#some days i will allow more than 1 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leclsrc · 7 months

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wanna be nearer ✴︎ mv1

genre: 18+, fuck buddies ahhhaha, smut, porn w/o plot basically...

word count: 3.6k

It seems every time you tell yourself to stop, Max comes back into your life and all sense of resolve crumbles. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by SO MANY PEOPLE i can't even start compiling all the asks hahah but if u asked for this here it is! writing's been tuff for me lately but this was the one thing i could continue daily (weird) also there is a case to be made re: max's hottest pictures being like 1 pixel in resolution... hope u all like it!!!

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, some vague sexting/a sex tape being watched, praise/dirty talk central, size kink, unprotected sex, handjob (f receiving), max being a meanie

It’s busy today. You haven’t seen him all day.

To be fair, you weren’t necessarily looking—not at first, anyways. How many days had it been since the last time, now? The one in your hotel room? Almost two weeks, you think. The real answer’s blurry in your head, especially when you count the close calls, but this should be a record for you two at this point. Neither of you acknowledge that the only reason you’ve been so good at staying away from each other is because when you’re not roped into the same media junket, you avoid each other at all costs.

The media pen is full; everybody’s shoulder-to-shoulder because a few other networks bought their way into the space for the Singapore race. Right when your mind settles back into the focus of work, though—

“Here,” he says, his voice rough and tickling your ear. You nearly stumble forward, shocked at how his voice almost vibrates through you, a low trill that ripples top to bottom.

His hand settles at the small of your back, like his verbal confirmation wasn’t enough on its own; it’s big and his thumb rubs softly at the smooth strip of skin in-between your low skirt and your top. “Passing through.”

“Sure,” you say, dry. “Sorry.” You clear your throat and cant backwards into his touch—briefly, before you step forward and allow him to pass fully. Across you, Lissie looks up from her phone and you sense her trying to gauge why you’re so close to Max.

You blink and wait for him to disappear, wondering what you’ll tell her—how, more like. How the conversation even opens. How you’d phrase the truth, which in itself is a horribly grey area. Well, Lis, if you must know, Max and I have casual sex. A lot. It’s actually not very casual. We stopped now, but—yes, Max. That Max, yes.

“What about Max?”

Your eyes snap upward and then to your left, where you can see Max’s figure disappearing into a crowd of engineers. They return to Lissie and you feign confusion to mask panic. “What?”

“You were spacing out and then suddenly said his name.” She presses the tip of her pen onto her chin, humming. She doesn’t look at you and you thank God for it—eye contact would’ve rattled the truth out of you in seconds.

“I…” You shake your head. “I was irritated with—I’ve been irritated with him all morning. It’s. Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding, looking away for a second but not pausing. “Oh, okay. D’you wanna go over this edit again?”

—

The stale air of his hotel room, alleviated only by the vaguely fragrant linen spray they use when he’s out, is what greets Max when he arrives in the afternoon.The first thing he does—the only task he’d even thought of en route here—after the door clicks shut is pull up his Messages app and type.

Just got to hotel. He tosses his phone onto the bed while he waits, tugs his cap off and rakes reckless fingers through his hair. His new stylist’s got him onto jeans that don’t “look painted on” (you once said, verbatim), but he’d rather die than lounge in denim, so he swaps them out for just his Calvins.

His mind’s lethargic, but even his version of lethargic is high-drive for others—his brain has the silly tendency to work in absolute overdrive. He itches for a drink and orders a Scotch on the telephone. He checks his phone, which is lying facedown still, and as soon as he picks it up it chimes with your reply.

OK, nice. Did u need something?

No, just wanted to let you know. He hits send, then adds another. You’re off @ 8?

Ended early, I’m in the car. He’s in the middle of drafting a response when you send a follow-up.

I thought we agreed no contact unless business

He scoffs out a dry laugh. Despite himself, he reads the text in your voice, his brain completing the image of the bossy tone with crossed arms and a wickedly arched brow. In response he types: Can’t even update a friend nowadays? I am very tired you know.

Rules are rules, he reads. Then, Get some rest.

Yeah. Got a drink.

I said rest, not drink. Even then he can hear the exasperation in your voice.

How was work? I hurt a muscle doing training. That’s why I’m at the hotel early.

Feel better soon, you send. Had some press stuff today. Boring shit

Yeah? I missed you today.

Really?

A lot. He hums and leans backward, lets his head settle into the pillow, the smell of the linen spray consuming his nostrils. He waits for his phone to buzz, vibrate softly on the hard surface of his chest. It does, after a few minutes, after he’s let his eyes shut and let himself rest them for a bit, after the room service comes knocking and gives him the Scotch he’d requested while ago.

He’s back sitting on his bed when it vibrates. He picks it up and reads: How much?

You’re awfully easy to rile up. He smiles around the rim of his glass—he knows exactly where this is heading.

So much I think I’ll watch some videos of us.

The only caveat of casual sex as two people who essentially dislike each other is the fact that it’s all under wraps—which means if you two try to sneak off together, or are even caught in the same vicinity, people raise suspicions. And that means there are weeks where you barely get to fuck.

And that means you both grow antsy for it. He makes fun of you for being needy, when you’re tipsy and palming at the denim of his jeans or when you bend over when you know he’s looking. But the truth is he grows needy for it, too, craves you like you’re all that matters—he gets extra handsy, drops another innuendo when he knows you’re listening. There is a case to be made that he’s worse, in fact, because fans sometimes skirt around his words and wonder why he sounds so flirty when you’re the reporter in the room.

It was difficult but eventually he found a minor workaround: sometimes he films the two of you. There’s none of those propping his phone up kind of stuff, he just fishes for it in the middle of fucking you so he can store it for himself. It’s locked on his phone and he only has a few (the few has grown in number lately), but God it gives him release when he needs it and you’re not there.

I’ll call you when I’m at the lobby, comes the response. It’s always futile, the attempts to stay away from each other.

He pulls up the folder and lets his eyes skate over the thumbnails, squeezes himself through his boxers. Fuck. He can’t seem to decide what he wants to watch—the ones of you sucking him off, the ones of his fingers stretching you out. He recalls the whine in your voice in each of them, the pleads that escaped you for him to fuck you harder.

So Max, for the life of him, can’t even count how many times these videos have made him cum. But there’s one he hasn’t seen yet—the one he took the night before you two parted. You’d become extra needy on this night, preceding the season, he supposes, the separation. You already were anticipating the deprivation, starved for him more than usual. He’d have kissed you pretty, given you one orgasm after another and still you’d want more. And on this night it was you who asked him to film, you who wanted all of them on tape, so you’d both have something to tide you over until he got to fuck you again.

He pulls his cock out and strokes over it. And with his other hand, he presses his thumb on that video.

In it he’s fucking you in the dark, keeping the phone’s flashlight on your pussy as he sinks his cock into you. When he pulls back out the light reflects on the slick coating his dick, makes it glisten. It looks so wet, sounds so wet, with each thrust into you. He remembers just how it feels; he imagines that he’s back in your bed, fucking you again; that his fist is your pussy, and the spit lubricating it is the wetness that’s drooling out of you on camera.

He can see how tight you are—the way your pussy grips the shaft each time he pulls his cock out, greedy for him. Just like you.

The two of you were supposed to be quiet, too. You were at a hotel, your room beside another driver’s; you were supposed to be careful not to stir anyone. But your moans are louder than he remembers; so is the way you say, breathily, between gasps, Right there, Maxie, m’so close. Max inhales through his teeth, his cock throbbing at that—that Maxie, the cute little whimper out your mouth.

He strokes himself faster, watches the way your fingers slip into frame to rub at your clit, his thrusts getting sloppier and sloppier. He can see, hear—feel how wet you are, the sound of your cunt growing wetter with every thrust. He hears his own voice again, mutter out So good for me, yeah? And your babbled affirmation in response.

You cum hard, your slick getting everything wet and shiny and Max watches himself cum next. His dick’s already spurting when he pulls out and lets himself release on your lower stomach, some of it shooting onto your tits. He blinks, anchors himself back, quickens his wrist and digs his heels into the bed to keep himself from coming. Just a second longer. He knows what comes next and he needs to see it.

Like clockwork, he watches two of your fingers swipe through his cum, bringing them up to your lips. You blink up at the camera and smile. Quit it, your lips mouth, pink and cum-slick. Put it down, Maxie… fill me up again. He releases in weak spurts over his fist, a damp, flushed grunt escaping him as he does. He feels like the air’s been knocked out of him.

His phone rings and he presses it to his ear. “Hey, angel. Come on up.”

One week later

“Vodka,” you say to the bellboy when you get to the elevator. “To my hotel room. Very cold. Please. And thank you.”

The guy scurries off to fetch it for you, and five minutes and one elevator ride later, you're wrestling himself into your room, flexing your sore foot. Japan does hotel rooms well. The leather of your Manolo digs into your foot the way it does after you’ve walked the entire day and you can feel a blister forming on the back of your right heel but it doesn’t really matter, you guess, if you’re already home. Hotel-home, anyway.

You expect to find solace lounging on your bed, waiting out the hours to your morning briefing for the race and throw back a glass or two of vodka.

Instead, you find Max on your couch. He’s sipping ice-cold vodka—your ice-cold vodka.

“Hey, pretty,” he says. “Good vodka. I got staff to wire my FIFA on the TV.”

You just stare. “My TV. What,” you say, your eyes spotting the bottle of frosty vodka by his glass, “are you doing here?”

“I hadn’t seen you all day and I wanted to,” he explains simply. “Do you want food or something?”

“Food? I—nevermind,” you shrug. You’re frozen by the door, only just warmed now from the cold air that bit at your bare legs. “Max, how long have you been here?”

“Since Will Buxton started the post-FP debrief,” he huffs. He fiddles with the remote in his grip and extends it to the TV, where FIFA comes to life. “Aw, come on, angel. I know, I know. No sex and all that. I just like your company, you know?”

“Please. Go fuck yourself,” you scoff, toeing off your shoes and wiping your hands on the fabric of your skirt. He says one thing but you expect another—it’s only natural, given all the other times one of you had failed to keep a similar promise. But still you walk yourself beside him, fix the strap of your short dress, and allow him to pour you a drink.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” He asks absently. “About how you’re always having these talks with me about… about not having sex anymore, but you never even last two days.” He raises you the glass. “What is it, relapsing?”

“Fuck you,” you mutter. “It’s only because you keep trying to get me all hot and bothered.” You recall each time: in Monaco, in Madrid, in France. “Maybe if you got off my back once in a while, we’d be back to normal.”

He shrugs. “You just don’t have strong resolve.”

“Excuse me?” You scoff, irritation scratching at your throat.

“Wanna test that out? Come play.”

Your eyes flit over to the bright screen, all exhaustion cleared from your system. An animated Kylian Mbappe kicks a football in a loop. “Fine. One round and you’re out of my room.” He throws his hands up in surrender and you make a move to sit next to him. Max puts his hands out towards you then, nodding. You mistake it for some handshake, accept them, and then he’s wrangle you onto his lap facing outward. You feel your pulse at your throat as he pulls you tight against him.

“This is cheating,” you say, your voice dry.

“You got it wrong. Teaching.”

He moves his fingers atop yours, explaining what to press, what goes where, what to do for this or that. He can smell your perfume, hear your stilted breaths, and when he peeks over your shoulder he can see where your dress falls loose, showing the lace of your bra and your tits underneath them.

If he had it his way, he’d hike your dress up and have you ride him. But he’s given you a challenge.

You play a practice round and end up scoring a few goals, fingers making quick work of the buttons. Behind you, Max watches, content, answering your questions when you ask them hurriedly—how do I do this? That? Did I just score?

You score once, then twice, then three times, and before you know it you’re scoring in quick succession. The game is fun—it’s easy. If Max was trying to give you a hard time, he failed. You grow determined, competitive within seconds (something he really should’ve anticipated), and you’re scoring goals with skill that you’d confidently say rivals Max’s.

Max. You almost—almost forget he’s there, and then you sit up straighter and you’re hit with the sensation of his dick pressing into your ass. You inhale sharply and the controller clatters to the floor.

“You okay, pretty?” His hand comes up to rest on your knee, inching closer and closer with every hitch of your breath. Your hand, now free of the controller, seizes his, stopping it right at the middle of your thigh.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah? You look stressed.” He doesn’t move. “You were so close, too, weren’t you?” The score stares you right in the face: 4-5. “Maybe you just need to get your mind off it.” It’s so bullshit, so extremely obvious, but he’s right in your ear and his hand is so near where you’ve missed its presence.

You’re usually competitive. You can usually hold your ground. But with this and him—

“Maybe,” you breathe, loosening your grip. He spreads his legs, spreading yours in the process, and brings his hand closer, running slender fingers over the lace material of your underwear until you’re squirming. It grows damper the more he touches, your mouth hanging open with stunted whimpers.

“You always come back to me, schatz, don’t you,” he says, whispers against your ear. You wrench a moan out. “Remember the first time? You interviewed me in Abu Dhabi… you teased me the whole day and begged to come thrice in my room. The time in Monaco you touched yourself to me when I was in the next room. The time we almost hooked up in Miami…” He groans, to himself more than you. “You’re a dirty girl.” He’s curling two fingers inside of you now, grazing against the sweet spot pulls the most delicious moans out of your innocent mouth.

“Every time… you go, that was the last time.” While your mind recaps the memories he’s busy spelling into your ear, Max’s fingers are curling inside of you against that sweet spot just right, and your moans are getting louder and louder.

“Fuck,” he huffs, watching your flushed face get more and more euphoric.

“Aw, pretty, look at that,” Max laughs. He’s looking at your thighs, watching the way they tense and shake as his fingers stroke your g spot. Each pump and curl into your twitching pussy feels better and better, and your dripping walls are starting to clench around his fingers.

“Wait, I—I can’t,” you pant, lolling your head onto his shoulder and involuntarily bucking your hips upward.

“Yeah you can,” he orders. “It’s so easy to get you to cum, isn’t it? Or is that just for me? The driver you hate the most?” He laughs. “Get all wet for the guy you couldn’t care less about. Say you hate me and get my dick nice and wet the next day.” You’re grinding onto his three fingers now, shameless with it.

“Are you gonna cum?” He asks.

“Oh,” you whine. “Yeah, fuck—yes.”

“Tell me what you’re gonna do,” he says wickedly. You can hear him smile.

“I’m gonna—please—I’m gonna cum,” you pant, tension coming to a halt and then bursting all at once out of you. His other arm holds your hips down against him, and you spend a minute and another twitching, your skin sticky with sweat and slick.

It’s not long before you’re whirled back to face him, your hands making quick work of his jeans. It’s a skill you’ve both mastered, the art of the quickie—in closets, hotel rooms, with sweaty, open-mouthed kisses pressed along the column of your throat, moans swallowed.

He hikes your dress up and your panties to the side, immediately bullies his cock into you—the glide is slow, but easy. You’re so fucking wet.

“Fucking big,” you gasp out. “Jesus, Jesus—fuck.” Your head drops and presses against his; he uses the opportunity to kiss you. You moan into it, feeling the stretch, your slick wetness dragging down the length of him as he thrusts up, up, further. “Been a while.”

“Feel good, though, yeah?” Your toes curl and you nod; you’re flushed all over and you need him to hurry up. You grind downward, onto him. He does, then, fucks you hard and fast, like he’s thirsted for this for way longer than he did. You’re squirming, all wet, and it tempts him to go harder. Your face is shiny with sweat, lips drawn in between your teeth.

“Slo—slow down,” you manage, babbling; he doesn’t, speeding up his thrusts until you’re moaning his name. “Max—wait—fuck, you’re so mean,” you whine, wrapping your arms around him and letting him take control.

“You’re fine,” he grunts, pulling out almost all the way. “You take my dick so well, schatz, every fucking time. Don’t you?”

“I do,” you gasp out, and he’s slamming into you gain. You cry out loudly, sniffling from the overstimulation—you’d barely recovered from your initial orgasm and already you’re hurtling into what feels like three at the same time.

“For someone who doesn’t like me,” he sneers, “you sure do moan like a slut, huh?”

His words get you more turned on than you’re willing to admit, but you shake your head.

“No?” He laughs, breathy from the effort. “Maybe I should film you now. Send it to your boss, let him see his stellar reporter’s getting Verstappen’s dick wet.”

Finally, the tension building inside of you reaches a head, and your pussy starts to twitch around his dick. He notices, grunts sharply and leans forward, shuddering as he releases into you. Your moans are choked and tapering into whimpers as you release slick all over him, and you attempt to catch your breath, collapsing onto his still-clothed, now-sticky chest. You scratch at the dri-fit material and inhale him, the smell of his cologne, his sweat. You bite at his earlobe, laugh when he flinches.

“That,” you say into his skin, “was the last time.” It’s both seriously and as a joke, playing off of what he’d remarked earlier.

“Jesus, princess. I’m still inside you.”

You giggle and drum lightly along the plane of his chest. In a few minutes he’ll pick you up to shower, but now you’re content to inhale him in. Quietly you wonder why you just can’t get enough of him—if you were in better senses, you’d have realized he was thinking the same thing about you.

#f1 #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x reader #f1 x reader

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fuckyeahisawthat · 9 months

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Up until the almost-end-of-the-world, the way Aziraphale and Crowley maintained their relationship was through a collection of well-established and repeated patterns (dances, you might say). These little rituals were what they used to communicate affection, intimacy and trust when they couldn’t say the things they wanted to say out loud. I like spending time with you. You make me happy, and I like making you happy. We’re in this together. I’ll always be there for you, even when your own side is not.

In season 1, as the stress of the impending apocalypse puts more and more pressure on their relationship, we see their patterns start to break down, and it’s very distressing for them. They’ve been communicating like this for so long that they don’t know what to do when one of them doesn’t follow the dance steps.

When we first see them in season 2, they seem in some ways to be closer than ever. They touch each other more easily, Aziraphale in particular. Crowley is comfortable enough in the bookshop that he has a Spot for putting his sunglasses when he takes them off by the door. They’re more open about acknowledging how much time they spend together and how many things in their lives are shared.

And I think, also, we expect them to be happy. They won, didn’t they? So it takes a while for the cracks to start to show.

It wasn’t until this post pointed out that the whole season, we never see them sit down and share a meal together in the present day (no, Crowley doesn’t eat; yes, it still counts) that it started coming together for me. The closer you look, the more you realize the old patterns they’re used to relying on are broken.

Three times, we see them sit down to their usual table for two (at the coffee shop, the bar, and the French restaurant) and then almost immediately get up again. This post also points out that we don’t see present-day Aziraphale eat anything on screen, other than one of the little candies in the Bentley. This in the same season we learn that Crowley is the one who introduced him to food! It’s one of their oldest rituals!

Even one of their most visually recognizable patterns starts to go wonky this season. In season 1, when the blocking allows it, Crowley’s always on Aziraphale’s left. When they’re standing or walking side by side, and most of the time when they’re sitting side by side together (there are some exceptions due to camera angles)…Crowley’s always on Aziraphale’s left (screen right if they’re facing us, screen left if we’re behind them). It’s one of the clues about the body swap that is easy to see when you know what to look for—in Berkeley Square they are each initially sitting on the “wrong” side of the bench. It’s so reliable that Aziraphale hears a little miracle bling in the sushi restaurant in s1 ep1 and turns to his left—because that’s where Crowley would appear—only to be startled by Gabriel on his right.

Go look at the scene where we find out Gabriel and Beez are a couple. You know the one.

And of course, many people have noted that in the end credits, we’d expect their positions on screen to be switched. They’re on the wrong sides. And it’s such a long shot that I think it has to be intentional.

Some people have speculated that this means they swapped bodies again. I don’t really buy that. Rather I think it is supposed to indicate what becomes extremely clear on a second viewing, that things are Off and Wrong. They are not okay.

And the more you watch them you see that Aziraphale’s excitement during his little adventures is manic and brittle, and that he misses having a place and a purpose and a mission to do good. And Crowley is depressed, unhealthily codependent, even more hypervigilant and cagey and angry than he was before. They both have layers and layers of trauma, and no way to talk about it. They have the time and freedom now to talk about what they want to be to each other, now that they don’t have to hide and encode and maintain plausible deniability. But they have no way to talk about that either, because that’s never been an option before. They don’t know how, and they are both so, so afraid.

And in the fights they have in episode 1 and episode 6, you realize they haven’t resolved anything from season 1. They’re having the same fight they had at the bandstand. Crowley wants to run, keep the two of them safe and damn the rest, and Aziraphale wants to stay and help, believing he can make a difference even in an imperfect system, and neither of them really understands the other’s position. It’s the same damn fight. They haven’t been able to move past this impasse, and it’s the exact thing that breaks them in the end.

And it’s just. Fuck. It’s such a human thing to have happened to them. To make it through the fire (metaphorical and literal) and then have everything go to shit afterward because of unaddressed traumas and insecurities and things left unsaid until they fester.

I know this is not at all how I expected the season to go, and I think it took a little while for me to parse what was going with their relationship, because we are predisposed to want them to be happy and to want things to be easy for them now. But it makes so much sense that this is where they ended up at this point in the story.

I know they’ll make it back to each other. They both love each other too much to give up. They’ll fight their way back together, and I know they’ll figure it out in the end.

But goddamn.

#good omens #good omens s2 #good omens s2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley

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lokischocolatefountain · 27 days

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Denial || Men Like Me

Part 2 of the Men Like Me series. Part 1

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girthy age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), masturbation (male & female), cis fem reader, descriptions of reader's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, Joel ignores you until he can't, slightly insecure reader, very insecure Joel, corruption kink, mild fem!dom, reader turns the tables a little, name calling, fetishization of virginity, face fucking (not the mouth, but cheek), kneeling, stripping, moneyshot, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 10.4k Summary: After your steamy encounter, Joel ignores you out of guilt, leaving you feeling unworthy. But you make a discovery that makes you turn the tables on him. A/N: The reception that chapter 1 got gave me enough serotonin to keep me going, you guys. I hope everyone likes this chapter at least half as much if not as much as the first one. Even the half would give me a lot of joy. And do say hi in my inbox or my asks. I would loooove to talk about these two. As always, pleaaaaaase give me reblog and/or a comment to recharge my writing batteries. Most importantly, a big thanks to @tobuildahomeinthewoods because the smut part was from their idea in the last chapter's comments .

“Long day, huh?”

“What?” you asked, your brain taking a second too long to process the words. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” you said, going back to your glass of whiskey.

“I heard about the kids. They gotta be more careful,” Tommy said, looking to his brother for some kind of confirmation. Joel nodded hesitantly, his eyes looking everywhere but you as he traced the rim of his glass with his middle finger. So cavalier like he didn’t fuck you with that very finger. Asshole.

“Yeah, yeah. Climbing trees is not wise,” you agreed, willing yourself to look away from his brother. You didn’t want to get caught staring, or worse glaring. The chatter of the dinner crowd at the Tipsy Bison drowned into the sound of you tapping your fingers on the wood counter of the bar. You got up abruptly, the bar stool going down from the force of your actions. You bent over to pick it up, a hand moving to your chest instinctively to keep from flashing everyone. With no such protection for your ass, you could feel familiar eyes on them. Eyes that you’d become accustomed to having on you no matter the distance.

“You ok–” Tommy began, but you cut him off.

“You have a good one, Tommy,” you said, grabbing your bag from the bar counter and slinging it over your shoulder. “I gotta go. I’m really tired.”

Like the fool that you were, you picked your glass up and downed the rest of the whiskey, your throat rejecting the choice with a cough that had you spit out half of the burning liquor. Great. Now you’d have to wash your scrubs before going to bed so it didn’t stain. Fucking great.

There were some protests from the younger Miller brother, some words of concern. But you ignored him as you hurried out of the Tipsy Bison and into the night. At least one of the Millers had some manners. And it wasn’t the one that broke into your house and showed you what a clitoris was. It was fucking embarrassing that he was ignoring you after that. Even more embarrassing that you had to learn it from a random guy when you were the one poring over anatomy textbooks trying to become a doctor. You should know anatomy better than anyone else. Your mentor should’ve taught you. You’d learned how to conduct a safe childbirth. Even been allowed to close up the last c-section patient. But you didn’t fucking learn how the baby got in there.

Alright well, you did. But you hadn’t been told about some of the especially sensitive parts of the body that would be involved in the process.

You tossed your bag on your couch, got yourself some cookies that you traded for last week and climbed up the stairs to your bedroom. It wasn’t a nutritious dinner, but it filled your tummy. It came in handy when you didn’t want to spend time chopping vegetables and boiling pasta or whatever the hell you had to do to cook.

Your bedroom had become your prison in the last two weeks. You felt trapped, unable to see beyond it. How could you, when it ironically was right here that you found freedom?

Even as you did something as mundane as eating cookies on bed and spilled crumbs on your sheets like a child, the chair in front of your dressing table was in sight. From where you sat, you could see very clearly the scratch on the black paint that revealed the light wood underneath. Evidence of how you had to hold on to dear life as Joel worked your pussy expertly. Like he knew it as well as he knew the tools of his trade. Like weaving his fingers between your folds was as familiar to him as it was for you to weave through skin with your suture needle and thread.

You felt yourself dripping at the mere memory of his thick fingers pumping away inside you, unraveling the fibers of your being. The sight of him at the bar– his finger tracing the rim of the glass– it took you to the memory of that very finger teasing your pussy.

The pornographic magazines, the entertainment for men, no longer saw the light of day from their box under your bed. Pictures of nude women you wanted to model yourself after in order to be attractive to men no longer sufficed. All you strived for now was to be attractive to him. To be strung like a puppet in his hands while all he seemed to want was to get away from any place where you were.

You felt a pang in your chest as you recalled the first time you went to the house of worship after your time with Joel to find that he’d been replaced with the younger Miller. Tears stung in your eyes as you felt rejected by his absence. Like he no longer wanted to be in the same room as you, hammer nails into wood as you spoke to your fellow townspeople about their wellbeing. You told yourself it was just a temporary thing. That the brothers just liked to alternate shifts and he would return soon to fix the windows that shattered during a storm in the winter.

He never came.

You’d never experienced such rejection before. You’d never wanted before. To want was to risk rejection, to feel the pit in your stomach as you felt now. You never wanted to feel less than, undesirable, unwanted. So you pulled away from all the men you dated. If you could even call that dating. Maybe it was your own fault for thinking it would be easier with Joel. What did you think? That he would fold immediately because you showed off your legs and touched his arm and pushed your breasts out to present your femininity?

Naive, stupid girl.

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.”

Something twisted in your belly and you lied down, pulling your covers over you as though it would contain the shame coursing through you.

You probably looked silly to him, like a little girl playing adult. Like a kitten picking a fight with a lion. Less than half his age, just a fucking preschooler on outbreak day when he would’ve been a fully grown man. Maybe already beginning to gray, the skin by his eyes crinkled from the years he spent smiling at and wooing women. Why would he want a girl? He’d want a real woman. Someone like Tommy’s wife, perhaps. Someone he wouldn’t have to teach.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man?” his taunt rang cold in your ear, sending chills down your spine like he was still behind you, fingers buried deep inside the most intimate part of you. You pressed your thighs together, heat pooling between them as it always happened when you thought of what he did to you.

Shame didn’t deter you as you brought your fingers to your pussy, brushing one against your clit with curiosity. With fear. It felt so good, like its sole purpose went beyond the animal need to survive and propagate. You bypassed it to touch your weeping slit, more comfortable with what you were already used to for carnal pleasure.

Your own fingers had always been enough. Out in the wilderness when you needed to release pent up energy. After long days at the clinic and sharing notes with the other students. When you were tired to the point where you couldn’t sleep. Your fingers always took you to where you needed. You were always satisfied.

Not anymore.

You whined as the different angles you tried failed to work. The physical pleasure was the same. But not quite like how it felt with him. His hand was larger, his fingers longer and thicker. He showed you sports inside you that you’d never been able to touch yourself. Maybe this was what people meant when they said ignorance was bliss. Knowledge of pleasure you could have but couldn’t give yourself was torture.

As much as you resented Joel now, you couldn’t help but conjure images of him as you brought yourself closer to release. His deep brown eyes, his large hand that he wrapped around your throat, the way he carried you from your chair and deposited you on your bed. Like a human being weighed nothing to him. Like you were his toy that he could bury his fingers in, play with and set aside when he was done, when he was bored. Entertainment for Men came to your mind again and you cried like you never had at your own touch.

Your thighs trembled as you imagined yourself as one of those women in the magazines, but only for him. Entertainment for Joel. Splayed out on the center page for him to look at and fuck his hand to. You wouldn’t mind being tangible entertainment. Laid out on his bed, limbs arranged in an attractive manner for him, so he could access whatever part of your body he wanted to play with. To be bent to his will and fucked, to be used, given an affectionate pat on your pussy and put away when you’d outlasted his needs only to be given attention when he wanted to get off the next time.

You shook uncontrollably, your eyes squeezed shut and the world went blank as you reached your peak. You pulled your spare pillow to your chest, needing some physical comfort after experiencing such a high. You wished it were him instead of an inanimate object. That he would make you feel good and hold you and kiss you all over. That he would stay when you woke up the next day and do it all over again.

Once the haze of your orgasm cleared up, you cringed at the feelings it had brought out of you. How stupid… Wanting a man who broke in, fucked you with his fingers, and began ignoring you like you did something horrible to him. Fuck Joel Miller and fucking his stupid fucking face. As he said, there were other men in the town. Men who wouldn’t ignore you.

⌘

“How are the windows lookin’?”

“Fixed ‘em up in time for the cold winds. No thanks to you, fuckin’ asshole.”

“Sorry. Y’know I ain’t the church going type.” It wasn’t a lie. He wasn’t the church kind before Sarah died and he certainly wasn’t anymore. That the young aspiring doctor he fingered in her bedroom was the real reason behind him swapping work would remain his secret.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tommy grumbled, playing with the now cold fries on his plate. “It ain’t a church, by the way. Maria keeps correctin’ me. It’s the house of worship.”

Joel rolled his eyes at that. He got the reasoning behind it. The town had people who believed in different Gods and had different religions. Calling the place a Church would be as unfair as calling it a– whatever, he didn’t know any other kind of place for worship. But it still pissed him off when his little brother came to him and went on about something his wife said.

Go off and do whatever your wife tells you, motherfucker.

No matter how he tried, the snide voice in his head that hated Maria never went away. He never said anything to her or Tommy. Maria was decent to him too, unlike the time he first arrived with Ellie. She trusted him with Miles. Invited him and Ellie over to family dinners. But they kept their interactions to a minimum, as though there’d been a silent agreement that it was best they kept it civil so as to not sow discord in the family.

“Whatever. No point in worshiping, be it Jesus or whatever stuff they got goin’ these days.”

A shudder went down his spine, triggered by the talk of religion. As it became colder, Ellie had begun to revert to the empty shell of a child she was after the events in Colorado. There’d been grifters in the past hiding behind religion to cheat people out of their money, to damage children irreparably while preaching the word of God. The end of the fucking world somehow didn’t stop them from going on. Didn’t stop people from believing that an all-knowing, all-powerful guy in the sky was still watching and would protect them.

If what protected people was God, guns were God. And Molotov cocktails. Sharp rocks and shoelaces.

Ellie didn’t tell him much, but from what he could piece together, it was a religious group with one guy leading them. And they were fuckin’ cannibals. Sounded like a goddamn cult.

“It’s a nice place to meet people,” said Tommy, snapping him out of his descent into the void of the recent past.

Joel simply snorted and took a sip of his glass of water. He couldn’t handle his alcohol like he used to. Age and that he had been off his usual cocktail of oxy and whiskey for a long time now. He had to resort to having a lot of water to sober himself up after the occasional evening drinks with Tommy.

“What? It is! I go there, catch up with everyone in town. Usually people go there when they’re going through some shit. It makes them feel conscious if you visit their house. So I just run into ‘em at the Chu– house of worship– and I just talk to them about their lives ‘n see if there’s anything I can do for them.”

“Guess you’re right,” he said, slotting his thumbnail in the ridges on the bar counter absentmindedly, scraping off bits of the old softening wood.

He could go again. Only so many days he could ignore you. But the reminder of the shame coursing through his veins when he saw you this evening made him shake the thoughts off. There was no way he could be anywhere you were without shriveling up and dying of embarrassment.

You were so young.

Relatively unblemished by the world. A fuckin’ virgin. Never known the touch of a man and moaning his name as you touched yourself.

Nope, nope, nope. Shouldn't have gone there, he thought as he felt himself hardening in his pants. Shouldn’t his dick be non-functional by now? He was dangerously close to sixty and spent a good two decades without adequate nutrition. Shouldn’t that be enough to turn his dick limp forever?

“Come over tomorrow, then. We’re doin’ a little memorial thing in the back of the house of worship. That young doctor’s idea, actually. She put the idea forward at the last council meeting. Thinks it’ll help people to have something physical to remember their people by.”

Young, sweet, and so fucking thoughtful.

Not meant for men like him.

Yet he went the next day.

The topic of Sarah hung in the air around him and Tommy like a fog beyond which they couldn’t see. It sat heavy in his chest, the memory of his baby and worse, everything his shit brain had forgotten. He remembered that she gave him shit, mocked him over everything. But she didn’t have a voice in his head anymore. He could describe the sweetness of her voice, but it no longer sounded out in his mind. No matter how hard he tried.

Her favorite color was purple and she loved soccer. He couldn’t recall the name of her team. She loved reading. He didn’t remember her favorite author. She liked animated movies. He couldn’t remember a single one. Just the vague memory of her falling asleep on his lap as cartoon characters chirped away on tv. Even her face was beginning to blur. When he recalled her features, it was only through images of the last seconds of her life.

“We could just do alphabetical order. Simple.”

“Not really,” you said, scribbling lines on the paper. “We get new people in the town sometimes and we don’t want the names they add to stand out, away from the alphabetically ordered list. Might make them feel bad.”

“Yeah, you’re right. What about age?” Tommy suggested.

“Still the same problem. It would force newcomers to have their own separate list at the bottom.”

“How about a first come first serve system? We tell people when we’re taking names down for the memorial and they can come over, form a queue and give us the names they want included. That way, people can keep the names of the people they love in one spot on the memorial instead of having it scattered all over because of age or alphabetical order.”

“What do you think, Joel?” Tommy asked, making him fold his arms over his chest and sigh. He didn’t give a shit. But that wasn’t the most amicale thing to say when someone was trying to do an objectively good deed. Unlike the other people in this town, he didn’t deserve to add the names of his people to a memorial. He failed in protecting them. He didn’t deserve to mourn like he wasn’t the reason they went into early graves.

“Yeah, ‘s good. I agree.” He said, finding no faults with your proposal to order the names of the deceased by the order in which people gave it to ‘em. He didn’t know why he was being asked all this. It wasn’t like he was on the council like them. He was just takin’ measurements when he got dragged into this.

“How many names do you think we’ll get?” Tommy asked him in yet another attempt to get him involved.

Taking pity on his brother, he began a rough estimate of the number of names they’d get for the memorial and how much surface area they’d need for carving them in. “Six hundred people in town. Babies don’t have names to give. Kids wouldn’t have too many and if they had any, it would be on their parents’ list too. How many kids in this town?”

It was a fucking nightmare, sitting there at the table with you and doing calculations when all he wanted was to throw you over his shoulder and take you back to his place. Make you pose like you were posing in front of your mirror that day. Like women in those porno magazines he sneaked into his teenage bedroom and jerked off to. The fuck were you even thinking? Door left open, tits out, fingers in your cunt and his fucking name on your lips.

Did you notice him at your door and decided it would be a fun trick to play on an old man? Or did you always scream his name when you fucked yourself? When was the first time? Did you always come so prettily on your own fingers like you came on his? Being in the dark drove him crazy. But part of him felt that getting the answers would drive him absolutely fucking insane.

The thought alone was enough to make him feel uncomfortable in his pants. He adjusted himself on his seat and looked away from you, afraid that somehow you’d be able to tell that he was having improper thoughts about you when you were talking about honoring the dead. If thinking about you sexually in a church was bad, he was sure it was worse to think it when you were trying to help people memorialize their dead.

You had an air of innocence about you. The brightness of your eyes and the way you moved your hands about as you planned the details of this memorial and scribbled them out on your little notebook. He’d been attracted to that innocence from the very start. A rare thing to find out in the world. When even babies were born into violence and oppression, innocence was a luxury no one even thought to acquire.

A virgin, too.

His cock twitched in his pants. He gulped and looked around to check if anyone had caught his shameless response. Nope.

He was surprised you were a virgin. For all your innocence, you were also fucking beautiful. There were plenty of guys in town. Ladies too, if you liked that. Anyone would’ve snatched you up quick and made sure to show you a world of pleasure. It didn’t take him long knowing you to give in to temptation. It was fucking impossible that no man had worshipped with his head between your thighs. That no man who saw you in your pretty little dresses bent you over and filled you up with his cock.

You were beautiful. Even more so when you came on his fingers. Made all those pretty little sounds. The way you said his name… Nobody had said it like that in such a long time. Not even Tess.

It rang in his head whenever he found himself alone at home. Being in possession of your panties didn’t help matters. White cotton. Innocent. Covered in your dried up release. When he left that day, he made sure to suck on his fingers. Moaned like a fucking creep while going down your stairs. Eyes closed, he could still taste you on his tongue. After so many days. A little tangy with a hint of salt from your sweat and all woman.

It had been embarrassingly long since he felt like a man. He’d been father, brother, smuggler, and father again. But long since he was just man. Never someone desirable. Out there, sex was just for release. Purely biological. The end of the fucking world did not afford good hygiene. You fucked someone because they were the safest option. Not because you were attracted to them.

You, however… You had others in this town. You were here before him. Younger, smarter, with a body that worked perfectly fucking well. You could have anyone but it was his name you were moaning out in the privacy of your room.

He grunted as your voice crept back into his mind. The ‘Joel, please’, and the ‘Sir’.

He grabbed on to the railing as his thighs trembled, afraid he would have an embarrassing fall. His breaths grew quicker and his mind void of everything but you.

On your knees. On your back. On your front so he could fuck you from behind. Your hand around his cock. Your lips stretched out around him as you struggled with his size. Fistful of your hair as you begged for release. Please, Sir. Please, Joel. The heat of your tight velvety cunt. Tears blurring your wide eyed innocence as he stretched out your rear hole. He wanted to take you everywhere, leave you burning with him. Mark you so deep every man you let in after you would know who fucked you first.

It didn't take long. The mental images of you were far too effective. His last time was too long ago. He was too old to last. Too old to want you. Somehow the reminder only pushed him further along. Sticky white cum coated your panties, mixing your scent with his. The mirror showed him a reflection of himself. Old, gray, crow’s feet by his eyes. He dropped your panties in the hamper, the warmth of his own release on his hand and the shame on his face sobering him up quickly.

He wanted to teach you sin. But you had taught him more of it already than you would ever know.

⌘

“Cool jacket, dude!”

“Uh…thanks. I traded for it years ago” you said, digging your thumb nail between the teeth of the zipper. It didn’t fit perfectly, but it worked well on cold nights that weren’t cold enough to warrant a sweater. “Is Joel in? I need to talk to him about a building project.”

“Yeah,” said Ellie before pressing her lips into a thin line. “I mean, he was awake half an hour ago when I left, but he could be in dreamland by now. Cause he’s old.”

“Ah. Of course,” you said, smiling awkwardly at the girl. Joel’s kind of, sort of daughter. You were closer to her than Joel in age. You rolled the memorial plan tighter and tighter, your hands needing to be occupied with something as your mind reeled at the inappropriateness of your desires.

“I’ll make sure I don’t wake him up,” you said before leaving the girl to return to her group of friends.

He was old enough to be your father. It should disgust you, scare you. Maybe it would’ve if you’d had an actual father in your life. A point of reference to know how vile a man of that age would have to be to want a girl your age. You tried to force some disgust into your veins, hoping that would help in putting out the fire in you that threatened to consume you whole. But it was hard to convince yourself that this was wrong when he’d made you feel so good.

Your fingers had become inadequate overnight. If his fingers were so powerful over you… You shuddered to think what he could do for you with his penis. It had to feel better. The organ was made for it, unlike fingers.

You stopped outside his door and knocked without giving it a single thought. If you’d thought about it, you would’ve fled. It had already taken you hours to muster up the courage to make the walk to his house with the draft sketches for the memorial. You wouldn’t let your desperation ruin it.

He looked surprised to see you, mouth opening and closing as though he’d forgotten how to process language. His dark brown curls and the silver that decorated it sat messily atop his head. Like he’d run his fingers through it. An old t-shirt stretched over his chest and struggled against his arms. A pair of dark sweatpants sat on his hips, the drawstrings hanging in the front.

“Hey? Uh…what’s wrong?” he asked, bringing a hand up to his face and scratching his beard. Why was that hot? You had to be out of your fucking mind.

You cleared your throat and looked up into his eyes. “Does something have to be wrong?”

“You’ve never come here, so I thought…”

“I’m here about the memorial plans. I have a few designs I want to run by you,” you said, holding up the rolled up sheets of paper.

“Ah. That. Sure, uh come in,” he said, opening the door and stepping aside to allow you passage. You looked around his house, careful to seem disinterested so he didn’t have more reasons to think you were a stupid little girl pining after him just because he made you come once.

Shit. He probably already thought that.

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me.”

You swallowed at the reminder as he led you to the dining table and offered you a seat. You looked around while he cleared the table. Plates, tools, some worn out novels. So he was the messy sort. You didn’t know who you would be if you’d had the chance to just be. You didn’t know if you would leave things lying around like that if you’d had a normal start to life. Like Joel. Like the others who were old enough to remember life before the cordyceps.

The place didn’t scream Joel Miller. There were no personal artifacts decorating his living room. No framed art. No books. No throw pillows or even a blanket on the couch.

You knew what it was like to have nothing in your house. When you were still new to the town and it hadn’t hit you yet that you were allowed to have your own things. Collect stuff and not worry about having too many things to carry with you when you had to run. You didn’t own anything you couldn’t fit into your backpack. And you took that backpack everywhere when you managed to step outside your new house.

But over time, you’d decorated your house. People you helped out at the clinic often gave you things as a token of their gratitude. Kids drew pictures for you. A lady once gave you the art off her wall that the previous owner had put up. Tommy and Maria gave you a new sweater that she’d knit when she was pregnant. New yarn from new wool from the town’s sheep. The first time you ever got something truly new.

“No decorations, huh?”

“What?”

“You don’t have any decorations here,” you pointed out again and licked your lips nervously.

“Uh, yeah. Not really the priority. Have’ta trade wisely. Can’t be gettin’ pictures when ya need bread.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding. “But you don't have to trade for it, you know? You could put up something of what’s in the house already. Surely the previous owners left some stuff.”

“They did. Traded ‘em all for things we need. Fresh fruits, bullets, that kinda shit.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be framed art. You could cut up a nice picture from a magazine or something.”

Joel looked up from the plans, head tilted and an eyebrow raised. Shit! Of course he thought you were talking about your magazines with the naked women.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you said, your voice coming out squeaky. Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and looked down at the plans.

“Let’s discuss the plans,” he said, his voice all gruff and his tone so stern.

“I-I- uh… May I use your restroom?” you asked, unable to look him in the eye after what you’d said. After how he’d reacted. You really didn’t mean it like that. But you could see why that would be hard to believe when the last time he saw you, you had a box full of those men’s entertainment magazines on your bed and one open in front of you as you touched yourself.

Touched yourself and moaned his name.

“Upstairs, second door to the left.”

You squeaked out a thanks before you bolted out of his dining room and made your way up the stairs. There were two bathrooms. One decorated with band posters and a poster of a girl with weirdly cut black hair sitting on a motorcycle. Had to be Ellie’s. The second door to the left was another bathroom. Joel’s, apparently. There was just one bar of soap, a toothbrush, and a pot of toothpaste. No shampoo bar. You pulled the toilet seat and lid down before taking a seat.

You let out a groan and planted your face in your hands. Why the hell did you have to go and make it awkward like it wasn’t already that way. After he made you come that day, he’d refused to be anywhere near you. You hoped it was just coincidence, but after over a week it became undeniable that he was avoiding you.

He probably thought you were going to catch feelings. A girl in one of the romance novels you read fell in love with a guy who took her virginity. And there was the time you overheard this guy talking about not wanting to sleep with a girl because she was a virgin. He was afraid she would catch feelings and get clingy.

Now here you were in his bathroom because you thought it was wise to make small talk and ended up insinuating he should put up dirty pictures on his wall. You could scream. But you wouldn’t. There was already enough awkwardness with him.

You could always jump out of the window and run off to your house. Never speak of this again. Pretend nothing happened if Joel tried to talk to you about it. But something told you that he wouldn’t. He would probably be happy if he never had to interact with you again. You had been acting desperate. He caught you touching yourself moaning his name, for fuck’s sake!

Your hands, permanently dry from all the times you scrubbed them clean for your patients, found some moisture from your salty tears. It was embarrassing, sitting in the bathroom of a guy who wanted nothing to do with you after you scared him off with your stupid little infatuation.

You were a grown woman. Still young, but too old to be acting like this. You should have some experience already. Not sniffling over a man more than twice your age. He was right. He had been a grown man with experience longer than you’d been alive. Of course he wanted nothing to do with you.

The window looked more and more attractive as the seconds passed. It had been a while since you did something like that. You didn’t need to jump out of buildings or trees anymore. You didn’t go on patrols like some residents. With no need to fight for your life and having all the food you could need to never go hungry even once, you’d become a little unfit. If you broke a bone jumping out of Joel’s bathroom window, there would be questions. And everyone would know. You’d have to avoid the whole town instead of just Joel.

You’d just have to face it. Even if facing it was doing as little as just bidding him goodbye and bolting out of his house without an explanation. You got off his toilet and pressed the flush just so he didn’t think you were weird. Like it fucking mattered. He already found you weird and desperate.

You washed your hands, letting the water wash away the tears on your hands before wiping your wet hands over your face in an attempt to remove traces of your crying.

You should’ve just left after that. Not looked around. Not snooped like a creep. You didn’t ever dig. You didn’t have to look too deep to catch it. But a sliver of white peeked out through the netted walls of the laundry hamper. A sliver of white cotton with a light blue stitch.

Without second thought, you dug into his dirty laundry. You came up with the white cotton fabric, going straight to the gusset where the blue thread stitched the fabric pieces together. The original stitch had given out and you sewed it back together just some time back. The blue thread was all that you had at the time.

As though the sight of your panties in Joel’s bathroom wasn’t jarring enough, next came the smell. Of you. Your cum. You felt practically hear your own heartbeats as you recalled how he’d cleaned you up with your own panties. You recalled that he stuffed the fabric in his pocket as you lied on your bed, pussy still pulsating from his handiwork, brain melted, and life changed forever.

You took another whiff of your panties, goosebumps raising the hairs on your body as you felt it. Your cum and something else. It was still damp.

Blood rushed back up to your face and you felt yourself getting tense.

This fucker. How dare he? You’d been embarrassed just a minute ago over your desires and he was doing this the whole time? Noticing you on the streets and running away for days. Running back to his home where he kept your fucking panties, apparently. Avoiding you for so long only to cum in your panties.

So he wanted you.

If not you, he at least wanted sex. Dirrty old man who liked attention from you, but you weren’t even disgusted. Just angry he was pretending to be better than that. He could’ve used any old rag, but he used your panties.

You brought your defiled panties back up and smelled them again. Strangely, it smelled something like bleach. Or you could be wrong. You’d never… You didn’t know what a man’s release was supposed to smell like. Was it different for each man or did they all smell the same?

Wetness pooled in your panties as you imagined him touching himself. Large rough hand wrapped around himself. Did he think of you when he did it? Think of you naked in your bedroom and taking his fingers? What did his penis look like? What would it feel like? Soft? Rough? You’d wondered about having one inside you, but never about a particular man’s anatomy. But this was Joel. Joel was the only one who’d gotten this far in your head.

He couldn’t deny it to you anymore. If nothing else, you could at least call him out for ignoring you when he was wiping his ejaculate off with your stolen panties.

“Joel!” you called out before your fears could talk you out of confronting him. Unsure if he would’ve heard you, you opened the bathroom door and yelled his name out again. “Joel!”

“What?”

“Come up here!”

“What happened?”

“Just come here.”

You heard him sigh, the sound followed by the typical grunts and groans he made when standing up. Fuckin’ old man, ruining your life. Ruining your self-confidence. Ruining your fucking panties. His heavy footsteps thudded against the stairs as he climbed up, the sound getting louder as he got closer to the bathroom.

“Why were you screaming my name like y–” he stopped mid scold, frozen in place by the door as he saw what you had in your hand. He opened and closed his mouth, as though attempting to explain but deciding otherwise. He licked his lips and scratched the back of his neck, his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

“Do you not have rags, Joel?” you taunted, taking a step towards him and enjoying seeing him step back. You felt powerful, moving a large man with just your voice. It was very unlike how he made you feel all the days he ignored you. Weak, insignificant, undesirable.

“You weren’t meant to– Fuck, I’m sorry!”

“Which part are you apologizing for? For breaking into my house and touching me? For ignoring me ever since? For stealing my underwear? Or for doing whatever you did with it?”

You moved him out of the bathroom, making him walk backwards in the hallway you hoped led to his bedroom. Even if it didn’t, you’d be fine. You’d exact revenge in any place you can. As long as you got to make him feel the way he made you feel. Pleasure. Shame. Want.

“I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry. I never should’ve—”

You took your last step towards him, finally trapping him against a wall. You stood close enough to place your hand on his chest. You licked your lips, the rock hard muscles beneath your touch storing itself away in your mind for later use.

“Imagine what would happen if I told someone? You sister-in-law, perhaps… She hates you, doesn’t she?” You smirked, though you were screaming on the inside. You didn’t know where you got all this courage from. You didn’t know you had it in you to threaten a man as imposing as Joel.

He turned pale, his hands up against the wall in surrender. If you’d asked him, he wouldn’t tell you the truth that it was to keep himself from touching you. “Please don’t tell anyone. I won’t do this again, I swear.”

“Maybe I want you to do this again…”

“You don’t. Trust me.”

“Shh!” You said, placing your index finger on his lips. Pink, perfectly shaped, and so damn kissable. “Don’t tell me what I want. You ignored me ever since you walked into my house without my permission and shoved your fingers inside me. I was walking around town believing I wasn’t good enough for big old Joel Miller. What did you say? That you’ve been experiencing longer than I’ve been alive?”

You raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t answer. Then he nodded reluctantly.

“Why were you coming in my panties then if I didn't measure up? ”

“I won’t do it ag—” he groaned when you grabbed his cock through his pants. He let out a low grunt and his Adam’s Apple bobbed in his neck as he swallowed. You replaced your index finger with your thumb, tracing his trembling lips as you lazily stroked his cock with your other thumb.

He filled your whole hand and there was still more. It took everything in you to not moan at the sheer size of him. To not grind your belly against it to feel it against you. You didn’t know how big it was supposed to be, but the romance novels you read always described the big ones as more desirable.

“I don’t want to hear excuses. I asked why. Why did you steal my panties, Joel Miller?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you come on it? Don’t fucking lie to me cause I can fucking smell you on it.”

“I did. I jerked off with it.” You had to choke back a moan at that. No, you had to be strong. Show him you could take the upper hand just like he did with you. You weren’t a little girl with a crush. You were a woman and you could have this effect on a grown man. You refused to be discounted with a pat on your pussy no matter how much you wanted him to touch you like that again.

“Mmm. And that’s enough to get you going. Just a pair of my panties.”

“Mhmm.”

“Show me how you did it.”

“What?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

“Show. Me. How you did it.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, his hand coming up to stroke the base of his neck. “Wh-What?”

You felt your heart thud against your ribs and if you didn’t know from experience and your textbooks, you’d have been afraid that he could hear it. You’d never done anything so daring. You were the timid girl when it came to this stuff. That the thought even occurred to you was a testament to how much you desired Joel. Not just to sleep with any guy, but to have Joel. Without a word, you reached under the skirt of your dress and tugged your panties down.

He inhaled sharply as you bent down and came back up with your panties. Undyed white fabric, a little green ribbon in the shape of a bow stitched to the front, gusset a light gray from your wetness.

“Show me. I want to see what you were doing in your bathroom with my panties after ignoring me everyday,” you said, taking his hand and forcing the fabric into it. His hand curled around it and you found yourself feeling lighter. You didn't know how long you could keep up the brave front if he continued to have no response.

“Take your clothes off.”

It was like something changed the moment you gave him the garment. His eyes were on you, his gaze unrelenting. He took a step ahead and you stepped backward. His lips curled up in a smirk. It seemed playtime was over… Like a lion letting the cubs play at predation before taking over to show how hunting was really done.

You didn’t know if you were ready for that… Sure it was nothing he’d never seen before, but it was different. The last time, you didn’t do it with the intention to have him see you. He just happened to see you bare and you didn’t cover up when you realized.

“I don’t have a box full of dirty magazines. I need to see somethin’,” he said, his eyes going down your frame like they had every right to be there. “Or you could leave these,” he said, holding your panties up in front of your eyes, “and run back home. What d’ya say?”

You swallowed, your hands shaking as you reached behind to find the zipper of your dress. You weren’t going to run off. Not when you’d been desperate for so long to do something, anything with him. Cold air kissed your back as you pulled the zipper down and the hairs on your body stood up in full attention. You pushed the sleeves off your shoulder and shimmied out of the dress, standing in just your dress in front of him.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. He looked you up and down. He tilted his head as he looked you up and down. He radiated superiority, putting you in some kind of a daze. “Your bra too. Show me your tits.”

The crudeness had more wetness pooling between your legs. You nodded wordlessly, afraid that pathetic whimpers would be the only sound you’d make under his gaze. You reached behind and felt around for the clasp of your bra. With his eyes piercing into you, you failed to find it quickly like you usually did. Your mouth dried up, your tongue sticking to the roof.

He made no effort to help. A mocking smile assumed its place on his lips as he watched you struggle in front of him.

When you finally managed your task and stood fully naked, he stood up straight. His tongue darted out and licked his lips. You felt like a piece of meat placed in front of a starving man. Just seconds ago, you were telling yourself you didn’t need his approval, that this would just be revenge. But as he evaluated your body, your pussy wept with the need for your body to be nothing but what he liked.

“Room’s that way.” He nodded in the direction of the room. You turned around and took small steps, your shoulders curling inward and your head bowed in submission. Every inch of your skin burned with the strength of his gaze.

“Kneel.”

You placed your knee on his bed, ready to climb up.

“On the floor.”

One knee still on his white sheets, you turned around to look at him. He was so large. Imposing. The kind of figure you would follow without question. So, you did.

“You look pretty on your knees.”

He took a few steps towards you, stopping when the distance had your neck straightening to look up at him. Large, powerful, imposing. Another step and you were face-to-face with his crotch. His bulge was right there.

“Go on, take it out. Since you wanted it so bad.”

Joel didn’t think you would do it. You looked even smaller kneeling at his feet. Meek little thing. He didn’t at all expect you to taunt him the way you did. Especially after you threatened to tell on him to Maria. He fully expected you to start crying. Guess he really underestimated you. Virgin didn’t necessarily mean innocent.

Yet you folded as soon as he took the reins. He saw the change in you right when he told you to take your clothes off. When your eyes went from determined to defeated. All that spunk evaporated to reveal the little girl underneath. He liked it like that. Made him feel like a real man. Not that there was any scarcity of masculinity in his life of taking out clickers and defending this town. But somethin’ about a beautiful woman accepting his authority did the trick faster than every other display of masculinity.

Your hands fiddled with his belt, trembling as you tried to take it off. He stopped you with a hand on your wrist. “Just undo the zip.”

No way he was going to get naked in front of a pretty little twenty something. It wasn’t anything great to look at even before he began a life of violence and traversing the wilderness. Sure he was well built from all the hard physical labor and constant fight for survival. It’d left several unappealing scars on his person. Time had done a number on him too. Especially his pudgy belly. It didn’t help that food flowed free in Jackson, fattening him up a little.

Thankfully, you listened. You looked up, as though you expected him to complete the task for him. He challenged you with a look. Wanna be a big girl so bad, act like one.

You reached inside his pants and took his cock out. Your lips parted and he heard you inhale through your mouth. His cock hung in front of him, hard from your teasing. He had to give it to you, you were daring for a meek little thing. No one in town would believe him if he told them all that you’d done. And he suspected he didn’t even know the half of it.

“Not too late to back out, you know?” he said, wrapping his hand around himself. It took everything in him to give you an out. As much as he wanted to grab your face, force your mouth open and make you gag around him, he was man enough to let you know you didn’t have to do anything. Young girl probably bit more than you could swallow. And seeing his cock and your mouth so close by showed that he was definitely nothing you could swallow.

“I’m not backing out.”

“First time seeing one?”

“Of course not. I work at the clinic. You think I haven’t seen a penis?”

“No anatomical terms. I ain’t your patient. Go on, touch my cock.”

You reached up for him, but he stepped back, delighting himself in the disappointment on your face. “Come on, you want a man so bad, work for it.”

You moved to stand up. “Did I say you could stand up?”

“No.”

“Then get back on your fucking knees.”

You dropped to your knees and he groaned in satisfaction. The euphoria of wielding power over someone rushed through his veins. And he wanted more. It was the same sick satisfaction he got when he beat men to death. When he broke bones and dressed animals he hunted in the wild. “Good girl. You’re going to listen to what I say. Got it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Fuck! That fucking word again.

“Come on, come get it. Hands and knees. Crawl to me.”

He beckoned you forward with one hand, his other still on his cock. You bent over and god fucking damnit, you were a vision. You were an eager girl and he could see what you could become in the right hands. His hands. The things he could show you… Introduce you to your own body. Bring you pain and pleasure that were indistinguishable.

Your tits hung from your chest, swaying as you crawled towards him. Feverish, bright eyes followed him as he continued to refuse what you wanted. Too fucking late. He warned you. Told you men like him weren’t for pretty little things like you. But you didn’t fucking want to listen. Now you’d have to deal with the consequences. Maybe you’d stay away then.

“Please, Sir,” you whined so prettily he almost gave in.

“What are you begging for?”

“You. Y-your penis.”

“My cock,” he corrected. “Say it.”

“Your cock, Sir.”

“Good girl. C’mere,” he said, giving you a nod to come closer. You crawled to him and when he didn’t back away, sat up on your knees. He placed his hand on the back of your neck and gripped your hair, making you hiss. Holding you in place, he brought his cock to your face. You looked up at it, your eyes widening and your mouth slackening. You brought your hand up and touched his tip with just your thumb. The rest of your hand followed, wrapping around him. He gasped silently as you stroked his slit with your thumb, making him leak precum on you.

“Did…? Did you?”

“No. Gotta do more ‘n that to make me come. That’s precum.”

“Oh.”

He didn’t think you knew what precum was. Probably not the focus of your education here. Not the most important thing when townsfolk came in injured after patrols or suffering from a fever that was life threatening without the medicines of the past.

He pressed his cock against your cheek. The sight presented a visual of how you’d struggle if you took him in your mouth. He’d have you choking on him before you even took half. He twitched against your face at the mere thought. You were the picture of innocence, even with his cock on your face. Even with the stunt you pulled before he put you back in your place.

“Think I’ll just do this. Fuck your pretty face.”

You whimpered, spurring him on. He wanted to force himself inside you, punish your mouth for having the gall to speak to him the way you did. Make you cry from how full of him you were. Give you a sore throat so when you spoke to him again, you’d remember to speak with respect. But you wouldn’t be able to handle it. So he’d settle for defiling your sweet features, hold his cock against your cheek and rut like the animal he was.

“I ain’t gonna lay you out on my bed and take you nice and slow. I’m just gonna use you. ‘s what men like me do.”

He pulled away, giving you another opportunity to rethink this. “You can put your fucking clothes on and leave if you don’t like it.”

To his surprise, you stayed put on your knees. You shook your head before reaching up and rubbing your cheek against his cock. You let out a soft moan, eyes closed and your thighs pressed together tight. “No, no. I like it.”

“Fuckin’ slut,” he said, his hand back in your hair. He tugged at it and took his cock in his other hand. He tapped your lips with his tip, smearing the precum that leaked out of him. “You like an older man using your face like it’s a pussy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He snorted, amused. “Never met a virgin slut before. Getting your face fucked before your pussy. Bet you’re wet from this.”

There was the sweet little whimper from you again. He wanted to hear more of it. Trap you underneath him and make you weep and cry and whimper as he split you in half.

“Let me see. Touch your pussy, show me your slick.”

You obeyed, spread your knees and touched yourself. Your hand glistened under the light of his bedroom, your wetness stretching between your fingers in strings. “Goddamn, would you look at that…” he said in a low rumble. “Rub it on my cock.”

Your hand trembled slightly and you stared at him with a blank look in your eyes. He guided your hand to his cock, withdrawing his hand when he’d brought you close enough so you could decide whether you wanted to follow his command. You touched your slickened hand to his cock, covering him in the evidence that you wanted this. Wanted him. You reached between your legs and brought more of yourself, eyes soft yet glazed with lust as you smeared yourself all over his length.

“Ask me for it.”

“Please,” you whined.

“Please, what?”

“P-please fuck my face. Sir.”

He returned his cock to your cheek, your wetness lubricating your face. Hand cradling his cock, he began to thrust. It wasnt much different from fucking his own fist. It was just skin. Not the tight velvety wetness of a pussy or a throat that would gag with his thickness. But your face was softer than his gun callused hands. Even better was your pretty face, looking up at him so adoringly… So full of desire.

He didn’t have to let his imagination do the trick now. Not when you were right in front of him, lending yourself for his use. And no imagination, no memory did justice to you. Your body. Scarred, but beautiful. Tits that filled his large hands, clean and styled hair, a belly that showed you were well fed. He wanted to lay you out on his bed and consume you. Take your tits in his mouth, grab handfuls of your ass, spread your cunt lips and lodge himself inside you. Give it to you hard so your thigh jiggled and you felt them ache as they rubbed against each other when you walked around in your pretty little dresses.

But as depraved as he was, he knew he shouldn’t be the first to take you. He’d have you just this once. Store your image in his head to get off with for as long as his dick worked. You acted all brave, but he couldn’t shake off that you were still inexperienced. The first time was meant to be good. The world was no longer normal, but you could have normality within the insular walls of Jackson.

Even this was wrong. Using you like this instead of making sweet love to you. But he hadn’t been that man in a long time. He was selfish and cruel. If there was no town, no community where everyone knew everyone and you still threw yourself at him, he would’ve taken you in all your holes with no hesitation. Ruined you, kept you until your body wasn’t of use and tossed you aside. But being in this semi-normal place had gotten its claws into him. Softened him up.

He grew closer to the edge embarrassingly quickly, the haze of carnal pleasure beginning to muffle the voices screaming in his head to let you go. He only barely noticed that you were touching yourself. Enjoying this treatment of you. That spurred him on. There was no stopping now.

You let out soft moans, your eyes never once leaving him. He struggled to get himself to focus. To check for any signs you didn’t want this. But all he saw was you on the precipice of pleasure. The world disappeared. His house, Jackson, the darkness that lay beyond. It was all him now. He felt lighter, like he would float out through the window and everything he’d ever been through would disappear. Every ounce of goodness quietened down, the last shreds of his morality discarded with your dress. He grunted and moaned your name as he kept fucking you. Your features morphed into nothingness. No longer a face, no longer a human woman. All he knew was the ache in his body, the tightness that begged to be released.

He slapped a hand against the wall as his thighs stiffened and every muscle in the vicinity of his cock tightened. He took himself back in his hand and stroked himself over your face. Once, twice, and thr– mid stroke, he growled and spilled on your face, coating your innocent features in sticky white cum. You flinched as the first stream hit, screwing your eyes shut. He wanted to make you look, see how he could defile you, show you that he wasn’t for you. Force you to confront what you’d allowed into your life so you’d run and never look back.

But all he could do was keep stroking as he came down from his high. It was unlike anything he’d had in the recent past. Not his imagination, not just his hand. A real human woman who wasn’t just a convenience. One who sought him out, stripped for him, and let him use her face like a toy.

He took a minute to collect his breath and let his senses return to him. His cock hung semi-hard outta his jeans, like it could go again if he willed it. Like it wasn’t almost six decades old. But he wasn’t too surprised. He could go again for the utterly debauched girl in front of him. Innocence eclipsed by milky white ropes of his cum. Without thinking twice, he grabbed your hair and pulled at it. You yelped, but let him pull you up from the ground and drag you to the other side of the room.

He stopped you in front of his mirror, and slapped your hand off your pussy before replacing it with his. “Look at yourself. I fucking told you,” he said, forcing two thick fingers inside your cunt. You sucked him in with little resistance, your cunt leaking enough for him to force a third finger inside you. You gasped and tried to wriggle away, but he wasn’t having it. He was a fucking monster, but he would never leave a woman unsatisfied. Especially a young thing who’d never had anyone else before.

He wrapped his free hand around your throat, his half hard cock begging him to go again when he felt the vibrations of your moans. “I warned you,” he whispered into your ear. “Fuckin’ warned you. Told you how starved I was. And you still taunted me. Look at you now!”

“Please… Please, Joel! Sir, please…”

“Fuckin’ slut. Maybe you ain’t really a virgin.”

“I am, I am, I promise. I wa–” you cut yourself off with a gasp as he pressed his thumb on your clit.

“What was that?”

You made some incoherent noises, too far gone to form words. Yet you managed to thrust onto his fingers and roll your hips like a real natural.

“Joel…”

“I know, pretty girl… I know,” he cooed, the softness in his voice contradicting how he’d used you just minutes prior. Contradicting the cum on your pretty little face.

“You gonna come for me? Give me another one after you came so sweetly on my fingers that day?”

There were no answers from you. Not even an acknowledgement that you heard him. Just whines and moans as you let him support your entire weight. Your head lolled back on his shoulder and your eyes rolled back into your skull as he fucked you stupid with just his fingers. Oh the things he could do with his cock… Reach deeper, take the virginity you’d held on to for so long. If he ever had you, he would never let go. He was too selfish a man to willingly lose a girl so precious after taking her cunt.

You gripped him like a vice, so tight he couldn't pry his fingers out. Something that vaguely sounded like his name spilled from your lips as you crumpled in his arms. Your pussy pulsated around you as he held you against him, unwilling to remove himself from you so quickly.

He withdrew your panties from his pocket– the fresh pair you took off in his fucking hallways like it was no big deal. He wiped your face with it the same way he cleaned up your cunt that day. Instead of tucking it in his pocket, he forced it into your hand.

“Put it on. Your fucking dress, too. Hope you learned you fucking lesson.”

As you put it on and scampered away naked into his hallways, he hoped it would be enough to scare you away. But he knew in his heart of hearts that he would always crave you like an addict craving a drink.

⌘

Fic update notifications over at @chocofountain-notifs

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sims-himbo · 9 months

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THE SIMS 4: BARBIE Legacy Challenge!

oh hi there! i haven't posted here in a while, but i just watched the barbie movie a few days ago and needless to say, it is now my entire personality. so here's my first ever legacy challenge based on barbie's many, many careers and achievements!

apologies in advance, this challenge uses a lot of packs! i'm sorry! i might try to make a base game version at some point

portuguese translation by @demaciana-sims

sims 3 version by @appaloosawhims

challenge rules below the cut

All heirs must be female and named Barbie. (non-heir children may have any name)

You may use the freerealestate cheat for your first house, but try not to use money cheats after that!

You are allowed and encouraged to use lot traits and rewards to boost skill gain, anything that’s in-game is fair game.

Packs you will need:

EPs: Get To Work, City Living, Cats & Dogs, Get Famous, Island Living

GPs: Spa Day*, Parenthood

Optional packs (for the optional generations):

EPs: University, Cottage Living, Horse Ranch

GPs: Strangerville

*You only need Spa Day for the High Maintenance trait in one of the generations and nothing else, so it's fine to skip out on it.

You've been raised with traditional values: find a good man, start a family, be a homemaker... But you want your children to aim higher, so you'll make sure to set them up for success.

Complete Successful Lineage aspiration

Max Parenting and Cooking skills

Have at least 3 kids and 1 pet, each child must complete at least one child aspiration and they must all max out their grades in school

Must have Family-Oriented trait

Your mother was happy staying at home, but not you. You're ready to fight your way to the top and make enough money to support your family for generations to come.

Complete Fabulously Wealthy aspiration

Max Charisma and Logic skills

Max Business career (Investor branch)

Must have Ambitious trait

Your family is pretty wealthy, so you've used your funds to open up your very own vet clinic and follow your dreams of being surrounded by furry little guys all day! But it might be more difficult than you thought...

Complete Friend of the Animals aspiration

Max Veterinarian skill

Run a 5-star vet clinic

Have at least 3 pets and be good friends with all of them

Must have either Cat Lover or Dog Lover trait

You grew up surrounded by pets, and you now want to explore even more of the animal kingdom... So you're going underwater! What magical secrets will you discover on your journey?

Must live in Sulani

Complete Beach Life aspiration

Max Conservationist career (Marine Biologist branch)

Become a mermaid

Max Logic and Fitness skills

Must have Child of the Ocean trait

Your mother had an almost supernatural level of fitness at sea, so now you've been inspired to master fitness on land! You're determined to reach your full potential in physical performance and become a world class champion.

Join Cheer or Football team as a teenager and reach highest level

Complete Bodybuilder aspiration

Max Fitness and Charisma skills

Max Athlete career (Athlete branch)

Must have Active trait

Your family has achieved many, many accolades, and you've set out to capture all of it in an epic Tell-All novel that you spend your entire life writing!

Complete Bestselling Author aspiration

Max Writing skill

Write Book Of Life and bind it to your parent, use it to successfully bring them back from a premature death

Must have Creative trait

Movie stardom is the next logical step for your lineage, so you set out to conquer the silver screen. Will you catapult the family name into even greater heights, or will it now be associated with infamy?

Complete Master Actress aspiration

Max Acting skill

Must reach at least Proper Celebrity status

Must have a secret affair with a fellow Actor!

Must have High Maintenance trait

As the child of a successful actress, people may roll their eyes and immediately write you off as yet another nepo-baby trying to start a music career... So you must prove them all wrong by becoming a proper rockstar!

Complete World Famous Celebrity aspiration

Max Singing skill

Max skill in at least 2 instruments

Max Entertainer career (Musician branch)

Must have Music Lover trait

What's next after conquering so many careers and reaching worldwide fame for the family name? World domination, of course! Become the greatest Leader this nation has ever seen!

Complete Mansion Baron aspiration

Max Politician career (Politician branch)

Max Charisma skill

Must have Self-Assured trait

Now that you've conquered the world, it's time to venture out into Space! There's so much to explore out there, and Barbie must leave her mark all across the galaxy.

Complete Nerd Brain aspiration

Max Logic and Rocket Science skills

Go to SIXAM at least once and bring a souvenir

Must have Genius trait

Still want more? Here's some extra Barbies that you can play with!

Countryside Barbie

Complete Country Caretaker aspiration

Max Gardening skill

Must make all money from gardening, farming, wine making, etc. No day job!

Must own a horse and have it max every skill

Must have Animal Enthusiast trait

Army General Barbie

Must live in Strangerville

Complete Strangerville Mystery aspiration

Max Logic and Charisma skills

Max Military career (Either branch)

Must have Erratic trait

Scientist Barbie

Complete Nerd Brain aspiration

Max Scientist Career

Be abducted by Aliens at least once

Must have Genius trait

Ultimate Barbie

Set lifespan to long

Complete at least 2 child aspirations

Complete Renaissance Sim AND Academic aspirations

Max 10 skills

Have 12 or more traits

Graduate from college

Reach the top of any career

Have a house worth 1 Million Simoleons

Have at least 5 kids and max your relationship with all of them

that's about it! if you play this, please use #sims barbie legacy

have fun:)

#sims 4 legacy challenge #sims 4 legacy #sims 4 #ts4 legacy challenge #ts4 #the sims 4 #the sims #sims 4 challenge #barbie #the sims legacy challenge #sims-himbo #sims barbie legacy

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tojikai · 9 months

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Sundered 4: GEARS

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, suggestive smut, arguments, name-calling, L-bombs(lol)

word count: 6.7k

Decisions take seconds to make but can take months and even years to realize and regret.

“I still love you, Y/N. So, so much.”

Satoru wept, sniffing as he ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. His vision was cloudy but the memories in his head were crystal clear. The day he met you, the day you told him the news; it was unexpected, but it gave Satoru a warm feeling in his chest. How could he let himself forget that feeling so easily?

You don’t get to get her back. A voice in his head once again whispered to him, allowing sobs to erupt from his lips.

The day he separated from you, he told you you’ll make things work, no matter what it takes. A few weeks after that his mother introduced Naomi to him. It wasn’t her job but she helped him work on himself, gave him all that she has to offer, and held him when he felt like losing his mind.

You were almost out of reach, mostly just talking to him when it concerns your daughter. It almost felt like he was fighting alone. It made him feel like he was not changing anything. He barely sees your face; barely feels you.

And then it happened, in such a short span of time. Naomi was the only one he sees, the only one he feels with him.

“It could work, you know? But only if both sides are committed to making it work.” She said, “But like these gears,” She pointed at the constructible toy train of his daughter, “The gears will only work if they fit.” Satoru didn’t need to hear any more of her words to understand what she was trying to explain.

He found himself smiling at her smiles and laughing at her laugh. He found himself saying: “We kinda fit, don’t you think?” nudging her playfully as they walked Yui to the park, earning a shy laugh from her.

He found himself spending more time with Naomi than spending time figuring things out with you. It all just happened in such a short span of time.

It felt like setting himself free when he didn’t have to think about the problems with you. It was emancipating to just lie under the covers, snuggled up in bed with Naomi’s skin against his. It was a breath of fresh air to share the same breath as her every morning and night as they soak in each other’s embrace, feeling the warmth of their swollen lips on one another.

He wishes that he considered the day he’ll see you like that with someone else.

To say that he was shocked when you came and saw him with Naomi was an understatement. He didn’t want it to be like that. He wanted to introduce her to you, to explain things to you, but for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He didn’t want you to think that you meant nothing to him. But at that time, he thought that he meant nothing to you.

He searched for the emotions in your eyes but failed. He waited for your questions of “Why?” and “How?” but they never came. It’s like you just really stopped giving two shits about whatever happens in your relationship. And Naomi’s words reverberated in his head: “The gears will only work if they match.”

And that’s how his decisions were made.

That you deserve someone who’ll treat you how you want to be treated; that he deserves this serenity with Naomi, too. He’s not some kind of hero to keep heading for war when there’s a humble abode waiting for him. He thought that there was nothing for you and him but different paths. Maybe this is how falling out of love happens, he thought.

And that is how he learned that decisions can sometimes take months and even years to realize and regret.

“I love you too much to fight anymore, Y/N.” Satoru was pretty sure that he was inaudible and incomprehensible by now. The cracks in his voice and his occasional hiccups were probably louder than any sound near his phone. “You know, I never meant any of the shit I said to you that day. You and Yui were the best thing to ever happen to me, never will I regret you, love.”

He couldn’t even pay attention to your voice as he harshly wiped his tears away, blinking his eyes to look up at the blurry, colorful lights “I know you’re happy, I know you don’t even want to see me again if you’re given a choice.” Satoru shook his head, undoing the first two buttons of his shirt so as to help with the ache that is now smoldering his chest.

“But I just want to take those words back.” He whispered, running out of breath before quickly gasping, “Hell, I just want to take everything I did after I gave up on us back.” Getting nothing was painful enough, and so is getting up.

He doesn’t know where he’s going but he trusts that his feet will take them to where he belongs.

—---------------------------------------

“Yeah, she’s sleeping now. Sunburnt and all.” You laughed, tilting your head as you tried to hold your phone between your ear and your shoulder. “‘Gumi talk, Daddy. Pwease,” You heard Megumi’s voice over Toji’s chuckles. You and Yui spent all day at their residence once again. The kids had a mini swimming party with the neighbor’s son, Yuuji.

You can’t deny that your little girl’s been a bit more energetic nowadays. She’s also learning things, like pouring beverages into a cup; something from the internet that Toji has been teaching Megumi to do. “What do you wanna say?” Toji answered before the little kid’s voice followed. “Yui later. Come later. Uh, bye.” The little message made you giggle.

“She’s asleep now, ‘gumi~ We’ll visit again soon.” You heard Toji playfully scold him to go to bed already before getting back to the call, “I’ll tuck him in now. I’ll see you tomorrow, babe.” Humming, you said your good nights before ending the call. You watched Yui sleep, caressing her soft, blushing cheeks.

Everything’s been going good, and you could only hope that it’ll also be good for her.

Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, three knocks at the door almost gave you a heart attack. It’s already late, who could it be? The place is a three-unit, up-and-down apartment, maybe someone got the wrong door. Wrapping yourself in a robe, you walked to the door. There was a muffled sound behind, and you can’t miss your name being mumbled.

You know the voice too well to wait any longer for confirmation.

“Satoru?” You spoke, brows knitting together. His hair and shirt were soaked in sweat. “Hey…” He laughed, standing straight as he stared at you with bloodshot eyes. Has he been crying? “What’s going on, Satoru?” You opened the door, letting him make his way inside as you gave him a concerned look.

“I mean it, Y/N.” What is he talking about? You wondered as he looked at you, sobbing all while trying to catch his breath. If somebody else saw him, they’d probably think something really awful happened. Not once have you seen him this broken before; not even when you fought so bad he had to leave the house.

“Satoru, I don’t understand you. You’re dru–“ You were cut off when he wrapped his arms around you, crying on your shoulders as he grabbed the sides of your robe, like a child not wanting to be left alone. “Y/N, please. I know what I’m saying, love.” He was gasping for air as he spoke, pulling away

“I know I’m drunk but not drunk enough to make wrong decisions.” His laugh lacked enthusiasm. Pulling away, you could see the smile on his face contradicts the big tears cascading down his cheeks. “Did you drive here?” You pulled away from his grasp, thinking about the next thing to do.

“No, I walked here. Let’s talk, please. Just a few–“ His face was close to yours, begging. His voice broke, and it broke you too and you know you can’t keep listening if he’s like this. “Satoru.” You turned, taking a step away from him. You could hear the shaky breath he took by how quiet it was.

“Yui’s already asleep.” You informed him, a subtle reminder that you wouldn’t want her waking up to a commotion again. Satoru nodded, lips quivering. “I can call Naomi to pick you up–“ You trailed but it was now his turn to cut you off. “No. I don’t…want that.” He knows it doesn’t sound right, and it gave you the impression that they fought.

“Fine, just your mom, then.” You turned to get your phone but his hand caught your wrist, a secure yet gentle grip. “No. Please.” He sounded like a kid. What has he done that not even the both of them can know that he’s here? “Can I stay here? Just for the night. I’ll sleep on the couch, Y/N. W-we’ll talk later… right?” He was on the verge of crying and you can’t stand there to watch any longer.

You don’t think it was a good idea, but this is the father of your child. Whatever happens to him will affect your daughter too.

“Just…wash up. Change. Check on Yui, if you want. I got a folding bed if you want to sleep there.” You turned around before walking back to your room, not waiting for the man to answer. You were planning to have some tea before going to sleep but now you just want to call Toji.

In two rings, you heard his voice from the other line. “Sorry, were you sleeping already?” You paced around your room, pursing your lips. “No, I was just checking on some files. Are you alright?” Concern was prominent in his voice. You wanted to tell him about this because he has a habit of coming over in the mornings. You surely don’t want him getting the wrong idea.

“Listen, Satoru’s here. I feel like he fought with Naomi, I don’t really know. He’s in Yui’s room.” There was a long silence and you got a feeling he was thinking carefully about how to react. “Is he trying to…” Toji cleared his throat before sighing, “Do you need me to go there?” He asked, and you could tell he was not very comfortable with your situation.

It’s only been a couple of months but Toji’s proven nothing but sincerity to you and it was all unconditional. You’re aware of the tension between him and Satoru; the latter being more impolite than the former. But even so, Toji never tried to take away the father role from Satoru. This only heightened your respect for him.

“It’s fine, I just wanted to tell you. I don’t want you thinking anything if you saw him here tomorrow.” You plopped on the bed, massaging your temple as you closed your eyes. “So, you know I’ll be going there tomorrow?” There was a chuckle behind his words. You felt a blush creeping up your cheeks.

“Go to sleep.” You rubbed your eyes, with a small smile on your lips. Once again, good nights were exchanged between the two of you. You’re just glad that Toji isn’t as shallow as other men. You were worried that your decision to let your ex stay for a night would upset him. Putting your thoughts to rest, you lay down on the bed, feeling the soft mattress against your skin.

Not even half an hour has passed and another set of knocks startled you. The fact that you have no idea what happened with Satoru made you worry. Could it be Naomi? Was your name involved in their fight? You doubt that she’d come here at this hour, though. You don’t see her as that type of woman at all.

You don’t even know if they really fought. Thoughts raced through your head as you hurried to the door. You wondered if Satoru was woken up by the knocks. He’s drunk and he sleeps like a log when he's drunk. But it would be different if your daughter starts crying. You don’t really want to talk with him about whatever it is.

It scares you when you think about how ‘the talk’ with him ended the last time. The day he shredded the last remaining hope you had of him, you and your daughter being a family.

Seeing headlights shining down your window pane, you wondered if Toji really drove here to accompany you. But he can’t be that fast, you thought as you opened the door.

Dressed in her expensive coat and a designer scarf, was Satoru’s mother, and you could already tell that she was not in her best mood. If Naomi and Satoru fought, you’re sure that your name’s mentioned.

Without thinking, you moved out of the doorway to let her in, “Good evening, Ma’am—” Slap. The next thing you know, you were already grabbing your cheeks. The skin was throbbing from the force of the contact and you were sure that this is about to leave marks later on.

“Won’t you quit being a slut?” You thought that the stinging sensation on your face was already painful, but those words proved you wrong. You felt degraded, humiliated even when no one was around; you felt like your whole being was trampled on. You don’t even know what you did. Does she hate you that much?

She used to claim that you ruined her son’s life. That you were just trying to leech off him so you wouldn’t need to work or use your brain. Those words broke your heart, not for yourself but for your mother who tried so hard to give you all that she can. When Satoru confronted her about it, she cried to him, blabbering about why she was right.

It wasn’t easy to speak about those things, you don’t want to make it seem like you were tearing him away from his mother, all while you were tearing him apart due to your situation back then. But you made sure that he knows the reason why you don’t want her around your daughter so much.

You wouldn’t be surprised if she’s the one who coaxed Yui to call Naomi Mama. After all, she’s also the same mother who shoved someone else into her son instead of helping to make sure that his granddaughter would grow up with a whole family. Do you disgust her that much? It shouldn’t be painful anymore at this point. She already won in kicking you out of her son’s life.

“I-I don’t know what’s going on, Ma’am. My daughter’s sleeping can we talk outside—?” Her scoff halted you. You found yourself wishing that you let Toji come over or for Satoru to wake up. “Now, you don’t want your daughter hearing about her mother’s mess?” She hissed at your face, laughing as you pushed yourself to walk out and close the door behind you.

“Satoru’s here Ma’am but I don’t—” Another slap landed on your face and this time it took everything in you not to throw the punch you were saving in your fist. “How fucking desperate can you be?” With her eyes blown wide in surprise, she pushed passed you, mouth foaming with her nasty words.

“Satoru!” She called out, walking like she owns the place. “You really took advantage of his feelings for you. You’re always so ready to ruin his and Naomi’s relationship so he’d go back to you.” She turned, pointing a finger at you. Your eyes widened at her words. Satoru’s feelings for me? You were confused.

“Just so you know, my son’s never been healthier ever since he left you. He doesn’t need a toxic relationship with a woman he didn’t even choose to be with.” The words were sharp and the way to your daughter’s room felt like you were being shot with each step. You already know that.

Why does she have to keep rubbing it to your face that you weren’t someone he voluntarily chose to love?

“Please don’t bring the child to this. I know you—” You felt like you never had the chance to speak a full sentence. “Of course, I am not. I won’t let her grow up with you. For what? So she could turn out to be like you, too? Satoru!” The words filled you with dread. You feared that they could easily take her away from you by any means they can. You got nothing to give.

Before she could even open the door to your daughter’s room, Satoru already came out. The emotions on his face were indiscernible as she stared at his mother. “Don’t take Yui, please. I won’t talk to Satoru if you want, just don’t take my child away.” You cried, ready to get down on your knees but Satoru was immediately on your side.

“What is this? What is going on? Mom!” Satoru held your figure, shaking violently and your skin, cold. You tried to get out of Satoru’s grasp, wanting nothing but to get close to your child who’s already starting to cry. You hated yourself for putting her in situations like this.

“Let me get Yui, Satoru, please. You can’t take her away.” Satoru was now the one baffled. His head felt like someone was hitting his skull with a hammer from the inside. Now, he wakes up to his mom causing commotion in a house where his daughter is in.

“No one’s taking Yui away, Y/N.” One of his arms wrapped around your waist, and the other, shielding you from his Mom. Satoru used to believe that his mother only wanted the best for him. He didn’t realize that what his mom wants for him is not the best for his daughter. “Mom, what are you doing?!” He reiterated through clenched jaws as you slipped away to get to Yui.

“You ask me what am I doing? You! Satoru, what are you doing, letting this whore ruin you and Naomi?” Satoru’s eyes widened, "Mom!" he looked at you and his wailing daughter, holding her against your chest. Terror was clear in her tear-stained face as she peeked over your shoulders, while you try to keep her eyes away from the chaos, “Bad Meemaw, Bad!” She sobbed, pointing her finger.

Satoru was about to close the door when his mother tried to beat him to it. “Is this how you want to raise your daughter, Satoru? In this environment?!” She was fierce with her words and Satoru’s just slowly putting the pieces together as she spoke. “She’s messing with your head, Satoru. Look at her, getting it on with another rich guy to milk, trying to make you come back to her.”

“You're the one creating this environment. Why did you even come here?” He questioned, stepping in front of her to prevent her from getting to you. “Where else would you be? You just called me saying you still love this bitch—” You don’t understand how a person could hate you so much when you’ve done nothing but try to respect them. “Don’t speak of her like that, Mom! You’re not of any help.” There was a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Satoru’s mother was the second wife to his father. Your mother used to say that 'the woman's just bitter because she knows that she’ll never really have his father’s heart even if she’s the one with him.' The first wife of his father went away, not wanting her only child to be in such tough and disconcerting conditions and just letting Satoru’s father be with his Mom.

Thinking about it now, you realized that your situation is kind of similar.

“Ma, no cry. Ma.” You heard your daughter reach for your face, making you ache even more. History really does repeat itself, you thought. “Mama’s fine.” You felt sorry for your child; for allowing her to witness something this chaotic. You wished that you’re a bit more well off, maybe her mother wouldn’t be so small and fragile against people like her grandmother.

“I didn’t call Y/N...” Satoru whispered, turning to look at your back as you tried to protect your daughter from the scene. “Just because he’s wasted and he’s telling you that he loves you, doesn’t mean you get to slither up at him like a snake!” Words were thrown at you and only now have you realized the situation.

Satoru tried to call your number to tell you that he loves you.

Your eyes snapped up at him, catching him looking already looking at you. He did plan to let you know about how he feels. But he didn’t want you to find out like this. He already messed up by letting himself break down and call the wrong person. Hell, he shouldn’t have even said it in a call.

It just hurts so bad. It’s like the words would pierce their way out of his heart and lungs if he didn’t get them out.

He can’t even expect anything, and he doesn’t even know how you’d take it. He could lose you completely after all this and that’s the last thing he wants. Now that you have Toji, he’s got no choice but to stand aside and watch. Like how he made you feel with Naomi. The thought made Satoru swallow as he took in your crying face; his chest throbbing with pain.

“Mom, can you please just leave?” He spoke in a low voice, breathing hard to stop himself from exploding. “You said too much already. Just go, this is my problem to fix.” His mother’s face tells Satoru she’s not letting up so easily and it took everything in him not to scream back at her.

“Of course, I have so much to say. I am helping you because she has done so much to you–“ Before she could even her sentence, Satoru was already raising his voice at her, making you cover your daughter’s ear. “Mom, all you did was make things worse!” It was a bad sight, you’ve never seen him get angry at his mother.

Knowing her situation with his Dad, Satoru always chose to be understanding to her. He once told you that he always wants his mother to feel loved and cared for because his father would never give her enough of that. “How could you? All because of–“ She trailed.

“You’re trespassing, Mom.” He said firmly, forcing himself to calm down. She knows what Satoru meant by that. You could file a case against her if she continues to cause trouble. “Listen, I don’t know what this woman fed you, but you better get your head straight.” She pointed a finger at Satoru’s face.

“I created this problem. Let me fix it by myself.” You could tell that fighting with his Mom is the last thing Satoru wants to do. There was a tired look on his face as he shook his head, “I wouldn’t want to create a space between us Mom. But I can’t let you involve yourself in every decision I make.” His mother can sense the light threat in Satoru’s words.

“Then, make the right decisions, Satoru. Stop ruining your life for someone with no future.” Before any of you could even talk, his mother was already stomping her way out of the room, slamming the door like it’s hers, causing Yui to start crying again. You sat there, thinking about everything you just heard.

“Shh, it’s okay, love. It’s alright.” Satoru took Yui from your arms, eyes full of worry. Rocking the weeping child in his arms, he hung his head low as you stared at him. You wiped the tears that were about to fall as you stood up, heading to the living room and letting him put Yui back to sleep.

You let yourself cry, you let yourself think. Just when you thought you were getting better, just when you started to accept everything that has happened. Yui’s cries slowly stopped after almost half an hour. You wanted to go there and put her to sleep by yourself but you don’t want her to see you cry anymore. It’s not good.

“What were you trying to do, Satoru?” were the first words that came out of your mouth. He stood there, motionless as he watched you turn away to wipe your eyes. “I…I love you. I didn’t mean it when I said I regret you or Yui. I love you.” His answer was a whisper but it was firm. Your eyebrows furrowed, tears once again threatening to fall. “Why?” You sobbed, “Why now?”

Satoru doesn’t know what to answer. He doesn’t even know if there’s a right answer but all he knows is he can’t expect anything from you. “I…I still do. I don’t think I ever stopped, I—“ He was cut off by your sharp intake of breath as you clutched the fabric of your robe to your chest. He let himself see how much he destroyed you again, how he heartlessly tore you apart once more.

“Why are you trying to ruin me again? Why are you trying to take away what I just got?” Your shoulders shake as you lean your forehead on your clasped hands. He wanted to hold you but he feared that you'd run away. Like how you’re getting harder to reach right now, with every passing second.

“You have no idea how much I wanted you to say that before all this, Satoru. You have no idea how many nights I had to cry myself, putting myself back together while you were trying to make someone else whole!” You turned to him, cheeks and eyes swollen from crying. “You have no idea how many times I blamed myself for not being the better one for you…” You whimpered.

It felt as though your words were a blow to his body, determined to crush his diaphragm to gouge his heart out as payment for yours that he stomped on so many times. Your hands were visibly shaking as you wiped your eyes with the back of it before speaking again, “You can’t say you love me now just because you want to, Satoru.”

“I know I can’t change anything…” Everything that comes out of Satoru’s mouth makes him feel stupid. If he was you, he wouldn’t even listen to him. While you both had your shortcomings in your relationship, Satoru knows that you wouldn’t have pulled yourself away if he didn’t give you a reason to.

“...but I can make it better, Y/N. I can prove it to you. Just let me—” He was getting desperate to put his feelings into words but you don’t want to hear it. He should’ve known. “Naomi is a good woman. She’s…a perfect fit for you.” You laughed bitterly, “Don’t hurt her. You know why I didn’t fight even when I wanted to get you back?” Each snivel that you make was a nail to his heart.

“Because you looked happy together.” The pain in your voice was thick before you gasped for air. “And I didn’t want to be unfair to you and to Naomi.” There was a sad smile on your face, probably reminiscing the day you found out he moved on from you. “So…please. Let’s not be unfair to Toji, too.” You looked up at him, smiling through your tears.

You looked tired; so, so tired of it all.

“But I love you…” He breathed out as you stood up, ready to retire to bed. “...I just wanted you to know that.” He grabbed your hand, urgently kissing it as he sobbed. You watched his face contort with sadness, closing his eyes and letting his tear slide over the bridge of his nose as he tilted his head to your palm.

You looked away, suppressing your cries; feeling it harder to breathe through the pain the more you feel his touch. You pulled your hands away slowly before quickly walking to your room.

Before you locked the door, you could hear his wails of anguish and the sound of two hearts shattering once more.

—------------------------------------------------

You woke up to the feeling of the bed dipping on your side. What time is it? When did you fall asleep? Yui. Remembering your daughter made your eyes snap open, trying to stand up immediately.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, it’s me, I’m here.” It was Toji, when did he come here? The brightness of the color of your curtains indicates the light of the sun shining down behind it. “I forgot that I fell asleep.” You sighed. In fact, you don’t even remember getting on your bed. The last thing you were doing was crying on the floor beside the bedside table. Did Satoru put you in your bed?

“Satoru left after feeding Yui her breakfast. She’s playing on my phone.” He got closer to kiss your forehead. “It’s too early for phones.” You yawned, covering your face with a blanket before sitting down. “Megumi’s with her, I’m taking their phones away after we eat.“ You nodded, pursing your lips as you remembered all the events from last night.

“Let me brush my teeth, I…got something to tell you.” You can see Toji licking his lips before humming, “Alright, we'll talk about it. I cooked something.” Letting him kiss your cheek as you stood on your knees and wrap your arms around his neck. His hands automatically snaked around your waist, murmuring “Let’s talk while eating.”

You told Toji about what happened the other night. Not as detailed as you remember it but you made sure that he knows everything he needs to know. No matter how awkward it was to discuss for you. There was a blank look on his face throughout the story and you can’t help but feel concerned.

“So that’s why he told me to take good care of you before he left.” It was obvious that he was tense, “I should’ve come last night.” Sighing, you shook your head, “It’s alright, I handled it. Please, try not to worry. You’re my boyfriend now.” You moved to sit beside him, pecking his lips.

You didn’t know how else to reassure him, you don’t like seeing the defeated look in his eyes. Throughout the day, he would randomly kiss you; burying his face in your neck. He’s more clingy than usual, and although it worries you, you find it really cute.

The following weeks proceeded the same, Satoru picking up Yui and Naomi tagging along wasn’t new but it happened for consecutive weeks now. You don’t know if Satoru told her, but she showed no signs of it. Though her gazes linger between you and Satoru at times, but there’s not a hint of hostility to it.

You don’t really know how they are with each other in private, but there’s a noticeable change in Satoru’s behavior towards her. “Get your bag from Naomi.” Satoru once commanded your daughter when you came to get her from his house. “Naomi?” She repeated, and running only after he nodded at her, confirming how she should address her.

“Did you take a cab? Toji’s not with you.” He would speak to you in a voice he never did before, it almost shocked you. He lost weight, he looks exhausted. “Yeah, he’s at work.” You answered earning a hum from him. “If you’re comfortable, I can take you home. It’d save you money, you know?” It was now your turn to hum, locking eyes with him.

When did they start looking this gently at you?

“You ready to go?” Naomi cleared her throat, suddenly appearing with Yui behind Satoru. “Yeah, I’ll be driving them home then I'll head straight to work.” He gave her a small smile, picking Yui up before taking the bag that Naomi was giving to you. “Bye, I love you.” Naomi stood on her tippy toes, kissing the side of his lips. “I'll see you later…love you." He responded.

The change on Naomi’s face cannot go unnoticed as she glanced at you. You looked down, feeling bad that she was probably anxious. And the fact that she’s clueless about it all just made it heavier than it already is.

Satoru opened the door of the passenger side for you. Now, he would usually let you sit on the back. You had to glance back at his house to know if Naomi saw it. You don’t want her to have problems with you when in fact, you're trying to help her.

“How are you and Naomi?” You found yourself asking Satoru as he sat beside you, his eyes watched you from the rearview mirror. “I’m trying. I really am. But I can’t force myself, Y/N.” He looked away, biting his lip. Your daughter was talking to her doll behind you and you’re just grateful that she’s still too young to understand this.

“Satoru, she’s been nothing but good to you. She did a lot of things for you.” You spoke gently. You’re surprised that you could now talk about this more calmly. Because it involves you. And you wouldn’t know what to do if Naomi finds out that her boyfriend’s still in love with you, begged you to take him back and never told her. You don’t owe her anything but you’re not that type of person.

“Would it be right to stay with someone for that sole reason?” He asked, and suddenly, you don’t know the answer. “It might only hurt them more if they find out that you stayed with them just because you feel obligated to and not because you truly love them.” He explained, smiling when he heard his baby daughter call his name randomly.

“It’s Dad. Not ‘Toru” You reached over to pinch her cheek, silently thanking her for breaking the ice. “Toji Dada too? Hm?” You can see Satoru tense up before a sad look flashed in his eyes. “I don’t know, love...Ask Mama?” You can tell he was hurt by how he got quiet. The little joy left in his eyes, now completely gone.

“You know Toji corrects her for that.” You defended as you stopped at the red light. “It’s good, though. I…” Pausing, Satoru took a deep breath. “I think he’s gonna be that, anyway.” He laughed, tapping the wheel before turning to look at you.

“You know I just want to prove to you that I love you, right? You don’t have to love me back, I know you’re happy with him.”

—----------------------------------------------------

Naomi’s been observing her boyfriend for the past few months. She can’t really determine what exactly changed but she knows that it wasn’t the same. The day you picked up Yui with Toji for the first time, she noticed that Satoru prepared more than he usually does.

At first, she thought it was just him getting more responsible. But when she saw that you came with your new boyfriend, she got a feeling that Satoru wanted to impress. She figured that it was because he wants his baby momma’s boyfriend to think highly of him and left it at that.

He’s been having mood swings but he’s also been getting more projects to work at so, it’s understandable. She also noticed how almost every movement of his daughter was documented and sent to you when she's with them. It was new because he rarely does it before. But she thought that it was only because your co-parenting plan was going better.

Everything that she notices about Satoru has valid reasons so, why is she feeling unsettled whenever the two of you would meet? It’s an unreasonable feeling because you’re already dating someone. There shouldn’t even be a single concern in her body.

Just a few weeks ago, his mother called her in the middle of the night, asking if Satoru was with him. When she said that she’ll call him to ask where he is, her mother quickly interrupted her, saying that he already replied that he was working overtime for a VIP client. She also said something about not interrupting him because the client’s a big person.

She still texted Satoru that night asking why he didn’t tell her about it. Satoru replied hours later, saying that it was an emergency project that needs to be discussed as soon as possible. After that, he sent another message with ‘I’m sorry.’

She came over the following night, intending to give him a soothing break. She prepared thoroughly during the day, wanting to please her boyfriend. Fatigue was obvious in his eyes when she arrived. Like he didn’t get an ounce of sleep.

“I’ll take that tiredness away, just relax in there.” She giggled, sensuously running down her fingers on his skin as she makes sure every physical contact they made was as soft as possible. She went down on him, watching him close his eyes as he grabbed her hair eliciting moans from her.

“Let’s do it without one,” She smiled, excited as she positioned herself on top of him, allowing him to feel her warmth as she pressed her chest against his. It was slow, passionate. He was so gentle with his touches and Naomi wanted to convince him to do it inside her so badly.

She was sure that all those perturbing thoughts of her would also be put to rest if that happens, she thought as she smiles, grinding onto him. But before she could get to that, he halted her, “Wait,” he spoke, reaching for the packet in his bedside cabinet.

Before she could even speak she was flipped over and it’s now Satoru on top. “I can take Plan B, just do it inside.” She bit her nail, giving him the eyes which only earned a smile, “Can never be too safe.” Not long after that, they both finished. Back then, he would agree to do it inside as long as she takes an emergency contraceptive after.

How come he wanted to be ‘too safe’ this time?

Her worries were put to rest for a little when he held her close when they came to get Yui. It also helped that you're still with your boyfriend. It only lasted for a bit until you had to pick Yui up on your own. Satoru found out that you were taking Yui out for an ice cream and the little girl asked him to come.

Naomi wanted to join; she was ready to dress up. But Satoru suggested that it should just be the middle day in your schedule, where the three of you would spend time together. It took everything in her not to frown in front of you. She felt rejected, she felt left out. The last straw was the talk she had with Satoru three days ago.

“What do you think about civil weddings?” She spoke to him, sitting on his lap as he watches T.V. “Huh?” He turned his attention to her, “Civil weddings. Maybe we could have it before the grand wedding, don’t you think?” She wiggles her brows at him, laughing as she daydreamed. Placing his hands on her waist, she kissed his lips softly.

“Or maybe we could put a bun in the oven first so, she’d be with us in wedding photos.” She whispered, half-joking. “Why are you dreaming? It’s still early.” Satoru laughed, taking his hand off of her to get the remote, switching between channels.

“I’m serious, though.” She pouted, hugging his neck. “Yeah, I know. But…It’s not in my plans, yet.” Her heart dropped at his words. She knows that he doesn’t mean it that way but it hurt her that after all the family talk and jokes he made with her, she’ll find out that it’s not even in his plans yet. Naomi wanted to cry, but instead, she got upset. She didn't let him know but she chose not to stay over at Satoru’s that night, claiming that she has paperwork. Before, he would persuade her to stay even if she has to do something.

How come he just kissed her goodbye this time?

It was tough on Naomi. Whenever she would ask Satoru about it, he said that he just got really busy with work. Even when he tells her that he loves her, she can say that he’s not even fully into it. And he doesn’t want to talk to you because she doesn’t want you to think that she’s accusing you when you got a whole new boyfriend.

Picking up her phone, Naomi decided that she just can't take the mystery anymore. “Hey, Mom. Are you free for lunch? I’d like to catch up.”

She just needs some advice. And she thinks that no one knows sons better than their mothers.

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