enough for you to have any kind of relief. Still, a tingle jolts up your back.

“You’re soaked!” Satoru’s exclaiming. His voice comes out in the form of a laugh, light and innocent. It hurts to hear him sound like that. You have no more tears to cry again.

You want to tell him that it wasn’t you, that you don’t want him, that it’s just your body, but you doubt he cares about any of that. He pushes your panties down, letting them sit against your thighs before he’s pushing a finger deep into your wet pussy.

You can’t stop the noises this time. It’s more of a yelp than a moan, but Satoru takes it in stride as he continues to finger fuck you. When he digs a second finger into your hole, there’s a wet squelch of a sound. You have to turn away, but you can feel his smile against your skin. Victorious.

His other hands comes, pushing in between your breasts to keep you on the bed as he plants butterfly kisses down your ribs, your stomach, your hips, all the way down until he’s practically on his knees.

You were right to assume his inexperience. He’s sloppy, spreading his saliva and your wetness all over your pussy. There’s no rhythm, no clear pattern as he’s trying everything at once--swirling his tongue around your sensitive clit before licking his way into your hole.

And yet, it’s working. Your battered cunt responds to his enthusiasm, and your walls squeeze his fingers.

You can’t stop your noises. You don’t think he’s trying to stop his. His voice is muffled by your pussy, but he’s moaning and groaning so loudly. You think he’s saying something, but you can hear anything over the wet sounds of your cunt, the throbbing between your ears.

Your orgasm was inevitable, but you’re still surprised when it hits. Ramming into you like a train. Your back arches, and your thighs are involuntarily squeezing Satoru’s head. Keeping him there.

There’s a hum of satisfaction coming from him, but he doesn’t pull away. He folds your thighs, pushing them up into your chest so he can get more access to your pussy, sucking even harder on your clit. You were so far out of it that you can barely remember that this isn’t for you. It’s all for him. Satoru is greedy. It’s his natural essence to take and take until you’re nothing more than an empty bag, once filled with something sweet.

He doesn’t stop until you’ve come around his fingers and tongue a second time, when your cries are on the brink of overstimulation. When Satoru finally pulls away, the bottom half of his face is shiny. He keeps his eyes on you, messily wiping the remnants of you off his face before his leaning forward to kiss you, letting you taste yourself.

Unlike you, he doesn’t bother undressing himself. He’s unraveling his belt from his waist, pushing his pants down enough that he’s able to untuck his cock from his briefs. He’s already hard, giving his dick two cursory pumps before he’s settling his on either side of your body, keeping you there.

He’s big. Big enough that you worry he might actually succeed in breaking you. A semblance of rebellion, motivated by fear than anything else, stirs inside you. You push yourself up, elbows pressing against the mattress before he’s ending it.

There’s a grin, a flash of teeth, before he’s roughly pushing you down again.

“Satoru-“You start, you beg.

“Shut it,” he says, his smile too dangerous to be friendly, “if it isn’t begging me to fuck you, then I don’t wanna hear it.”

As though he’s taking the sight in himself, he hovers over you. The light from the window gently caresses his face in an angel kiss. His white hair is almost like halo, swathing him in an innocent shade of beauty.

When Satoru sinks his cock deep inside of you, you wonder if he’s defiling you or himself.

Just like before, he doesn’t bother letting you acclimate. He doesn’t wait, he doesn’t hold off. You can’t expect him too. Your pussy is squeezing him, edging him on. How could you expect him to not take it as a challenge and fuck you the way he’s dying to?

It’s exactly what he does as he bullies his cock deep inside your walls again and again. He whimpers, high and pitchy before he’s leaning down to bite and lick at your neck, your chest, leaving your skin with marks and bruises that will last for days.

Satoru loses his sharpness the more he’s inside of you. You cry when he leans down, circling his thumb across your clit.

“So good,” he’s mumbling into your sweaty skin, like a mantra, “so good so good. You’re so good. I love you I love you I love you-“

It’s torture to hear him say that over and over again and a part of you tries to force yourself to think of someone else to give you comfort. Scarred lips. Thick black hair.

You can’t.

Satoru has taken away everything, even your dreams.

There’s another gasp before he’s harshly gripping on your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are blown open, wide and manic.

“Say my name,” he’s begging but his grip is too tight to be anything but an order, “I-I need you to-fuck-say my name.”

“Sa-Satoru.” He lurches at that, almost collapsing into your chest.

“Again.”

“Satoru,” and then you say it again and again and again because your brain’s too muddled to do anything but listen to him.

His thumb is moving faster and faster on you clit, his thrusts are getting sloppier.

“Gonna-gonna fill you up,” An alarm of panic ring as he’s blabbering, words stilted and strained, “I gotta’—I just gotta’, can’t think of ‘nothing else—fuck fuck.” He adjusts your legs, folding your body in half so he can push that much deeper inside of you.

He smiles again. Wild. Unhinged. The monsoon that is Gojo Satoru. If you won’t wash away with him, then he is more than happy to drown you in his rain.

“Fuck,” he curses again, his voice a mix of a laugh and a groan, “think the kid would like a younger sibling?”

You can barely process his words. You don’t think Satoru could process his either. His orgasm triggers your own, and you’re both tipping over the edge together. His cum fills your pulsing cunt, searing your insides with white heat.

Satoru collapses on top of you, pressing you into the mattress of expensive sheets. You two stay like that, just the sounds of your harsh breathing fills the room. Satoru gives a shaky kiss on your lips, just as sweet and chaste as the first time.

He stays there for another minute, before he’s pushing himself up again. You can’t understand what he’s doing until you realize he’s still hard inside of you.

“Satoru—” it’s a plea, your voice overwrought with exhaustion, “Don’t—"

“One more, ‘kay?” he slurs, pushing his cock as deep as it could get inside of you, “Just—Just one more.”

You wake up hours later. It's pitch-black, the lights are gone. Distantly, you can feel Satoru's hand curled around your waist. He'd fallen asleep with his head buried in your neck. You can feel his rhythmic breathing against your skin. Outside, the rain beats on the windows, and thunder rattles in the sky. 

You wait for it—the anger, the hatred—for yourself to hate Gojo Satoru. 

He was right. Nothing came. 

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna would have you as a sugar baby: exam season edition

college!sukuna masterlist

“You know what, I should just drop out,” you ramble, pacing in your living room, hair disheveled and a pencil behind your ear.

Sukuna just hums, sitting on the sofa while munching on chickpea chips he bought the other day saying that “protein is protein”.

“Or or or… I should find a rich man! Yeah, I should be a sugar baby,” you continue, and he just nods, mindlessly scrolling through the tv channels.

“At least I would be happy with my ass on a yacht. Hey, do you think I have sugar baby material?” You ask him, stopping for a second, thinking. All you get as an answer is a grunt. “Sukuna? Are you even listening to me?” You wave your hand in front of the tv. That catches his attention, but only for a mere quarter of a second.

“What?”

You sigh, exasperated. “Why am I even talking to you?”

“Do a spin,” he says, lowly, still not sparing you a glance, putting a bunch of chips in his mouth. You’re so out of your mind that you actually do, and when you turn around his eyes are on you for the first time since you started talking 30 minutes ago. 30 minutes of straight whines. He’s giving you a once over, gaze fixed over how your oversized sweater is falling from your left shoulder, letting him see the top of your boob. He imagines himself sucking exactly on that spot, your breath by his ear, his mark on your-

“Yeah, I’d pay for you,” he says nonchalantly, getting back to zapping.

“You would?” You say excitedly. “Wait. You would?” You add after a moment, taken aback, your face falling progressively. You whine again. “I’m never going to be a sugar baby,” you finish, sprawling out on the carpet near the sofa he’s sitting on, closing your eyes.

“Yo, I have taste, the fuck you mean?” He replies roughly, looking down at you and slightly kicking you in the ribs. Just enough to barely move you from your star-like pose. You open your eyes, looking up at his four ones, assuming a mocking face.

“Now do you?” You say, doubtful, rolling on your side before sitting up while he’s flipping you off. You’re face to face with his knees. Yeah, knees. Keep it PG.

He gets his elbows on said knees, putting his index finger under your chin to raise your face. “Yeah baby, I’d keep you as my prettiest whore if I had like 50 years more than I do,” he says. Then he immediately adds “But I don’t, so stop fucking complaining and let me watch my damn tv. It’s fucking Saturday, give me a break,” flicking your forehead and blowing on your face at the same time. He tastes like real chickpeas and you’re almost impressed by how the pack of chips didn’t lie about the ingredients. He sprawls back on the sofa, occupying as much space as he can by laying down on his side with one of his hands under his chin, returning to his chickpea chips with the other. You scrunch your face, then pout.

“Then what am I supposed to do? I can’t take 5 exams in a week,” you whine, getting your forehead on the little 7 inches rectangle that is left naturally near his chest.

“Suck it up, pussy boy,” he answers, bored. You’ve been going at it for what feels like an eternity and he’d already have lost his patience if seeing you miserable didn’t get a snort out of him. You turn your head to face him, hair all in your face from the movement, but you don’t have the strength to put it in a more comfortable position.

“You don’t get it,” you sigh, your features turning even more worried. You stay like that long enough to start dozing off (and seeing how sleep deprived you are lately, that’s about 40 seconds max), hearing him clean his hands. Suddenly, you feel his hand brushing on your cheek lightly, moving your hair behind your ear and away from your face.

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” he tells you gruffly, scratching lightly on the top of your head. You hum. You know he’s right. He knows you know you’re capable of doing it. He gives your head a couple more pats before pushing it a bit.

“Go study and stop bothering me now. This tv ain’t gonna watch itself,” he says calmly.

You get up, nodding. “Thanks, man. I know I can always count on you for some backhanded comfort,” you reply, corners of your mouth turning upwards for the first time since exam season started (literally two days ago. Hey, you’re a smiley person!). He grunts, not looking at you again, and you know that’s all you’re going to get from him.

You get back in your room to study, and suddenly he finds himself losing interest in his chips in 15 minutes, the buzzing sound of the voices from the western movie he’s watching merely a background noise. Was it always so quiet when you weren’t around?