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gojonanami · 7 months

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ALL'S FAIR (IN LOVE AND MERGERS) ✩ SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, arranged marriage au, gojo and reader are both heirs to large companies, childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, lots of fluff + banter, gojo is down bad, geto makes an appearance, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, degradation (slut), breeding kink, gojo has a praise kink, semi public sex, office sex, tiny amount of sexting, under the desk oral (m!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby), pregnancy mentions ✴︎ wc: 16,381 (why do i do this to myself?)

“Why do you look so down, Princess?” Your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing your expression to stay disinterested — the one emotion Satoru hated, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your fiancé?”

“Don’t call yourself that,” you snap, and his lips curl at your reaction, “what are you so smug about? You’re stuck in the same position as me,”

“And what’s that?” You close your book, glaring daggers at his all too perfect face.

“Marrying your worst enemy.”

It wasn’t always like this.

Satoru Gojo used to be your friend — your best friend in fact. The fact your families’ companies were rivals often meant you ran in the same social circles more often than not. And it meant more than one boring adult party that the two of you were stuck with each other.

The two of you had become inseparable — attending the same prestigious schools with the most pretentious children, though the two of you were no exceptions. But you liked to think you were.

And you didn’t realize your feelings for Satoru, until someone else had.

“Do you want to hang out on Friday?” You ask, flipping through the channels as the two of you watched TV, looking for something other than the second half of movies and the reruns of shows you didn’t care for.

“I can’t, I’m going to the formal,” he replies, not looking up from his phone, and you pause.

“You’re going to that?” You raise an eyebrow, “we’ve never went,”

“Well I never had someone ask me who I wanted to go with,” his eyes flicker up from his phone, a smirk on his lips, “you jealous?”

Your reply leaves your lips like whiplash, “You wish,” you cross your arms, but you can’t help ask the question burning on your lips, “who are you going with?”

“Akari,” and you scoff, “what?”

“That girl goes out with a new guy every week,” you shake your head, “you’re better off staying at home with me,”

“So you are jealous,” he hums, leaning back on the couch, “if you wanted to go with me, all you had to do was ask, Princess,”

Your cheeks flush, which you make up for in indignancy and sharp words, “Don’t call me that,” the nickname your family affectionately had called you had become Satoru’s favorite thing to call you, “I’m just telling you to be careful — that girl isn’t someone you should trust with your feelings,”

“I think I’ll use my own judgment instead of someone who hasn’t even been on a single date before,” his tone is far too biting and his accuracy is far too sharp — and you can’t stop your face from dropping, and his lips part - regret flashing across his features, “princess—“

“Go home, Satoru,” you rise, brushing past him, “you know the way out,”

“Princess—“ he tries to reach for your hand, but you slap it away. His hand retracts like he’d been burned.

“Please, go,” you open the door for him, and he does, and little do you know that would be one of the last times you spoke.

The day of the formal arrives, the two of you hadn’t seen each other outside of class since that day. But Satoru did see you at the dance that night - on the arm of his former best friend, Suguru — the same one he had a falling out with a year ago. He doesn’t say a word to you, but you don’t miss the hurt in his eyes - but you wonder why it was there in the first place - and why he was acting like you put it there.

It all goes to hell after.

The Gojo Corporation poaches one of your family’s biggest clients in a shady backroom deal, breaking their truce and your family’s trust. Arguments and stress reach a peak over the phone and lines are drawn and metaphorical guns are drawn.

And you and Satoru are caught in the crossfire.

Not that you weren’t firing shots yourself.

It wasn’t until you pulled Satoru into a secluded classroom, and you shut the door behind the two of you. Even with the sunglasses perched on his nose as always, he flinches in the bright light of the sun setting behind you, dipping the classroom in a blazing orange — light sensitivity nearly required him to wear his sunglasses out, but he certainly made a statement in them — though what didn’t he make a statement in?

“What are we going to do about our families?” you chew your lip — you had listened this morning to your father rant about the Gojo family — unkind words to say about them all, even Satoru himself, who your father had treated as a second son — and now he was grilling you about what you had told him about the family business.

“What can we do?” His arms are crossed and his gaze is upwards, “they are going to do what they want,”

You stare at him, your heart cracks, blood rushing in your ears, “Satoru, if this gets worse, we won’t be able to be friends,” you refuse to let your voice break.

“So what? I know the way out, don’t I?” But your heart did break, “I’m sure Suguru could comfort you,”

Your eyes burn, but you can’t, you can’t let him see you cry, “Why are you so upset? You had a date—“

“And mine wasn’t the person who backstabbed me,” he bites back, “what my family did is done, and so are we,” and he doesn’t look back when he leaves.

And it was good — because he didn’t see you cry.

And now you sat with him in your living room, trying to process the fact you would be legally married soon enough.

“Worst enemy? I know you liked to embellish princess, but that seems excessive,” he snorts, “glad to know I haven’t escaped your thoughts these years,”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” and he grins his shit eating grin, and it’s almost as if no time has passed, except the person who sits before you isn’t a seventeen year old with an attitude of a shithead — it’s an adult man (albeit with the same attitude).

“Don’t need to - you already do that for me, baby,” he winks, and you don’t know whether you want to slap him or strangle him. Either way, you wanted him to shut up, “shouldn’t we at least try to make the best of this?”

“The best of what?” You scoff, ready for your veins to burst out of your head, if only to spare you the agony of this conversation, “Gojo, we were best friends a million years ago and then we weren’t and now we’re getting married - all on the whims of our families, so how do we make the best of it?”

He pauses a moment, almost thoughtfully, “I was your best friend?”

And you rise to your feet, “this is impossible,” you brush past him, but he catches you by your wrist, his thumb grazing your pulse.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he says, and you stop, meeting his gaze reluctantly, his lips part, “that you were so annoying in high school—“

“Fuck you,” and you storm off as he cackles, but you don’t notice the small smile on his lips that stays as he watches you.

And nor do you hear him say, “God, I missed you.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, as you place back the millionth dress you looked at, “we’re hardly celebrities but we have to make a public appearance?”

Your families wanted the marriage to be portrayed as a love marriage in the media - childhood friends falling in love after reconnecting - the thing of love stories. The thing that would circle the drain on social media on cute threads of meetcutes and what ifs. When in fact, you were being forced on a shopping date with an already well paid and positioned paparazzi ready to take pictures of this charade.

“You may not be, Princess, but I am quite the catch,” Satoru takes the attention in stride, not only of the paparazzi, but the passersby who gawked at the two of you. It was true, Satoru was nearly always listed as an eligible bachelor in far too many of these lists that existed, if not the eligible bachelor, and yet here you were, glued to his side like some taudry accessory.

“So does that mean if I just toss you away, someone else will catch you?” You grumble, and he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Like it or not, you caught me,” he flashes you those pearly whites, and you supposed he blinded you as you stumble forward, tripping. But you don’t kiss the pavement — but you almost wish you do. He catches you, his arm around your waist, the other on your shoulder, and his eyes graze over you in a flash of concern, and then amusement, “and I’m not going anywhere this time,”

And you flush, the clicks of cameras in the distance snapping you back to reality, as you right yourself with a fake smile plastered on your lips. You brush his shirt off as lovingly as you can, “And if I go?”

His lips only curl into his obnoxiously charming smile, as he gestures for you to walk on, “I’ll follow, Princess,”

Finally the trip is over, and Satoru is driving the both of you back, “I’m surprised you took a day off for this,” he remarks, “usually you work all week,”

“Well I wasn’t given much of a choice, now was I?” And then you glance at him, furrowing your brow, “how do you know how often I work?”

“What’s the phrase? Keep your enemies close, and your lovers closer?” He gives a wry grin as you scowl at him, “you’re not surprised I kept tabs on you, are you?”

“Well, no,” because you did the exact same. You pinned the blame on late nights and doom scrolling on social media — curiosity killed the cat.

“And now I know you kept tabs on me,” he looks far too satisfied with himself, “I’m flattered,”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, “it’s not like you’re that interesting to begin with,”

“Sure,” he smirks, and then you glance outside, noticing you were getting further out from home rather than closer.

“Where are we going?” You sit up, glancing around — you didn’t recognize the area.

“Oh, you didn’t think our date was over yet, did you?” his lips curl, his eyes still on the road, “we are just going to a more private location,”

“If you take me to a hotel, I will slap you,” you murmur, and he laughs, a sound that makes your stomach flip.

“I didn’t know a princess’s mind could be in the gutter,” he remarks, his fingers flexing on the wheel, a small infinity tattoo on his ring finger, and your mind really then all but fled to the gutter as you thought what else he could use those fingers for.

“Oh my mind goes a lot of places,” this was growing more dangerous — for your tongue and for your heart.

And he notices your gaze flickering to his hands, and his lips curl, “I think I’d like to familiarize myself with the places your mind goes, Princess,” You flush, “but that’s for a different day.”

“Where are you taking me anyway?”

“We’re almost there, just enjoy the ride,” you eventually pull up to a park, and he leaves the car, opening the door for you, “after you, my lady,”

You slide out of the car, as he shuts the door behind you, and then pulls a basket out of the back, “Is there tape and rope in there?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know you were into that,” he winks, as you glare at him, “it’s a picnic basket - this is a nice spot to watch the sunset,”

“You watch sunsets?”

“Only with you,” you roll your eyes.

“Such a dork - are these the lines you use on all your dates? And don’t say only with me,” you add quickly, and he snorts.

“You catch on quick,” and he takes your hand, leading you along, “come on,”

His hand envelops yours, his fingers eventually intertwining with yours, his warmth flooding your body, but you can’t urge yourself to pull away.

A bottle of sparkling cider and a charcuterie board later, the two of you watch the sun begin its descent, blazing colors bleeding into one another.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, looking over your glass as you sip, “even when we used to hang out, I was the one to bring the snacks,”

“Well times change,” he replies, “plus you’re the one who always stopped me from buying snacks,”

“You always bought only sweets — it was always chocolate, sugar, and desserts,” you roll your eyes, “I see you got over that,”

“Nah, I just decided to buy things I know you like,” and your heart traitorously squeezes, but then he points, “look,” and your gaze falls onto the sunset and you gasp softly.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, and you don’t notice Satoru’s gaze on your face, a small smile on his lips.

“It is,” and you look back at him, his eyes shifting to you again.

“You never answered my question,” you say, “why are we doing this?”

“Why wouldn’t we? We’re getting married, Princess, did you forget?” He expertly dodges the question, swiftly leaping over a landmine, but you weren’t one to mince words or hesitate to do a direct assault.

“We’re getting married, it doesn’t mean we have to date,” you tilt your head, “Gojo, tell me—“

“Call me Satoru,” his words are so soft, hesitant even, as if his words could break apart any second if he had spoken them any quieter.

It’s a fragility he doesn’t often grace you with - that’s he’s maybe never given to you, and you don’t wish to break it.

But you’re also scared - scared that this will break yours.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and he smiles — the same smile he’d greet you with when you would meet up after school, the same smile when he’d beat you at whatever game you guys were playing, and the same smile you hadn’t seen in so long, “why are you doing all of this?”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s leaning closer and you only realize that you’re doing the same when your wrist hurts from leaning on your hand.

“Nothing is obvious when it comes to you, Satoru,” his lips warm yours with his breath, and the sun has set - there’s no other explanation for the warmth blooming on your skin other than him—

Ring. Ring. Ring.

His phone ringing sends both of you flinching apart, but his eyes don’t leave you for a lingering moment, before he picks up.

“Hello,” his voice is unwavering even after the moment you shared, you barely hear what he says over the blood thundering in your ears, “yes, we’ll be home shortly. Ok. Bye,”

He turns to look back at you, “My parents were wondering where we went,” and you nod, “we should get back,” and he begins to pack away the things,

“Satoru—“ you start, but he grabs your hands, tugging you forward.

“What?” he smiles, “not ready to part with me yet, princess?”

You scowl, pushing him away, brushing past him to the car, “Forget it,”

And he catches you by your wrist and pulls you back to him, your back against his front, “I don’t want to forget it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I—”

And his phone rings again, and he sighs, showing you that it was your father this time, putting his phone on silent, “Our parents have impeccable timing,” and the moment is broken, as the two of you walk back to the car in relative silence, the sun long sunk below the horizon, and the moment along with it.

The wedding comes and goes without much ado — it was a private ceremony done with only your families and a few close family friends. And aside from a photo shoot that was to be “leaked” of the two of you looking far too lovey dovey that wound up circulating the media drain and ended up causing you and Satoru to keep a low profile for a week or two, not much of your life changed. The only thing being that you and Satoru slowly start to move in together, each moving your things into separate bedrooms, not that you’re around enough to even notice a shift as the work piled on due to the merger, only accumulates, and as do your late nights.

You come home again, back to your shared apartment, late at night, shutting the door softly behind you. You slip your shoes off, along with your jacket by the door, before setting your things down. You stretch your sore muscles, your stomach crying for mercy of the deprivation you had put it through today, and you allow it to lead you to the kitchen.

Satoru was surprisingly neat, aside from his own room that was a disaster zone not worth entering. The living spaces were always clean, as was the kitchen (though you had a sneaking suspicion he had hired a cleaning service to specifically tidy up when you were gone (due to the lingering lemony scent every surface had at times). You rummage through the refrigerator as quietly as you could, but not quietly enough as the lights flick on, and you feel akin to a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I feel like I’ve seen the mailman more than my own wife this week,” Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door, a small grin on his lips, but a hint of something else in his eyes — concern? You don’t have the time to decipher the feeling, as your mind chooses to replay the phrase “my wife” on repeat.

“The merger has been killer to deal with — all the diligence requests has buried us,” you grumble, as you grab a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator and the milk from the inside, and he’s holding a bowl and a spoon, “thanks,” as you reach for it, he holds it away from you.

“You know there’s something called delegating that you should try sometime, princess,” he says, tilting his head, “otherwise, you’re likely to run yourself into the ground,”

“It sounds like you care,” he puts down the bowl and spoon, grabbing the cereal and milk from you, and fixing a bowl for you, as you rub your eyes, sitting on the stool by the island.

His lips curl, “Who said I didn’t?”

You lay on the counter, staring up at him, “Didn’t know my husband could be anything but annoying,” and you enjoy the way his eyebrows shoot up, and it may have been your tired eyes, but you swore a small pink flush settled his way onto his cheeks, “cute,” you mumble, the word escaping you before you could stop it.

“What?” his eyes snap to yours, but he only finds them closed, the soft snores from your lips told him you weren’t pretending, as he stares at you, biting his lip, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, “what are you doing to me, princess?” he murmurs.

And the next morning when you wake, you find yourself tucked into bed, as you roll over, to find your alarms had been turned off, and you were far too late to several meetings you had that morning.

You jolt up, before you find a note stuck to your shirt, you pause in your panic, to peel it off and read it:

Canceled your meetings for today and had your staff handle the ones they could deal with. You’re taking a break. You need it. - Satoru.

You wanted to protest, but even as you willed yourself to try and check your email, your body was screaming in agreement with Satoru, and you sighed, lying back down in bed, as you drifted into a dreamless sleep, with the note still in your hand.

~~~~~

“Gojo, get back in bed,” you cross your arms in front of his doorway, “you’re sick,”

“I’m fine,” he pouts, his normally pale skin flushed with a red tinge that gave away his fever, his eyes bloodshot from a restless night, and yet he still looked as perfect as ever, if not a bit rumpled from his askew hair and ruffled clothes, “I have to—”

“Rest,” you say, gently pushing him backwards towards his bed, “you need rest. You made me rest, and now it’s your turn,”

“But—”

“Satoru,” and the use of his name stops him in his tracks, as his knees buckle as his legs hit the end of his bed, “please?”

His resistance crumbles, “Princess, I’m fine—” and you press your forehead to his, making his breath catch, your face far too close far too fast.

“You’re burning up,” you ease him back into bed, as you roll your sleeves up, “will you be okay? I’m going to run out and get some supplies - have you taken any medicine?”

He shakes his head, “You can send out someone,” he says, reaching for his phone, but you grab it, “Princess-“

“I’m texting everyone that you’re sick and that you can’t make it in for the next two days while you recover,” you pocket his phone, putting it on silent, “consider this payback,” and you’re pulling on your jacket, “and I’m going to get you some things. I don’t need to send someone out. Do you want anything? I can’t get anything sweet because it will make your cough worse, but is there anything that you want?”

He shakes his head, as you snap your fingers and head out of the room, before returning with cold medicine, “I’ll give you this for now, and then I’ll grab some more while I’m out,”

You pour the medicine into the cup, and he sits up as best he could, reaching for the medicine cup, but you cup his chin, feeding it to him. He feels like his body is burning hotter from your touch than it is the fever, “I have to make sure you drink all of it, you can’t leave half of it in the cup like you did when we were kids,”

“You remember that?” he mumbles, as you help him lie down again, your hands gentle as you help lean back, and you tilt your head.

“I remember every ridiculous thing you did,” you snort, as you check to make sure you got everything — phone, wallet, keys — “just rest here, and call me if you need anything, ok?” his eyes are already starting to droop, heavy with sleep, and he gives a small nod.

And he catches you by your wrist, “Do you have to go?” he mumbles, pulling your hand close to his face, “I don’t want you to go,” his words slur, and he’s asleep in a moment, his hand still clutching yours to his face, lips brushing against your palm.

Heat flares up your cheeks, as you stand, motionless, his soft snores filling the room, as you manage to tug your hand away, and you stand over him, his mouth in an adorable pout, as sweat glistened on his forehead, white locks sticking to the damp skin. You leave for a moment to grab a cold compress for his forehead, and you come back, brushing his hair back to place the compress on. He shivers ever so slightly, but you just rub his head slowly, and he drifts back into sleep.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, and you wonder, how often has Satoru been cared for by maids or employees rather than his family? How often had they passed the buck of caring for their son to others as if it was more of a chore than a privilege to take care of someone they loved.

You leave his phone on video call with yours so you can keep an eye on him as he sleeps, even if you were going down the street, you didn’t want to leave him alone completely. Instead of music, you listened to the cacophony of his soft snores and shifting of his sheets. You grabbed the things you needed - medicine, supply for meals, vitamin water, vitamin c supplements, and anything else you could think of.

You return, door shutting softly behind you as you hang up the call, and set everything down on the counter. You poke your head into Satoru’s room to find him still fast asleep, and you remove the cold compress, going to replace it with a new one, but his hand catches yours as it brushes your forehead, and he mumbles your name.

And you flush — were you sure you weren’t getting sick at this point?

You sigh, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re as touchy as you were when we were kids,” and he was — there wasn’t a moment that Satoru wasn’t all over you before the ages of puberty — holding hands, hugging, even laying on top of you — but it was innocent. But even as you got older, it was poking, it was a leg over yours, it was grabbing your wrist instead of your hand.

And now, your hand was dwarfed by his, consuming your wrist and hand with his own, and it was so warm — though exacerbated by his fever. And you couldn’t help but want to lace your fingers through his. But — you pulled your hand away and replace his cold compress — you couldn’t afford thoughts like that.

Not now.

You cooked soup for him, filled with vegetables and nutrients that he clearly did not get enough of, made freshly squeezed orange juice, and put the supplements you wanted him to take on the tray you had found in the kitchen.

You washed your hands, as you start to clean up, your back to his room, and you hear Satoru say your name.

You turn and see him in the doorway, “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes, “what’s all this?”

“Lunch,” you walk over, waving him back into bed, “you need to rest,”

“Did you make me lunch?” he asks slowly, and you help him back into bed, as he frowns, “you didn’t have—”

“You’re my husband, Satoru,” you say, tilting your head, “I’m going to take care of you and not let you work yourself to the bone while you have a cold,”

And his lips curl at the words slowly, “Your husband,” he repeats, as if the words were foreign to him, and your cheeks flush as your words that were embarrassing enough to say linger in the air, “thank you,” he mumbles, as you nod, trying to calm your utterly burning cheeks before entering with the tray.

Satoru sits in bed still, more coherent than a few minutes before, a small smile on his lips as you enter his view, and you place the tray carefully on his bed, “Will you feed me?” And your eyes flit up to his innocent baby blues full of skies that you couldn’t say no to — and he knew that, “please?”

And now you’re feeding him, your lips carefully blowing on the hot soup as you spoon fed him, and he takes each one, “is it good?”

He nods, “It is, I didn’t know you could cook. The last thing I remember you making me was a microwave brownie that you burned,” and you rolled your eyes.

“That was because you told me to microwave it for too long,” you pout, and he laughs, sending him into a coughing fit, “karma,” and he scowls at you, before his lips split into a grin, “what?”

“Must have been pretty good in my past life,” he says, as you blow on another spoonful, “to end up with a pretty little wife like you, Princess,”

And you nearly drop the spoon, a few droplets slipping from the utensil, as he makes you flustered for the eighteenth time today — “Satoru,” you chide, and you’re not even sure what you are chiding him for — his word on a loop in your mind, “i think you’re high on cold medicine, or your fever,”

You don’t think he had ever called you pretty before.

And he leans forward pressing his forehead to yours, “I have no fever right now,” he whispers, his eyes glancing at the tray, “and I haven’t taken my cold medicine yet,”

Your words catch in your throat, and you’re swallowing thickly, as your eyes drift to his lips and back again, “Toru,” and you can’t lean away from him, he’s pulling you in, like he always did.

But then he pulls back, his cheeks flushed, “I think I should lie down,” and you blink, as you nod hastily.

“Of course,” you grab the tray and flee, leaving his medicine and water on the bedside table, heart thumping against your ribs and blood rushing to your cheeks.

And you don’t hear him grumble, “If only I wasn’t sick.”

After Satoru gets better, you barely see him. It feels empty in the house without his presence. You had grown accustomed to his loud, obtrusive presence, the clothes half thrown in the laundry basket, his snacks stacked up in the pantry and sometimes on the counters, and his cologne wafting through the halls. It seems all of that has faded with time, as he does his best to spend his time at work, and away from you.

After the billionth time of this, you get a phone call from his colleague, Nanami, asking for you to come and fetch him. You furrow your brow as he texts you the address of a bar near his work, and you arrive to find him passed out at a table, drink glasses and small plates littered the tabletop, his pale skin flushed, as he snored slightly as he slept.

His colleague too was flushed, but still sat with drink in hand looking utterly irritated and bemused, “How much did he drink?”

“Maybe two drinks?” and you raise an eyebrow, “he’s a lightweight, but he likes to pretend he isn’t,” he snorts, shaking his head, “did you two have a fight?”

You tilt your head, as you check on him, fingers brushing over his skin — he was so warm from the alcohol, “No, why do you ask?”

And Satoru is mumbling your name, again and again, pouting, “Is that you, my wife?” you flush, and that was your cue to get him out of there. Nanami helps you get him to his work car, luckily that came equipped with a driver, and you slide in beside him, as he dozes, his head drifting to your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck, as he nestles into the soft skin of your nape, and you can feel his lips move, only catching your name between soft sighs and snores.

“Satoru,” you mutter, brushing his hair from his eyes, “what did you do?”

The driver helps you get him inside, and you’re left with him, his body leaning against yours on the couch, as you rouse him, “Satoru, wake up,” your hands cup his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open blearily.

You can still smell the scent of alcohol on his breath — and you know it’s sweet from the scent that drifts from him. Sometimes you wonder if he would taste sweet with how much sugar he consumes, but you brush that thought to the back of your head, as he finally speaks.

“Are you a dream?” he murmurs, and you have to suppress your laugh at his puppy dog stare.

“Don’t think so, Satoru,” you pinch his cheek lightly, “see? I’m real,”

He smiles, so gentle that it almost takes you aback, “Too real,” his hand slides over yours, flattening it against his cheek, “your hand is so soft, just like when we were kids, and we’d always hold hands anywhere we went,”

You swallow thickly, wondering if your cheeks were hotter than his were from the alcohol, “Well my family hasn’t sold me into manual labor yet, so they’ll stay that way,” and his eyes widen almost comically.

“I wouldn’t let them do that,” he says, almost every other word slurred, “can’t do that to my wife,” and your traitorous heart squeezes, despite itself, despite everything telling you that it didn’t mean anything — that he was drunk — and the million other reasons to brush it away, your heart does what it does best — takes it to heart, “I missed you so much,”

And he’s burying his face in your shoulder, warm breath against your skin making you shiver as you hold him gently, “then why have you been avoiding me?” He’s mumbling into your shoulder now, as you can’t help but laugh, “Stop, you’re tickling me.”

And his stare lifts and settles upon you, stopping your breath in its tracks, “I didn’t want to avoid you, I just was…” he mumbles something incoherent, “I couldn’t face you,”

“Why?” and it’s objectively cute the way he pouts, his face scrunching up like a child, his brow adorably furrowed, as he mutters under his breath slurred words you can’t make out, “let’s get you to bed — if you promise not to avoid me anymore,” you hold up a finger to his face.

He nods, lips still in the same pout, “promise,” he murmurs, as you help him into bed, but as you do, he grabs you, tugging you into bed with him with a yelp, his arms trapped you against him, as his face snuggles into your back, “stay,”

Your skin burns at his touch, his face buried into your back, his arms wrapped impossibly around you, “Satoru—”

“Please?” and the resistance you have crumbles, as you sigh, relaxing as best you could into his touch, “thank you, Princess,” he mumbles something else you can’t make out, before falling asleep.

And you bite your lip, ignoring how your skin feels under his touch — how were you ever going to sleep now?

But you do.

Satoru wakes with a slightly pounding head, a small groan caught in the back of his throat, as he stirs at the bright sunlight streaming in, his eyes fluttering awake to find you. His breath catches, as he stares at you. Your mouth slightly ajar, you softly snore as you sleep, your head resting against his arm, and he swallows thickly, as memories of last night trickle in.

And he nearly groans. He had avoided you to stop himself, to hold himself back from embarrassing himself, and he had gone and pulled you into bed with him after getting drunk. How pathetic was it that it only took you referring to him as your husband for all his walls to come crumbling down? Not that those walls ever stood a chance against you — it was easy for him to pull away from everyone, as if he had a barrier around him, stopping anything from coming near. But you — you were one thing that could penetrate his infinity — and the one thing he wanted to be infinite, if only for him.

His cheeks burn at his revelations and he can only be thankful you’re still asleep as he stares at you — god, he had almost let it slip twice last night. He had mumbled it twice, but from what he remembered, you hadn’t made out the words.

His cheeks burned, god he had said the words twice, and you didn’t even hear him, but the words had left his lips. And how many years had he been waiting to say them?

His fingers caress your cheek, making sure you were still asleep before he said them for a third time, “I love you.”

“How many social events must be inflicted upon us?” you mutter, pressed next to Satoru at the bar, as Satoru sips a soda instead of the alcohol they offered — if only to avoid the disaster that was the last time. But still, the lack of alcohol only makes your touch worse without its dulling effects, “and why did we need to go to this?”

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s not so bad,” Satoru smiles, his eyes skimming over your new suit that you had donned for the occasion, “I like seeing you all dressed up,”

“Well I rather be dressed down at home,” and he raises an eyebrow and you flush, “i mean in a t-shirt and shorts, you absolute perv,”

“Whatever you say, princess,” and you’re too busy elbowing him to notice who's walking over, until you hear your name.

You spot Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed, as you spot Suguru holding a hand up in greeting, patented grin on his lips, “Yo!”

“Suguru, it’s good to see you,” you greet, as he sweeps you up in a hug, and you shoot a look at Satoru, nudging him to be polite at the very least.

“Satoru, long time no see,” Suguru says, and Satoru plasters a fake smile on his lips.

“It has been,” and the three of you make pleasant small talk about your work — Suguru’s family was in a business adjacent to the work your families did.

“I heard about the merger your companies are doing, how have preparations been?” you open your mouth to answer, but Satoru gets to it first, his arm curling around your waist.

“It’s been going well, our marriage was the first step after all, wasn’t it, baby?” and you flush as Satoru does, doing your best not to glare at him.

“It was,” you smile, as Suguru raises his eyebrows.

“I hadn’t heard you both had married — congratulations,”

And then you’re beckoned by your family, and you slip away for a moment, going to speak to them about one thing or another, leaving Satoru and Suguru alone.

“It’s too bad we lost touch all these years,” Satoru sips at his drink.

“You don’t have to say that, Satoru,” Suguru replies, his grin melting away, “I know part of the reason was the business with our families companies, but I also know that it was personal,” and Satoru follows his eyes to you, as you laugh at something your mother said, “how has married life been treating you both?”

And Satoru glares, his grip tight around his glass, “Is your interest personal?”

“It’s not, but I see that you still haven’t been honest with each other,” he smiles over the lip of his drink, “was this marriage arranged by your families?” and Satoru’s silence was enough to confirm it, “well you should be careful, a marriage is a fragile thing, especially without love,”

“Is that a threat?” and Suguru’s dark irises meet his, full of mirth.

“No, just an observation, Satoru,” and you make your re-appearance, looking between the pair, sensing the tension, as your hand curls around Satoru’s, “It was lovely seeing you both. I hope to see more of you.”

And with that he’s gone, “What was that about?” you ask slowly, and Satoru can’t meet your gaze, only sipping his soda, “Satoru?”

“It’s nothing, princess, don’t worry about it,” and you tilt your head, your brow furrowed.

“That’s it,” you sigh, as you glance between the two of them, Suguru’s gaze still lingering on the two of you, “I know what this is about,” you declare, stepping ever closer to Satoru, your fingers brushing at his shoulder, sending his heart into a gallop.

“Princess—” your hand is sliding up his neck, brushing at his undercut, and your lips curl.

“I didn’t know you had an undercut,” and he can’t form words to respond to you, as you tug him closer, your lips were so close now, “it’s kind of hot,” and his mouth is so dry, his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your lips again, as you lean forward, pulling his head closer, closer, closer—

And you kiss him, it's barely a brush at first, but then you pull him in again, and he can taste the wine on your lips now, as your lips meet, his eyes fluttering shut as his hand slides to cup your face, the other around your waist. And finally you part, small pants leaving your lips, as your fingers toy with the hair resting on the back of his neck, smiling at him, as if you had done this a million times before.

And he wanted to do it a million times more. His fingers trace the length of your jaw, delighting in the shiver you give as he touches you, and wondering what other noises he could pull from you.

“Is he still watching?” you whisper, as you smooth over his collar, and he blinks, his eyes following yours to Suguru, who glances at the two of you before looking away, “think we convinced him?”

And his heart sinks just as high as it had soared, “what?” he murmurs, confused.

“He suspected us, right?” you continue with the phony smile on your lips, the heated lust in your gaze, and your soft touches — and it was all enough to break him.

But he doesn’t. He’s Satoru Gojo — he can’t be allowed to break.

So he gives a smile instead, “Yeah, I think we convinced him.”

He can’t help be quiet on the drive home, and he senses your unease, fidgeting in the seat beside him, your attempts to fill the silence falling on deaf ears, and you eventually stop trying, settling to look out of the window instead, until the two of you pull inside your driveway.

You both head inside, and the door shuts behind you, and he watches you struggle to take off your heels, the buckle not cooperating, as you lift your leg to undo it.

But then he’s kneeling before you, undoing your heels for you, as you stammer, “No, Gojo, you don’t have to—”

But his touch is gentle as he helps you out of your heels, one by one, his fingers brushing against your ankles, and then he rises, and for a split second, you forgot how tall he really was.

“No, I want to, because you’re my wife,” and his fingers brush against your jaw. “And I want your thoughts to be of me when I touch you, and not of someone else,” and he tilts your chin up, thumb dragging against your lips before he kisses you.

It was gentle but insistent — and far, far too fleeting, as he pulls away, “and I’ve told you before — I’m your husband, call me Satoru.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving you speechless and alone in your entryway.

You can’t sleep. For several nights.

You replay the moment over and over, the kiss, his words, and all of it.

What the fuck. Were you really up all night because of Satoru Gojo? You lay on your stomach, kicking your feet in frustration as you bury your hot face in your pillow. Your husband was going to be the death of you.

And especially with tomorrow.

Satoru’s family was hosting an event to announce the merger, and you stood in your bathroom, getting ready. You had opted for a baby blue dress that Satoru had picked for you when he had insisted on taking you shopping. He had winked and said you could wear his gaze this way. And you had only rolled your eyes at the time, but now it felt you could feel his eyes upon you.

“You look beautiful,” and you whirl around to find him standing in your doorway, a small smile on your lips, and you flush. It doesn’t go unnoticed, “is that all it takes to embarrass you now, Princess? I used to have to work a lot harder,”

You glare at him, “Shut up,” and your eyes flick to his untied tie, and it’s unspoken, as you walk over to tie his tie for him, “how did you even tie this the day of the formal if you don’t know how to?”

“I didn’t wear one,” he shrugs, his attention making you mess up the knot twice, “I only went to make you jealous anyway,”

Your fingers pause, as your eyes meet, “What?”

“I don’t want to play games anymore, Princess,” the back of his fingers brush against your cheek, “or at least, if I’m going to play, I’m going to play to win,” and you continue tying his tie, if only to distract yourself from your stomach doing flips, “do you know how it feels to want someone for so long only to end up married, but it’s not either of your choice?” And you swallow, not daring to look at him, “because I do.”

“Satoru,” your hands are shaking now, “I-“

“I don’t expect an answer, I don’t expect anything to change,” he adjusts his tie as you finish, turning his collar down, his blue button up matching your dress perfectly, “but I wanted you to know where I stood, and know wherever you are,” his gaze rakes over your form, the same color as the dress than clung to your skin, “I’ll always be here for you,”

“Satoru—“ but he gets a call — as always with impeccable timing, his parents were asking when they would be arriving. He hangs up shortly after, offering his arm with a smile.

“Shall we?” And you take his arm, ignoring the flip your heart does when his arm curls around yours.

The drive over is uneventful, but not the same can be said for the event itself. The merger event was being held at Satoru’s childhood home — the home Satoru had grown up in and around — and never wanted to be at.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your arm still curled around Satoru’s arm, as you glance at him, his shoulders tense and lips tight, before your concern makes the tension melt away a moment, rolling off his shoulders like snow on a spring day.

“I’m fine,” and you’re unconvinced, “just this place is like time has stood still,” he chuckles, his eyes finding the place where the two of you had cracked the chandelier fucking around with a ball inside, “look, still there,”

You snort, “I’m surprised your mother never noticed,”

“She did, she gave me hell for it,” he sips his drink, “I just didn’t tell you,”

“Why?”

“There was a lot I didn’t tell you,” his eyes snap to yours, his pain almost too visceral as he glances around the room he had grown up in — and you could feel him in this room, the ghost of his past roaming the halls, “why do you think I spent so much time at your house?”

“Because of my incredible company?” you half-joke, lips forced into a small smile, but he laughs, rolling his eyes.

“That too,” he hums, his fingers tracing up and down against your wrist sending a wave of heat down your spine.

“Well, you always have an escape now, don’t you?” you intertwine your fingers, “our home is always graced with the presence of your wife,”

He grins, the first actual smile you had seen all evening, “How lucky for you that it’s also graced with the presence of your incredibly handsome husband,”

And you open your mouth to respond, before Satoru’s father interrupts, his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, making him stiffen, “Son,” and his icy blue eyes slide to you, “and my daughter, would you mind if I steal my son for a moment?” it always struck you how different his eyes were from Satoru — the coldness as opposed to the warmth.

You glance at Satoru, and he gives a slight nod, “No, of course not,” you step away, as he pulls Satoru into a side room, and you linger nearby for him, mingling as best you can, when Satoru emerges, eyes downcast and fists clenched, “Satoru-“

“I’m okay,” he plasters on an easy smile, “it’s fine—“

“We’re leaving,” you grab his hand, “let’s go,” and he’s staring at you, as you drag him from the party, wordless.

“But your parents, my parents—”

“Have done enough for us already,” you say, and the two of you walk to the car in silence, “I can drive—”

“It’s ok, I got it,” and you both shut the doors, as he begins to drive. The ride home is quiet, and you glance at him here and there, but you hold your tongue, “you’re not going to ask?”

“It’s your dad - do I need to ask?” You scoff, “It may has been years but I know he’s nothing but a bully — especially to you,”

You may have been young, but you remembered the phone calls Satoru would get, the lectures about his potential and responsibilities as the next heir, the scoldings he’d get for anything less than perfect. And you remembered the look he had the next day — the same one he had when he had come out of that room.

And you couldn’t protect him then, but you could do it now.

He sighs as he pulls the car into the driveway, “You don’t deserve that, Toru,”

“Then what do I deserve?” And he meets your gaze with glassy eyes, and you give a small smile, your fingers reaching for him, brushing along his jaw.

“Love,” and you lean across the gap of the console, across the line you had drawn, across the misunderstandings you had, and you chose him. Your fingers cup his cheek, drawing him close, as you hear his breathe hitch, “can I—”

“You don’t need to ask me even once, Princess,” and you kiss him, your lips grazing his again and again, until your lips finally slide against each other, deepening it as he presses himself against you, hand bearing against the armrest between the two of you. And you can taste the sweet taste of the strawberry dessert that he all but inhaled at the party, the hint of the soda he drank instead of wine, and something that tasted utterly and perfectly of him.

“Toru,” you murmur, but his lips keep finding yours, and you can’t breathe much less think, “I—”

He silences you with another kiss, his fingers finding purchase on the back of your neck as he tugs you impossibly closer, before his lips are tracing a path down your jaw.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he smiles against your skin, “you what?”

“You’re insufferable, you’re endlessly frustrating, and I swear I want to murder you at least twice a day,” and he smiles, as you gasp as his teeth graze your pulse, “but you’re also my best friend, and I—“ you make him meet your eyes, fingers cupping his chin, ocean blue eyes drowning you with their gaze, “I love you,”

And he blinks ever so slowly, before his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you had seen, before he’s kissing you again, as you gasp, “Toru—”

“I’m never going to stop now, Princess,” he grins endlessly, as he presses his forehead to yours, dragging a thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “waited too long for you, but I’d wait a million years to do that again,”

“So should I make you wait?” you tease, and he’s looking like a kicked puppy, pouting and wide eyed, before he’s pressing butterfly kisses to your face, and you’re laughing, “I’m just kidding, baby—”

And he pauses, “‘Baby?’” and his grin is a million watt, as he kisses you again, “never thought I’d see the day you’d call me a pet name,”

Your noses brush as you both laugh, “Well, you are a big baby,” and he pouts again, and you kiss them, “but you’re my baby,”

And you barely remember how you manage to stumble into your home. Frantic touches and hurried kisses and fumbling keys. As soon as the door slams shut, he has you pressed against it, fingers busy with undoing your buttons, as he grins against your mouth.

“Know how long I wanted you? How long I dreamt of this?” he bites your bottom lip, “had to call you my wife before i could call you mine — thought about you dating Suguru, about all the times I wanted to lean over during our movie nights as kids and just kiss you — and how much I regretted it,”

“So you admit you’ve been pining for me,” you gasp as his teeth drag against your neck now, biting and sucking, as your fingers thread through his white locks, “Satoru,” you moan, biting your lip.

“Judging by that moan, I’m not the only one,” he smiles cheekily, his hands sliding down your back to rest at the back of your thighs, large palms and thick fingers pressing through the all too thin tulle of your dress, “can’t wait to see how fuckin’ wet you are for me, Princess.”

You gasp at his vulgar words, a rush of heat that leaves your legs shaking under his touch, “Now whose mind is the gutter?” You tease, your fingers tugging at his tie, unfurling the knot.

“Always has been when it’s come to you, want to make this perfect princess filthy,” he coos, and he’s pulling you up against the door, your hands wrapped around his neck, “wanna make my beautiful little wife scream my name, don’t I?”

“Toru—“ you gasp as his teeth graze along your chest, tugging the neckline of your dress impossibly low, “you’re going to rip it—“ and he does, pulling the fabric apart with ease, “what the fu—“ and he’s swallowing your swears with his tongue.

“I’ll buy you another,” he grins, “in fact I’ll buy you any amount you want, as long as you keep letting me do this,”

And he’s peeling the dress off of you, dress falling to the floor in a shamble of tulle, and your skin flushes at the air hitting your bare skin, and shivers at the feeling of his sharp breath against your neck.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he sighs, burying his face in the nape of your neck, pressing butterfly kisses down your collarbone, “I should get an award for patience — not being able to touch you, to kiss you, but living with you?”

His fingers are skimming down your underwear now, snapping the waistband against your skin, you gasp, “Fuck, Toru,” you whimper, “thought you’d talk less during this,” your fingers are undoing his shirt now.

“Oh I can think of a few things that could shut me up,” his lips curl deviously, and you’re slipping his shirt off his shoulders, your lips pressing to his collarbone.

“I don’t think you’d even shut up from that,” as he shivers when your teeth graze his soft skin, “I think you’ll only whine more,”

And his gaze is hot as his eyes meet yours again, as he grasps at your thighs and picks you up, “let’s see who’s the one whining at the end of this,” you squeal, grasping into his shoulders, as he carries you into his bedroom, as he settles you down on his bed. His eyes raking over you, panting and disheveled, he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, “can’t believe you’re all mine, Princess,”

“Satoru,” you’re reaching for him, but he pins your hand to the bed, “wha—“

“Patience, baby,” he purrs, as he presses his lips to your wrist, “let me enjoy you,”

He’s so pretty it’s unfair - the way his breath hits your skin steals yours, pretty pink lips parted as he runs his tongue over them, the same ache between your legs longing for that tongue between them. But it leaves you with so little of the patience he asks you to have — especially after over a decade of this in the making.

And your impatience is evident, you suppose, by the pout on your lips, and he laughs, “Want a kiss, baby?”

You don’t have the time to say you want much more than a kiss, as he humors you with a kiss, lips teasing you with their sweet taste, and you don’t fail to notice his smile as you lean up into his touch. And suddenly his hands brush down your bare sides, squeezing your hips, and you’re gasping, “Feel good, Princess? We’ve barely started—“

“You keep teasing me and I’ll make you regret it,” you grumble, between breathless kisses, the bite of your words dampened by the soft pants that leave your lips, “Toru, I swear—“

And his thumb presses against the wet patch on your underwear, flimsy layer of soaked fabric barely doing a thing to hide your arousal, “Not acting like a good little girl for me,” he tuts, as you keen against his touch, gasping as you throw your head back as he grinds his fingers against your puffy clit, “all it took was one touch to have you so pliant, huh? Should’ve done this a long time ago,”

“Stop,” you whine, and his grin only grows larger with such self satisfaction, you don’t know if your lust addled brain wants you to strangle his neck or his cock, “please, just—“

“Just what?” And his fingers are breaching past your underwear, just barely touching the outer lips of your cunt, “come on, Princess, use your big girl words, or are you already fucked stupid before I’ve barely touched you?”

“Motherfuck—“

“I will be one once I get my needy little wife pregnant, won’t I?” And his long fingers finally tug down your underwear — the wet schlick of the sticky fabric hitting the floor make him drag his teeth over those beautiful lips, “but we got plenty of time for that, after all,” his fingers tease the outer lips of your throbbing pussy, “practice makes perfect,”

And he sinks a long finger knuckle deep — and a whine crawls its way out of your throat, his fingers were thicker than yours were — and so much better. His thumb teases your clit in tight circles as he begins to tease your walls, reaching deep, deep, deeper, your slick starting to drip onto his palm, “God, you’re soaking me, Princess,” and your hips can’t resist the urge to grind against his touch, “oh, and where’s that mouth now?” you can barely see much less talk, words failing as he begins to stretch you out - his other large palm rested against your thigh, keeping your legs nice and spread for him.

He’s grinning, he sinks another finger into you, teasing your walls apart, beginning to finger fuck you in earnest, “my mouthy girl just needed to be fucked right? Didn’t she?” And all you can hear are the filthy sounds of your cunt, as his fingers piston in and out, “nothing to say, Princess?” And he spanks your pussy, making you yelp, a whine leaving your throat, “and you thought I’d be whiny, look at you now, baby,” his fingers cup your chin to force your glassy eyes to meet his darkened blues, “such a good fucked out wife for me,”

And a third finger joining right as he brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars as his thumb bullied your clit, eyes rolling back as he did, and he’s grinning, “my perfect princess and her perfect little pussy,”

You came with his name on your lips, panting and shaking as he held you steady, his fingers dripping with your release, as he pulled away, watching your cunt twitch around nothing, aching for his fingers.

You're coming down from your high, chest rising and falling, as you watch him gather your release on his fingers, toying with your cunt, before he sucks them clean, “Fuck,” you whimper, as he licks and cleans himself of your cum, “Toru-“

“Fuck, baby, how’ve I resisted tasting you for so long?” And he’s bending down as he noses your thighs, making your hips jolt, still sensitive from your orgasm as he deeply inhaled, tip of his tongue darting out to lick your release from your thighs, “smell as sweet as you taste,” he hums, your legs trying to close, but his palms keep them spread, “can’t keep a man from his vices, can we baby?”

And his tongue teases your cum that pooled from your orgasm, the tip hot and wet as it tastes it, “tastes when better coming from this filthy princess cunt,” he grins against your thigh, teeth grazing your skin, making you lurch.

“T-Toru, please,” fuck you hated how needy you sounded, but you needed more — but he’s leaning away, pressing his cheek against the soft plush of your thigh.

“Need you to do something me first, sweetheart,” and his fingers are drawing teasing infinities on your thighs, “tell me how much you want me,”

“Fuck you,” you groan, “I know what you’re gonna say,” you add, cutting off his snappy retort of “I’m trying to,” “I want you, Satoru, please, I’ve wanted this for too long,” and your voice grows more teasing, “how long is my husband going to keep me waiting?”

And his eyes darken, the slight flush on his cheeks growing deeper, as his mouth presses a wet kiss to your sopping pussy, “good girl, think you deserve a reward,” and he’s manhandling your thighs, spreading them wide, as he buries his face in your cunt, “such a good little wife deserves to be eaten out,”

And eating is exactly what he does - you had only seen Satoru eat sweets with the same voracity he devoured you, pressing his thick fingers into your thighs as he splayed you out as his mouth pressed wet kisses to your dripping lips. His hot tongue drags up the length of your cunt, “best fucking thing I’ll ever taste, know what my last meal will be,” he’s murmuring against you, making you twitch, as he looks up at you with half lidded eyes and saliva and slick covered lips, “awww my pretty pussy begging to be filled? Well I can do that for you, baby,” and he’s burying his tongue in your messy hole.

The moan that leaves your lips leaves his cock harder and hurting, he didn’t know you could make such a lewd noise, and he couldn’t wait to make you make it again and again. He’s making out with your pussy at this mouth, your hips doing their best to grind against him, desperate for more, more, more.

And your fingers find his shoulders first, before sliding up to his hair, pressing him further against you, “you’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs, as he spreads your folds with his thumbs before tongue fucking you. His tongue teases and abuses your walls, deeper and deeper, before he pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit, making you moan even louder, “neighbors are gonna hear you at this rate, baby,” but he only sucks at your clit, harshly, “oh well, they know we’re newlyweds,” he’s humming as his ears hear your broken whines and pants, body tensed up against his.

And you’re so wet now, your slick drips down his jaw, mixed with his spit, “you’re all mine now, baby, can’t live without tasting you now—“ and he groans when your hips buck into his mouth again, feeling your walls twitch, “I know you’re close, Princess, tell me how good it feels,”

“S’good, Toru, I can’t—“ you’re pulling at his soft white locks now, making him grunt, and you fall apart, back arching as you cum as all you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and mouth as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm.

And you’re twitching under him as he sucks up every bit of your cum, “so fucking good for me,” he’s finally pulling himself from your messy pussy, “can’t wait to feel you around me, should’ve known you have a little princess cunt,”

And he’s licking his lips and chin clean, as you watch him with half lidded eyes, still panting, as your eyes skim down his body, his jacket had been thrown aside at some point, but his now wrinkled shirt is only messily untucked from his dress pants, and disheveled was too good of a look on him, but you rather see those clothes on the floor of your bedroom, “you’re still annoyingly dressed,” you manage between breaths, still aching from his ministrations, “strip,”

He’s raising an eyebrow, a wicked grin on his lips, “So demanding for someone who was moaning my name a second ago,” but you pull yourself up, supporting yourself on a shaky arm while you use the other to tug on his tie, smashing his lips to yours.

You unfurl the very tie you tied, fingers flying to unbutton his shirt, “Made me feel so good, baby,” and now you were kneeling in front of him, your release slipping down your thighs, as you slipped his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, heated eyes raking over his bare chest, tongue running over your lips, “only fair if I repay the favor,”

You’re undoing his belt for him, pulling it free from the loops, as your hand grazes his noticeable bulge in his suit pants, “surprised you haven’t ripped through,” you squeeze lightly, making his hips jerk, as he pouts all too cutely — and now you knew why he always teased you, “didn’t you tell me to have patience, love?”

“Your husband is running low on that at the moment, never been one to be patient, sweetheart,” he’s gritting his teeth, as you slip his pants off leaving him only in boxers.

Your eyes are glued to his erection, visible through the damp front of his boxers, wet with his precum, “so fuckin’ big, even better than I thought,” you say almost with reverence, and his lip quivers at the praise, a quiet groan leaving his throat. You raise an eyebrow, “like to be praised, baby boy?”

And he swallows, adam's apple bobbing, sweat on his forehead from his treatment of you, but a red flush deepens on his skin, “Princess,” it’s half a warning and half a plea—and morphs into a whimper as your fingers tease the head of his cock through his boxers, rubbing his precum into the fabric, “f-fuck, s’good with those hands, sweetheart,”

“Imagine how much better it’d be with your boxers out of the way,” you say leaning down and licking at the tip through the sticky fabric, as his head falls back with a soft moan, “can’t wait to feel this between my legs,” as you kiss the clothed tip, two fingers slipping in only to snap the waistband of the boxers against his skin, and he’s biting back a moan, a pout on his kiss ruined lips, “god, you’re so pretty,”

Another noise in the back of his throat, “Fuck, Princess,” he hissed, as you finally spare him, pulling his boxers off, his erection slapping against his too fucking incredible abs — how was he so unfairly perfect? He was so gorgeous — more long than girthy, but he was so thick still, and flushed red with pearly pre-cum at the tip. Each vein and curve felt as if he was made for you.

“All this for me, baby?” You tease, as his mouth opens and then closes as your fingers tease the head of his cock, a sharp inhale that keeps echoing in your ears, “all turned on from eating me out, huh?” You move close, nearly straddling him, but you don’t let your cunt brush against his cock — not yet.

And his dick twitches in your hand, “Sweetheart,” he whimpers, eyes nearly glassy with need, “such a fucking tease,”

And your lips curl, “Match made in heaven, baby,” you rub your thumb against his flushed tip, spreading the pre-cum along his shaft, “can’t wait to taste you, wonder if you taste as sweet as what you eat,” licking your lips, and he’s biting his lip, “tell me what you want, Toru,”

“Y’know what I want, Princess,” he’s panting as you lean forward to kiss him, lips sliding against his, just as your palm starts to stroke him, his moan is nearly pornographic, words spilling from his mouth, “want your pretty pussy around my cock, sweetheart, plesse,”

“Not so fast, baby,” you hum, your other hand moving to tease his balls, achingly full, judging by the gasp that left his throat, “wanna take my time with you, like you did with me, right?” And he breaks your kiss with a whine, “you feel so good in my hands, Toru, been thinking about this cock for too long,” and he’s grunting, lips parted as he pants, burying his face in your shoulder.

“How good?” he mumbles, and you’re grinning even wider — the great Satoru Gojo fell to pieces with only your touch and some praise, his face beautifully flushed as you tug him by the back of his hair, thumb running over his undercut as you do.

“So good that I wanna make you fall apart over and over until my name is the only thing on your lips,” you squeeze the base of his dick, making his hips jump, “gonna be a good boy for me and let me do it?”

And he’s nodding, utterly fucked out even before you’ve even started. And you guide him to the end of the bed, as you get on your knees for him, his gaze darkening as he watches you lean down to press your lips to the tip of his weeping erection, making him groan your name. And you trace his slit with the tip of your tongue, tasting his salty release, “How long you gonna tease me baby? I’m being so good for you,” he’s whining, his baby blues fluttering with lust as he looks down at you, choking as he sees how his precum paints your lips, “please, fuck, just—“

And you finally guide his cock into your mouth, and he’s jerking at the sensation and groaning as he watches your pretty little mouth take his length — those same smart lips that always had a reply for everything, the ones he’d jerked off to the thought of this very situation — you on your knees for him, the ones he’d wanted around him for so long — it was too much.

He almost blew his load all too fast, your warm mouth all too accommodating to his cock, as your wet walls and tongue swirl around him, tasting and sucking, your fingers grasping his thighs. And you bob up and down his length, the weight of his cock making the ache between your legs worse, and your eyes flicker up, and moan as you watch him.

He’s so fucking gorgeous — panting and so fucked out, as his lips part for you, your name leaving his kissed red lips, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “Fuck, my little wife is so pretty on her knees,” as his hands settle on your head, watching you sink your mouth down on his cock, pleasure running up his spine, as his thick fingers dig into your scalp, “so nasty, baby, fuuuuck, gonna fuck your throat at this rate,” he groans, “how’d you get so good at this baby? Don’t answer that,” he adds, a growl in his words, and you almost giggle around his dick.

“Learned so I could blow you, husband, after all, this mouth is yours,” you grin, and his lips curl too and then they part as he grunts, as you press teasing kisses along his length before sliding it back into your mouth, beginning to let the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag on him, making him moan, as he helps you deepthroat him, his hips thrusting against you lightly, his white pubes brushing against your face.

And he’s moaning even louder, as he watches you, drool slipping down your chin as he fucks your mouth, tongue massaging him as he did, “Made just to fuck me, huh? Want my load that bad, Princess?” And his words have your eyes rolling back as he’s moving against you, his cock twitching telling you that he’s close, “shiiit, fuck, my wife’s a slut for me, gonna swallow my cum baby?”

“Only for you,” you pull away a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick, smiling, before you slip him back into your too eager mouth, and you hollow your cheeks, the lewd noises of your tongue and mouth sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, baby, can I cum in—“ and you make his tip brush your throat again as you suck, looking at him with half lidded, dilated eyes. And he spills into your mouth, hot cum down your throat, as he holds your head gently in place, “shit Princess,” his hips jumping at the sight of you, cum and spit slipping from the corner of your mouth as you pull his cock from you, “s’good for me,”

He’s still panting, as you climb into his lap properly, his cock sliding against your cunt, making his face twist in pleasure, as you lick your mouth clean of him, wiping your chin, “Taste so good, Toru,” you hum, his eyes half lidded with pleasure, chest still heaving, as he leans back on shaky arms, “you may be my favorite meal, but I think I rather,” you grind on his lap teasingly dragging his tip against your messy cunt, “have you cum inside me,”

And he gives a delicious gasp, “baby, too sensitive,” but you’re tilting his chin back as you meet his lips, both of you moaning as you taste yourselves on the other’s lips, “you’re gonna be the death of me, Princess,” he’s chuckling, as he starts to grab your thighs, putting you properly into his lap, “you gonna ride me like a good little princess? Fuck yourself on my cock?”

How does he have the upper hand when you’re the one on top?

As you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, and he’s sliding your body back and forth, his cock slapping and sliding against your wrecked cunt, so close to sinking in. His hand bears down on your ass, slapping it, before his fingers squeeze it, making you jump against him, your chest brushing against his, “you like that huh?” he’s grinning, as he kisses you again, his lips sliding against you, swallowing your moans eagerly, “what do you want, baby? Remember to say please,” he adds, and you want to roll your eyes, but his fingers rub your clit, and any protest you had fled your mind.

“Please,” and you’re using your fingers to part yourself above him, making his eyes roll back, as you grasp his cock, teasing your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, “fuck me,”

And you sink onto him, inch by inch, as your head looks back, your walls squeezing as he parted your folds, “You’re drenching me, sweetheart, fucking perfect princess cunt is gonna wring me dry,” he grunts, as his fingers splay over your hips, grasping but not pushing, letting you go at your pace, “s’good, might just have to fill you up, again and again,” and your pussy twitches at that thought drawing a laugh from him lips, “you want that? My wife wants to be full of my cum,” he’s groaning when you finally fit all of his cock in you, cunt clamping down on him, “trying to break my cock? Don’t have to go that far to keep me, I’m living in this sweet cunt from now on,”

You’re a mess — whining and moaning, your chest bouncing as you begin to move against him, “Toru, so full, s’good,” his own hips jumping against yours, a low growl in his throat, as his hands begin to guide your hips, snapping his own hips as he fucks you onto his own cock, reaching new depths, as your eyes squeeze shut, “fuckfuckfuuuck, Toru,” you’re babbling and moaning his name, again and again — and he just needs more.

And he’s spanking you, hands coming down on your ass, as he grunts, your warm walls twitching and squeezing him, brushing against sweet spots that have both of you groaning, “such a fucking good girl, taking my cock — I know you can take more, baby, my perfect wife,” and he’s capturing your nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing it before he sucks, his hips growing even faster, until his cock finds your special spot.

“Toru, g’nna cum, I—“ And your orgasm hits you, head thrown back as your lips part in a silent scream, toes curling as you wrap your legs around his waist, and he’s fucking you right through — fucking relentless, almost limitless, with his pace, groaning as he watches his the base of his cock covered in your release, a pool of white that almost has him cumming then and there.

“S’ fuckinh pretty, Princess, and all mine,” he says, as you moan, as he slows his pace, your face buried in his shoulder, as you come down from your high, and he’s tilting your head.

But he isn’t done yet.

In a moment, he’s pulling his cock out — a whine parting your mouth — as he manhandles you so that you’re flat on your back, your ankles thrown over his shoulders, and spread wide for him. You’re the picture of filth — lips in a kiss ruined pout, chest rising and falling as you gaze up at him with needy eyes, and your perfect cunt leaking and drenched for him — he could see everything — all of you, the way your cum slid down your hole, the way it clenched around nothing, the pretty pink insides he was desperate to make his.

He licks his lips, “soaking my lap and sheets with your cum, baby, such a dirty girl,” and he’s spreading your lips, letting your release trickle out.

“Satoru,” you whine as he runs a finger over your still twitching pussy, as if begging for his cock back, “please, too sensitive,”

“Please what, sweetheart? Because your cunt seems to disagree,” his chuckle is a deep noise that reverberates through his chest as he leans down to press your lips to yours in a languid kiss, “such a nerdy princess, imagine how’d your family would feel — seeing you beg for my cock, huh? Not the chaste little princess anymore? Nah, you’re my filthy baby,” and you’re whimpering, “tell me baby, I know you’re not nearly fucked dumb yet, you’re too smart for that,” he coos, a grin on his lips as he stares with that damn crystalline gaze.

And finally he’s sinking into you again, cock sliding back into your soaked cunt, “God, I love you,” he murmurs, as he’s somehow deeper inside you, pussy pressed against all of him, “so fucking perfect, baby, better than I imagined,” he’s pussydrunk now as he rails into you, and you’re grasping at him, the only sound in your ears is the squelch of him as he filled you again and again as his chest presses against yours, fucking you long and hard, “you’re all mine now, baby. My wife, my body, my love, my soul — all of it,” he growls his last words, grunting as his hips begin to stutter as he kisses your sweet spot again and again, “you want me to cum in this sweet princess pussy, baby? Wanna make me a daddy?”

Your cunt twitches at that, and he laughs, “did you just get wetter, baby? Didn’t think you could do that,”

But you’re only moaning, you’re so fuckin’ close but you want him to cum with you - wanna feel him sink into as he does. And so you’re meeting his lips in a searing kiss, his hips thrusting harder and longer, “give me your baby, Toru, breed me,” you whisper, words slurring as you pant and stutter, all sense had left your mind - and all you wanted was him.

“Fuck, Princess,” he’s grunting as he pistons in and out of you, bed groaning under his thrusts, until your walls clamp down again and again on him as you cum, throbbing and needy as you moan his name, back arching, “g’nna cum,”

And he does, his cock hitting the deepest part of you as he does, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips continue to fuck it deeper into you, making you whimper, as he just keeps on cumming ropes, “oh, f-fuck, Princess,” he rasps as he kisses you, sloppy and wet, as he pants, watching your face come down him your high, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him, “so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he rubs his thumb down your lips.

He pulls out slowly, groaning as he watches your mixed releases leak out of you, dragging the tip of his weeping erection down your cunt, a whine leaving your throat again, “So fucking filthy, baby,” he hums, a shiteating grin on his lips, as he collects his cum on his fingers, and pushes it back inside of you, as you jump, a small pout on your lips making him laugh, “gotta make good on my promise, baby,” and he’s kissing you silly again, “gotta get you pregnant and full for me,”

His body is sticky with sweat, as he eases your aching legs down, as he kisses up your body, nosing your neck, “So perfect for me, Princess, I love you,” he says so earnestly that it makes you melt, as you pull him into a kiss, “suppose we consummated our marriage now, does this mean we get to have a honeymoon now?” he’s grinning, as you roll your eyes, “come on, don’t you want to travel?”

And you laugh, “I don’t think we would even leave the hotel room if you had your way,” and he’s pressing his thumb against your bottom lip and dragging down, before kissing you, sliding his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” And your breath catches a moment, before you sigh, and he grins again, “so?”

You roll over to grab your phone, kissing his lips, pulling up possible destinations, “where are we going?”

“Satoru, we’re at the office, uhmph—“ Satoru’s kissing you even before the elevator doors shut, and you can’t help but not care if anyone saw either of you making out, his talented tongue stealing your logic from under you, before he’s pulling away, your lipstick nearly smeared all over his face. You bite back a laugh, before using your thumb to wipe away the evidence of your kiss, “we’ve been here less than a minute, and you’re already making a mess,”

And his lips catch your thumb between them, kissing it sweetly, “What do I do better than make a mess of you, princess?” and he’s pressing sweet kisses to your fingertips, before you’re pulling him back for another kiss, right before you hear the elevator ding, and you scramble apart.

Your cheeks flushed, as you stepped onto the floor of the newly merged company that was formerly your families’ individual companies, now united as one — just as you and Satoru were now — which was why he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you. The two of you had come into the office to finalize the transition for your staff, each of you dealing with formalities on either side, but Satoru did little to help your focus on the process with his blatant stares and sneaky touches.

Twice already he had pulled you into his office, only to have you either pressed against his door, or bent over his desk. And god, you sat in your office, biting your lip as you thought about paying him another visit — and fuck, this is what he wanted.

You pull your phone out and text him: You suck.

And his reply is instant. If I recall from last night, you’re the one who sucks ;)

You’ve left me high and dry, Satoru, and I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking you in the office. Especially with both of our parents around in meetings all day.

He replies, Nah, that’s exactly why you should be thinking about it.

And then another text.

Imagine our parents walking in while you’re under my desk doing what you do best, you’d be quiet for me, Princess? Wouldn’t let us get caught when I fuck your pretty mouth?

You’re biting your lip — Fucker, I hate you.

Nah, you love me, a little too much, Princess. Another text — especially the way you were moaning my name last night.

And there’s a knock at your door in that moment — “Come in,” you intone, and you were ninety-nine percent sure that was Satoru — ready to make good on his promise — and then white hair visible as the door swings open, “Father,”

It was a Gojo, but not the one you expected — your father in law, instead of his son.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, lips curling in a smile that was all too the same as his son — but missing the same charm, the distinct softness that made you adore Satoru was not present in his father — nor was his father very present at all — except to chastise his son on how he thought his son should live his life.

And he was interrupting — interrupting you about to sext his son and your husband from the confines of your office, but you only offered a smile, “Not at all, can I help you with something, Father?”

He’s shutting the door behind him, before taking a seat across from you, “I just wanted to have a chat with you — it’s been so long since we’ve been able to see the two of you — we still haven’t had you over since you’ve returned from your honeymoon,”

“It’s been very busy,” and it had been, but not too busy to see Satoru’s family. Since the launch party, you and Satoru had agreed to steer clear of his father for some time, until Satoru could develop some more healthy boundaries with him. And so you could get through a conversation without strangling him (although Satoru wasn’t opposed to seeing that), “with the merger and Satoru and I trying to spend time to get know each other again,”

“Of course,” but his smile told you he was unconvinced, “I wanted to talk to you about something important, I’ve seen how close you and Satoru have gotten since the engagement and the wedding, and I was happy to see you pushing him in the right direction,”

“”Pushing him?’” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“With the merger, I haven’t seen him so focused, so determined, and I knew my suggestion to my wife to have you marry him was the right choice,” and you stare at him, mouth agape, as anger slowly melts from your stomach into every vein of his body, fingers curling into fists.

“Excuse me?”

He leans back in his chair, “When the idea of the merger was floated by me, I knew I wanted a condition to be your marriage to Satoru,” his eyes glance over the things on your desk — the stacked folders, the paperwork, and the pictures of your family and of Satoru, “you’re driven, you’re focused, you’re perfect — I knew you could change him, and I was right,” his lips curl, and you can’t hold your tongue anymore.

“Maybe what your son needed was someone to support him,” your words are even, but your body is tense, “he needed someone not to scold him, to put him down, to whisper doubts in his ear when he needed help,” you rise from your chair slowly, “I respect you as my father-in-law and as my family’s old friend and co-owner of this company, but,” you glare at him, “no one insults my husband’s capabilities, and makes me takes credit for his achievements,”

The old man’s teeth grit, and he opens to respond, when there’s a curt knock at the door, and Satoru enters, “Old man, how about you go chat with the other old farts in the room? Pretty sure you’re bleeding investors by the second the longer you talk with my wife,” he slides a small smile to you that tells you he heard everything.

Satoru’s father shoots a glare at both of you, before leaving the room in a huff, door shutting behind him, and you sigh, rubbing your temples, “I’m sorry if I made things worse—”

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms snaking around your waist and pulling you against him, “Thank you, Princess,” he murmurs into your ear, making you tense, “oh you like that, huh?” and you roll your eyes, laughing.

“Even in a moment like this, huh?” you lean up and whisper in his ear, “I don’t just like it, I love it,” and it’s his turn to shiver, his cheeks burning, “you’re so cute,” you grin, before leaning up and kissing him. He melts into the kiss, his fingers cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss, pulling your waist against his, and you feel his arousal pressed against your thigh.

You pull away, tilting your head, you snort, “Already?”

And he bites his lip, “Take some responsibility, baby, it’s your fault,” and he leans down and grazes your ear with his teeth, “not my fault my hot wife defended my honor and then decided to whisper sweet nothings in my ear,”

You hum, guiding his lips to yours, your teeth graze over his bottom lip, “And how should I take responsibility, baby?” and he shudders, crystalline eyes glazed over with lust, “we’re in the office, not very professional,” his fingers unbutton your blouse, so he can lean down and kiss your collarbone.

“I was never very professional to begin with,” he smirks, his teeth grazing over the soft skin, sucking and biting, making you gasp, “don’t be so loud, someone will hear us, what will they think?” he murmurs, with a grin against your skin, as he continues to undo your blouse, as he turns you around so your back is against your chest, he tilts your head to look at your door, “look it’s unlocked, anyone could walk in,” and his fingers sneak down the front of your skirt, fingers teasing your panties, “fuuuck, princess, you’re soaked through — are you more turned on by the idea of getting caught?” and you whimper, only making him grin wickedly against your neck, “my filthy girl, imagine your father walking in, seeing your husband’s fingers down your skirt, legs spread wide like a slut,”

“Satoru,” you’re biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised it would bleed, your knees buckling, as his fingers part your dripping folds, “we can’t—”

“We can,” he shushes you, guiding your lips to his, fingers cupping your throat, but he leans back to get confirmation that you were okay, and you lean in again to kiss him, “such a good girl,” You whimper, and he laughs, “gotta break in the new office don’t we?”

And his fingers slip your panties aside, two fingers parting your folds, and you gasp, as he stuffs two fingers into your mouth as well, “Not so loud, Princess, can’t give the office gossip mill something really juicy, now can we?” And his digits start to really fuck you, in and out, the wet squelch ringing in your ears, as his fingers bully and stretch your walls, until they find what they are looking for — your g-spot.

You fall apart, but it’s gushing all over his hand, soaking his hand, as your hand grasps at the fingers in his mouth trying to stifle your noises, “Fuck, Princess, did you just squirt for me?” He’s grinning, “such a sloppy little Princess, look you’re staining the carpet with your cum,” he guides your head to look, seeing the spot on the carpet, as you lean against him, “gotta do this again,”

He kisses you as you moan. Tangled limbs and eager touches, as you guide him over to the desk, as you settle him into the chair, lips still parting as your tongue slips in, “Your turn,” and before he can even react, you’re slipping down to your knees, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, slipping his aching dick out, nearly slapping your face with it, you drag it along your lips, “Like you said, I’m the one who sucks right?” you wink, before you finally lick the length of his cock, tracing the veins to the slit, “you always taste so good, Toru,” and he’s hissing now.

“Fuck, baby, you always so pretty on your knees for me,” and you have to disagree — he’s the one who looks pretty — shirt disheveled, chest rising and falling far too fast, as he looked down at you with his snowy white eyelashes half lidded with a lust ridden gaze — “your pretty mouth is s’fucking perfect, can’t wait to cum down that lovely throat,” he hisses, as his fingers dig into your scalp, urging his cock deeper, his tip brushing against your throat, making you gag.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but you only shake your head, as you do it again, making his hips buck against you, tip hitting your throat again, his composure quickly falling to shreds, as he’s fucking your throat now, biting his lip so hard to keep his groans in, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding afterwards.

“I-I’m close,” he’s gritting his teeth, but you only redouble your efforts, “so fuckin’ perfect, made to suck this dick—”

And that’s when there’s a knock on the door, making you both freeze. You panic silently — before Satoru is shepherding you under your desk, while he adjusts himself, scooting your chair in more, so his weeping cock is hidden along with you.

“Come in,” Satoru says, as even toned as someone who was just fucking their wife’s throat can manage, “Dad—what a nice surprise,”

And you cover your mouth — fuck it was your dad — Satoru called his dad, “old man” — what the fuck.

“I should be saying that to you son,” you bite your lip, listening to their conversation, “where’s my daughter? And why are you in her office?” and you covered your mouth, shit — you were hiding under your own desk, while Satoru sat in your chair.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I was just waiting for her to come back with lunch,” he manages, and you can almost see the dependable smile on his lips, “she volunteered to get us lunch and she told me to wait here so we could eat together,”

Your father was seemingly convinced after that, but to both of your dismay, sat down to speak with Satoru about business matters. You crouched, utterly bored as you listened to them talk, his erection beginning to wane, and you got an idea in your pretty little head — you grinned — well, Satoru should be careful what he wishes for, or he might just get you blowing him in front of your father.

You start slow — teasing the head with a brush of your fingers, easily could have been an accident, but it nearly makes him jump, as he gives a warning nudge with his foot gently. But then your hand begins to rub him in earnest, fingers using your spit as lube, as you heard your husband stammer over his words to your father. But it was nothing compared to when you closed your mouth over his cock, and began to deepthroat him again.

“Satoru, are you okay?’ you hear your father ask, as you discreetly suck your husband’s cock under his desk, and you can only imagine the delightful shade of red your Toru is turning.

“Sorry, I’m not feeling like myself,” he mumbles, as he grits his teeth in an attempt not to moan, and you can feel his thighs tense as he forces himself not to fuck your mouth as he wants to right now. He’s so close — as much as you like the idea of getting caught, you think Satoru likes it as much or maybe even more — his cock is twitching in your mouth as you suck and swirl your tongue around it, as your fingers dig into your thighs, “I apologize, I’m getting a call. Could you excuse me?”

And your father is oblivious, and excuses himself from the room, door shutting behind him, and Satoru groans, “Fuck, princess, you almost made me cum in front of your dad in this nasty fucking mouth,” and you suck harder, fingers fondling his balls, as his fingers find your locks again, and his hips jerk into your mouth, his white pubes tickling your nose, “thaaat’s it, fuck, so fuckin’ good, i’m close, sweetheart,” he groans, “you want me to cum—“ and you bury his cock deeper into your mouth as an answer, your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, until he cums down your throat.

You meet his half lidded gaze, swallowing his cum, as you ease off his cock, a mix of cum and saliva connected your lips, “You taste so good,” you lick your lips, as you push the chair a little back and climb out, as you tug his boxers and pants back up, tucking his cock back in, “my favorite treat,”

He smiles, chest still rising and falling fast, “I love you, princess,” so genuinely as he pulls you into a deep kiss.

You giggle, humming against his lips, “So heartfelt after getting your soul sucked out of your dick,” you glance at the door, “do you think anyone heard us?”

He shrugs, as he pulls you into his lap, “I hope they did,” he grins against your neck, as you roll your eyes.

“You’re terrible,” and his lips curl.

“And you love me,” you kiss those same lips you would each day.

“I do.”

~~~~

“What do you wanna do today?” Satoru asks, your legs thrown over his lap, as you read a book you had picked up the other day out on a date with him, and he eats the kikufuku he had insisted on picking up the same day.

“Hmm, I have some ideas,” you hum, hiding your smile with a book, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning.

“And what’s that, Princess?” he leans forward, plucking the book from your fingers, as you tut at his sugar covered fingers, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your husband?” And his lips brush against your neck, nose brushing against the soft skin of your nape, inhaling your scent.

“Well I have a surprise for you,” you weren’t planning on giving it to him now, but you pulled a wrapped box from behind the couch cushions, “should I make you wait?”

He’s reaching for the box already, as you laugh, and he’s snatching it from your fingers before you can tease him, “can I open it?” He was so eager, as always.

“Go ahead, baby,” you bite your lip, a small smile on your lips.

He lifts the lid of the wrapped box off, and the first thing his eyes flit across is the word “positive.”

His mouth parts, as he stares at the pregnancy test carefully nestled into the box, “is this—“ his cerulean eyes meet yours, a soft gaze with wonder, “are we—“

“We’re having a baby, Toru,” you nod, and he’s sweeping you into his arms, as you squeak, his body sweeping you up in his, as he buries his face in your neck, “Toru—“

“Is this real?” He murmurs, into your skin, all soft words and soft kisses, “I feel like I’m dreaming,”

“Well I am your dream girl, so maybe don’t be surprised when I pinch you and you wake up,” you pinch his cheek lightly, making his pale skin cutely flushed, pink dusting his cheeks, “no dream here, all real — so I guess you’re just lucky,”

“The luckiest,” he hums, a quiet noise that soothes you, “a beautiful wife, and now,” his fingers graze over your stomach, before lifting the hem of your shirt, to press his lips to it, “and now we’re going to be a family,”

Your lips curl, tilting his chin up so his watery gaze meets your own, thumb rubbing the length of his cheek, “We already were a family,

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, “I thought we were mortal enemies,” and you laugh, before shrugging.

“That too,” and he pulls you into his lap, smiling, “but you’re actually pretty cute,”

He gasps mockingly, “Princess, do you have a crush on me? A mere commoner?”

You roll your eyes, pressing a languid kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of the kikufuku, “I hate you,” you say, when he knows you mean quite the opposite.

And he only smiles the same way he always did — and the same way he always would — “love you too, Princess."

✩ a/n: so this was also inspired by a character AI made by @/fairybaby that has been living in my mind rent free for far too long. thank you to @/laneymusings for being the best emotional support from writing to formatting to everything in between

✩ tag list: @ryliobrow, @getosho3cakes, @delaneyyyy, @soukokufan, @purplscnerie, @solarlunarsstuff, @growingupnrealizing, @forest-fruits-jam, @achipstea1ingseagull, @fruitscall, @starplasma-cujoh, @crashing-a-jeep, @mwah-chia, @vorschlaghannah, @xrysakts, @emonaculate

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sab [mlist]#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk au

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starkwlkr · 2 months

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bitch, i’m a mother! | f1

female driver x f1 drivers (platonic) the reader is around the same age as daniel. i like that almost every story i read about a female driver her team ends up being porsche and I’m not mad about it :) so for this fic, the reader is driving for porsche lol also I’m just making up names for the engineers and team principal. also because I’m in love with charlie hunnam, my man is gonna make an appearance

part 1 part 3

Y/N BEING THE MOTHER OF EVERY DRIVER IN THE PADDOCK

“Y/n is so great, you’re going to love her. She’s the best.” Oscar listened to his new teammate as they walked into the Porsche hospitality. The rookie immediately felt out of place with him being the only one in papaya colors while Lando was in casual clothes.

“Hey, Lando!”

“Lando! How’s it going?”

“Norris, hey!”

Lando greeted most of the Porsche team with a smile while Oscar nodded at them. “I hang out here sometime if you couldn’t tell.” Lando joked.

“So if I can’t find you in Mclaren . . ”

“There’s a big chance I might be here.”

Oscar nodded once again. “Noted. Where’s Y/n?”

As if on cue, Y/n walked into the Porsche hospitality with her team principal by her side. Once she spotted Lando, she called out his name. As the Brit approached the driver and team principal, he gave her a big hug. It was the start of the 2023 season and they hadn’t seen each in a while, of course he was going to give her a hug.

“I’ll see you around, Y/n. Nice to see you, Lando, and you must be mclaren’s rookie. Welcome to F1, I’m Adam.” The Porsche team principal greeted Oscar.

“Thank you—” before Oscar could continue, Y/n cut him off.

“I’ve heard so many great things about you! And you’re an Aussie too! What is it with Mclaren and Aussies? Whatever, I’m glad you’re here, Oscar. I hope you enjoy yourself. Have you eaten yet? I was just in my way to get breakfast. Let me tell you a secret, the Porsche hospitality has the best food in the paddock.” Oscar instantly felt at home with the female driver. She had a comforting presence that Oscar immediately took notice of.

“Told you she’s the best. Just wait until it’s your birthday. She bakes you a cake.” Lando told Oscar.

The entire grid was together for their drivers briefing early in the morning. After going over every detail of the upcoming Grand Prix, the race director decided to let the drivers voice their concerns.

“Does anyone have any questions?”

Y/n raised her hand. “I wanna know who banned the pit wall celebration.”

“Anyone else?”

“Yeah, I’d like to know as well.” Lewis added.

“We can discuss pit wall celebrations at a later time. Excuse me, I am needed somewhere else.” The race director excused himself.

“Don’t worry, I don’t care about being banned. I’ll be there like a proud mom taking millions of pictures of you when you win.” Y/n whispered to Lewis as she layed her head on his shoulder.

“And I’ll be doing the same when you win.” Lewis replied.

“What about when I win? I also want millions of pictures taken of me and the exact same chocolate cake you baked for me for my birthday a year ago. Extra sprinkles please.” Lando smiled innocently.

“Fine, win first then I’ll bake. Shouldn’t be that hard unless you got a tractor for a car.” Y/n teased. “I love you, Lando. Of course I’ll take millions of pictures of you when you win.”

It was a perfect day to race in Silverstone. Like always, Lando had his family in attendance. He was in the mclaren garage when he spotted Y/n on one of the tvs being interviewed by Lissie.

“Hey, that’s my grid mum!” He told his engineer as if his engineer didn’t already know. His smile quickly faded when a blonde man appeared behind Y/n in sunglasses. Lando then watched as the man’s name appeared on the tv.

Charlie Hunnam, actor.

Who was he and why was he with his grid mom?

“Hey, that’s the dude from Sons of Anarchy! My wife watches that series.” Lando heared someone say. He continued to watch the screen as Lissie asked Charlie a question about Y/n.

“She’s incredible, absolutely amazing. I’m happy I finally get to see her talent in person.” Charlie replied, smiling at Y/n which made her blush.

“He’s British . . ” he mumbled.

After Lissie thanked Y/n and Charlie for the interview, the camera kept rolling on them as they walked away. That’s when Lando saw Charlie hold Y/n’s hand then pressed a kiss to the back of it.

“She’s dating a British man and she didn’t tell me?!”

Lando immediately walked out the garage and straight to the Porsche garage. He had a strong feeling Y/n would be showing her new lover around so he started there. He soon spotted the couple talking with the Porsche team principal, Adam.

“Oh, hey Lando! I was about to look for you. I want you to meet Charlie.” Y/n excused herself from Adam and introduced Charlie to her grid son.

“It’s very nice to meet you, mate. Y/n had told me a lot about you.” Charlie smiled.

“Yeah, I’ve heard nothing about you. Nada, zero, not a single thing, zilch.” Lando then turned his attention to Y/n. “I think we need to talk.”

“Okay . . ” Y/n said confused as she turned to Charlie to tell him she would be right back. Lando took her hand and dragged her to a corner away from Charlie. “Lando! What’s wrong? Are you nervous about today?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend?”

Oh.

“You always tell me everything and now I kinda feel betrayed. Especially when i also found out he’s British!” Lando said dramatically.

“Lando, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but it just sorta happened. We met a few months ago and he’s made me the happiest ever since. I wanted to introduce you properly today.” Y/n explained.

“He makes you happy? Like genuinely happy? Because if he doesn’t I will run him over repeatedly.” Lando warned.

Y/n laughed and brought Lando in for a hug. “I know you would, but there’s no need for that. I think he’s the one.”

“Before you leave, there’s actually one more gift for you and you don’t have to guess who it’s from.”

Logan was confused, but happily accepted the gift. It was the annual F1 secret santa and he had just finished unwrapping his present. A gift wrapped perfectly with a blue bow was placed in front of him. The tag read ‘From Y/n’ in neat handwriting.

“Thank you, Y/n! I don’t even want to open it, it’s wrapped so good.” Logan chuckled.

Every year, anyone who got a nicely wrapped gift knew it was from Y/n. And any year that someone new entered the season, Y/n would give them a gift during secret santa. She did it for Lando, George, Alex, Charles, Yuki and Guanyu when they were rookies and now she was doing it for Logan and Oscar. She had even sent Nyck a present as well, she wished he was in the paddock doing secret santa as well though.

“Okay, I’ll open it, I’m too curious.” Logan finally unwrapped the present and saw it was a Miami Heat jersey singed by LeBron James. Logan almost freaked out when he saw the signature.

“Holy shit! Wait sorry, I can’t curse, but holy shit!” He took the jersey out of the box and admired it. “This is incredible.”

“You love it?” He heard the familiar comforting voice of Y/n from behind him. “I hope it’s the right size.” She joined Logan in front of the camera.

“It is, don’t worry,” he chuckled as he gave her a hug. “Thank you so much, I love it.”

“I think you just adopted another son.” The camera man told her.

“I love all my grid sons equally.”

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 driver!reader #f1 one shot #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #platonic #f1 x female reader

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girlgenius1111 · 28 days

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all of my past i tried to erase it

part 3 of family line tensions are still high between Ingrid and her sister. Mapi tries to keep the peace. Solstråle tries to pretend she's fine. Ingrid tries to pretend she isn't going insane not understanding what is going on. cw: mentions of poor mental health / panic attacks. ingrid is pretty worried about solstråle and whether or not she is safe.

-------

It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Mapi bringing her parents to the match shouldn’t have gotten to you the way it did. You didn’t really have an explanation for it, either. You saw Ingrid talking to Mapi’s mom and it felt like everything that had gotten marginally better in the last few days had miraculously disappeared.

You were 8 again, sitting in the office at school, fielding pitying looks from the office ladies. Both of your parents were busy watching one of Ingrid’s matches; at just 16, she was playing for Rosenborg. Your mom was supposed to bring you to watch, too. She’d forgotten.

You were 10 again, lying to the school nurse that your parents hadn’t known you’d hurt your hand. She said it looked broken, and you pretended that you hadn’t asked your mom to take you to the doctor the night before. You pretended your mom hadn’t told you to stop faking injuries when the attention wasn’t on you for one minute.

You were 13 again, sobbing into your pillow, while everyone celebrated just down the hall. Ingrid was leaving to play in Lillestrøm. 5 hours away. She was leaving you behind.

You were 16, having just been dumped by your first girlfriend. You’d come home in tears, and when you told your dad what was wrong, he told you it was for the best, that a girlfriend was just a distraction. He warned you not to bother your sister with this, because she was busy with much more important things in Barcelona.

You were 17, so drunk you could barely speak, walking home on a dark road in the middle of the night because neither of your parents had answered the phone to come and get you from the horrific party you already regretted attending. It was dark, a windy road you were walking along, and if a car came, you weren’t sure your reflexes would be quick enough. You were 17, stumbling over the smooth pavement, the depression you’d been trying to drown in alcohol making a reappearance. You were 17, thinking that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it all ended there, just like this.

You were 17, standing in the airport with your parents, preparing to board the plane to Spain. You leaned in towards your mother for a hug. She avoided it, pinching your cheek lightly, and reminding your father that they had a dinner reservation to get to. You watched them walk out of the airport from your place in the security line. Your vision was blurred with tears, but you still could tell that they didn’t look back at you once. You were 17, and your mom hadn’t told you she loved you before you moved across the continent.

In a second, all of these memories that you’d fought so hard to keep locked away deep inside your head were flooding out. Tears were pricking your eyes, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid. Ingrid didn’t care. Mapi didn’t care. You weren’t worth caring about. How had you forgotten that? How had you let yourself forget that, after everything?

Ingrid didn’t see your expression change, too busy thanking Mapi’s parents profusely for coming to see her play. Mapi did, though. She watched as you caught sight of your sister talking to her mom, and she watched as you flinched like someone had swung at you. She watched as you slipped out of the crowd, speed walking into the building. Mapi was torn in 2 directions, Ingrid on one side, and you running off the other way. You needed Ingrid, most definitely but Mapi didn’t like the look on your face as you ran off, like all of the emotion had been sucked out of you, and all that was left was exhaustion.

Someone else had noticed your disappearing act, though. Caro stood, staring after you, before her gaze fell to Mapi, raising an eyebrow. The defender nodded, and Caro followed after you, while Mapi turned to her girlfriend. She pulled her away from her parents with an apologetic smile, appreciating that Alexia walked over and picked up the conversation where it had left off.

“Ingrid, vamos,” Mapi whispered urgently. Ingrid looked at her, confused and unmoving.

“What? I was in the middle of a conversation, María,” the Norwegian scolded.

“I know, it’s your Solstråle, though, she’s upset, come on,” Mapi insisted, pulling on Ingrid’s hand, who finally seemed to feel a sense of urgency, and let Mapi lead her into the building.

“Upset? Why? Did something happen?”

“She saw you with my mom and just looked really upset.” Mapi explained. A bit of understanding washed over Ingrid’s face, and now she was the one leading her girlfriend, rushing down the hall and beginning to open door after door in search of you.

Caro, meanwhile, had found you pretty easily. You were on the floor of a room she often came to when she was overwhelmed, although that happened much less these days. You knew Caro, obviously, and she knew you, had known you since you were pretty young. She had a calming presence, and the minute she sat next to you, and extended her hand in your direction, you took it gratefully.

“Mapi is bringing Ingrid.” She told you, but didn’t say anything else. She just sat next to your trembling form and held your hand. It was enough for now, enough until your sister arrived.

And when Ingrid did arrive, it was with a loud bang as she threw the door open, sighing in relief at the sight of you. Though, that relief quickly dissolved back into worry at the state you were in. She quickly took Caro’s place at your side, hesitantly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Your sister was surprised when you turned and threw your arms around her neck, crying silently into her shirt.

“Jeg har deg, kjære. Det er greit, du er ok.” She murmured, looking worriedly at the other two women hovering in the doorway of the room. Mapi nodded at her encouragingly, and Ingrid refocused, rubbing a hand slowly up and down your back.

“Thank you,” Mapi muttered to Caro, as they both stepped into the hall to give you some space.

“Of course.” Caro said easily. “She having a hard time?”

“Which one?” Mapi asked wryly. “Yes. It’s… it’s a work in progress.”

“She’s a good kid.” Caro noted, Mapi nodding her head in agreement. “Well, Marta and I are around if either of you need anything.”

“Thank you, Caro. Really.” Mapi said, squeezing the forward’s shoulder. Caro just shrugged like it was no big deal, and headed back out to the pitch. When Mapi reentered the room, you were tucked perfectly into Ingrid’s lap, although you seemed to have calmed down some. Ingrid was speaking to you in hushed Norwegian, and something she said had you lurching away from her and to your feet, stumbling blindly to the door.

“Solstråle, wait,” Ingrid called, not really sure what she said to upset you, but well aware that it had been something. You fell right into Mapi’s arms, and though she looked a little startled, she easily pulled you close.

“Okay, it’s alright. We’re all okay.” She murmured, noticing the rather heartbroken expression on her girlfriend’s face at the fact that you had fled from her right into Mapi’s arms. After a few minutes, you said something quietly that neither girl could hear. “What was that, nena?”

“Can we go ho- back to the house?” You asked, correcting yourself quickly, and pulling away from the comforting embrace Mapi had you in. Ingrid felt like you’d stabbed her, honestly, when you didn’t let yourself call it home. You were stoic again, though, your face void of emotion, wiping roughly at your cheeks to rid them of tears.

“Kjære,” Ingrid said, hating the way you forced all evidence of your breakdown away. You’d been so upset, about something, but now you were acting as though nothing had happened. Your sister would have climbed into your brain if she could’ve, just to understand what was going on in there.

“Let’s go home.” Mapi said easily, shooting her girlfriend a meaningful look. Ingrid wasn’t supposed to push you, she knew that. It was just getting harder and harder to not do so, especially when she could see how much pain you were in. She couldn't understand why you wouldn’t just talk to her, and you couldn’t understand why she was so concerned or why she was so desperate to hear what you were feeling. And considering it was the two of you, the situation was bound to blow up into an argument. It was just a matter of time.

-------

Ingrid knew what was coming before her phone rang, but she still desperately wanted to avoid it. She was quite comfortable at the moment, curled up on top of Mapi in their bed, a show playing softly in the background. Mapi was scratching lightly at Ingrid’s scalp with one hand, and tracing lines over her back with the other. The movements made Ingrid’s entire body relax, which had definitely been Mapi’s goal, but it was all interrupted when her phone went off from next to her.

She sat up off her girlfriend, glancing at the screen, her expression hardening.

“Your mom?” Mapi guessed, pulling Ingrid back down into her when the Norwegian declined the call.

“Yes.”

“You haven’t talked to her since Solstråle’s letter, have you?”

“No.” Ingrid said. “I think I hate her right now.”

Mapi was surprised, only because Ingrid didn’t hate anyone. If there was going to be a person, though, it would be someone who had hurt you. Because Ingrid didn’t like to kill spiders she found in the house, but Mapi knew she would kill a person for you without a second thought. “That’s okay. You can hate her.”

“I miss her.” Ingrid admitted after another minute, her voice cracking. Her forehead was scrunched with sadness, and her hands gripped Mapi’s shirt tight in her hands.

Mapi sighed, wishing she could take Ingrid’s pain away. And yours too, for that matter. “You can miss her too. You can feel whatever you need to feel.”

“No, I can’t, not when Solstråle is so upset,”

“How your sister feels does not limit how you feel. You can be hurt, and sad, and frustrated too. It doesn’t take away from pequeña’s feelings. Just like her feelings don’t take away from yours. You are both upset. That’s alright.” Mapi said confidently. “This isn’t just happening to your sister. It’s happening to you, too, and you can be sad, mi amor. You can cry.”

Ingrid hadn’t even known she’d been about to cry until Mapi said that, but suddenly there were tears running down her face, and she was clutching tightly to the Spaniard underneath her, who did not seem surprised at all at the sudden emotion.

“I know, baby.” Mapi husked, pressing kiss after kiss to the top of Ingrid’s head. She knew Ingrid needed this, and was content to let her cry it out until she heard a sharp breath from the doorway. You were standing just outside the room, frozen and horrified.

“I’m sorry, Ing,” you mumbled, having come in to say goodnight, rather stunned to see your sister so distraught.

Ingrid could only cry harder, now furious with herself for letting you see this, but too upset to do anything but squeeze Mapi’s hand, wordlessly begging for her to do something.

“Ven aqui, nena, it’s alright.” Mapi said, gesturing you over to the bed. You looked skeptical, but you did so anyway, carefully sitting on the bed next to your sister.

“I’m really sorry, Ingrid, I don’t mean to stress you out.” You whispered. You were in a guilty mood, it seemed, not an angry one, and Ingrid felt that somehow, she preferred when you were angry to this.

“Don’t apologize, pequeña. You haven’t done anything wrong. Ingrid is upset, and you’re upset. It’s okay to be upset, and it’s okay to cry.” Sometimes, Mapi felt like she was teaching preschoolers how to identify and express their emotions when she talked to the both of you, though that might be an easier task.

“I’m not upset with you, Solstråle, I am upset with mom, and I am upset with myself. You don’t need to say sorry. Not for having a panic attack, for having a hard time, for any of it.” Ingrid managed then, taking your hand in hers.

“I’m doing my best.” You said. “I know I’m not making it easy, but I promise I’m trying.”

“We know you are. You’re doing so well, nena.” Mapi said enthusiastically, with so much excitement at you saying something remotely positive about yourself that you and Ingrid both cracked smiles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Ingrid asked after a minute. At that, you withdrew, pulling your hand from Ingrid’s and rising from the bed. Both your sister and her girlfriend repressed sighs at your sudden withdrawal.

“No, I’m really tired. I came to say goodnight. I’ll see you guys in the morning.” You rushed out, before bolting out of the room at a speed that could barely be considered a walk.

Ingrid sighed once you were out of earshot, settling back into Mapi. “She’s so difficult.”

“She’s stubborn. Like her sister. She’ll come around, just give her time.” Mapi assured her.

Giving you time, though, was a lot harder than it seemed.

-------

Your whole life, you had been encouraged by your parents to be smaller, to take up less space. If you were upset, you should keep it to yourself. If you were angry, you should calm down. You were taught that your needs always came second to everyone else’s. You didn’t like to be vulnerable with people, and you didn’t like to put your emotions on others.

So when you woke up the next day, it was the feeling of intense shame swirling around inside of you. You’d ruined what was an impressive win for your sister, and a nice moment with Mapi’s parents. You’d upset Ingrid, so much so that she had cried about it.

Too much. You were being too much.

You resolved yourself to be happy today. If not happy, content. Mapi and Ingrid probably needed a day off from your ridiculous, all over the place, emotions. So today, you wouldn’t feel. You’d be perfect, you’d be small, and you’d cause as little trouble as possible.

What you didn’t expect, though, was for that to be the opposite of what Mapi and Ingrid wanted from you. They didn’t care if you took up space. They just wanted you to talk. More than anything, they just wanted you to be okay, no matter how inconvenient that process was for them.

It was a day off for both girls, due to the match the day before, and they were able to let you sleep in. Ingrid was worried you were sleeping too much, but Mapi assured her that angsty teens always needed a lot of sleep, and depressed teens going through a rough time needed even more sleep. Pair that with the intense panic attack you’d had the day before, you were bound to be exhausted.

When noon rolled around, though, and you’d yet to make an appearance, Mapi relented, much to Ingrid’s relief, who had half a mind to check you for a pulse. Mapi made a coffee to bring up to you, opening your door quietly to find you out cold under the covers.

With Snø clutched tightly in your arms, your nose pressed against the soft polar bear, you looked so young.

“Pequeña, despierta,” Mapi murmured, sitting on the edge of your bed and pulling the covers away from your face a bit.

You blinked up at her groggily, an adorably sleepy expression on your face, and Mapi couldn’t help but push some hair out of your face and smile down at you. You looked slightly suspicious, as you couldn’t remember being woken up like this in the entire time living in Spain, but Mapi just handed you your coffee, and settled on the edge of your bed.

“Morning,” you said after a minute and a rather large sip of coffee.

“Afternoon.” Mapi corrected, a little confused when your face turned red at the comment. “It’s 12:15.”

“That’s weird. Normally Ingrid comes to make sure I’m breathing if I sleep past 10.” You noted.

Mapi chuckled. “We’re working on some of your sister’s annoying habits.”

“Don’t get rid of too many, or there won’t be anything left.” You said, your lips tugging up into a smirk.

“Okay! I will just go through this chocolate croissant I made for you in the garbage!” Ingrid scoffed from the doorway, turning on her heel and marching back down the stairs.

If there was any surefire way to get you out of bed, it was to present you with a breakfast pastry.

Within 90 seconds, you had kicked Mapi out, thrown some clothes on and bounded down the stairs, in search of the promised croissant. It was sitting on a plate at the counter, waiting for you, next to your sister who was glaring at you slightly.

“Thank you, Ing,” you said sweetly, throwing her a charming smile. She rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

You hit Mapi’s hand playfully when she reached for your croissant, and she withdrew it with a laugh. “You’re like breakfast pastries the way Ingrid is about coffee.”

“Reasonable? Reasonably attached to it? Is that what you mean, María?” Ingrid asked with a frown.

“Of course, mi amor.” Mapi said with a smile, kissing Ingrid’s cheek softly. You averted your eyes, but you couldn’t lie and say that it didn’t make you happy to see your sister loved so well.

The morning, or afternoon, was going exactly as you’d hoped. No attempts at conversation. No feelings. Of course, it couldn’t last. Once you’d finished eating, Ingrid perked up and seemed to prepare herself for what she was about to say, which instantly made you weary.

“We should talk about last night, kjære.” Ingrid said calmly.

You froze, slowly putting your mug back on the counter. Both other girls watched the way your whole body tense, the way every ounce of emotion was wiped off your face.

“I’m fine. There’s nothing to talk about.” You said stiffly.

“That is not true. Something upset you, and we should discuss it.” Ingrid argued.

“Ingrid, it’s fine. Just leave it. We don’t need to talk about that. We don’t need to talk about anything.” You replied defensively.

“It’s not fine!” Ingrid said, raising her voice, and shaking off Mapi’s gestures to calm down. “None of this is fine. We need to talk about last night. We need to talk about the letter you wrote. We need to get you in therapy. These are all things that need to happen, solstråle. We’ve given you time, now we need to do this.”

“I am not going to therapy.” You declared, standing up with a scoff and crossing your arms across your chest. “Ingrid, I am fine. I don’t need to talk and I don’t need help.”

Ingrid grew visibly more angry with you at that, throwing her arms up in the air in frustration.

“Amor, take a breath.” Mapi said quietly, sighing to herself when Ingrid did not do so.

“You don’t need help? That is the most untrue thing I have ever heard. You do not write the things that you wrote and then turn around and say you’re fine. You. Need. Help.”

“Ingrid. I am not going to therapy, and I am done talking about this.” You said, your voice dangerously quiet.

Your sister wasn’t phased, stepping closer to you with her eyes narrowed. “You will go to therapy if I say you will, and this conversation is not over until I say it is.”

In retrospect, even Ingrid realized that this was decidedly the wrong thing to say. You didn’t take well to being told what to do. Your reaction really should have been worse; Ingrid had gotten off easy.

“Jesus, Ingrid, do you hear yourself? You sound just like mom.” You spit back, feeling a bit of satisfaction at the hurt that flashed across your sister’s face. “I don’t want to talk about this, especially not with you.” You spun around and began stomping towards the stairs. “Don’t fucking follow me.” You warned over your shoulder, causing Ingrid’s jaw to drop.

“Do not-” Ingrid began, starting after you.

“Amor, leave her.” Mapi said, intervening before Ingrid got very far, and pulling her back.

“She is the most frustrating person on the planet.” Ingrid huffed, slamming a hand down onto the counter. Mapi looked unimpressed.

“She is probably thinking the same thing about you right now. I told you not to push her.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “Could you be on my side here for once?” She asked bitingly.

Mapi very calmly shook her head, opening her mouth to explain when Ingrid’s eyebrows flew up on her forehead. “No. I am on your sister’s side, and you should be too. No one has been for a really long time.”

The Norwegian deflated at that, sinking down into one of the stools at the counter. Mapi continued speaking, pulling Ingrid’s hair gently out of the bun it was in, and running her fingers through it. “You’re looking at this wrong, mi amor. She doesn’t need you to talk her into therapy. She’ll get there on her own, you just need to give her time. That girl has a long way to go before she admits she needs help, believe me.”

Ingrid sighed deeply. “Can you go check on her? She’s mad at me, I just need you to make sure she’s okay and she isn’t going to do anything stupid.”

“Of course.” Mapi said, delicately kissing Ingrid’s lips. “I love you.” She reminded the Norwegian with a soft, almost shy smile.

Ingrid wanted to cry at how sweet, how perfect, how helpful and kind and funny and beautiful her girlfriend was. “I love you, so so much.”

Mapi headed for the stairs, and Ingrid made yet another cup of coffee, a coffee she wouldn’t drink.

Because Mapi came running back down the stairs a minute later, an apprehensive look on her face as she approached her girlfriend.

“Mi amor, she isn’t up there.” She said carefully.

“What do you mean she isn’t up there,” Ingrid asked, rising to her feet and feeling panic rise within her.

Mapi just shook her head, putting her hands on Ingrid’s shoulders. “She isn’t up there. Her window is open, I think she snuck out.”

Ingrid felt like something inside of her was collapsing, leaving behind a chasm that was quickly filling with anxiety. “Where… what? She… she’s gone? She…we have to-”

What had you left to do? Only horrible, life shattering options of where you were and what you were doing were flying through Ingrid’s head, and she reached out, latching on to Mapi’s outstretched hands.

“Amor, breathe. Calm down. We’ll find her. Where would she go?”

Mapi hoped, with everything in her, that Ingrid had an answer. Because she had to be calm right now, for Ingrid, but Barcelona was a big city. And if you didn’t want to be found… Mapi didn’t know what would happen.

Ingrid’s mind was racing, but one thought pushed to the front of everything else. “The lake, there’s a lake in Melhus she would always go to when she was upset. She’d go to water, a body of water.”

Mapi nodded. “Okay, there are 2 beaches in walking distance, in opposite directions. We’ll go to one, and we’ll send Frido to the other.”

Privately, Mapi hoped Frido found you first. She wasn’t quite sure that you wouldn’t bolt away from Ingrid, but you wouldn’t be expecting Frido to pop up.

-------

A quick call to Frido later, Mapi was directing one very frazzled Norwegian into the car, and setting off for the beach. Ingrid was deep in thought, and Mapi kept her hand on her girlfriend’s leg, softly and soothingly rubbing her thumb back and forth. It was only a few minutes to the beach, and Mapi knew Ingrid would talk before they arrived.

“Do you think she’d do something stupid?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her hand covering Mapi’s and gripping tightly. The Spaniard didn’t need her to explain what she meant; she knew this question was coming, really.

“She said she wouldn’t.” Mapi said calmly.

“She said she wouldn’t ‘do that to me,’ that doesn’t mean she wouldn’t do it, especially now that she’s mad at me.”

“This is a little fight. She wouldn’t… do that. Not over this.” Mapi reassured her, but Ingrid remained unconvinced.

“I don’t know what she’s thinking, María, maybe she was lying before.”

“Ingrid, mi amor, calm down. You have to trust her. Even when you’re scared, and even when it feels like you should take her bedroom door off the hinges and implant her with a GPS chip. You have to trust her not to hurt herself.”

“But what if she does?” Ingrid asked softly, as if saying the words loud enough would somehow will it into existence.

“We can’t think like that. Promise me you won’t think like that, okay?”

“Okay.” Ingrid agreed faintly. Both of them knew she was lying. It was all she’d been worrying about for days, and all she would worry about for many to come.

--------

Frido found you first. When she drove by the beach and didn't see you there, she got another idea. There was a rock climbing place nearby; Ingrid had said you always used to go to a lake back home when you were upset. Though Frido didn’t want to say so, it had been a long time since Ingrid had lived with you, and it wouldn’t have surprised her if your habits had changed. And the Swede knew from your instagram that you spent a lot of time rock climbing. She told Mapi where she was headed, and sped over to the gym.

Sure enough, as soon as she walked in the building, she spotted you in the middle of the hardest wall, seemingly only using the smallest holds to get yourself up. You were breathing hard, and the worker belaying you looked a bit concerned.

Frido pulled her phone out, shooting off a quick text to Mapi. “She’s here, she’s okay. Let me talk to her, don’t let Ingrid come in. I’ll bring her out.”

Ingrid probably wouldn’t help the situation, if you were as angry as you seemed. The blonde spoke quickly to the front desk attendant, and headed over to where you were.

She stood, just watching you. You were a few feet from the top now, luckily for your hands, which you clearly had not put enough chalk on, and were beginning to really hurt. With only a bit to go, you took a risk, attempting an impressive, one armed pull to get your other hand to the next hold. You just barely missed, falling away from the wall.

“Fuck,” you cursed, swinging back towards the wall and smacking it with your hand. You were lowered down, clearly fuming, and Frido took the opportunity to step in front of you, giving the girl attached to the other end of the rope a look.

“Again,” you requested, avoiding Frido’s gaze.

She took your hand in hers, though, inspecting the tear in your skin, shaking her head. “No, that’s enough Solstråle.”

“Leave me alone, Frido.” You snapped, trying to pull away from her when you felt the rope fall slack. You turned, seeing that the worker had abandoned her harness in favor of going to help someone else, no doubt at Frido’s direction.

You rolled your eyes, quickly regretting it when the Swede raised an eyebrow at you. Ingrid could be scary sometimes, but she had nothing on Frido.

“Are they here?” You asked, loosening the harness and stepping out of it with an exasperated sigh.

“They’re outside. You terrified your sister.” Frido said, pulling you over to a bench and making you sit down, before handing you a bottle of water.

You looked unimpressed. “I’m 18, I can handle myself in the city for an hour.”

“She wasn’t worried about that, she was worried you were going to hurt yourself.” Frido said bluntly, sitting down next to you. She ignored how stiff you’d grown and how uncomfortable you seemed, reaching for your hand and looking at it critically.

“That wasn’t on purpose.” You said defensively, wrenching your hand away once again. “And I told her I wouldn’t do that.”

“Can you blame her for worrying, Solstråle, really? And maybe you didn’t do that on purpose, but you came here to push yourself instead of dealing with your feelings in a healthy way.”

You really hated that she was right. Frido was always right. It was simultaneously her worst and best trait.

“Are they mad?” You asked in a small voice, suddenly looking very much your age. Frido stood and held out a hand to help you up.

“Not right now. Just worried. Ingrid’s going to give you a hug and you’re going to let her.” Frido instructed. You supposed that was fair. And really, you could use a hug. Hugs from your sister always made you feel better, even if you’d never admit it.

As you exited the building, you instantly spotted your sister and her girlfriend by their car. Mapi was leaning calmly against the Cupra, while Ingrid was pacing frantically, speaking fast and gesturing wildly with her hands.

“Did I do that?” You asked quietly.

Frido laughed. “I think she was born like that.”

As you neared the car, Ingrid turned as Mapi pointed at you, her face melting with relief at the sight of you. It really hit you, then, how worried she must have been, to still be so anxious even after Frido had likely told her you were okay. You weren’t making this easy on your sister.

She practically knocked you over with the force of her hug. “You’re okay.” She murmured into the top of your head, leaving a kiss there.

“I’m okay.” You reiterated, letting yourself hug her back tightly, even if it was just for a moment. She felt you tighten your arms around her almost unconsciously, and made a note to hug you more often. Even if it seemed like you weren’t very interested. After a minute she pulled back, placing both hands on your cheeks and making you look at her.

“Next time leave through the front door? And tell me where you’re going? Please?” She asked. You appreciated that she didn’t tell you to do this, leaving it more as a request, although you knew it was a reasonable rule for her to put in place.

“Promise.” You said quietly. She nodded her head, satisfied, before pulling Frido into a hug that also looked to be too tight. Mapi was looking at you, rather unimpressed. You knew she was not happy with you for upsetting your sister so much, and though it annoyed you a bit, you knew it was deserved. And you appreciated that your sister had someone that was so protective over her.

“In the car, nena. I want to talk to you when we get home.” Mapi instructed. You got in the car with no argument, the fight having gone out of you a bit. It had nothing to do with the hug Ingrid had given you, nothing at all. Definitely not. Instead of anger, you only felt apprehension, because Mapi looked dead serious about whatever she wanted to talk about.

-------

You were nothing short of shocked when Mapi opened the door to the garage and gestured you inside upon arriving home. Ingrid watched on anxiously, and you pretended not to see the way Mapi whispered some reassurance to her and kissed her cheek, before pointing her towards the kitchen

You’d never been in the garage before; it was Mapi’s space. You were already invading her home, you wouldn’t invade the one place of the house that was really hers, too. You knew she worked something out there, knew there was a reason both cars parked in the driveway instead of in the garage.

Mapi followed you into the room and sat down on a stool next to the large motorcycle in the middle of the garage. It was clearly in the process of being restored. You hadn’t known Mapi rode motorcycles. Well, you hadn’t known that your sister let Mapi ride a motorcycle. You stood awkwardly in the door as Mapi inspected 2 different wrenches, until she pointed at the stool next to her.

“Ven aqui, nena.” She said.

You took a seat, not really enjoying the tense silence that washed over the room. “Are you mad at me?” You asked after a minute. For all your anger, and all your bravado, you didn’t like it when people were mad at you. Especially not people you looked up to, people you admired.

“No. Not mad, nena. Never mad. I wish you hadn’t snuck out your window, but I understand why you did. I wish sometimes you thought a bit more about how your actions affect me and your sister, but I know how hard that is to do when you’re as angry as you are.”

“I’m not angry.” You said defensively. Mapi rolled her eyes, handing you a couple of tools and beginning to tighten something on the bike.

“You are angry. You’re so angry that you feel like you’re going to explode sometimes. You’re so angry that sometimes you forget that you’re sad, too. You’re angry, and you’re hurt, and I cannot blame you for that. If anyone has a right to those emotions, it’s you.” You didn’t really enjoy being perceived so well, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. “I know angry, nena. Do you remember when I hurt my knee?”

You nodded. The first few weeks of Mapi's injury hadn’t been a fun time, your sister beyond stressed with dealing with Mapi’s injury and her new role in the team, and you’d tried hard to be on your best behavior.

“I started working on this bike a year ago, when everything happened with the Spanish federation. It was Ingrid’s idea, a way for me to distract myself. When I hurt my knee, it had been a bit since I’d worked on it, but suddenly I was back in this garage until all hours of the night. It’s nice to be able to control something like this, when everything else feels out of your control. That is how climbing is for you, yes?”

You relaxed a bit at the turn the conversation was taking, and Mapi wasn’t surprised. It wasn’t just the topic; it was the fact that she wasn’t staring at you, putting pressure on you to give her an answer she wanted to hear. You were just talking. Casually.

“Yeah. I’m in control, and I don’t have to think about anything else. It’s relaxing.”

“It’s good for you to have an outlet like that.” Mapi stated. “This bike was Ingrid’s idea, when we first got together. Do you know what her other idea was?”

You were pretty sure you did, and you grimaced at the thought. “Therapy?”

Mapi snorted, handing you the wrench she was using and taking the screwdriver from your hand. “Yes therapy. You don’t have to look at it like that, though, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“It’s not for me.” You said decisively.

Mapi just shrugged. “I didn’t think it was for me either.” She paused, knowing your curiosity would get the better of you, and you’d ask for more information.

“What changed your mind?” You asked after a minute.

“Your sister did. After the euros, I had a hard time coming back to Barça and playing. Those weeks were some of the hardest of my life, trying to find my rhythm again but trying to recover from the stress I’d been under that summer. I was a mess. And Ingrid was right there with me, through all of it. I’d had a really bad day, and I asked Ingrid to come home early from a lunch she had. She came home, calmed me down, and afterwards, she asked me if I trusted her. I said I did. And she said that she really wanted me to try therapy. That I didn’t have to feel how I felt, and I deserved help. I deserved to not be miserable. She asked me to try it, for her, just give it a try.”

“And you did.”

“And I did. Because she’d done so much for me, I couldn’t refuse her request. Not when I knew she just wanted the best for me. I gave it a shot, and it helped, more than anything else had helped. It wasn’t a fix all, but it helped. It made me feel like I was doing something to get better.”

Mapi abandoned her work on the bike, looking at you for the first time since you’d entered the garage. You could only see sincerity in her gaze. Not anger, but annoyance. Just sincerity. “You deserve help, Solstråle. No matter how you feel about yourself, Ingrid and I know you. And we know you deserve help. You’re a good person, and you deserve to be happy.”

María sounded so sure. So completely convinced. You looked away from her, blinking hard.

“You don’t have to agree to anything now. Keep an open mind about it. Think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.” You agreed quietly, grateful that Mapi didn’t make a big deal out of it, only nodding slightly.

“One more promise?” She asked.

“What?”

“Talk to us. Or just me, or just Ingrid. We’re a little lost here, nena. It feels like we were just kind of plopped down in the middle of this. We had no idea anything was going on, not really. And all of a sudden we’re reading that letter, and realizing we missed a lot. That’s on us; we should have noticed sooner. We don’t have the whole picture, though, and that makes it really hard for us to figure out how to help you. We’ll both worry a lot less if you talked to us, just a little bit.”

That was reasonable, you had to admit. When she put it like that. You’d spent so much time being annoyed that no one had noticed, then being annoyed when they finally did notice, you hadn’t really spent a ton of time thinking about how little they knew. There was no context to your behavior, aside from what you’d put in the letter. And that just barely scratched the surface. You supposed they deserved an explanation. At least a bit of one.

“I’ll try.” You promised.

Mapi grinned at you this time, an infectious smile. “Bueno! Come here with that wrench. No, that one. Put it on this bolt. Twist.”

And just like that, the conversation was over. Easily. You got the feeling that Mapi would have let it go if you’d insisted on it, but you miraculously felt better. Talking, listening had made you feel better. Mapi had made you feel better.

-------

You both emerged from the garage around an hour and a half later, when the smell of baking cookies became too strong to resist. Ingrid had clearly been stress baking, one of your favorite of her habits. There were at least 3 different types of cookies on the counter, some done baking, some still in progress. It smelled so distinctly of home in the house, it was almost overwhelming.

“I have something for you,” Ingrid said, drying her hands and stepping away from the counter when you walked into the room.

“I can see that.” You said, nodding to the cookies appreciatively, but Ingrid shook her head.

“No, something else.” Ingrid said.

“OH! I do too.” Mapi said excitedly, and they both disappeared in different directions. You stood bewildered in the kitchen, not quite sure what you were about to be given.

They returned simultaneously, each holding what looked to be 2 frames. “Mapi’s first.” Ingrid directed. “I haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked surprisingly at Mapi, taking the present and beginning to unwrap the wrapping paper. “What is this for?” You asked.

“Your birthday.” Ingrid said quietly. You froze momentarily, an unreadable expression flashing across your face. “I know it seems like we forgot, but we didn’t. We got the dates messed up, but we had presents, and we had dinner reservations, just… for the 25th. Not the 15th.”

“Oh. I thought you’d forgotten.” You said slowly, seemingly slightly emotional.

“Nope, just bad at remembering dates. Now open your present.” Mapi said impatiently, bouncing on her feet like an overexcited child.

You unwrapped it slowly, as if you were slightly weary of what it might be. When you pulled the frame from the wrapping paper, though, every wall you’d put up fell instantly, your jaw dropping open at the piece of art in your hands.

It was a map. Not just a map, but a map of all the hiking trails in Barcelona. It was textured, detailed, labeled. It was intricate, all neutrals and earthy colors. It was so you. From the contents to the design, it was like it had been made just for you.

“Mapi…” You whispered, staring, stunned, at the map. “Where did you… how did you… what?”

“Ale’s sister Fresa went to school with this girl that hand makes maps like this. I got her name from diablillo, and I told her what I wanted. Do you like it, do you like it?” Mapi asked excitedly.

Mapi got her answer when you handed the frame to Ingrid, and launched yourself the few feet between you and Mapi, wrapping her in a tight hug. Mapi beamed at Ingrid, who was trying very hard not to cry. She hadn’t even given Mapi any advice on the gift. It had been all her girlfriend’s idea, she executed it all by herself, determined to get Solstråle the perfect gift.

“It’s perfect, thank you María,” you mumbled. The ridiculous smile on Mapi’s lips didn’t falter at the use of her real name, only squeezing you tighter.

“Te amo, Solstråle.” She said back. For once, you believed it. When you pulled away from the hug, it was to see Mapi looking smugly at your sister. “INGRID I DEFINITELY WON.”

Ingrid rolled her eyes. “She hasn’t even opened my present yet.”

“Still. I won.” Mapi smirked.

Now it was Ingrid’s turn to hand you your gift. It was wrapped in the same paper, and you tore it off, almost cautiously, not quite sure what Ingrid would have gotten you.

You were, once again, speechless at what you saw. This time, your eyes filled with tears immediately. Ingrid wasn’t as excited as Mapi had been, instead looking at you anxiously.

It was a painting of a waterfall back home not far from your house. It was so distinct, you knew Ingrid must have paid a ridiculous amount of money to get someone to hand paint it. Each individual stroke was so precise, blending perfectly into the image it was supposed to be, but if you focused hard, you could pick out the greens and greys and blues and whites that you’d grown up with.

It felt like home. It felt comforting. You could almost smell the trees, feel the cool sting of wind on your cheeks. It was a little piece of home just for you, and it was perfect. So beautiful and artistic that you weren’t sure you were worthy of it, but you looked at it in awe nonetheless. You wiped at your cheeks, not able to control the tidal wave of emotion washing over you.

“Kjære? Is it okay?” Ingrid asked anxiously, her eyes searching your face, trying to figure out if these were good tears or bad tears.

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Okay? Ingrid… it’s the most perfect thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s… perfect. Thank you.” You said, turning to her with a look of complete shock. And even though it pained Ingrid that you were so surprised to receive a nice gift for your birthday, she pushed that feeling down. Instead, she pulled you in towards her, placing the frame on the counter so she could hug you properly. You were happy with it, now, and that was all Ingrid had control over.

After a few seconds, Ingrid moved to pull away and break the hug, but you kept your arms wrapped around her, not quite ready to let go yet. Maybe it was the homesickness, or maybe it was your sister making you feel so known, and so loved. Whatever the reason, you just wanted her near you for a minute more, holding you nice and tight and safe against her.

“I love you,” she whispered, hearing you mumble the words back, your voice thick with emotion. When you did pull away, a minute later, it was to wipe at your face in an almost embarrassed manner.

Seeing how desperate you were for the attention to be off your tears, Mapi spoke up, her voice light and easy. “You can put them up in your room, you don’t have anything on the walls.”

You looked at the ground, then, almost sheepishly. “I didn’t know I could put anything up on them.” You admitted.

The room fell quiet, but even though you could tell that what you said had hurt Ingrid and Mapi, they just shook their heads softly. “It’s your room, for good, you can do whatever you want to it.” Ingrid told you.

You were about to thank her, and try to move the conversation long when Mapi let out a dramatic gasp. Both you and Ingrid whipped your heads to look at her, confused at the mischievous grin on her face.

“Ikea. WE CAN GO TO IKEA AND GET FURNITURE FOR SOLSTRÅLE’S ROOM.”

“María, calm down. Maybe she doesn’t want to redo her room.” Ingrid looked at you hopefully, and you knew it had nothing to do with your room, and everything to do with her not wanting to take Mapi to ikea.

You simply smirked back at Ingrid, who sighed and shut her eyes for a minute.

“Okay. Ikea.” She said finally. You and Mapi cheered, comically loudly, completely ignoring the rules she was setting in favor of high fiving each other and going to get ready to leave. “María, you are not building anything. Solstråle does not need her bed to collapse under her in the middle of the night. And kjære, please, please, don’t let Mapi talk you into a loft bed, you’ll fall off of it and break your arm. Amor? Kjære? ARE EITHER OF YOU LISTENING!” Ingrid shouted after you, rolling her eyes at the chants of ikea echoing around the house.

Mapi in Ikea was a handful. You, too, were a handful at the store. Together? She was going to lose one of you, she was sure of it. It had been a long day already. And it was only set to get longer.

--------

fluffy engen-león family trying to put furniture together in the next part?

yes, that IS all i have to say about this chapter thank you for your time.

#woso imagine #woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #ingrid engen x mapí leon #ingrid engen x reader #mapi leon x reader #engen!reader #platonic reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics #sol☀️#🍓☀️

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maybankswhore · 9 months

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𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑.

summary: rafe overhears you talking to sarah about your feelings and wants to take care of you.

warnings: mentions of depression and anxiety , rafe eavesdropping , little bit of swearing

You sighed at Sarah’s hand rubbing your back comfortingly as your face hid itself in your hands to hide your puffy eyes and red cheeks. You looked like a mess— and you felt how you looked. Everything just seemed so overwhelming , and there was such much pressure on you from your family. There were so many feelings that you kept inside because you hadn’t wanted to feel like a burden.

“I’m just so tired all the time.” You ranted to Sarah , wiping underneath your eyes with the back of your hand. “I’m always so tired and so , so sad. Nothing seems to make it go away. I always feel this. . . this impending doom over me like something bad’s gonna happen. Like I’m going to fail and disappoint everyone.”

Sarah frowned. She definitely related that feeling and tried her best to figure out the right way to help you. Frowning , you pushed some hair away from your face. “Have you tried talking to Rafe?” Her face twisted up at the mention of her brother , but making sure to quickly wipe it away. Despite her own personal feelings towards him , Sarah knew that Rafe was good to you. The relationship he had with you was probably his only saving grace.

You shook your head at her. “No because Rafe’s not. . .” you struggled to find the right words. “Rafe shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. He already has so much on his own plate that a sad , depressing girlfriend should be the least of his worries. And I know he doesn’t like to see me cry because he feels too bad if he can’t make it stop.” You didn’t resent Rafe for not being the best person to talk to. You knew why he struggled with it and your stress shouldn’t fall onto his shoulders. You’d feel guilty adding on to everything else Rafe dealt with.

“Look I’m not the biggest fan of my brother,” Sarah muttered under her breath. “But I know that he cares about you , Y/N and he would want to be there for you. He’s your boyfriend—” she emphasized. “It’s kinda what he signed up for.”

As you cried , Rafe loomed around Sarah’s door. He didn’t want to eavesdrop , but he couldn’t stop himself from being concerned when he noticed your sniffles floating from the small crack in the door. Rafe wasn’t one to pry too much , too afraid it’d push you away. He felt his chest grow heavy as he listened to you vent to Sarah , hating you felt that way. He wanted to take every negative and sad thing in your brain and pluck it away. Store somewhere impossible to find and never feel again.

Pursing his lips , Rafe sighed as he knocked on the door softly to signal that someone was there. He lightly peaked around it , focusing on you. “Hey , baby. I’m home.” He smiled at you gently , feeling determined to try and be what you needed. Rafe wasn’t good at feelings but he would do anything for you and try again until he did it right.

You plastered on a fake smile when you saw him. Your heart warmed up just a little bit more at your boyfriend , feeling antsy to be in his arms. You mumbled a quick ‘thanks , sar’ before tapping her shoulder to walk out.

She gave you a smile in return , hoping that things would get better for you soon.

Rafe’s arm immediately snaked around your waist and pulled you to him and leading you down the hall. You tried your best to act normal , hoping that it was dark enough to conceal the mess you were sure painted across your face.

He waited until the door of his room closed before speaking. “You were crying.” Rafe’s thumb swiped underneath your cheekbone , a frown on his face.

“I know.” You whispered back. You grabbed his hand and kept it on your cheek , eyes fluttering closed at his touch. “’m was just sad for minute.”

“Sweet baby.” Rafe sighed , being gentle with his touch and words. His eyelashes fluttered against the apples of your cheeks when he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your face. “What’s wrong?”

As if his words were a trigger , tears started falling down your face. You threw your arms around his neck and just cried , shamelessly. You weren’t thinking of sounding stupid or crying in an ugly way. You weren’t embarrassed and you weren’t feeling guilty. You just cried. It felt good to finally feel it and not try and disguise it with other things. It felt good to feel Rafe’s arms tighten around you , the coos of him healing something deeply rooted in your soul.

You just wanted to feel comforted , and loved.

Rafe held you tightly as you did so , rocking you back and forth. The two of you stood there in the middle of the room with the only sound being the way you sobbed loudly in the crook of his neck. You didn’t even know what words could explain how you felt , so you didn’t even bother trying.

“My sweet girl,” Rafe mumbled into your hair. “Lay down with me.”

He easily slid the two of you backwards , quickly kicking off his shoes to get onto the bed. He left the covers tucked , his work clothes on— something he’d never allow any other time. All Rafe cared about was holding you so you didn’t feel so alone.

You let him move you towards the bed. He laid down flat while gripping at your hips , pulling you to straddle him. A sigh of contentment left your lips as you laid down , chest to chest , with your cheek against his cheek. It was so close that you felt the warmth of his breath on the side of your neck , sending shivers down your spine with each exhale. It was suffocatingly close— and just what you needed.

His hands rubbed your back as you calmed down , laying there next to him. The sound of his breathing was like a lullaby , shushing your nerves to sleep as you listened to it carefully. Your breathing pattern began to mimic his and you almost mistaked Rafe Cameron as some sort of drug you were warned about at school assembly’s.

“Thank you.” You breathed , after what seemed like hours of just laying there compared to the minutes it actually was. “I’ve just felt so overwhelmed lately. And everything’s making me sad. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” Rafe stopped you , craning his neck down to look at you. He stared into your ears with scrunched brows , a finger to your chin. “Don’t ever apologize to me for that.”

“Okay.” You mumbled back. You grabbed his hand to kiss his thumb.

“It’s what I signed up for.” Rafe breezed it in , hoping you wouldn’t be mad at him. The air becoming light hearted when you rolled your eyes playfully and smacked his chest.

“You’re such a jerk!”

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isuckatwritingsobenice · 3 months

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Face it dear, you need someone like me.

Synopsis: You live a happy life with your husband, Ralph, who never notices you running off in the middle of the night to a certain radio host…

Warnings: Cheating, NSFW under the cut! Alastor being Alastor! Oh and Human Alastor because he will always be my fav <33

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event )

You lived a quiet life. Your husband Ralph was more than enough. He worked in construction and was busy all morning and into the late hours of the night, getting home at eight p.m sharp every evening. The two of you had a lovely marriage, some would say picture perfect even. A small house, living in the city. What more could you ask for?

Well maybe some alone time. Or financial security. But hey you can’t have it all right?

You hadn’t intended on cheating on your husband. Hell you didnt even want to get involved with Alastor, he was just a colleague. But, he had so sweetly convinced you to go dancing with him one night after your husband knocked out on the couch. Sneaking out was easy when he slept like a log and honestly? It was the best night of your life. You felt alive. Like things were okay. You felt so pretty in your dress, with your hair done up. The two of you had even shared a flask on your way back to your home.

But then Alastor turns down the wrong street, and now you’re on his doorstep, the both of you fiddling with the lock, trying not to pull away from each other even though you both need air. But everything felt so good, so right. When he finally opens the door to his home you both stumble in, giggling all the way. He hazardously removes your coat, letting it drop to the floor as he does the same with his. You kick your heels off, while he does the same with his. Garments are tossed as you both make your way up the stairs, sliding into walls and becoming an entangled mess of laughter. His hands are everywhere they shouldn’t be, and yours remain wrapped around his shoulders, manicured nails raking through his hair as the kisses descend from your lips down the side of your neck, where he bites down ever so slightly. He kicks the door to his bedroom open wider, the two of you walking in as he sits you on the bed, pulling back to see your face. Lips are swollen, and the red lipstick you had worn for him was smudged off the side of your lip. The marks down the side of your neck were beginning to form despite only being made moments ago, but he’s a passionate lover who loves to leave his mark on things.

No, you hadn’t intended on cheating on your husband. But he was so gentle with you, so warm and loving, his touch lit you ablaze like if you were a forest fire. Feeling something felt amazing, and he felt all the better.

No, you didn’t want to cheat on your husband. You didn’t plan on taking your lunch breaks just to walk around the park with Alastor. That wasn’t done intentionally, it just happened. The same way everything else did.

You didnt want to cheat on your husband, but when he knocks three times on your door nine thirty you know it’s Alastor. You don’t even think twice before leaving to spend the night with your favorite man. A man who isn’t your husband.

You dont like cheating on your husband. No, not when you hear him talk about how much he wants to start a family with you. How painfully you have to smile back at him, knowing you aren’t even interested in sleeping in the same bed as him anymore. What a cellophane Alastor called him.

“That man is undeserving of you dear. When are you going to be honest with yourself hm?”

He’d say, at the worst damn time too. Slotted perfectly between your legs, asking you these things when your mind is nothing but mush because of him. But isn’t that the best part? Because it’s him you’re doing all this for. It’s Alastor you choose to spend your nights with, and that makes him want you so much more. So you could imagine his pain when he knocked three times and you didn’t answer. No, not when he heard those sweet sounds of yours from the other side of the door. How dare you.

Yes, Ralph was your husband. But Alastor was so much better than him, it was almost hard to fake it. “I love you so much Y/n.” Your husband said with a sigh, sleep finally taking over his body. You just nod, feeling guilty. No, you don’t like cheating on your husband. But how are you supposed to feel when your husband doesn’t feel like your husband anymore? When he feels like a man you sleep with so he doesn’t become angry with you? You gather yourself together quickly, not even recognizing the time, and shut your bedroom door quietly. You make your way to the kitchen in a robe, and almost jump out of your skin when you see Alastor standing next to the counter with a cup of tea in his hand.

“Alastor…- Alastor I-“ You were at a loss for words. How did he even get in?

“Tell me, my dear. Why won’t you leave him?”

Alastor asks, setting his hot cup down on the counter. His smile doesn’t change, but it’s thin. You know he’s upset with you. “I don’t know. I don’t know how to, break the news to him.” You say, looking down. Alastor scoffs, pushing off the counter to walk towards you.

“Do you love him?”

Alastor asks, stopping a few feet away from you. “I do…but-“

“No. Do you love him?”

Alastor asks again. He knows the answer. You both do. “No. No I don’t.” You whisper to yourself, tears brimming your eyes. Alastor smiles wider now.

“Then why do you let him use you? You know he isn’t half as good with you as I am.”

He says, getting close enough to take your hands in his. Tears fall from your face, and Alastor coo’s as he wipes your tears.

“I don’t want to hurt him.” You say, sighing. Alastor just smiles.

“Why don’t,”

He says, moving to tilt your face to look at him. He smiles as you stare at him teary eyed, and though usually he’d love it, right now he wants that sad look gone.

“You get your things, and why don’t we leave?”

Alastor asks. You stare at him wide eyed. “Leave? But, my home-“ Alastor tut’s at you, pulling away from you to walk back to his place by the counter. You stand there, shocked.

“Do you really need to stay?”

Alastor asks with a laugh.

“Darling, you’ve already hurt him enough.”

He says, hoping that will snap you out of it. When he see’s you still, stuck there, he pinches the bridge of his nose, glasses moving up.

“He can’t give you what I can.”

He says, and you shake your head.

“Alastor he’s been a good man to me. I can’t just-“

“Can’t what? Sleep with another man and then try to act like you’re perfect? Dear you and I both know we are far from perfect.”

Alastor says, and it hurts because you know he’s right. You’ve already hurt your husband, so why are you still sticking around as if you care?

“He’s been there for me through so much. He needs me.”

You say in a low voice. You didn’t think this would hurt you this much.

“What about what you need?”

Alastor asks, studying your features closely. He walks back to you again, this time pulling you closer to meet him halfway. This time you’re forced to look at him. He gets closer to your face, and you hate the way you feel butterflies when his thumb traces your bottom lip.

“Face it dear, you need someone like me.”

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #alastor #hellaverse

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angelstate · 3 months

Text

“Unprioritized Love”

Husband!Price x Wife!Reader

Price is a loyal person, he thinks about everyone else before himself and doesn’t hesitate to do something he normally would be against if it means saving the people he cares for, it truly is a blessing at times, the way his priorities don’t falter…until they do.

because he is a loyal person but does not know or pretends not to know in which situations he should stand by one person instead of the other, it’s conflicting for him to choose someone when another person is also expecting his support.

it hurts a lot when you’re caught in that sort of situation with him, you’re his lover, his companion in life, and the person he returns home to, but you’re also the person he leaves behind for his team, you’re the one who waits around for him while the team gets him almost all the time.

and you know jealousy isn’t healthy, that you shouldn’t resent anyone because it's his job, he has to leave to provide for you, you cannot bite the hand that feeds you, it would be wrong, it wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be fair for him.

so you bite your tongue and nod like a child when he tells you about his job, about him going away once more, for longer this time. and the tears in your eyes are hard to be held back, because God, it hurts a lot to be left behind, all by yourself. away from your family and your lover, only an empty home to satisfy your basic needs.

He doesn’t mean to be an absent presence, the lack of a lover in your life. He truly doesn’t mean to give so little to you, to not hold you every night. but between his job and you…he knows which one he isn’t choosing even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

“I'll be back when I can, alright?” he speaks, voice gruff as he looks around the room, his hands on his hips, you stay seated on the couch, knees close to your chest and your eyes glued to the TV for a distraction, is better to pretend you don’t care than to show him how much you are beginning to hate the dynamic he created in your life.

“mhm” you hum in agreement, taking a big breath and holding it in before exhaling through your nose, not trusting that if you open your mouth, a sob wouldn’t escape, Price notices the lack of words from your part, you always have something to say, a small joke to make about him better bringing you a souvenir or something from his “trip” but when this time you don’t speak or even dare to look at him makes him anxious.

“Want me to bring you something?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you, looking towards the TV, a baking program playing, and your focus on the show makes him raise an eyebrow, you aren’t one to enjoy cooking so he doesn't understand why you’re watching it.

“no thanks” you respond, and the answer makes him feel like he’s done something wrong that made you upset, the last 4 days he’s been home replaying in his mind, trying to remember what could’ve made you get angry with him, nothing comes to mind sadly, and he feels clueless about everything surrounding you.

“I thought you don’t like cooking” He decides to comment, shifting the conversation to something more banal and easy to speak about. “I started baking almost 8 months ago” you answer him back, voice flat and your eyes strained on the TV, the recipe to make pavlova having your main focus, it makes Price frustrated, how you won’t look at him, won’t give him the time of day when he’s leaving tomorrow.

you don’t expect him to know how your life develops and the things that change when he's away most of the time, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to pay you attention when he already has a tough and complicated job to do, his salary pays for the kitchen supplies and food after all. it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to know you... god, how stupid is that?

“You didn’t tell me” Price states, his voice carrying a heaviness that reveals he is irritated about not being told something he should’ve known if he paid attention to the new things in the kitchen like the stand mixer next to the electric oven.

“I thought I mentioned it when I gave you to try the brownies I made yesterday” you retort, your eyes landing on him for a second before returning to the TV, your gaze isn’t welcoming or warm and it creates a pit on his stomach to see you so detached and unresponsive to something he knew should make you upset.

It brings a sort of heaviness to his chest as he notices he doesn’t have the right to feel offended about not being told something when you should be upset about him not noticing in the first place something that occurred in his own home. It is hypocritical and he knows it.

Price stays silent for a long time, the sound of the TV filling in the silence that was created between the two of you, he feels out of place, not knowing how to answer you, what to do, what is the problem he feels he should be fixing right now.

“you should start packing” you comment after almost five minutes, and that phrase is said with a monotone tone, not one of sadness or a little bit of frustration that he’s leaving again, it's a tone that just states the obvious, you declare that he should pack his bag once more because otherwise he would leave with nothing for his mission and that wouldn’t be optimal.

“Can you help me pack?” He asks for a favor you often offer without him mentioning wanting your help. tonight you don’t offer assistance, almost like you aren’t faced by his departure, used to his absence, used to his side of the bed being empty.

“I’m watching TV” you speak and his heart breaks a little bit, you don’t sound apologetic as you often do when you’re not able to help him, and he’s leaving but he feels you left instead, that the girl he married is no longer in the house even though he has you in front of him, too focused on looking at the tv to help him.

he nods at your answer and doesn’t try to persuade you into doing something you don’t want to, it wouldn’t be fair to force you to help him just because he wants you to, it isn’t fair for you to give a hand and for him to take your arm. Loving someone isn’t really fair.

Only when he leaves the living room to go pack do your tears make their way out of your eyes, running down your cheeks as you cry silently, vision too blurry to even distinguish the images on the TV, it feels almost pathetic to be crying alone, your lover packing to leave and not be able to bring yourself to help him abandon you once again.

If you were his pet it would be abuse for him to just leave, but you're a woman and therefore being alone and left behind isn’t unexpected, being the one to stay home is almost an obligation when your lover leaves to provide for you even if you wish they stayed.

you’re not sure how it begins to be fair to be put in this situation, when the missions of 4 weeks turned into 4 months. When knowing everything about each other turned into barely remembering anniversaries and birthdays.

You don’t want to say the relationship fell apart because you doubt there’s anything at all to be destroyed anymore, you love him though, the pain in your chest and the tears falling from your eyes are proof of that, but you are not sure John loves you.

It’s uncertain how he views you after not spending time together for almost two years, you doubt there is nothing more than just an acknowledgment of your existence in his life, a statement that he knows you're his partner but not enough love to call you his lover.

“Why are you crying darling?” the sudden voice of Price pulls you out of your thoughts, the place next to you on the couch sinking as he takes a sit beside you, resting his elbows on his knees while his eyes examine your expression, you look utterly distraught about something, your breathing uneven and shaky as you begin to sob loudly, unable to talk as all your emotions came crashing down.

and the sight of you crying, digging your nails into your thighs, and being desperate for a peace that will not come, makes a heavy feeling of guilt and worry sit on his shoulders, wrapping an arm around your waist and another under your knees, bringing you into his lap and putting your face on the crook of his neck while you cried, sobs muffled against his skin, your tears wetting his shirt.

“take a deep breath love” Price says in your ear, your breathing so erratic that it makes him worried you will suffocate at some point because of the lack of oxygen in your body, he feels your chest against him as you do as he told you, taking deep breaths the best you can, trying to calm down for your and his sake.

you’ve never been one to cry with so much despair, to need his comfort in times of need because you managed well on your own, he was never around to solve your sorrow either so why bother? But today, he is the reason you're crying and it seems fair that he is the one to comfort you, that your only chore is to cry and keep your breathing somewhat stable while he does everything else to fix what he broke.

He doesn't know where to begin though, unaware of where he stands or what he should do to bring peace into your mind, what words will fix his mistake, and what words will tear you apart even more, he doesn’t want to cause you harm, not consciously, not right now. it wouldn’t be fair to you, it wouldn’t be fair to your heart, it would be cruel. and he doesn’t want to be cruel to you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry love…I should’ve been good to you” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth on his lap, soothing you like he would to a child, his voice low and soft, his hand caressing your thighs in a comforting manner.

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice that you started baking, it was wrong, I didn’t notice you when I should’ve noticed every change you’ve had over the last two years” he continuous, speaking out the guilt he carried in his chest the moment he saw you and heard you break down into tears, your sobs engraved in his mind.

“I’m really sorry for missing out on all of this when I was gone, I shouldn’t have been such a bad husband, you don’t deserve that” he sighs, his eyes stinting a little bit from the tears beginning to form, and your calmer now, sniffling and whimpering, the tears slowly stopping, but it seems that your distraught was transferred to him because he doesn’t feel at ease, he feels the guilt eat him alive while he soothes you.

“I don't want you to leave…” you mumble, adjusting on his lap, your head resting against his chest, you have never wanted him to leave home, to go on missions for months on end with little to no contact with your lover, it feels like you're mourning him every time he goes away and doesn’t give you a small message to let you know he wasn’t killed.

“I know sweet girl” he replies, he doesn’t want to leave either, he never wants to, even though he continues to do so. It's a complicated situation, one he doesn’t dare to think about too much because he’ll end up ripping his heart out, his loyalty not being able to distribute equally for you and his team, always the latter winning even if he doesn’t dare to admit it.

he wants to promise you he’ll return quickly this time and will take a leave just to spend time with you, to dedicate more time to what's left of your relationship, he doesn’t want your marriage to fail, you’re the only woman he wants, the only one he had ever seen himself grow old together, he doesn’t want to let that go because of his own stupid and selfish mistakes.

He has to leave tomorrow, but when he’s back he’ll fix everything.

“I'll be back soon” he mumbles against your hair, face buried in it as breathes in your smell, trying to engrave it in his mind, to not forget this time details about you he has always loved.

Thankfully, his promise becomes reality, and after two weeks of loneliness that have never felt heavier on your chest, he returns, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a smile on his lips, happy to see you, to see the warmth and loving gaze you always give him back in your eyes after all this time.

He steps through the door, your face pressed against his chest, refusing to let go of him, fearing he would leave even if it wasn’t unreasonable, he had returned early for you, he had seen his mistakes and was fixing what never should’ve been broken

Peace is restored in your home, love is flourishing once again in your marriage, and whatever plans you had made to start over get discarded, you’re already having a fresh start, one that doesn’t involve leaving your lover. this time is a start with a more conscious man who is ready to do everything right by you, to never let his job affect the way he loves you. He's learning that his wife comes first, that his life outside of the military also has the same and more importance than his job.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you want me to write something specific xx)

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nadvs · 7 days

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okay so basically i was thinking that rafe and reader just had a kid and rafe has been neglecting them and reader for whatever reason and then topper or anyone comes over and since the kid hasn’t seen rafe in so long they end up calling them dad which rafe hears and gets mad at for a bit and then someone puts him in check and he apologizes to reader and starts putting more effort into the family🩷

🍓anon

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You don’t understand how Rafe can be so heartless.

Whenever your son smiles at you, dimples just like his father’s, you wonder how Rafe doesn’t miss him. How he can drift in and out of your home, hardly ever present.

Your relationship was once so joyful. You ran in the same social circles, eyes on each other at parties, when your mutual friend Topper finally introduced you to each other.

You hit it off and started dating and then, six months into your relationship, your life changed forever when you stood tense in your bathroom, a positive pregnancy test in your hand.

Rafe was shaken at first. He was shaken for a while. It wasn’t until he saw the screen at your first ultrasound that he could fully understand that you were bringing a human being into the world.

And then he settled into the role, feeling genuinely hopeful about the future for the first time in life. He found a beachfront condo for your growing family. He filled it with furniture. He started talking about all the things the three of you could do together.

But as your son grew, the stress got to the both of you, leading you into more and more arguments with each other. Rafe became cold and distant.

You tried to talk sense into him, tell him that if he was falling out of love with you, that was fine, but he had to love your child. Regardless, Rafe kept drifting away from both of you, your once solid family breaking apart and deteriorating.

One afternoon, you text Topper asking if he can buy and drop off diapers. Rafe was supposed to do it but he hasn’t been home in days. You don’t want to bother calling him, knowing he’ll just disappoint you.

When he comes by, you can see it in Topper’s expression that you look just as sad as you feel.

“You okay?” He’s standing outside the door, handing you the box of diapers.

“I’m so tired,” you admit, voice cracking. “He’s barely even home, Top. It’s like he’s checking out.”

Your son waddles towards you, arms spread out. You wipe away your tears and pick him up, forcing a smile for him.

When he looks at Topper and babbles dada, your heart shatters.

“That’s not dada,” you say, kissing your son on the cheek. You look to your friend. “Sorry. I’m kind of a mess right now. Thank you for dropping these off.”

Rafe is at the club, drinking a scotch and gazing out at the golf course, when his phone starts buzzing, Topper’s name on his screen. He answers with a tired drawl.

“Hey, man,” he hears on the other line. “You gotta get your shit together.”

“What?”

“Your girl’s not doing so good. And your kid thought I was his dad.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She asked me to buy diapers,” Topper says. “Shouldn’t you be doing that?”

Rafe can only angrily hang up, his blood running hot. You’re calling other people for help? Really?

He finds your name in his phone and calls you. But you don’t answer.

It’s late when he finally comes home, carrying two big grocery bags.

You just got your son down to sleep and rush to the door, shushing Rafe as he walks in. He’s pissed off that the first thing you do when you see him is shush him.

“What’s all this?” you ask, looking at the full, heavy bags he’s carrying.

“Apparently, you got someone else to bring you diapers,” he says bitterly, “but I got everything else we need.”

“How would you know what we need?” you say tersely.

“Don’t give me shit right now,” Rafe mutters, placing the bags on the kitchen counter. He starts to put things away, loudly opening cupboards and drawers, when you grip his arm.

“You’ll wake him,” you scold. Rafe turns to look at you, his eyes narrowing.

“I did something good,” he says. “Can you show some goddamn appreciation?”

“Am I supposed to thank you for buying us food?” you snap. “It’s your job.”

Rafe hangs his head, sighing deeply as he rests his hands on the hard marble counter. You’re expecting him to keep arguing with you. But his next words come out strained.

“He thought Top was his dad?” he mumbles.

You cross your arms, feeling a sense of vindication.

“Yeah,” you say. “Can you blame him? He’s the only guy he’s seen around here in a long time.”

Rafe cracks his neck, pacing away from you as he breathes deeply, circling back towards you.

“Why’d you call him?” Rafe asks. He hates that another man provided for his family.

“What, and not you? Like you’re so reliable,” you mutter. “Where the hell have you been, Rafe?”

Rafe’s been living in a haze. He can’t forget your last argument when you screamed at him that if he didn’t love you, fine, but he had to love your son.

Fine. You’re fine if he doesn’t love you anymore.

Rafe has never cried in front of you. He always stifled it or left the room whenever he felt the thick threat of tears in his throat. He thought he had to be a man.

But at this point, he’s too weak to put up a front.

When Rafe starts sniffling, your heart drops. You’re in complete shock that he cares enough to cry about this.

You’re speechless. You stand across from him, just as still as you were the day you learned you were pregnant.

“Home,” he replies, voice thin. He’s been staying at the house, ignoring everyone. When he gets stir crazy, he goes to the club. Either way, he’s been a shell of himself, carrying his sorrow wherever he goes.

“This is home,” you say softly. You look down at the floor, your brows pinched. “What happened? We used to be…”

“What? In love?” he mutters.

“Happy.” You meet his glossy eyes. “Now all we do is fight.”

“And whose fucking fault is that?” he mutters. You scoff incredulously.

“It takes two, Rafe,” you snap. “Is that why you bailed? Because things got tough? Your baby needs you.”

“But do you need me?” he says. His words render you speechless. An even harder, colder tension grows between you.

“You said you’d be fine if I didn’t love you anymore,” he says lowly.

“I meant…” You take a deep breath. “Rafe, I’m… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t love me anymore,” he mutters. “You’ll leave. I’ll barely see him. What’s the point in delaying it?”

Your head is muddled. Normally, you’d put your hand on his when he spins out like this. Talk him down. But he has hurt you so much lately that touching him would feel unnatural.

“I’d never keep your son away from you,” you say.

“But you would break up me,” he says. You’re so angry at him that giving him any sort of reassurance feels like a betrayal to your pain. He doesn’t deserve the consoling.

But then you notice a tear roll down his cheek and your heart softens.

“Is that why you’ve been like this?” you ask.

Over the past few weeks, Rafe realized he was always scared of being abandoned. Under thick layers of anger and disdain, he fears inadequacy. And why not leave before he’s left?

He stares at you in silence, as if saying his fears out loud will make them come true.

“It’s not on me. You stopped loving me a long time ago,” you say, allowing him to see a crack in your armor.

“I never…” he begins resolutely. “I’ll never stop loving you.”

“And this is how you treat somebody you love? By giving up?” you say. “I’ve been doing everything alone. Do you have any idea how exhausted I am?”

Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, the guilt he’s been repressing flooding him all at once. He knows he’s failing you. Failing your family.

He won’t say anything else. He can’t.

“If you’re sleeping here tonight, you can take the couch,” you say, pacing out of the kitchen. “I don’t want to even lie next to you.”

Rafe doesn’t give into the impulse to leave, even though his fears and anxieties are screaming at him to. He settles onto the couch. It takes him an hour to fall asleep.

When you wake up to your son’s crying from the nursery at dawn, you hear Rafe’s soft, tired voice consoling him. You drift back off into sleep, sure he’ll call you for help within minutes.

When consciousness slowly pulls you out of your slumber, you can tell by the brightness in your room that it’s well past sunrise. When you check your phone, you’re shocked to see that you slept until noon.

You head downstairs, your chest tightening when you see Rafe playing with your son, his smile bright.

Rafe’s blue eyes meet yours. He gave you the gift of rest, something you’ve been dying for.

“I’m not giving up,” Rafe says. “If you break up with me, I want to know that at least, I… I tried my hardest.”

“If you try your hardest, I won’t break up with you,” you tell him, still harboring hostility.

Instead of arguing with you, Rafe simply nods. You’re shocked he doesn’t have a nasty retort.

“I’ll take care of you,” he says, planting a kiss on your son’s head, earning giggles from him. “Both of you.”

His tone and gaze are so sincere that you almost believe him. It’ll take a while for you to trust him again, but he’ll wait it out as long as he needs to.

#anon this prompt is so good and ANGSTY #i don’t usually write a mean rafe so i hope you like it 🤭#blurb #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #🍓 anon

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dilemmaontwolegs · 9 months

Text

Not A Verstappen: Gridlocked {3}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: It's Charles birthday and you have to find the perfect gift. Warnings: 18+ only, allusions to smut, alcohol WC: 2.3k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four

Charles’ Birthday Week 2022 “I need you to steal something for me.”

Lando blinked twice as he tried to compute your words before giving up. “What?”

Despite hearing the shower still running, cupped your hand around his ear and whispered, “I need you to go to Charles’ apartment and steal a race suit. It’s for his birthday and I’m running out of time. Please?”

He perked up knowing you weren’t going to actually get him arrested and started to get a little excited as he nodded. “Okay, but you have to keep him distracted so I can borrow his keys.”

“You’re not even going to ask what I’m doing?”

“No, I want to be surprised too.” Lando grinned and kissed your nose before getting out of bed and dressing in record time to leave.

You had spent a long time wondering what to get Charles for a birthday gift when he could literally afford to buy everything he wanted. It had only been when an old video began circulating online a few days ago that the idea sparked to life. You just hoped Lando remembered to disable the alarm.

“Where’s Lan?” Charles asked when he found you alone in bed.

For a moment you were struck by how good he looked with just a towel slung around his hips and water running down his chest. “He had to pop out, shouldn’t be too long.”

Charles smirked as he climbed onto the bed, the towel falling away as it got caught on the bedpost. “That’s a shame,” he chuckled, caging you beneath him as droplets of cold water fell onto your skin. “He can join in when he gets back.”

Your lips parted to meet his but before they could touch an alarm sounded on Charles’ phone and he pulled back with a frown. “That’s my home security…” He reached for the phone and you snatched it from him before he could open the live video feed and see what Lando was taking. “What are you doing?”

“It’s just Lando,” you admitted as you buried the phone under your pillow. “I sent him on an errand to your place so we could have some alone time.”

“Why would you do that?” Concern contorted Charles face as he sat up and pulled the sheet around his body. “Is this not working for you?”

“No, no, shit, it’s not like that. I love what we have.” The lie didn’t make him relax like you were hoping and your stomach knotted with the need to erase the look from his face. “I love you, and Lando.”

“Moi aussi,” he replied but he still kept his distance as he tried to understand. “Do you want to spend time one-on-one, is that it? I should have offered…”

“Charles, please, shut up,” you groaned as your head fell into your hands. “I don’t want that, I always want us to be together. When we are together I feel like I finally know where I belong, like I have a proper family, and I really wanted to do something special for your birthday to thank you for giving me that and now the surprise is ruined.”

The sheet slipped from his fingers as he reached for your hands and pulled them away from your face. “My birthday?”

“Since I have to share you with everyone else for your party I thought I could give you a present early but I needed Lando to help. Now it’s not a surprise.”

“I still don’t know what it is, so that’s a surprise,” he reminded softly.

You sighed and gave him a small nod. “I guess that’s the most important part. But the suspense is gone.”

“I think I can help with that,” he smirked and reached under the pillow to grab his phone before calling Lando on speakerphone. “Mon cher, where are you?”

“Well, uh, you see, we…needed milk,” Lando lied weakly before you heard the bell of the convenience store door in the retail shops downstairs before Monsieur Verne greeted him like an old friend.

“Oh, I thought, nevermind. I should call the police, I think someone has broken into my apartment.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth before you could laugh but a small choked sound broke through at Charles' growing amusement.

“Fuck, okay it was me, please don’t call the cops,” Lando admitted as the elevator pinged and you heard his panicked voice repeat the request before the line cut out as it always did on the ride to the top.

“You are so mean!” you gasped but it ended in laughter as Charles tossed his phone to the side table.

“He lied to me,” Charles chuckled with a shrug and you both turned at the sound of the front door slamming shut and feet sprinting through the house.

“I don’t think that can really count as a lie,” you teased before Lando filled the doorway, a bottle of milk in his hands even though there was a new bottle in the fridge. “Hi baby.”

“Please don’t call the cops,” he pleaded as he climbed onto the bed. “I forgot the passcode again.”

“No shit,” you giggled as you combed his hair out of his face and he relaxed enough to see the glint of mischief in Charles’ eyes. “He’s fucking with you.”

You took the bottle from his hands as Charles reached for him, tugging him against his body before taking his breath away with a heated kiss that left Lando in a daze. “No more lying,” Charles warned as he nipped at Lando’s bottom lip just hard enough to make him whimper.

Raising your hand, he turned his attention to you and the small smirk tipping up your lips. “Yes, amour?”

You bit your lip and eyed the flushes on their cheeks, wanting that heat for yourself. “I lied too.”

Your fingertips hurt and you remembered just how much you hated sewing when you were younger. You thought needlework would be like riding a bicycle and it took a few stabs to prove right as you looked at the final product with satisfaction. Just in time too.

The big celebration was set to start in a few hours but you and Lando were going to meet Charles at his house to get ready for his birthday party together. He had spent the afternoon at his mother’s with his brothers and it was times like this that you wished the relationship could be made known. Then you wouldn’t have to miss sharing these moments with him and his family.

Next month would be the same with Lando’s birthday.

“Spitz, baby, ready to go?” Lando had been serious about wanting to be surprised and had kept out of the office which was filled with your computer desk and sim-setup.

“Ready!” You grabbed the bright red gift box and folded Charles’ race suit up before carefully placing it in and sealing it up with a big bow. “What did you get him?”

“Another bottle of Tom Ford.”

“Nice,” you grinned. It was certainly a favourite for all of you and Charles knew it since he wore it more than any of the other bottles he owned, depleting the bottle quite a bit in the last few months.

Lando carried the box for you, balancing his smaller one on top, and grabbing the keys for your Mercedes Maybach that was parked in the garage next to his Fiat Jolly. The heavy tinting that your car could provide was definitely needed since it was going to be impossible to keep your hands to yourself. Lando hadn’t even changed into his clubbing clothes and he looked mouthwatering, it was only going to get harder for you when he and Charles were dressed up in their finest.

It seemed like all of Monte Carlo had taken to the streets for their Saturday night and it was gridlocked. The minutes ticked away and you ground your teeth as you debated parking and making the rest of the short journey on foot to Charles apartment.

“We’re going to be late if this doesn’t start moving,” you grumbled and Lando reached across the driver’s seat to squeeze your thigh.

“Relax, Spitfire, it’s not race day.”

“Not helping, Norris. I’m not good with going slow.”

His warm laugh filled the car and his hand ran dangerously high up your thigh. “Don’t I know it.”

There was hardly any time to get dressed when you finally arrived at Charles’ and you were in such a rush that you completely forgot about the present in your car. It wasn’t until you climbed in the backseat and Charles found it waiting on his seat in the front.

“C’est risqué?” Charles asked as he lifted it up and gently shook it beside his ear, trying to figure out what it was.

You chuckled and leaned through the middle of the seats to fix up a few strands of his hair that had gone amiss. “It’s not a double ended dildo, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“So I can open it with the others?” You were suddenly nervous but gave him a nod because shying away wasn’t in your nature.

The exclusive club was just ahead and you knew it would be a few hours before you would be able to indulge yourself again so you trusted Lando not to crash and half climbed through the seats to kiss Charles.

“Happy almost Birthday.”

Three tables had been pushed together for all the presents the guests had bought but, after Lorenzo and Arthur had carried out a large cake and everyone had sung Happy Birthday, it was your gift he picked up first.

“Is it kinky?” Pierre asked in your ear as he draped an arm over your shoulder. “Personalised, diamanté cock rings?”

“I swear you think about our sex life more than we do,” you teased with a prod to his ribs. Charles scanned the crowd but like magnets his eyes found yours almost instantly and you gave him a smile as he tugged the bow open.

The material shook slightly in his hands and you wondered if maybe you had overstepped the line when he lifted it out of the box. Beside you, Pierre gasped and his arm fell away as Lando slipped in the narrow space.

“I, I, um, saw an interview,” you stammered as you felt the hundreds of eyes on you. Lando placed a comforting hand on the small of your back and you tried to calm your racing heart before continuing. “And you mentioned your grandma and your race suit and I thought you might like…”

Charles ran his hand over the stitching where you had unpicked the Shell logo, replacing it with a cross. “I love it. Thank you.” He slung the racing suit over his shoulder and crossed the floor to pull you into a friendly hug but his words were certainly more as he hid his lips in your hair. “I love you.”

Max found you as the lights dimmed and the party started to get into full swing. Lando had disappeared into the DJ booth while Charles was being pulled every which way by his friends and family wanting a minute of his time.

“That was nice of you, the gift,” Max said after he ordered two gin and tonics. “Kind of weird too.”

“I'm still more normal than you.”

“Debatable, we are equally fucked up,” he argued, passing one of the drinks to you. “Didn’t know you could sew.”

“You learn a whole lot of useful skills when you can’t afford new things,” you murmured into your glass before taking a sip. “It was either darn secondhand, worn and torn race suits or not race at all.”

“Fuck,” Max swore and tipped his glass back to gulp a few mouthfuls down before changing the subject from the reminder of your fathers lack of decency to provide for all his children equally. “What have you been up to? I hardly see you anymore.”

“I see you literally everyday at work.”

“Yeah, but that’s work, it doesn’t count. You haven’t raided my fridge in weeks.”

“I’m maturing, Max Emilian,” you said as you clapped him on the shoulder, “buying my own groceries and potpourri. You should be grateful, not asking me twenty questions.”

You turned away from the bar and grinned at the sight of Lando at the mixing board, a headset over one ear as he bobbed his head to music he was making. The dance floor was full of people from the F1 world but there were still a lot of faces you didn’t recognise and you wondered if Charles would’ve introduced you to them under other circumstances.

“Fine, no more questions if you come to breakfast tomorrow,” Max bartered and you nodded absentmindedly, throwing a thumbs up as you made your way to the dance floor.

You spotted Charles’ white shirt and snuck up behind him to cup your hands over his eyes. Rising up on your tiptoes your lips brushed the shell of his ear and you purred, “Hey, big boy, wanna dance?”

Your hands were torn away and you frowned as Charles turned, but the eyes that met yours weren’t the right shade. “Fuck me, you look like your brother from behind.”

“He went to the bathroom,” Arthur said as he jutted his thumb towards the dark hallway. “Do I even want to know…?”

“Nope, definitely not,” you cut him off. “Just have a few more drinks and forget this happened, yeah?”

“I don’t think I am ever going to forget you calling me, well Char, big boy, Verstappen,” he laughed.

“She’s not a Verstappen, petit frère,” Charles corrected him as he threw his arms around the both of you and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “What did I miss?”

“She called me-”

“Arthur!”

Arthur clamped his mouth shut with a laugh that rocked his shoulders and he wriggled out of his brother's grasp to disappear into the crowd. Charles kept his arm around you as he started dancing along to the music Lando was playing, both of their smiles brightening when their eyes met.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” he asked in your ear.

Your nose wrinkled and you shook your head. “Nothing, just an inchident.”

Click here for part four.

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#charles leclerc x reader x lando norris #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine

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letsgetrowdy43 · 3 months

Text

All you gotta do is ask—

Jack Hughes x reader

Request: Maybe something about jack’s best friend going to a game and is wearing someone else’s jersey and he gets jealous. Like he likes the reader but hasn’t said so. Reader likes him and doesn’t know he feels the same until they’re out after the game and he says something along the lines of “my girl shouldn’t have someone else’s name on her back. It’s wrong” and maybe cute fluffy ending because this girl is hormonal and needs the emotional rollercoaster

Jack's eyes caught hers from the bench, Ellen to her right chatting about Luke's rookie year, as she smiled fondly at him, giving him a little wave before his attention was pulled back towards the game.

"He adores you," Ellen smiled as the young girl turned to her with reddened cheeks. "What?" "Jack," she nodded towards her son on the ice, the two of them watching as he took a shot and the puck flew straight into the back of the net, both his mother and his best friend shot onto their feet, screaming with their hands in the air.

He faced the crowd with a grin, tongue stuck out of his mouth and he yelled out of excitement, sending a wink in the direction of his best friend as she blushed at the action, "he loves you," Ellen continued as the crowd calmed down, the devil's goal song still playing loudly as the girl swallowed thickly. "I love him too," she said with a soft smile, "he's my best friend," Ellen gave her a knowing look before they went back to watching the game.

The game ended with a Devils win, the first one in their string of home games before the All-Star break.

Ellen, Jim, and the young girl sat in the family room just outside of the locker room, a smile on her face as baby Haula ran over to her as she chatted with Kristen. She was pulled out of their conversation as the door opened to reveal Luke followed by a grinning Jack who maneuvered his way around the room to get to her while Luke went to their parents.

"You played so good," she grinned as he pulled her in for a hug, "my superstar," she whispered as he laughed at the nickname. "I scored for you," he mumbled into her shoulder, before looking down her back to see a larger 43 on her back, he pulled away tensely, a look of confusion on his face as her face filled with worry.

"You're wearing a Luke jersey?" he gasped. "Yeah, he gave it to me before the game, your jersey is in my car," she grinned, but his smile did not return. "I scored for you and this is how you repay me," he whispered, tone whiney as she rolled her eyes at his antics.

"I'm being serious, this feels so wrong, my girl should not be wearing my brother's jersey," her brows furrowed as her eyes caught his. "Your girl?" "Don't kid yourself, you've been mine since we were in middle school," he said smugly as her face grew a new shade of red. "You can't just deem me 'you girl' J," she said with a grin, her arms wrapping around his neck, "you gotta ask me first," her tone was taunting as he leaned in to kiss her but she dodged him and stared at him with raised brows

"You gotta ask," she fumbled, fingers playing with his damp curls. "You've always been mine Y/n/n," she shook her head, loving the mental hoops she was making him jump through as she smiled menacingly. "just ask J, it's all you gotta do, or you could beg, whatever floats your boat," her grin grew as he rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said batting his lashes as she giggled at the theatrics of it all, "Would you do me the honours of being my girlfriend?" he asked so kindly which rewarded him with a slow kiss to the lips instead of an answer, the action telling enough that it was an obvious yes.

a groan sounded from behind them as Luke, Dawson, and John grimaced at the sight in front of them. "Kissing my brother in my jersey, yucky," Luke said which gained a nice strong elbow to his ribs from his father who just smiled proudly at the couple.

"Trust me, she's taking it off," the entire family room groaned in disgust as she hid her face in his chest in embarrassment, "I didn't mean it that way guys, don't be gross!" which gained a laugh from the room as he stood them with wide eyes and rosy cheeks.

#rotalks: hughes brothers night!!#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes fic #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes blurb

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powerfultenderness · 10 months

Note

neighbour!könig’s reaction when he sees a guy walk out of your apartment . need your thoughts on that

omg, the man is gutted! Absolutely heartbroken! Especially after you asked to sit on his couch like that! 😆 He gets jealous but if you aren't technically together, then he realizes that he doesn't have a right to be so jealous and is a little overwhelmed with sadness!

So, last night König deviated from my outline! How very rude of him. But despite a power outage this morning, he was all over this and provided some fluff of the hurt comfort variety!

Even before he joined the military, he was an early riser. The sun was just starting to rise when he stepped out of this flat and heard the door to your flat open. He turned, smile already lighting his eyes, when instead of seeing you, there was a man. He had a slender but muscular build; the sleeveless workout top he wore gave plenty of proof of the man’s definition. The man, taller than you, shorter than him, looked at him a little warily, good. The man gave him a subtle nod as if to greet him then went down the stairs ahead of him.

A sense of smugness, along with the sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of you with another man, washed over him as he noticed how quickly that man moved, how quickly he tried to run. König’s long stride made it easy to keep up, though, and he was only a step behind as the guy exited the building. He watched as the man practically sprinted to… guest parking. That was it then, you had had an overnight guest, a man. And König found himself jealous.

He tried to ignore the bitter, pitiful, sensation that plagued him all day, but was not very successful. What was he supposed to think of when thoughts of you led to the sad reminder that you had chosen someone else? He certainly shouldn’t be thinking about using the man’s license plate number to find out more about him, where he worked, for instance.

Now on his way home for the evening, climbing up the stairs to his flat, beer and food in his hands, he was met with another painful sight. The man was back, leaving again apparently, and you leaned forward, pressed your lips to the left side of his face, then again to the right side.

“Alright, be careful!” You bid the man good night, “text me when you get home.”

König wanted to sigh, he pouted underneath his hood. The way you had the capacity to care for others so much was one of the things he liked about you, but right about now, he wished you only cared for him.

“Oh! Hi, König!” You caught him before he could enter his flat.

He looked at you and tried to smile, but even he could tell it didn’t quite meet his eyes. "Hello."

“I have something for you!”

“Me?” You nodded, “hold on a sec, let me grab it!”

He unlocked and left his door open while you disappeared for a second, just so he could put his groceries down. You came back, knocking on the open door, with a plastic food container and a smile adorning your face.

“Come,” he invited you in, his prior sorrow temporarily forgotten at your friendly disposition. Friends, yes, maybe friends was ok.

“Liliana wanted you to have some cake! She said after all that candy you bought, you must have a sweet tooth!”

He took the offered confection and set it down on the table, next to his beer. “It’s her birthday?”

“No. She had this big performance today. The whole family gathered at my sister’s place to congratulate her. The place was pretty crowded, with my parents there too, so my brother stayed with me last night.”

König blinked. “Your…brother?” Now that he thought about it, the man did bear a slight resemblance to you…

“Mmhm.” You nodded then tilted your head, “what’s up with you? Everything ok?” The man was your brother!

König let out a loud and boisterous laugh. “Everything is perfect! Please thank the little mouse for me!”

“Mouse?” You scoffed, “wait till you get to know her.” You’re pretty sure she loudly told you to take a slice of cake to your “nice neighbor man” to embarrass you in front of the family, little shit.

He laughed again, “I would like to!” Because that would mean you incorporating him into your life even more! “Will you eat with me?” He asked once his chuckling faded.

“Well, I’ve had my fill of cake, but I’d love to hang out.”

Oh, he’d love that too!

[More neighbor König]

#lieblinqs #könig x fem reader #könig x reader #konig x reader #blurb

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etherealising · 10 months

Text

chapter one | a berzatto family christmas

masterlist | next chapter ↣

pairing(s): carmen berzatto x fem!reader : platonic!michael berzatto x fem!reader : platonic!richie jerimovich x fem!reader

summary: you reunite with carmy years later at the berzatto family christmas party.

warnings: language (cursing), blasphemy, angst (maybe?), spoilers kinda (if you haven't seen season 2 don't read), the berzatto family, not dialogue heavy, very subtle hints to mikey being suicidal, probably ooc!characters, idk what else but if you find something let me know please! not beta’d and minimal editing so sorry for any mistakes. i also wrote this overstimulated on caffeine so if it doesn’t make sense or it’s repetitive then we know why : )

semantics: no use of Y/N: reader goes by the nickname Baby it has a backstory and its literally so simple, if this bothers you idk what to tell you, sorry : (

wc: 4.7k

You were standing on the sidewalk, nerves filling your body as you hyped yourself up to take the few steps left to the porch and ring the doorbell. You shouldn’t have been so nervous, you knew that but your mind was spinning with the myriad of scenarios both good and bad; that could play out once you stepped foot past the threshold. In all honesty, it wasn’t so much that you were nervous to enter the house itself, it was the fact that you’d be face to face with your childhood best friend for the first time in you didn’t even know how long. Maybe childhood best friend was a stretch you had only been introduced into each other's lives due to circumstance, and because of that forced proximity, you both took comfort in having someone stable around.

The two of you weren’t friends because you had chosen each other, or because you had met in kindergarten and shared toys in the sandbox because the other kids were stingy. No, you met because as a single mom, your mother needed all the shifts she could get even if that meant working the graveyard shift at the hospital, and only seeing you a handful of hours throughout the day because most times she was too dead on her feet to be conscious for more than a few hours. And when she could no longer pay the babysitter her next best option was the eccentric woman across the street who had children close in age with you.

Enter Donna Berzatto, a woman who came to feel like a second mom to you. It's not that she replaced your mom, no one could ever replace her, but she was the only real mother figure you knew for a time in your life. Who took you in as her own when your mother needed a new babysitter, and not just you but integrated your mom into the family as well, when she was spared the time off from nursing. Donna Berzatto who never sent you home empty-handed, and always made enough food for you and your mom to last throughout the week, just so your mother wouldn’t have to worry about fitting grocery shopping into her already hectic schedule. Donna Berzatto who, even when you were old enough to no longer need a babysitter, would send Carmy across the street to fetch you for family dinner, or even just invite you over because she thought you needed company.

Now that you were thinking about it, it seemed like you were more friends with his mom than you ever were with Carmen Berzatto. But then that would be a lie wouldn’t it?

You and Carmen Berzatto were friends due to circumstance, maybe even best friends. You weren’t just friends at his house, but you were school friends, you were everywhere friends. He really was your only true friend, of course, you had school friends, but that’s just what they were. You saw them Monday through Friday for a mandatory education, never an hour before school started or a minute after the final bell. Which didn’t necessarily bother you, but sometimes you longed for a weekend invitation to hang out, not that it ever came. And it wasn’t like you were shunned or unpopular in school, you were just average, you didn’t see a point in making friends with people you weren’t actually interested in befriending.

That’s what made Carmy so different, yes maybe you were only introduced due to circumstances but that didn’t stop the two of you from latching onto each other for dear life. Your mom always wondered how you two even established the friendship you did, with both of you being shy and never feeling the need to go out of your way to make friends. Include the fact that you had been neighbors practically your whole lives and never once taken an interest in each other aside from shy waves and curious childlike staring when either of you would be outside.

Your relationship with Carmen progressed as any childlike relationship would, you befriended each other, had your incessant petty arguments and fights, nothing ever serious enough to actually cause damage just childish antics. And it continued to progress through middle school and high school, the two of you were each other’s person, you just understood each other, the two of you let the other understand you, and wanted to be understood by each other.

You could also recall what you explain as a minute change in your friendship. As Senior year approached and you and Carmy continued to grow into yourselves, you developed a slight crush on the boy you had grown up with. It obviously wasn’t as small as you thought it was if you were standing in front of his childhood home giving yourself a pep talk just to ring the damn doorbell though was it?

The unsolicited card and wrapped present weighed heavy in your tote bag, as your breath was made visible by the chilly Chicago weather.

It was Christmas and for all intents and purposes you had been planning on mailing the present to Carmen’s New York address, but after visiting The Beef on your way back into town Mikey and Richie had let it slip that indeed the infamous Berzatto sibling would be gracing everyone with his presence this holiday season.

It was moments like these you wished you had picked up on the Berzatto family’s horrible smoking habit, thankfully your mom had taught you just how vital having functioning lungs was.

Your head shot up as the sound of loud rambunctious voices drew your attention to the front door opening and closing revealing a face you were all too familiar with and actually relieved to see. The oldest Berzatto brother stood on the porch, hands on his hips as he gave you a goofy smile. You could feel your lips stretching into a smile of your own, the infectious aura that Michael Berzatto exuded doing wonders to calm your racing mind.

“I know you didn’t come all this way just to stand outside staring at my family home like a fucking weirdo Baby.” Mikey’s smile grew in size as he teased you.

You rolled your eyes at the childhood nickname you wish hadn’t stuck as Mikey opened his arms to wrap you in one of his signature hugs. The two of you stood on the porch embracing each other for what felt like hours, you needed this hug as much as he needed it, you knew it and Mikey did too. That was the thing about you and Mikey although not blood-related it was as if your souls knew each other in a past life. Of the Berzatto siblings, Mikey was the last sibling you developed a relationship with. Growing up he was always just Carmy’s older brother but as you grew up surrounded by him, he became your surrogate older brother as well. And when Carmy dashed off to pursue his culinary dreams in New York, you and Mikey grew even closer.

You stepped back from the embrace, your eyes finding Mikey’s as he looked at you with a knowing glint in his eyes. “You not standing out here cause of a certain Chef in that house are ya?” Mikey asked, smirking down at you.

You chuckled “The only reason I come around anymore is for Mama Donna.” You joked doing a poor job to convince Mikey.

He nodded, tossing his head back with a laugh, “You were always a shit liar Baby. Carmy’s an idiot, don't let him ruin your Christmas.”

You let out a sigh head resting against Mikey’s chest as you tried to let his words soothe you even more, “He’s not ruining it, you just know things have been kind of stilted between us, and I don’t know this whole situation just feels awkward.”

You raised your head to look at Mikey again, “It’s awkward right? Am I making things awkward? I don’t wanna ruin Christmas Mikey, I know how your mom is and I know how Carmy is, I don’t wanna ambush him.”

The worry in your voice was evident as Mikey stood there listening to your ranting. His hand reached out as he used his thumb to massage away the frown between your eyebrows. “Calm down Baby, you know Ma is expecting you, and she wouldn’t take it well if you missed Christmas. She looks forward to seeing you every year, you give her a piece of Carmy when he can’t be fucking asked to come home and visit.” His hand moved down to cup the side of your neck rubbing soothing circles where his thumb rested, “Do it for Ma okay? Let Carmy be fucking wonder boy Carmy a’ight.”

You laughed nodding your head as best as you could with Mikey’s hand holding it, he smiled giving you one last hug before dropping his hand to grab your wrist and tug you into the house. You stopped him by placing a hand on his arm that was connected to yours.

“Hold on Mikey, I got you something.” You moved to start rummaging through your tote bag stalling because you were too nervous for his reaction to the present.

“Awe you didn’t have to get me nothing.” You turned back to him with the present in your hands as he held his own hands over his heart mockingly. You knew Mikey didn’t do well when it came to sentimental things and the best you would get out of him was a joke as opposed to anything else.

You laughed holding the rectangular wrapped present out to him, “I wanted to Mikey, don’t think of this as a gift, think of it uhh…as a show of appreciation yeah?” You nodded feeling your face heat up as you dropped your head so he couldn’t see how unsure you were about the gift.

He smiled, finding your shyness endearing before tearing into the neatly wrapped paper and revealing a frame, his hands engulfing it from end to end. He smiled looking at it before you saw confusion etch across his face, “This is great Baby, yeah but uh what the fuck am I looking at?”

You shove his shoulder before laughing at him and grabbing the frame out of his hands but holding it in front of your chest so he could still see its contents, “It's a trademark certification you dumbass, can’t you fucking read Mikey.” You joked to try and underestimate how big of a gift this was.

Mikey’s brows furrowed before he snatched the frame out of your hands to get a better look at the certificate sitting behind the glass, eyes snapping back up to your face with a look you couldn’t read. You shuffled your feet feeling like you overstepped a boundary you didn’t even know was between you and Mikey, “Don’t worry though I-I, put it in your name, it’s not like I trademarked it for myself or anything. I just know how much this means to you and I, I know shit has been tough lately and I’m sorry if you feel like I stepped on your toes but…Mikey, you deserve good things too okay?” You hadn’t meant to go on a rant, but you could feel the apprehension leaving you as you became passionate in every word you spoke.

“You deserve to be fucking happy Mikey, and I, I want you to know I fucking believe in you and I’m always in your corner. If it's-” You were cut off by Mikey clearing his throat, causing your eyes to snap back up to his, all the emotions he didn’t know how to translate into words swirling in his brown eyes, a small smile resting on his lips.

“Mikey-,” Before you could get another word out you were once again trapped in his comforting embrace, this hug conveying something completely different from the earlier one you shared. Mikey’s head tucked into your neck as you felt his uneasy breathing through your hands clutched around him. Mikey wasn’t the type to get emotional in front of other people, and feeling a tear of his smear against your cheek as he raised his head from your neck and settled his bearded cheek against yours, you weren’t sure if you had done the right thing by giving him the gift or not.

The two of you stood in silence as you allowed Mikey his moment, not wanting to make him feel insecure about you being present while he was being emotional. When he finally pulled away you could see the leftover sheen in his eyes. He tucked the framed certificate under his arm as both his hands reached up to grab your face in both of his hands, eyes finding yours, a whispered “thank you, baby,” leaving his lips as he placed a kiss on your forehead before he grabbed the frame again and wrapped you in another hug.

His head rested atop yours as your face rested against his chest, ear pressed against his beating heart. You lied, you thought the last hug was different, but no it was this hug that was different, while the second hug you shared in the span of 20 minutes was a hug of love and gratitude. This hug felt heavier, like there were things Mikey wanted to tell you but couldn’t, things he only felt he could convey through a hug, things you weren’t sure if you wanted to question or not.

It had been almost 20 minutes since Michael had escaped the house to do whatever the fuck it was he was doing outside. Carmy didn’t know and in all honesty he didn’t actually give a shit either, too busy helping Donna out in the kitchen to try to give any thoughts to whatever had grabbed Mikey’s attention.

He was focused in the corner of the kitchen making Tiff Sprite to help alleviate her nausea symptoms. Anyone else would have done their best to block out the rambunctious noises going on throughout the house, not Carmy though, the chaos fueled him, it grounded him. If the house was quiet it would have been too much for him, to be alone with his own thoughts ping-ponging around in his head, waiting for a chance to drown him. So if he had to listen to his mom list a plethora of things he needed to make sure happened for Christmas dinner to go off without a hitch while he was making Sprite from scratch, he welcomed it.

He finished his concoction just in time for Richie to walk through the kitchen, the older man trying to figure out how the fuck it was even possible to make Sprite from scratch. Gratefully taking the glass Carmy had offered to him, marveling at the carbonated drink in his hand.

Carmy nodded in his direction, “Yo Cousin, where the fuck is Mikey. He just fucking disappeared.” Carmy’s head swiveled around the kitchen double checking whether his brother was there or not, coming up empty in his search. Richie glanced up before settling his eyes back on the drink in his hand still doing the mental math to wrap his head around what the fuck Carmy just made.

Richie jutted his head in the direction of the front door, “Outside talking to Baby.” His eyes finally focused on Carmy’s in time to see the frown grace the younger man’s face, his eyebrows pinching together in agitation, annoyed that his brother was on a phone call rather than inside. Though that’s what Carmy told himself subconsciously he knew he was just annoyed at the fact that Mikey was even talking to you at all. Carmy didn’t think he was possessive but as you and Mikey grew closer through the years, he couldn’t help but feel miffed about the ever growing friendship between the two of you. You and your friendship with Carmy was the first thing in his life that he felt like was actually his and his alone.

It’s funny really for Carmy to think he has any sort of claim over you, or like the two of you were even really friends anymore. When he left Chicago to pursue his culinary dreams, he left you behind to, essentially ghosting the one real friend he did have. It’s not like he meant to, you two just went your separate ways after graduation, and he wasn’t even sure if there even was an “Us” when it came to the two of you anymore. If that was the case the only person he had to blame was himself, it was no fault of yours that your friendship had hit a plateau, Carmy hadn’t responded to a text of yours in years, and the fact that you still texted him to this day caused a slight pain in his chest as he stood in the middle of his mother’s kitchen, frown still etched into his features.

“He’s outside on the phone with Baby?” Carmy questioned the ache in his chest doing nothing to alleviate his irritation. It was Richie’s turn to frown reciprocating the same confused look Camry wore.

“What - No dickhead, he’s talking to Baby, like she’s right in fucking front of him and shit.” Richie swatted the side of Carmy’s head like a child. “Your moms invites her to every holiday, Cousin, and she comes every time.” Richie knew the last bit wasn’t necessary but felt Carmy rightfully deserved it, all anyone wanted from the youngest Berzatto was a visit.

“Dudes been out there for fucking ever though, those to idiots just standing outside like a bunch of fucking jackoffs.” Richie left the kitchen not waiting for Carmy to follow him before heading to the front door. He stopped moving the curtain on one of the side windows to spot two of the people he considered family. He let out a low whistle nudging Carmy’s shoulder who had finally joined his side nodding his head to the window.

“Get a load of these fucking losers hugging on the porch like they’re in some fucking Hallmark movie or some shit.” Richie laughed pointing at you and Mikey through the window. Carmy leaned closer to get a peak at what Richie was going on about.

Carmy hated to admit it, but Richie was right, the too of you looked like the happy couple who just saved a small town’s Christmas or whatever the fuck Hallmark movies were about. Mikey had finally separated himself from you long enough for Carmy to take in your features. He’d be lying if he said the years apart made him forget what you looked like. You were still the same girl he left in Chicago all those years ago except the wand of maturity had touched you, and in his opinion he thought you looked more beautiful than you had in high school.

Carmy was never one to pay too much attention to a woman’s features, and not because he didn’t care, it's just that he didn’t think it mattered. But as he drank in your form he learned in that exact moment why a woman might want people to notice the small things. Like the haircut you were sporting that Carmy felt shaped your face well, not that he knew shit about stuff like that, but he could appreciate art when he saw it. The outfit you picked out doing wonders to compliment your tall form and accentuate your legs. Carmy could look at you all day, scratch that he wanted to look at you all day.

He was torn from his reverie as Richie narrated the scene happening in front of them, “Aw look at these fuckers lookin all in love an shit.” He joked watching as Mikey slung his arm around you and led you towards the door, what looked to be a frame held in his other hand. The two of you walked side by side, your arm wrapped around his torso, hugging him into your side, Mikey’s head leaning slightly down to whisper something in your ear a small smile gracing your face as Mikey pressed his lips onto your temple lingering there for what Carmen swore was forever.

The tightness in his chest intensified tenfold as the realization of just how close you and Mikey had become sank into him. He didn’t know how to feel, his brain not even allowing any emotions to process, saving himself from any conclusions he might come to from a split second interaction.

Carmy left, he chose his path, he knew this, and he had no regrets he would pursue his dream every time the opportunity was presented. He just wished that, maybe if he held onto you as tightly as you still held onto him, it would’ve been him greeting you on the sidewalk on Christmas Day, being the sole object of your attention holding you close to his longing body. He knew overall the decisions he made regarding you were wrong, while he ignored your daily text and calls enough times for you to just resort to monthly check ins asking him about his endeavors and congratulations as you heard about his achievements in the culinary industry, he knew deep down that Mikey answered every text and call you sent his way, made it his mission to connect with you anytime you were back in Chicago.

Carmy couldn’t admit it to himself but deep down he knew his family saw spending time with you as a way to stay connected to him. You were the closest thing any of them still had to Carmy, and even though he had essentially cut you off from his life, his family loved you too much to allow Carmy’s shortcomings to affect their relationship with you.

He was broken from the recesses of his mind as Richie threw the door open stepping over the threshold raising his hands in the air to welcome you and Mikey into the house. The glass of Sprite still clutched in his left hand, a broad smile spread across his face as you left Mikey’s hold to greet Richie eyes not having spotted Carmy who was hidden behind Richie’s small frame.

Carmy’s first up close look at you in years were your hands wrapped around Richie’s torso as he pulled you into a hug, rocking the two of you back and forth, Richie let you go quickly turning his body back into the house “A’ight fuckers you can all stop pretending you care so much about Carmy and his little rat in the chef hat bullshit. We got the real deal here now, Baby's gracing us with her journalist presence.”

Carmy’s brows furrowed at Richie’s dig only slightly offended about being compared to a fictional character named after pasta, too caught up in allowing the sound of your laugh to grace his ears for the first time in what felt like forever. Mikey had finally caught up to you standing behind you with a hand placed on your shoulder, Carmy watched as his brother’s hand glided up and down your arm before giving your bicep a slight squeeze and nodding his head in Carmy’s direction.

If Carmy was being honest it was becoming increasingly difficult to quiet his mind that was eagerly trying to piece everything together. From yours and Mikey's prolonged moment on the porch, to the kiss he placed on your temple, add in Richie’s jokes and the almost constant physical contact between you and Mikey and Carmy was sure he figured shit out.

You looked to where Mikey motioned his head finally noticing Carmy’s figure standing there while Richie ran off towards the stairs after his impromptu introduction. Looking at Carmy was like being in a Time Machine, nothing had drastically changed, he looked more exhausted than what you remembered. But overall he was the same Carmy you parted ways with all those years ago.

A small smile graced your lips as you took him in, he was still your Carmy appearance wise, and right now for you that was all that mattered. You lifted your hand in a small wave gaining his attention, your smile growing wider as your eyes locked with his.

The clearing of a throat broke you from your thoughts, Mikey’s hand giving your shoulder a squeeze as he walked you two into the house before shutting the door behind him. As he finished he stood in front of you so that Carmy was partially covered from view by each brother in your line of vision though your focus was taken up by the eldest. He gave you a reassuring smile before gently knocking his fist against your chin and presumably turning to leave you and Carmy alone.

As Mikey walked past Carmy he gave him his signature grin and a wink before patting his shoulder as left to check on Donna in the kitchen and mingle with the other guests.

Carmy’s face was still set in the same frown it had been in when he first asked Richie where Mikey ran off to. You took a deep breath to settle your nerves before taking a step to close the gap between you, your hand reached out to gently squeeze Carmy’s arm though stopping in midair as you watched him subtly flinch. Your smile faltered, your hand finding its rightful place at your side. You looked up to see the apology in Carmy’s eyes, you did your best to brush the moment off, maybe you came on too strong, maybe it wasn’t fair that you were still pushing for a friendship when Carmy had given you all the reasons to stop trying, maybe the Carmy in front of you was a different Carmy to the one you used to know. Maybe the life where it was you and Carmy had finally taken its last breath and you were just too clingy and desperate to realize.

You cleared your throat trying to alleviate the lump forming from the thoughts that were racing through your brain. The small placating smile on your face there to stop you from having a full breakdown in the Berzatto’s foyer. “Its good to see you Carmen, I hope New York is treating you well.” You lips wrapped around the generic greeting forcing yourself not to say anything you might regret.

Carmy nodded his head rapidly accepting your lackluster words, his lips parting and closing all in the same breath. The man obviously had nothing to say to you, and maybe you just had to accept that. You stayed a moment longer cursing yourself for doing so as the air between you two filled with palpable tension.

“Baby, is that you? My goodness you look fucking gorgeous.” Half of Donna’s body had popped out of the kitchen finally gaining a spare moment to greet you. Her words mumbled through the cigarette between her lips, a ladle held in her right hand while the left was occupied by tongs. Her apron covered in all sorts of sauces and whatever the hell else your brain couldn’t even begin to discern.

You laughed half in amusement and half in relief, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stand there as Carmy burned holes in your body. You waved at Donna quickly, beginning to head towards her to join her in the kitchen. It wasn’t your first choice as an escape from Carmen but you’d rather try and help Donna finish preparing Christmas dinner than be around Carmy for another minute.

Donna waved the tongs in Carmy’s direction, “Jesus fucking Christ Carmen, take the girls bag and coat. Don’t just fuckin stand there.” She huffed eyes glaring the longer Carmen stayed glued to the spot. You handed him your tote as soon as his arm shot out and began hastily shimmying out of your jacket. You gave him a soft smile before laying the jacket on his awaiting arm.

You began to leave the foyer as Donna motioned for you to follow her, mentally preparing yourself for what you were about to walk into. A sudden thought occurred causing you to gently grip Carmy’s bicep as you were walking past him, “I uh, I actually bought you a Christmas present. So um, find me later yeah?” You smiled tilting your head slightly in questioning.

Carmen Berzatto graced you with a small smile, nodding back in agreement as you sent him one final nod and turned to enter the kitchen. The first positive emotion he granted you since you walked back into his life 30 minutes ago.

next chapter ↣

a/n: this is my first fic that i’m publishing and i genuinely have no clue what the fuck any of this is, : ) but nonetheless hope you all enjoy! or don’t i’m just a stranger on the internet. constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated though. please like, comment, reblog if this behemoth tickles your fancy!

also i write for fun/hobby and i'm such an inconsistent bitch so don't get your hopes too high, but this will potentially be a series idk yet though lol.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #the bear fic #michael berzatto #richie jerimovich #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto angst #platonic!michael berzatto #all i ever knew only you ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊#[aiekoy] 1

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