#I have no idea when this is taking place?

[lily-bisque]

ＷＡＹ ＯＵＴ ＴＨＥＲＥ 𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

volume nine — (i just) died in your arms

✦ ── pairing: lumberjack!sukuna x citygirl!reader

✦ ── synopsis: taking a hike, alone, in a massive forest to escape your mundane life may not have been the greatest idea you'd conjured up—a realization you'd come to soon after you managed to lose your map miles inland. but when a lumberjack who knows the land like the back of his hand offers you a place to stay, you think maybe your life isn't so tragic after all. besides, for the sake of your safety, who knows what lingers in the shadows after nightfall?

✦ ── contents: lost in the forest au, forced proximity, bantering, angst, trauma/torture aspects, minor injuries, eventual romance, eventual smut, no use of y/n, mental health and depression struggles, suicide, blood and violence, mentions of war—pls remember that this is a fictional work inspired by a comic and i am not using this to rewrite history or treat any tragedies unseriously! tags to be added.

✦ ── a/n: and we're back my forest-dwellers. WHEW longest volume yet. apologies for the late update but i've been plotting on this volume for months and writing it felt a bit intimidating. anyway, if you're interested in seeing the moodboard for this fic, here it is!

✦ ── word count: 7k

archive ─ playlist

series masterlist - volume eight - volume ten

art by outdmilk on twt

“I think I’ve loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity.” — Alice Oseman, Solitaire.

So he didn’t own a tuxedo.

What were you really expecting from a guy who owned about seven different pairs of the same starchy red flannel and most likely didn’t even know what aftershave was?

“I ain’t wearin’ this,” Sukuna grumbles, husky voice only the slightest bit muffled past the silk drapes he’s changing behind. You have a view of his ankles down, feet clad in crisp black socks and dress shoes reflecting the boutique’s exquisite set-up lined with intricate florals and printed wallpaper you want to run your fingers down.

You roll your eyes, tossing your head back listlessly on the cushy leather seat and groan. “Just come out and if it looks weird, we’ll find you a new one.”

It was hard enough squirming out of every other tailor shop in the area because they didn’t have the measurements to suit such a massive man on such short notice—Sukuna tearing through the seams of each option they had on hand.

The shortest notice possible as the wedding was this afternoon.

However, your prayers seemed to have been answered with a location that somehow guaranteed to fit men of all sizes, including the ones that towered near seven feet.

Your phone buzzes and pulls your attention, quickly shoving your hand into your jean pocket and slipping your device out to see an incoming text from one of the only people that seemed to care to keep up with you nowadays.

11:42 A.M. — Sho: i’m just surprised he hasn’t killed you yet

11:42 A.M. — Sho: like he lives in buttfuck nowhere

11:43 A.M. — Sho: i still don’t trust this guy no matter how much you butter him up and how much you hide your freaky fling in the forest

You roll your eyes, thumbs at the ready to type up a snarky response about how she doesn’t know him like you do.

11:43 A.M. — You: Listen, I know you don’t trust him but

11:43 A.M. — You: He’s done a lot for me

11:43 A.M. — You: Like he even agreed to get fitted into a suit for a wedding just cuz I don’t wanna go alone

You watch her text bubble jumble up and down a few times, as if she was trying to find a new angle to scold you from. Or maybe make a million innuendo’s about how he wants to see you and him up on the altar instead.

11:45 A.M. — Sho: just be careful. 

11:45 A.M. — Sho: i don’t want to have to drag you down that mountainhill after i dig up his evil past of being a mercenary or a creep ヽ( `д´*)ノ

She pauses her typing for a moment, before picking it up again.

11:46 A.M. — Sho: and for the record, i miss seeing your stupid face scowling at my second-hand smoke

Your lips curl up in a soft grin, something warm buzzing in your chest like that first sip of tea in the morning as your mind settles down. 

You still haven’t had the heart to tell her about Sukuna’s past, but that could wait. For now, you were just taking things one day at a time.

How were you supposed to explain to her that the guy you were staying with and planning to build a house with was an underground cage fighter with claws that tear through his knuckles and is over two centuries old?

Shoko really might just kill you then.

Beside you on the plush sofa rests the wedding invitation you’d stashed away with you detailing all of the event information. You pick it up, fingertips brushing against the stiff and expensive cardstock with a dull stare at the cursive calligraphy staining the milky canvas. Each T is crossed and each I is dotted and it makes you motion sick.

You have to hand it to the Zenin’s—they were unvarying, holding the ceremony at the very same venue that you and Naoya had uttered your vows to each other that clearly didn’t hold with time seeing that he was having a do-over just a few years later.

You wonder if the clan prefers her over you. Naoya made his grievances quite public through the course of your marriage, leaving you to shy away from heated glares of wiry bearded and wrinkly old men.

Maybe she didn’t talk back as much as you did—didn’t pursue a career and instead tended to the home as the suitable docile wife everyone expected you to turn into. You couldn’t be hysterical and passionate like you ached to be.

Maybe she lived while you performed.

Only speaking when spoken to and completely subservient like a fucking mutt. The kind of life that left you hollow and frayed at the edges.

You hadn’t cared to look into who she was—a vacant and abysmal gap settling in your gut after the last well of tears had been reaped from your waterline and you’d been too exhausted to pay attention to the bruised hickies decorating your soon-to-be ex-husband’s neck as you signed divorce papers in an echoing conference room, your lawyer doing all the speaking on your behalf as you bore holes into the mahogany finish.

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as your phone buzzes again, lifting the device up from your lap and looking at the new message from Shoko who’d been chatting your ear off the entire morning, adamant on catching up.

11:48 A.M. — Sho: soooooo does your mom know he’s coming

You nibble on the inside of your cheek.

11:49 A.M. — You: Think I should tell her?

11:49 A.M. — Sho: nah. it’ll be so much funnier to see the look of surprise on her face when she realizes you actually have game

You audibly scoff.

11:49 A.M. — You: Funnier isn’t a word, Sho.

You’re not even sure if that’s entirely true, but you don’t want to address the elephant in the room sitting between you and the brute just a few feet away from you.

You slide your phone back into your pocket as you hear more grunting and shuffling behind the thick curtain that probably cost more than the rent of your old apartment.

Sukuna steps out after wrangling with the drapes, face melted into a scowl as he meets your eyes. You have to mask how you feel your heart skip at least four consecutive beats in your chest with a slated expression.

His hands are shoved into his pockets, and he’s too busy gazing somewhere off in the distance, feeling incredibly ridiculous in the get-up—but your focus is too busy trailing down his attire.

He’s clad in an all-black suit, the sterile dressing room lights reflecting off the sleek stygian material and giving it a soft shimmer. His dress pants are cut off and loose near the ankles, yet tight around his thighs like a vice and showcasing his pure muscle from years, or better, centuries of hard labor.

You fear that with a couple of movements, the buttons on his dress shirt will give and scatter them across the room, maybe even landing square in your forehead and knocking you out. You have a clear view of his sharp collarbones since he opted to not button it all the way up.

He didn’t care to secure the blazer, the jacket hanging off of him with enough casual composure that he somehow radiated elegance.

His hair is still shaggy and outgrown, but it was nothing a little bit of gel couldn’t solve.

His stubble was poking through, and though you find it to be the slightest bit dashing, it probably isn’t the greatest idea given his other, far more noticeable physical attributes.

“You gonna keep staring or tell me to try another one on?” He remarks, breaking you from your slow once-over, the seam of his lip curling upwards.

You swallow your heart that’s neatly lodged in your throat, nearly stopping you from keeping your composure. “I-It should be fine. Now hurry up and get out so I can get fitted.”

There was a whirlwind of people ushering around to get the dress shirt wrapped in a plastic garment bag and his pants tucked into a fancy box that the two of you gawked at, quickly paying for the fitting and shuffling out of there.

You pad down the sidewalk towards your next destination, the stocky man at your side as he stared at the overly decorated and sleek box in his hands adorned with a giant black ribbon that flitted in the afternoon wind.

He’s staring at it like he was born last night, or maybe that’s when he snuck onto Earth.

“First time going shopping?” You snarl, glancing at your phone for directions to the dress boutique.

“Why? ‘Cause I’ve got beginner's luck?” He quickly shoots back, dusting off his hat and placing it on his head.

You sigh deeply. For all his elegance just moments ago, he had quickly returned to his old and brusque self.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

The boutique smells of hydrangeas and expensive perfume.

“Ah, I see. Your mother left your measurements and had us pick out a few dresses ahead of time. You can follow me and I’ll get you fitted.”

You glance back at Sukuna who barely fit through the short front door, too busy eyeing the small boutique desk that was organized far too meticulously. He grunts in mild surprise but catches onto what you were trying to wordlessly message. “Uh. Gonna run a quick errand. Be back before you know it.”

You nod, watching him awkwardly shuffle out of the door.

You follow the receptionist as she motions to a marvelous open space that’s fairly empty, save for a young woman who was most likely just a few years younger than you accompanied by her mother.

They were getting her fitted for her wedding dress.

The universe might possibly just have it out for you today.

You rock on your heels impatiently, staring at your hands clasped before you, awaiting the receptionist to return with the dresses as the mother and daughter giggle about something arbitrary.

“I think I saw a suit that matches this one,” the daughter, gorgeous as ever, twirls, tossing her hair past her shoulders and bunching up the lacy flounce in her hands.

Her mother’s eyes sparkle as she fixes the strap of the dress. “Well, how am I supposed to pick when you look so lovely in each one?”

The receptionist quietly returns, not noticing your hollowed stare across the room. “There’s four dresses—.”

“Thank you,” you tersely interrupt with a pinched smile, folding the multi-colored fabrics over your arm and quickly hurrying into the nearest fitting room, pulling the door shut with a huff.

You stiffen with your back against the door, hands fisting the sleek dresses slipping through your fingers.

You plop down on the bench, resting your head in your hands and raking your fingers through your scalp with an exasperated groan.

It’s going to be a long day, and you were definitely going to be late for the ceremony but you didn’t care too much. As long as you made an appearance, then your mother would stop harassing you.

As easy as falling off a log. You hope. You’ve got the metrics for it, clumsy as can be and spending your days between the trees.

For all you know, this could be one of the very last things she requests of you. And a part of you, a small, rebellious part that aches for change, tells you that you’re going to put your foot down from now on if that wasn’t the case.

But it was damn near impossible with the incessant whispering of your mother’s voice in the back of your head, fraying the edges of your psyche that you’d never make her proud if you pursued the things you truly wanted.

She’d prefer the notion of you boxed away as the image of subservient perfection—and you knew that wasn’t who you were. At least not anymore.

With a shallow sigh that did nothing to relieve your nerves, you sort through the dresses, dark satins and silks brushing your skin before you settle on a burgundy slip with a modest bodice you could fit into.

You try it on, giving yourself a quick inspection, before tugging it off and stepping out of the dressing room.

“I’ll take this one.”

As you got it squared away at the front, Sukuna was back and looming over you quietly without a word.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

“Do you think he’s going to recite the same vows?”

Sukuna looks over at you from his ice cream, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What?”

You lick the vanilla cream that managed to trickle down your wrist before sighing. “Naoya. My ex-husband. Do you think he’s going to use the same vows he had with me?”

The burly man is quiet for a moment, reaching over to grab a napkin from the plastic bag he set on the park bench and handing it over to you. “You’ve got ice cream all over your face.”

You sigh, sending him a sideways glare before taking the paper and wiping your mouth down.

“Again, I don’t see why any of that matters. Why do you care what he does if you hate him?”

You recall your conversation with him beneath the stars, his stance on this whole thing remaining unchanged.

You ignore the brain freeze creeping in to ice your firing neurons. “Because that was my life once.”

Sukuna peers over at you, face tight and unreadable before he turns away.

You don’t elaborate further, and he doesn’t ask you to. You think he understands, and if he doesn’t, he isn’t going to make you drudge up something you feel so strongly untoward.

You watch a raven crow circle a hanging branch before resting upon it, calls echoing off into the air.

The two of you stare out at the gentle ebb and flow of the Ōoka river—pink cherry blossoms in full bloom and decorating the surface like scattered promises, resting upon the water with a gentle kiss before they’d succumb to the besetting tide.

Sukuna grabs a bag of dark cherries after he rounds out his ice cream and begins popping them between his lips and spitting the pits onto the ground barbarously. The deep red juice trickles down his chin and stains his top, but he doesn’t quite care. And neither do you.

Besides, you think he looks handsome like this.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

You end up getting changed at a rest stop on your way to the venue, and Sukuna took far longer getting dressed in the restrooms than you did. The poor guy clearly doesn’t know his way around buttons that barely fit between his massive finger pads.

You forced a shaving kit and hair gel into his hands before he could complain and told him to get to work.

You turn antsy waiting for him.

“Took you long enough,” you groan as you spot him breaking out of the rest stop doors, propping a black heel on his dash and sighing as he leans into the cracked window from outside. You clasp your eyes shut as the warmth of the sun dusts over your face, basking in your last moments of peace. You’d managed to get your makeup done and get dressed before he made his way out.

He doesn’t say anything, and all you hear is deep and slow breathing beside your ear.

You peek out from your left eye, nose scrunching as you realize he’d been watching you in his moments of silence.

You drop your foot, quickly adjusting yourself in the seat and tugging the hem of your gown down. “Creep much?” You quiz, voice an octave too high as heat crawls up your nape.

Sukuna shrugs noncommittally. “Red’s a nice lookin’ color on you.”

He rounds the truck, giving you enough time to try and slow your heart rate down before he hops into the driver's seat. 

“We’ve definitely missed the ceremony. We’re probably only going to make it for the reception.”

You cross your ankles, rubbing your warm calves against each other to ground yourself. “Fine with me,” you mumble, hoping your lofty mind would subside.

Though it continued throughout the drive as your heart felt like a balloon ready to pop at any whisper from Sukuna.

The drive was pretty short, Sukuna pulling off to a curbside near an open field where uniformed staff were putting the outdoor decorations away while people slowly shuffled indoors to a sleek building.

Your mind swam with bitter remembrance of what you once believed was the best day of your life.

Your eyes settle on the large crowd, interwoven chatter and humble laughter piercing your eardrums as you take slow steps towards the grand doors propped open.

In just a few moments, you’re going to relive your least favorite parts of your life with the people you despise the absolute most on the planet, all to make your mother comfortable, happy.

Knowing her, she most likely arrived early to help set up and chat with the bride and the Zenin’s. Butter them up and ensure they’d continue lining her pockets, groveling like a desperate hag.

Sukuna rubs the back of his neck, before tossing you an uneasy glance. “Not too late to skip town,” he offers, coming over to your side and sliding his hands into his pockets. He smells good. You’re glad he didn’t snag a cigarette yet to defile the crisp scent of the expensive cologne dusting his suit.

“N-no,” you breathe out, sliding your clammy palms against your dress and shaking your head. “I wanna go.”

His carmine eyes flicker with something you can’t quite dissect, lids narrowing for a moment before he nods and places a hand against the small of your back like that’s where it belongs. “Alright. What citygirl wants, citygirl gets.”

You peer up at him and feel your heart stutter, brushing off how your skin is flaring beneath your dress. Sending him a curt nod, the two of you pace inside.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

The Zenin’s clearly did not disappoint, the venue adorned with decked-out elegance and beauty, showcasing their unfathomably ridiculous wealth.

The same vaulted ceilings you once glowed under stand tall and mock you with their lowly stares and custom moldings. The glossy hardwood floor is made for dancing, though you have a feeling there won’t be much of that happening in such a haughty setting.

It might just be you but the air feels heavy—a heady mix of potent and suffocating perfumes wafting through the room and defiling each breath you take, sending a tremor down your spine.

Massive tiered crystals hang from the sky, dripping in decadent excellence and reflecting soft sparkles and shimmers. There’s a spiral staircase that leads to a balustrade where a small live band plays instrumentals that could lull you to sleep.

Each round table is decorated with finely polished china that you could sell for a fortune and live comfortably off of the earnings. A wait staff circles around the room and leaves small dishes of desserts ranging from intricate wagashi’s like nerikiri and layered sweets like anmitsu. 

You’ve cleaned places like this before. Lavish weddings held in a massive reception handed off to private cleaning companies and paying them humbly above minimum wage.

The bride and groom are nowhere to be seen.

You feel your jaw tick, teeth grinding like bone joints with no lubricant as you spot a few dismally familiar faces. Naobito, Ogi, Jinichi…

They don’t spot you in the quiet chaos of familial pleasantries, only making your skin simmer. 

A huff of air leaves from your nostrils, breaking away and stalking towards the bar. Sukuna eyes you warily, though he doesn’t express his concerns and trails right behind you.

“Two rum and cokes,” you call out to the bartender.

Sukuna towers over you, avoiding the stares he’s started to pick up thanks to the thick black lines adorning his face, fingers drumming against the sleek marble counter. “One’ll be just fine,” he calls back, before peering over at you.

You slide onto a stool, crossing your arms with a vacant stare forward.

Sukuna is not quite sure what he can offer you in a setting like this when he himself feels out of place. Yeah, he’s used to the saucer-wide gawks and hung maw’s whenever he finds himself in a public setting, but it’s only amplified in a place like this—surrounded by decaying pompous pricks lording over the common person with their uppity chins and self-assured righteousness that makes him nauseous.

To be quite frank, Sukuna hasn’t cared about what anyone thought of him in ages.

That was until he met you. So, the fact is, if you want these people to like you, he won’t stand in your way. Even if he disagrees with it every step of the way, he knows he can’t change your stubborn mind, and he sure as hell won’t add more issues to your overflowing plate.

You nod to the bartender as they pass you a small frosted glass before you down it in just a few gulps. Sukuna grimaces and watches you order another, toss it back, then order another.

Supervising you in mild horror, he attempts to cut you off before your words start to slur, but you just swat his hand away and motion towards the bartender again.

He sucks on his teeth in frustration with your tantrum, carding his fingers through his well-kept hair, practically bristling by your side. He leans forward, warm breath fanning over your ear and wracking a shudder from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hairs. “Think you’ve had enough, huh?”

His voice is low, gravelly, firm enough that it tells you that there’s no arguing with him. Something about it rattles you, sending a sense of clarity through your buzzing mind. You stare at your fingers for a moment, brushing against the cold condensation of the full glass, before you sigh deeply and spin off of your chair and pace away.

He exchanges a grimace with the bartender before tossing a few bills down and following you like a dog with a bone between its teeth.

You’re tipsy, not drunk, but inebriated enough to make bad decisions.

You find yourself plopping down in an empty seat at a not-so-empty table, drawing attention to yourself immediately.

Sukuna doesn’t know a single person here, but the faces textured of crumpled paper and sagging skin pinching like they’d just smelled something sour and rotting upon laying eyes on you tells him enough.

These people really do not fucking like you.

You flop forward, elbows digging into the table cloth, an uncanny grin painting your lips as you glance around at each face, picking up on the newly etched lines you’d missed in your time away. “My god. It’s been, what?” A laugh leaves your lips as you count on your clammy fingers. “Damn near six years since I’ve come to one of these stupid things.”

Two old snobs whisper something to each other as they glare at you, their postures ram straight like an arrow, or they’ve all got sticks up their asses. Sukuna decides on the latter. “I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to see you again, though we all know that’s not true.”

There were a few snickers concealed behind palms lilting through the air and Sukuna watches your smile falter, adjusting uncomfortably in your chair. 

The comment came from an expected contender practically begging for the spotlight in a home where she was merely tolerated. Alas, you were tired of tolerating the woman.

“Heard about your husband, Chiho-san. Tell him I said congratulations on securing some lovely… eye candy. Must be exciting to have another in bed, hm? Especially a gal as young as me.”

There’s a coy tilt to your head, something sharp and cunning hanging from the tip of your tongue as you watch the table freeze up like the temperature had just dropped twenty degrees, their toes dipped in an icy lake and shudders coloring them pale.

Though the venom you spat didn’t feel as gratifying as you expected, your stomach churning as piercing eyes settled on you and the elders stewed in their disdain for the intruder at the scene.

A bitter and quick puff of air akin to a laugh leaves your lips, the silence deafening and making your mind split, before you quickly hop to your feet. “Well, this has been fucking miserable.”

You sharply turn away from the stifling atmosphere, mind reeling and fogged, but suddenly run straight into a waiter carrying a tray of champagne.

The bubbling and fermented beverage spills all across your dress and the waiter, a loud gasp leaving your lips as all eyes in the venue finally catch on you, and Sukuna just a few steps behind.

You feel your gut clench, expression sobered as the waiter scowls at you. You reach for their handkerchief to start wiping them down but they are quickly pulled back by someone.

“My goodness! I have never been more humiliated in my entire life!” Your mother suddenly shrieks, her shrill voice cutting through the smothering air. She clasps the shoulders of the waiter and checks to see if they’re alright as if you’d just stabbed them, using the sleeve of her fancy blouse to wipe down their uniform before sending them off. Her eyes glaze over the unexpected attention of the room before landing on you. “Must you work so hard to make a mess of yourself and our name?”

Your lips part, but a vice wraps securely around your throat, squeezing every morsel of dignity you thought you had left.

“No need to fret,” a familiar voice lulls, soft yet carrying such pretension it makes you fucking ill.

Your ex-husband, Naoya Zenin, finally decides to make an appearance, his lovely bride clung to his side.

She’s young, tragically beautiful, sporting a babydoll puff dress for her reception and scarlet red lipstick.

The same shade you’d seen on Naoya’s collar years ago.

“I’m sure she was just leaving,” he croons, muddy eyes latched onto you with a knowing conceit, as if he hadn’t fucking invited you. Like one look at you after all these years away tells him just what he needs to know. That you were a fucking mess after the divorce that couldn’t pick their life back up.

His bride stares at you like she’s seen you already, memorized your face ten times over.

“Naoya,” you croak, though it’s a lot less brisk than you were hoping, each syllable sluggish and dragged.

Quickly bored of you, his gaze turns over to the brute looming just over your shoulder. Sukuna could turn the guy inside out without so much of a lift of two fingers, though he still smirks at him with a swollen head. “And who might this… character be?”

You frown at his disrespect, leaning back and placing a hand against Sukuna’s forearm. You know what Naoya’s asking, and it’s not Sukuna’s issue to deal with. “You don’t have to answer that,” you whisper, though it’s not as subtle as you could have wished in such an echoing hall.

But it doesn’t seem to deter him, and his hand finds yours. His fingers slide between yours—calloused, textured, warm. He squeezes your hand in his massive one and you feel something in your gut settle, feeling as grounded as you yearned for since you stepped foot into this place. Your thumb brushes against his battered scars, and he doesn’t bristle or scoff. Simply stands strong like the kind of man he is.

“Her fiancée. You asking ‘cause you want an invite to the wedding?”

You watch your mother stiffen at his lies.

Your heart snowballs into a lumpy and dizzy mess.

Sukuna’s words are crass, never one to sugarcoat or put on the soft pedal at the sound of disrespect. He’s formidable in that sense and it makes you lean into him.

Even if he’s just lying to save you from some embarrassment.

You see Naoya’s composure falter for a second, his conceived notion that you’d always belong to him tearing at the seams. “I see. You’re on, what? Your second attempt, and your standards have clearly been modernized.”

Sukuna doesn’t fall for the bait at the jab, Naoya giving him a slow once-over and frowning in utter repulsion as he inspects his thick tattoos and pink hair. “Word of advice for you, though. Man-to-man.”

Naoya leans in and whispers something to Sukuna that no one can quite catch, before stepping away with a shit-eating grin that makes bile sour at the back of your throat.

You peer up at Sukuna, face contorting in what you can assume is horror. The next thing you know, his fist is cracking against Naoya’s cheek, the obscene sound of bone crunching under metal making your eyes go saucer-wide, Naoya sent straight to the ground.

People come rushing to Naoya’s side, the groom crumpled in a pathetic heap on the floor as he holds his face and howls in pain, a part of you surprised that the punch didn’t end in a knockout. 

You know Sukuna pulled his punch, for your sake at least.

Your mother practically sprints to the bride, consoling her as tears cascade down her face like a fucking newborn.

The security detail finds the two of you, tugging and shoving the both of you out of the front doors with a slew of curses before slamming the doors shut in your faces.

You’re both met with silence, Sukuna still seething over something completely unbeknownst to you as you stare at the closed doors.

“What the fuck did he say to you?” The words tumble ungraciously from your lips, your fingers trembling at your sides.

He scoffs in unadulterated disgust, though you know who it’s directed at. “Nothin’ a lady like you should hear.”

His honesty makes your nose scrunch.

You didn’t expect to see Sukuna land such a blow on Naoya, nor for it to feel so victorious.

But before you can revel in your vengeful glory, the doors are pushed open and your mother is stomping towards you.

“You BITCH!” Her face is pinched and scornful, not giving you a second to utter a word before her palm cracks right against your cheek.

It’s silent for a few moments, besides your mother’s huffing and puffing, face flushed red from her overflowing anger.

You stare at the ground as your vision clouds over, tears filling your waterline. Not from sorrow, but from physical pain.

Sukuna stirs behind you, not quite sure if he should step in, but you’re glad he stays where he is.

You sniffle, adjusting your ale-scented dress and pointing your nose to the sky. “We’re done.”

A wry, almost incredulous smile cracks open on her face, followed by a laugh coated in disbelief. “Done? Oh I am far from done with—.”

You see Sukuna stalk towards the two of you, but raise a hand in his direction to halt his movements. There’s a chance he might be more fed up than you.

But he can’t solve this for you, and you’re quite aware that his hesitancy to interrupt means he knows it, too.

You suck in a sharp breath, feeling your heels dig into the concrete below your feet.

“I have crawled on my hands and my fucking knees for you. I have bled until I ran dry and I have torn myself apart to fit into a mold that is perfect for you. Just you. I married a man I didn’t know for you, I endured your slews and berates of becoming the perfect wife, I became disgusted with my own barren womb for I could not bear the grandchild you so hoped and prayed would tie you to this family. If you paid any sliver of attention to me, hell, if you even cared, you would have noticed my misery long ago.”

You swallow thickly, your tongue heavy between your teeth. “But, you know what? I am still more human than everyone in that room combined. And I am nothing like you. And I don’t want anything to do with you, or any of them.”

You nibble on your lip quivering from unbridled rage, swallowing the saliva collecting in your mouth.

“And for the sake of fucking confessions, I’d like to say that Dad would be real fucking disappointed in you.”

You watch her hands twitch by her sides at the mention of her late husband, eyebrows slowly dropping as the last statement spills from your lips like tainted seed settling in her core. 

She thinks you’re curled up at a bad man’s feet and gone off on a bender and lost your fucking mind, she doesn’t even have to utter it. You can tell by the clarity washing over her face like she’d just been sucked under a tide of what’s been swimming in your mind.

You know the comment about your dad was low. Hell, he was so sick at the end of his life, which was most of your upbringing, that he couldn’t pick up on the way your mother had been treating you. When you, yourself, had gotten so sick from your mother’s mistreatment, and you’d fallen into a depression and even lost your menstrual cycle.

Your father was no saint, either, feeling like he could finally rest when you’d finally broke the news of your marriage instead of leaving his daughter behind with no other male figure in her life. But even if he was emotionally absent even long before illness, he could still care for you in a way that your mother somehow couldn’t.

Your mother broke her piercing gaze from yours, as if your words were simply something to brush under the rug like the unattended guilt she carried with her, like she had no use in arguing with the enemy she’d pushed out of her womb. “Leave. Don’t come back.”

Your jaw ticks at her finality, and you scoff with a bitter smile. “You know, a part of me thought that you’d hear me out. Put aside all your shit and listen to your daughter. I’m not some pawn you can use when you deem me important.”

Your mother, clearly hearing enough from you, waves her hands around her head and paces back towards the building.

And where you expected to break down in tears, there’s a universal sigh leaving the recesses of your chest, your shoulders no longer bunched to the sky.

𖠰 ⋆☾𓃦☽⋆⁺₊✧🪵𓇢𓆸

It’s quiet where the gravel turns from concrete and rock to wet earth and brush that tickle your calves.

Sukuna hasn’t spoken a word to you since you’d left the wedding. He got you buckled into your seat, slipping your heels off and sliding your socks and sneakers back on before driving back home.

You’re not sure what you expected to feel today, but you’re not quite so sure you hate the turn out.

You’d been wandering, lost and dizzy and fogged for what feels like years. Hands encircling your throat and squeezing every morsel of life from you until you’d been hollowed out and bled dry.

On your way up the hill, you spot the creak you’d taken a dip in what was now just a month ago, and what feels like centuries before. Icy cold water rattling your very bones and awaking something within you.

You can recall the way you’d sprinted down this very path naked away from Uraume.

The heated puncture wound on your ankle that led you to a place you’d never expected you’d ever coin home.

Meeting someone who made your chest clench and rage kindle and heart soar.

You peer over at Sukuna, still decked out in his suit with his hands stuffed into his pockets and staring at the ground. He hadn’t changed back into his usual attire, but he had decided to toss his hat back on.

You could probably guess what he’s thinking—that your mom and ex-husband are Grade-A assholes, and the very thought makes you giggle.

You press a palm against nearby bark, the craggy and furrowed texture digging into your hand as your feet meet the ground, another small snicker leaving your lips.

Sukuna glances over at you, cocking an eyebrow as you laugh to yourself.

Soon, your chuckles pick up and you’re nearly keeling over and holding your stomach from how much you’ve humored yourself.

The absurdity and pain of today is something you think you needed, your mind jumbled with the expression of Naoya as he whimpered like a kicked dog on the ground.

The color of his new wife’s lipstick, brandishing into your brain when you’d first seen it across Naoya’s collar and deemed it abhorrent.

You peek a teary eye over at Sukuna.

You don’t think you hate the color red anymore.

He prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue, not sure if you’ve finally snapped, before he too finds himself fighting a grin. “This funny to you?”

You nod, barely able to stop the flit of laughter tumbling from you. “I-I think… Today was the best day of my life.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

You bite your lip, wiping the backs of your hands against your warm cheeks to erase the joyous tears. “Never seen my mom so mad. I think I’ll have that burned into my memory forever.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip before nodding along with you, allowing the silence to settle comfortably. “Hey. I got you something.”

You slow your pace just a bit, tilting your head towards him. “What? A one-way ticket to a mental institution?”

“That was my first option but man they’re expensive,” he groans, rubbing his hand on his jaw while you nudge his shoulder with a giggle.

The two of you slow to a roll as he pulls something out from inside his jacket.

It’s a small box, about the size of your hand, and he places it within yours. “Open it.”

You frown. “I’m not sure I’m ready for the whole white wedding do-over after today.”

He flicks your forehead and you swat at his hand.

You run a finger over the sleek material, before pulling the top off.

“Had this made for you the first time you came over, but, uh, you ended up healing quicker than I anticipated so it just sat with at the blacksmiths.”

You stare at the key in the box, then peer back up at him with furrowed brows, your breaths suddenly feeling airy. “A key to your place. Is that where you went when I was getting fitted?”

He shuffles uncomfortably, averting his gaze from you and kicking his dress shoes into the dirt. “Glad it’s just finally goin’ to use,” he huffs, though there’s no heat behind it. “Fuckin’ things are expensive—.”

You swiftly toss your arms around his middle, digging your face into his sturdy form. 

Sukuna stiffens, hands hovering above you as he peers down at you in utter astonishment, his pulse roaring in his ears.

The breeze is light, and though you’re sweating from the exertion of the hike, a chill kisses your skin. Goosebumps are sent in waves and you press your cheek against his hardened abs, thinking you quite like it here.

After a few quiet seconds, you pull back and wipe the fresh tears from your cheeks and sniffle. You glance up at Sukuna who is still eyeing you like you’ve lost your mind, which earns another chuckle from you.

He tugs off his jacket at the sight of your bare arms and tosses it around you.

His cheeks are dusted a shade of carmine and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re miles inland, or because he might feel what’s swirling in your gut, too.

You don’t think you need much more than what you have right here.

The both of you find yourselves laughing again, chest swelling and heads light. You don’t even care that your dress is clinging to you and the air is humid and you stink of liquor and sweat. 

You feel good.

“You’ve seen all my crazy now,” you say whisper, an admission you’d kept bottled in as he laid eyes on what was your past life. “What’d you think?”

His eyes narrow thoughtfully, though he doesn’t hesitate when relaying his answer to you. “Same as I thought before.”

You click your tongue, trying to hide the smirk crawling on your face, but it’s fruitless.

“You still planning on building me a place?”

He drags a hand down his face in feigned annoyance, ears nearly beet-red and puffing at the ground. “You got it, citygirl.”

CRUNCH

You feel your feet lift from the ground, something heavy and sharp slicing through your diaphragm with no grace. 

Sukuna’s eyes go wide, smile dropping in an instant like everything good to him has been ripped from his claws in an instant. Maybe they have.

You feel something wet and sticky trickling down your stomach, staining your thighs and dripping off the tips of your sneakers.

Your hand goes limp, dropping the key that Sukuna had bestowed on you, the jingling sound of the metal meeting wet earth.

You slowly peer down, adrenaline coursing through your body as you see four bone-like daggers protruding through you. You don’t really feel them, but you know you should.

This isn’t right.

Sukuna whispers something, a name maybe, before whatever just cut through you retracts and you fall to the ground, your legs buckling beneath you limply.

Sukuna catches you, massive arms encircling you with your head in his lap. Your glossy eyes drag over to the other man beside the two of you.

You recognize him.

The man who looked just like Sukuna, outside the pawn shop when you went back to see him. You see the uncanny resemblance, in the way he sneers and the way he carries himself.

Though his claws aren’t metallic.

Those bone-like spurs dripping with your blood are the last thing you see before your lashes flutter shut, and the last thing you feel is something wet falling from Sukuna’s face and pelting your pallid, sweaty cheek.

✦ ──a/n: yes, we are in the home stretch and nearing the ending and it makes me nauseous saying this. never could i have imagined that i'd write a sukuna wolverine au but this is by far my favorite work of all time. i also love the quote at the top even though it's from a book in the heartstopper series which doesn't match the vibe in here but the quote itself is beautiful and fitting LOL. but thank you to everyone who has stayed along this far and left sweet comments and asks <3 they are always so appreciated! i'll see you all next time, apologies for this angstfest TvT

[astrow1zar6]

Astro Observations

Mars in Taurus men take a LONGG time to commit to you. Especially if they’ve been burned pretty bad in relationships. They move like molasses istg. But once they finally commit they will be stuck on you like a mole.

Scorpio placements will either stare into your soul if they like you or avoid eye contact like the plague because it feels too “intimate”.

Venus in the 7th housers are those girls you never see single. Even when they are single they are dating around or in tinder. They are the biggest hopeless romantics. I notice a lot are into romance movies and books as well.

Aquarius sun women are either IT girl vibes with a bunch of friends or are complete loners and rebellious no in between.

Moon in Aquarius is the most aloof Aquarius placement in my opinion. They really give lone wolf/march to the beat of my own drum energy. Even if you’ve know them for years it can still feel like they’re distant in a way.

Venus in Leo’s tend to be amazing artists. This placement gifts you with an incredibly creative mind. You really bring your ideas to life with your art.

Every Aquarius rising woman I’ve seen were so incredibly beautiful to look at. They give model energy. And people don’t give enough credit to how beautifully they age (like Capricorn they are also ruled by Saturn).

Lilith conjunct Ascendant in Scorpio natives can be extremely reactive when they are triggered. Don’t test these people they will put you in your place quick. They have low tolerance for bull sh*t.

When a Leo moon is underdeveloped they can have a habit of making everything about themselves. You can be talking about issues going on in your relationship and they’ll start talking about their relationship problems ignoring what you’ve said.

Moon in Scorpios try so hard to be nonchalant and mysterious but under that wall they put up they are soft babies on the inside 🥺😭. I also known a lot of Scorpio moons who had to raise themselves. Whether a parent passed away or they were emotionally unavailable and cold towards them. Their trust usually gets broken at a very young age:( which is why they use nonchalance as a defense mechanism against being hurt again.

Venus/Mars in Taurus tend to have a green thumb. They are really good at tending to their plants, it comes naturally for a lot of them. They tend to have very pretty gardens.

Water moons tend to be better at hiding their emotions compared to fire moons. However fire moons get over their emotions a lot faster while water moons usually tend to sulk in their emotions for a while.

Venus in 5th house natives love when they get a crush on someone. They can act very cutesy and flirty around their crush. They’ll try to make you laugh a lot and tend to fall for people with good humor. New crushes are so exciting for them. (Even if they’re already in a relationship🫢).

Taurus moons as a child usually loved playing dress up. They’re very gifted in putting the right clothes together.

Having a lot of 12th house placements can make you really introverted even if you have very extroverted signs in your chart.

Sun in the 1st house people give main character energy.

Neptune in the 1st house people look like angels🥺 they’re so glowy and otherworldly looking. And their fashion sense is extremely alluring and glamorous. They dress like they’re the main characters in a fairytale book.

If Venus in the 1st house people are underdeveloped they can be really obnoxious to be around. Always comparing their looks to yours or obsessing over what they look like. Can be the types to stop and look at themselves in every reflection. I also notice they only really want to be friends with “pretty people” as well which is why a lot can end up having fake friends. If developed tho it gives the opposite affect they are such a joy to be around and have amazing manners, they don’t get enough credit for how polite these people are. Usually blessed with beauty and can use their beauty to get opportunities. (Pretty privilege).

Capricorn moon women can come off as very snobby and bitchy at first meet. This is usually not how they act they’re usually sweethearts. But a lot have an intimidating vibe to them. Most people assume that they’re “mean girls”.

Virgo moons can be seen as pretty dull at times. They’re not too big on going out and being adventurous. Their idea of fun involves chilling in the house, cleaning and watching their favorite shows (especially if they have a Cancer Sun).

I never met a Virgo placement that didn’t have some sort of body dysmorphia or stomach issues. They can be literally perfect and will still nit pick their flaws.

Scorpio moon men show their feelings for you thru s*x. If a Scorpio moon man likes you he will make love to you like it’s the last time they’ll see you. They usually have a difficult time verbally telling you how they feel about you but they’ll show you through physicality. S*x is how they express those feeling they can’t say. They also do NOT take s*xual rejection well. They can get really butt hurt over that.

Pisces moons can have a hard time being independent. They can rely on others heavily (especially their partners). They can be very scatter brained when they are left to figure out their life alone.

North node in the 7th house can feel really uncomfortable in romantic relationships. Yet their soul subconsciously craves love. They have mastered knowing themselves/being authentic to the core (south node 1st house). Now it’s time for them to share what they know with others. They may be used to doing things on their own or being a “lone wolf”. In this life your soul needs to learn the art of compromising with another person. This placement can give good luck in marriage as well once they become more comfortable letting someone in.

Libra risings have very smiley eyes. Even if they aren’t smiling it looks like their eyes are smiling at you if that makes sense. Most of them have very beautiful/charming smiles. They are the most approachable out of all the rising signs.

On the other hand Capricorn risings tend to suffer with resting b*tch face syndrome lol. They can have a very serious look on their face which can making them very intimidating to approach. Could’ve heard people tell you to “smile more” or “lighten up”. Most hate when people say that to them. They can be happy asf but their face will look so gloomy haha. I’ve met a lot who don’t like their smile or hate when people smile for no reason. They see it as being fake.

I notice retrogrades in a planet actually gives you more luck in that planets theme when really mastered. For example Venus in retrograde people tend to find their soulmates earlier than most or have long term relationships & Mercury retrogrades can be amazing public speakers/writers. Most famous artists and writers have a mercury retrograde.

Mars in Pisces can give the native very low energy or make them not too good at athletics. Usually the kids in gym class that never participate or are very clumsy in sports. They are more natural in artistic movement such as dancing or yoga.

Virgo placements look like forest fairies 🥺 this is a very underrated beauty placement. Some of the most beautifully structured models have prominent Virgo placements.

Having a Jupiter in Leo or Sagittarius is literally chefs kiss. I’m very jealous of people with this placement. Just gives a natural confidence and joy for life. Usually very successful without even trying (especially if it’s in the 1st,2nd,7th, 10th or 11th house). Can be blessed with popularity for just being themselves. Their vibe is very magnetic.

The luckiest par of fortune houses include the 1st, 2nd, 5th, 7th and 11th house. Usually brings success and a happy life.

Aquarius Venus and Virgo Venus people are probably the most underrated Venus signs. They are both very picky in different ways but once they find their person they are really the most loving/loyal partners. Aquarius Venus’s make it comfortable for you to be your true silly self around them which I find so sweet and rare. & if a Venus in Virgo person loves you they will literally give you the world, they types to buy you flowers every Friday just cuz🥺 they have a higher chance of finding their soulmate compared to others because they truly know what they want and won’t settle until they get it. They don’t have a problem remaining single until they find what they’re looking for. People just think they’re distant and aloof because you probably aren’t their type and they aren’t easy to impress. But not bad lovers at all like ppl stereotype them as.

On the other hand Venus in Libras tend to go thru a lot of different relationships in their life. In their earlier years they could’ve been very boy/girl crazy. They have one of the easiest times attracting a partner because of how charming and devoted they are naturally (Taurus Venus as well but they’re a lot more hesitant and picky). Although they attract partners very easily they can suffer from wearing rose colored glasses a lot and stay in relationships that are pretty toxic just to say they have someone. Don’t just date to date make sure the person is treating you good as well. They aren’t too picky when it comes to finding a partner. They tend to flirt with people a lot even people they really aren’t interested in which is why they’re seen as “charming” they can lowkey be heartbreakers tho😭 they just really enjoy romantic attention. Can be a bit naive when young and give their whole heart to ppl who give the bare minimum so be careful who you give your love too not everyone has good intentions (they try hard to see the best in ppl even to a fault).

Neptune in the 7th house natives are so delulu in love😭 the types to romanticize an abusive alcoholic as their Prince Charming. I also notice they attract a lot of partners with addiction problems such as alcohol or dr*gs. Their partners could also suffer from mental disorders such as depression and anxiety. Trauma bonds are common with these natives.

Pluto in the 5th house natives have very extreme personalities. They can become addicted to pleasure very easily (ex; relationships, gambling, s*x, substances ect). They also can attract some pretty controlling possessive and partners. The type that won’t let them go to certain places with certain people unless they’re there. They could have a very intense pregnancy experience or have an intense relationship with their children (good or bad). Are very protective of their children, they can definitely be helicopter moms. Can be attracted to partners with extreme intense/complex personalities as well.

[solarstranger]

“you really didn’t have to drive me all the way here, you know.”

you plop down on the spot right next to bakugou, who wordlessly takes the mug of tea you’re offering with a half-hearted glare.

“then decline the next time,” is his snarky retort.

you playfully roll your eyes, burrowing further into the plush cushion of your sofa beneath you, hands cupping your own beverage. “you say that as if you’ll let me commute this late.”

a tsk. “it’s called having a heart of gold, you idiot.”

you hum noncommittally, gaze fixed on the tv in front of you. “camie sure does think you have one, huh?”

when he doesn’t say anything for a beat, you chance a peek at the man, and sure enough, he’s looking at you like you just shat yourself. “hah?”

“camie?” you repeat, hoping the creeping embarrassment isn’t showing on your face. “the girl who—”

“i know who she is,” he spews defensively, before raising an eyebrow. “what about her?”

“you seem to go way back, based on how she regarded you tonight,” you quickly explain.

he stares at you for a second, as if trying to figure out why the hell you’re talking about utsushimi camie of all people, ultimately settling with a lazy shrug. “i guess? we ran into each other a few times back in ua.”

and when you don’t immediately respond: “why?”

“nothing,” you supply, before: “i mean, i could tell she’s generally a bubbly and outgoing person just from dinner, but the way she behaved around you was…how should i say—different, i guess?”

the pro-hero lets out a grunt, which is bakugou katsuki for keep going.

so you do. “for one, she seemed eager to sit beside you, even though yoarashi-san was the one to arrange the hangout, and i think you mentioned in passing once that she thinks shouto’s attractive.”

unsurprisingly, that grants you a side-eye. you backtrack.

“not that a girl wanting to sit beside you is unfathomable, but—”

“the fuck are you getting at, dumbass?”

you huff. “i’ll get there if you just let me talk!”

he shoots you another glare, before tossing you a curt nod. “fine.”

you fight back the urge to punch his arm. “as i was saying,” you enunciate, “there was something…remarkable about how she was acting.”

“how so?”

you ponder for a moment, not minding how the question just now was too sarcastic for your taste. “well, i didn’t really see her arrive because i was at the restroom, but she seemed to deflate when i came back and took my seat beside you. almost as if she was eyeing the spot.”

“you’re fucking imagining things.”

“okay, gaslighter. anyway, it wasn’t just that. her mood went back up a notch when you introduced me—so reluctantly it was embarrassing, by the way—as your best friend.”

he scoffs. “you’re the one who tagged along.”

“shouto invited me, you dickhead.” you frown, “when he called you this afternoon and i said hi, remember? he said you could bring me with you.”

“he was just being polite, that pretty boy.”

“and you’re being a fucking downer,” you quip, before crossing your arms in front of your chest like a petulant child. “i don’t know what camie sees in you.”

“hah?”

“see?” you exclaim, flinging your arms in frustration, “you’re not getting it because you’re not letting me finish. i have no idea how you didn’t notice, but her body was facing you the entire evening! she kept redirecting the conversation to you, too, asking you all sorts of questions.”

you’re not looking at him anymore, eyes darting all over the place as you continue. “and her giggles, man, you weren’t even being funny, but she was laughing like you had keke palmer’s humor, or something.”

“i don’t know if you’re feigning ignorance or just flat-out oblivious, which i doubt you are, but seriously, man,” you rasp, “i can’t believe i’m the one who has to do this, but open your eyes. the girl likes you. and—are you smiling?”

you cut yourself off, the jarring sight of bakugou grinning at you erasing every viable thought in your brain.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the guy is fucking amused.

you scowl at him. “the fuck are you smiling about?”

“nothin’,” he claims, although his lips are still pulled taut to the sides.

you shoot him a deadpan look, which causes him to let out a soft chuckle.

he shakes his head, shifting in his seat. “it’s just—i don’t know…”

“don’t know what?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“don’t know how you picked up on all this shit.”

your response is instantaneous. “it’s called having eyes, you idiot.”

if he’s even marginally annoyed at your semi-quoting him, he doesn’t let it show. instead, you can only watch in bewilderment as a faint tinge of pink starts to color his cheeks.

“yeah, well, i didn’t even notice any of that.”

“how?”

a glower.

“because i was just looking at you, dipshit.”

a/n. this one's a throwback from when i was watching single's inferno s4 with my big sister. inspired by that exchange between dong ho and a rin. specifically, dong ho's smile during. what the hell am i talking about. (0.9k)

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

[pinejayy]

╰➤ Affectionate Lover || One Piece Men

featuring: law, luffy, zoro, sanji and katakuri // gn! reader

a/n: requested by @geraldwang !! apologize for the long wait, I’ve been taking a break. but hopefully you enjoy your request!! uwu have a wonderful day!

summary: reader who is very affectionate and loves kissing and hugging their boyfriend, and loves seeing his reaction. // Specifically when they kiss their cheek.

✦•·················• ✿ •·················•✦

Law

Law may seem like a grumpy person, he is but when it’s with you he completely melts. And at first he was overwhelmed with your love gestures and didn’t want anything from your part.. He wasn’t used to anyone hugging him, let alone kissing him. But eventually he grew closer to you and now he’s quite touched starved.

One day in particular he was busy with paperwork in his office and you were by his side watching as he worked. He was mumbling to himself as he scribbles away. “How can one man work so hard?” You think to yourself. And he seemed quite busy and you got an idea.

Standing up from your place, you slowly walk towards him and he didn’t even bother to look at your direction. And you poke his shoulder and he shoos you away with his hand. “Not now, busy.” He mumbled. As you sighed you lean and gently place a kiss on his cheek. “Take a break with me. Please.”

Law stops once he felt your lips against his cheek, and he sighs and puts the pen down. And turns his chair over and pats his thigh. And you immediately got the gesture and sat on his lap. And he immediately wraps his arms around you and brings you closer against his body. “Hmm, you always do this.” He mumbles against your neck.

Law secretly loved it when you pulled him away from his work, you always told him he also deserved breaks too. Law also loves whenever you play with his hair. It helps him relax, and also when you trace your fingers along his tattoos.

Luffy

Luffy gets quite happy whenever you show him any kind of affection. He adores your kisses, hugs and sweet words and of course he loves returning it twice as much. If you were to sneak a hug from him. He would literally wrap his arms around you. “Hug!” He would laugh and shake you slightly.

One day Luffy was enjoying his food and you were feeling extra lovable today. So decided to sneak a quick kiss on the pirate. As he was enjoying his food you sneak up from behind and quickly hug him and kiss his cheek. And he lets out a dramatic gasp.

“I thought you were going to steal my food Y/N!” He whines and quickly finishes his food and smiles at you as you attack his cheek with kisses. “I got you Captain!” You smile and snuggle your face against his cheek. Luffy couldn’t help but laugh at your action and he started to return the same gesture.

Luffy definitely loves showing you off, he’ll give you a kiss or hug whenever he wants. He doesn’t care if the crew sees or if anyone else sees as well. “I want to show the whole world that you’re mine Y/N.”

Also!! Luffy’s favorite thing to do is tickle fights. Whenever you decide to attack him with your kisses, he’ll just grab your and start tickling you like there’s no tomorrow. He also loves tickling you because he gets to hear you laugh.

Zoro

He is probably the most grumpy one, he pretends to hate your affection. Whenever you give him a sweet compliment or a hug he scoffs at your actions. But deep down he loves whenever you show him any kind of attention. But he won’t admit it.

So as always Zoro was working out and you were watching him and admiring your boyfriend, the way he lifted those weights with ease. As you were staring he spoke up. “Hey, are you listening? Could you please grab me some water.” He said and you nodded and stood up and grab his bottle and held it out for him. And before he could grab it you jump up slightly and kiss his cheek. Catching him off guard “Hey!”

“Aw! Don’t be so mean!” You poured out and hand him his water and cross your arms and puff your cheeks out. And Zoro couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction. Again he found it cute but of course he wouldn’t tell you that. “You don’t like my kisses!”

Zoro couldn’t help but smirk at your reaction. You wanted some attention? He’ll give it to you. And suddenly he grabs you and hugs you. To which he was sweaty and you squirm and yelp. “Hey hey! Now you wanted attention right?” He chuckles and shakes you slightly. “Zoro! Your sweat! You stink!” And to which you yelp and squirm around his arms, you couldn’t help but laugh at well.

Zoro does appreciate your affection, he won’t be as lovable as you. But he has his ways of showing you he cares. This includes helping you train and to get you stronger. Also getting you small gifts and a bunch of head pats.

Sanji

This man is going to be even more affectionate towards you, he’s going to treat you as if you were made of glass. This man is the definition of gentleman. So whenever you a sweet compliment or a hug/kiss. He’ll completely melt to your feet. “Oh my dear. I adore your sweet little comments and how good you make me feel.”

One day he was on the kitchen making dinner for the whole crew, and of course you decided to help your dear boyfriend out. Sanji always appreciated your help. “I always appreciate your help Mon amour.” He said and you smile and walk towards him and get on your tippy toes just to kiss his cheek. And he smiles down at you. Returning the kiss against your forehead. “I enjoy helping you out.”

And like I said Sanji always melts at your touch, he adores whenever you kiss his cheek. “I love you my dear chef. My sweet boy.” You would say and keep kissing his cheek. And he would melt into your arms. And of course it would be cut short with Luffy yelling for Food.

Sanji also adores your sweet comments. The rest of the crew doesn’t mind as much. But it does get on Zoro’s nerves. Imagine him trying to eat or take a nap and he’s listening to you guys giggling and complimenting each other like some love sick puppies. And of Sanji would love to push his buttons and show you off even more. Especially towards Zoro. “What? Are you jealous Mosshead?”

So please shower this man in kisses and hugs, he’ll love you to the very end and will always put you first. You’re always above him and his needs.

Katakuri

This man is definitely treating with such care, he’s afraid of hurting the person he deeply loves and cares about. So he hardly gives you any form of hugs or kisses. First he doesn’t want to crush you and he’s also afraid he might hurt you with his teeth. But you were always so stubborn. Always sneaking hugs around him. And since he was quite tall. You would hug his legs or something waist.

Currently he was in his secret safe place, it took him awhile to open up to you and show you this place and his face. And right now he was laying down and enjoying himself with his favorite donut. And you smile at him, he was so adorable. And you couldn’t help but lean in and kiss his cheek and he immediately turns red and looks away. “Did I mention how adorable you are?”

And of course this man is a blushing mess, he always had a weak spot for you. “I’m a wanted man. I’m not adorable.” He mumbled. And you shake your head and lean in and kiss the corner of his lips. Being careful, you didn’t want to push his boundaries. And slowly you pull away from him and smile. “You’re adorable, I love you everything about you Katakuri. I love how sweet you are and how you enjoy your donuts. It’s quite cute.”

You always made sure to compliment him on a daily basis. He’s always so insecure about his looks and you always assured him that he was handsome no matter what. “My sweet boyfriend, I love you so much. You’re so special”

And still he was still hesitant to show you any form of physical affection. He was afraid of hurting you…he really was. But occasionally when he didn’t have his scarf around his mouth he would grab your hand and place a small gentle kiss against his. “Mine. All mine. I love you my sweet Donut.”

[thoughtfulfiction]

Operation: Nine Best Days

Author’s Note: Longest fic I’ve ever written. Let me know if you’d like me to open up Operation requests!

Day One

After they moved you to your postpartum suite, reality hit. 

You had a baby. 

A real, living, breathing tiny human person that you and Joe are in charge of. Forever. 

And he’s 10 pounds. But not actually very big. Or heavy. Just…solid. When they placed him on your chest the first time, it was like everything stopped moving for a second. It was terrifying, in the way that only loving something instantly and completely can be. When they placed him on your chest the first time, a rush of emotions consumed you, emotions that you’d only ever heard of in movies were now hitting you in the chest like a freight train.

The nurses were still surrounding the two of you, doing the initial checks as the tears streamed down your face. They noted his Apgar scores in calm, clipped voices, letting you both know they’d be back in the room every few hours to check your vitals and his. Everyone on this floor knew that this room was about to be a revolving door of top notch medical care.

You quickly got changed with assistance and received your first fundal massage. The deep, uncomfortable pressure was meant to help your uterus shrink back down. While you were being poked and prodded, Joe got to spend some quiet minutes with his son.

He had no idea how long he just stared at him. Kai’s eyes were closed, long lashes resting like tiny brushstrokes on his cheeks, fast asleep in a clean swaddle. A little hospital cap covered the damp wisps of dark hair, a few strands sticking out rebelliously in the back. The lump in Joe’s throat grew with every rise and fall of the baby’s chest.

One of the nurses passed by the doorway as he was about to take a seat. Joe’s gaze flicked toward the open crack of the door, then back to her.

“Naomi—can I talk to you for a second?” His voice was quiet, but there was an uneasiness to it.

She stepped closer, and he adjusted Kai in his arms, tucking him in tighter, just like he’d practiced.

“I really don’t wanna be a pain,” Joe started, “but we can’t have any security slip-ups while we’re here. None. So if anyone needs to come in—vitals, checks, whatever, keep the door closed. No volunteers or students hanging around. No hallway photos. Or any pictures at all. No names on the whiteboard. If media outlets ask for a statement or anyone shows up, you say ‘no comment.’” His jaw was set. “And if you can, flag the room confidential. If anyone calls asking for her or me…we don’t exist.”

Naomi nodded, looking down at the baby with a small, knowing smile. “Joe, I get it. We’ll make sure your family is treated with the utmost care and privacy, you have my word. All we want you to worry about while you guys are here is bonding with your son.”

Her tone softened, knowing that the new parent nerves were hitting him in full force. “And this is completely up to you, but…you could do some skin-to-skin with him. It’s one of the easiest ways to connect right out of the gate. Do you want to try?”

Joe nodded, handing Kai over so he could peel his t-shirt off, then watched her work. Naomi was at the bassinet, unwrapping Kai from his swaddle. She worked quickly but gently, peeling the hat and onesie off of him until he was down to his diaper.

Kai’s tiny arms stretched once before curling back in, a soft whimper escaping at the shock of the cool air. His legs kicked weakly, desperately searching for warmth.

Joe’s arms were there a second later. He scooped him up, careful, as though Kai might break under anything less than perfect gentleness. The baby’s body molded to his chest immediately, his cheek pressing into the faint roughness of Joe’s skin like he’d been there a thousand times before.

Naomi draped a blanket over them both, and Joe sank into the couch, wrapping his arms lightly but securely around the baby.

The first thing that hit him was Kai’s warmth. He was so warm—radiating this fragile, perfect heat that made Joe want to curl around him like an impenetrable shield. His skin was softer than anything he’d ever touched, impossibly smooth against the muscle of Joe’s chest. The blanket that was there may as well have been for nothing. All Joe could feel was the feather-light weight settled against him, chest rising and falling in these uneven little breaths that made him hold his own without realizing.

He smelled so good, a little bit of clean laundry mixing with something he couldn’t quite name. He just smelled…new. His hair, damp and thick, tickled Joe’s collarbone every time Kai moved his head.

Joe’s throat threatened to close. Not the kind that comes from talking too much, but the kind that comes when something inside you clicks into place so suddenly it’s almost painful.

Kai shifted once, a tiny fist brushing Joe’s ribs, and Joe swore he felt the smallest sound—half sigh, half whimper—vibrate straight into his heart.

“It’s okay, little man,” he whispered, voice low and shaky under the weight of the moment. “I’ve got you.”

He remembered the dream he had over a year ago. That was nothing. This? This was everything and he was utterly and completely wrapped around Kai's tiny fingers already. 

Your mom and Nikki had slipped out after their turns holding him, their bags rustling quietly against the door. Joe barely noticed. Every waking minute of the last few months had been leading him here, and still, he felt like he was floating outside his own body. He traced a fingertip along the curve of Kai’s ear. He saw a miniature copy of himself, chin and pout included.

Time didn't exist anymore. 

A knock and a cheerful “hello again” pulled him back. The nurses came in, moving gently but efficiently, checking his temperature, heart rate, respiratory count, and a quick look at his color. By the end of it, Kai was starting to frown, eyes fluttering open, that restless rooting motion beginning.

“Are you still wanting to breastfeed?” one nurse asked, and Joe stood to hand him back to you. You nodded, blinking yourself awake from your power nap. "We'll have the lactation consultant to come in for a quick run-through and make sure you're comfortable and confident."

You give Kai a kiss on the head, settling him against you. Joe sits up in his seat right next to the bed, watching and waiting in case he's needed. Everyone's attention turns to the door as it opens. 

"Hi," she sings, immediately sanitizing her hands, "I'm Amber, how are you feeling mama? Pain level?"

"Not bad right now, about a four," she gently helps raise the bed, sliding in an extra pillow and giving you a blanket in case either you or Kai get cold.

“Let me see this perfect angel,” Amber said, slipping on a glove. She eased Kai from your arms, narrating as she went through her process: “see these little movements—hands to mouth, turning toward touch? Those are early hunger cues. Let’s check his suck reflex—” she touched a finger to his lips, and Kai opened eagerly, “—he’s curling his tongue around my finger which is exactly what we want. Strong little guy.”

She handed him to Joe. “Alright, Dad, let’s save Mom’s core. Bring him to her, nose to nipple. Good. Now wait for a big open-mouth yawn.”

Joe adjusted carefully. “Perfect. Chin first, then the rest of him in close. Support between the shoulder blades. Don’t let his head tilt back too far.”

“How does that feel?” Joe asked you, voice soft but eyes wide, like he was both terrified and proud.

You smiled. “Feels good. I think I’m ready.” Kai made it easy, a little shift and his mouth was open, allowing you to guide him.

Amber beamed as Kai had his first outside the womb meal. “That’s a deep latch—see his jaw? That’s a swallow. I’ll give you some privacy. Here’s my card, cell phone number is on the back. There’s also a QR code for videos and a tracking sheet.” She bright her hands together and made her way out. “Congratulations, you’re both going to do great.”

You and Joe just looked at each other for a second, the only sound in the room was light sucking sounds, like Kai was making up for lost time. 

"I'm doing it, I'm actually feeding him," you croaked out, feeling your eyes stinging with tears. 

He lets out a soft, teary laugh, cradling his head and kissing your temple. "This is probably the single coolest thing I’ve ever seen. You guys made that look easy.”

Joe spent the next 20 minutes scrolling through the breastfeeding guide on his phone as Kai was securely latched before you switched him over to the other side. The kid was like a little vacuum and knowing that your body created, housed and could now exclusively feed this person was enough to wash away any pain and exhaustion that you previously felt. This was it, that feeling that new moms talk about, forgetting the trauma that is childbirth and basking in the afterglow. You were fully in it now and you caressed your baby's cheek, in awe of what was to come.

Kai was almost done eating—you could feel it in the way his legs went limp, his hands twitched once and then stilled. His breathing slowed, warm little puffs against your skin.

You kept your hand flat on his back, your thumb lightly stroking up and down the center as his warm little face stayed pressed to your skin.

Joe was still sitting next to you, turned sideways in the hospital bed, his head resting in one hand, just watching the two of you like he was trying to memorize it all.

“You think he’s done?” You asked softly.

Joe smiled. “Looks like he’s in a milk coma.”

You adjusted your hold slightly. “Should I burp him?”

Joe raised his eyebrows. “You want help?”

You looked down at your son, flushed and full and impossibly soft.

“No,” you said gently. “I want to try.”

With practiced care, even though this was your first time, you shifted Kai up onto your shoulder. His head was tucked just beneath your jaw, one cheek smushed into the curve of your neck. You cupped his padded bottom with one hand and began gently patting his back with the other.

“Hi, bub,” you whispered. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Joe watched, heart in his throat, as you rocked him with such tenderness it made his eyes sting. You were barely patting, more of a rhythmic rub with a light tap, your cheek pressed to Kai’s head.

Then...the softest little burp.

Kai grunted sleepily. Smacked his lips.

You froze. “Was that it?”

Joe leaned in. “I think that was it.”

You smiled and rubbed his back again. “You’re polite, huh?”

Kai let out a second, slightly louder burp.

And Joe, completely unironically, cheered under his breath.

“Atta boy. Definitely my kid.”

You looked over, half-laughing. “Are you proud he burped?”

“I’m proud he exists.”

You kissed Kai’s head. “Me too.”

Day Two

One wet diaper per day of life. Yesterday was very do-able, the two of you mostly watched and took mental notes during Kai's first diaper change. This morning was your first solo run, and Joe so graciously volunteered to get it done. 

"Okay buddy, it's you and me. Just—take it easy and don't pee everywhere, please." He slowly peeled the baby out of his onesie, everything he needed within arms reach. Once Kai's diaper was exposed, Joe placed a large, soothing hand on his belly and opened the diaper with the other, waiting a few seconds in case there was an impromptu waterfall. 

He’d trained for this. Watched the videos. Learned the technique. How bad could it possibly be?

“Um…What the hell is that?”

You sat up straighter in bed. “What?”

“It’s—babe, it’s black. It’s literally black.”

You yawned, totally unbothered. “It’s meconium.”

Joe looked over his shoulder like someone might appear to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating. “It looks like tar. Like he pooped out coal mixed with a bunch of other chemicals. Like—like one of those oil spills in the ocean.”

You just chuckled. “Yes, to all of that. It’s supposed to be that way the first time.”

He turned back, blinking in disbelief. “It’s…sticky. It’s like molasses and gorilla glue had a baby.”

Kai, for his part, was completely unbothered. Now that Joe had slightly covered him back up, he was asleep again with the serene expression of a little boy who had successfully ruined his dad’s sense of smell forever.

Joe grabbed a wipe. Then a second. Then a third.

“Oh my God. This stuff is indestructible. How did this come out of him?"

You were fully laughing now, wincing a bit remembering your abdomen was still very much in its early recovery stages. “You’re fine babe, you’re doing great.”

Joe’s expression screamed that he was traumatized. "It wasn't this...thick in any of the videos. This should be illegal. They should warn people.”

He finally got the last of it off and managed to wrestle a clean diaper on, lifting Kai’s legs, a little awkward but with immense care. He double-checked the tabs, adjusted his clothes, and picked him up like he had just successfully diffused a weapon of mass destruction.

“Hey,” he whispered, cradling him close. “I still love you. So much. But we are gonna have a serious talk about what you were eating in the womb, man."

From the bed, you grinned. “This is the best day of my life.”

Joe gave you a deadpan look as he sat beside you, still holding your son. “You said it would be cute. You said he might poop on me and I’d laugh.”

“Did you laugh?”

“Not even a little.” He deadpans.

You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. “You’ll live. And you’ll do it again.”

Joe looked down at Kai, who let out a happy little sigh in his sleep.

“Only because I love him,” he said quietly, running a finger across his son’s fuzzy cheek. “Even if he poops literal tar.”

“I want mixed berry sorbet from Boca,” you tell him, no hesitation in your voice.

Joe gives you a look over Kai’s fuzzy little head. “You need food, babe. An actual meal. Lean protein, veggies—the whole nine.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re not funny, Joseph.”

“Okay, maybe not,” he concedes, lowering his voice, “but you still need more than ice cream to feed our little guy.” He cups a hand gently over Kai’s tiny ear. “And to recover in a timely manner. Need you at one hundred percent soon for…you know…important stuff.”

You snort. “I can’t have sex for six weeks. And considering I just pushed a ten-pound human out of my body? You’ll be lucky if I ever let you touch me again.”

Joe’s laugh is warm and unoffended. He lays Kai back into the bassinet, swaddled snug, watching him sleep as he settles on the bed beside you. He already missed holding him. “That's fair. What about the pasta you like from Prime? It has spinach in it and that lemon sauce you like? If not that, we’ll find something else-anything you want.”

“I do really like that sauce…” you sigh. “Let’s do that. But don’t forget the sorbet.”

“Never,” he promises, brushing his hand along your back as he pulls up the restaurant’s menu. You watch his thumb move across his phone screen, his face calm and focused like this is the two minute drill in a must win game. The bassinet gives off a soft rustle as Kai twitches in his sleep, his lips making a faint suckling motion, undoubtedly dreaming about milk.

The sight makes you laugh, quiet enough not to wake him.

Joe hangs up, sets the phone on the table, and leans back. “Food’s ordered. And I called my mom so she and my dad could grab it on her way here.” He eyes you suspiciously, spotting the smirk you’re trying to hide. “Alright…what’s so funny?”

“My genes didn’t even try.” Your laugh builds until you have to wipe the corner of your eyes. “He has your whole face. Look at him—he’s…you. And it’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Joe leans forward, peering into the bassinet. Kai’s cheek is round and flushed, the same stubborn jawline already soft in sleep. “Yeah,” he says softly, almost to himself. “I’m definitely not mad at it, he’s my baby.”

Before you can answer, you see a nurse peek in, holding a clipboard. “Ready for his weight check?”

Joe glances at you, a flicker of protectiveness crossing his face. “Yeah, go for it.” He says, already rising to get Kai out of his clothes, silently praying he didn’t pee, as the nurse prepped the scale. He gently handed him over and watched as she placed him in the middle of the scale on his back, his little limbs flailing freely now that he’s out of his swaddle. The digital numbers flickered, the faint hum of the machine filling the silence.

“9 pounds, 8 ounces.” 

Joe’s head snapped up. “Wait…he was ten-three yesterday.”

“That’s right,” she said easily, jotting the number down. “Perfectly normal for him to lose a little in the first few days. We expect up to a ten percent drop as they shed some extra fluid.”

You could see Joe processing, jaw flexing. “So, not bad?”

“Not bad at all,” she reassured. “He’s feeding well, peeing, and he’s alert when he’s awake. All good signs. We’ll keep tracking, and he’ll start climbing back up soon.”

Joe’s eyes softened, but he still kept his hand hovering over Kai until she told him he could pick him up. He swaddled him again like a little burrito, holding him tight against his chest.

“Good job, little man,” he murmured, pressing his lips to the top of Kai’s head. “But let’s start going the other way now, huh?”

The nurse left with a reminder to hit the call button if you needed anything and a soft “see you later” before the door clicked closed. All you could hear now was the sound of the monitors beeping…and the wheels turning in Joe’s head. 

“Hey, you heard her. He’s fine,” you tried to reassure him. 

“I know,” he answered, but his voice had that faraway edge, like he was talking himself into it. “It’s just—he’s so small. And now he’s…smaller.”

“He’s doing everything he’s supposed to do babe, don’t worry. He’s literally gonna be starving in like 20 minutes.”

Joe nodded, eyes fixed on the sleeping curve of Kai’s cheek. “I know. I just keep thinking…what if he gets hungry and we don’t notice? What if he needs something and we can’t figure out what it is?”

You reached over, resting your hand on his arm, feeling the steady rise and fall of Kai’s tiny breaths beneath the swaddle. “We won’t. You don’t take your eyes off him long enough to miss anything.”

That earned you the faintest smile. He kissed the top of Kai’s head again, then yours.

Twenty minutes later, a plate of pasta sat in front of you, the mixed berry sorbet stashed in the mini fridge. Beside it, a 32 oz insulated hospital mug sat filled to the brim with water next to a strawberry banana Bodyarmor, and a Pedialyte, all lined up like a hydration army.

“The only thing you need to be worrying about the next few days is resting, recovering, feeding him and drinking everything I put in front of you to stay hydrated, deal?”

You eyed him. “I’m scared of the face you’re gonna make if I say no, so…yes?”

Joe laughs, twirling a forkful of pasta and holding it up. “Whatever, open up. Here comes the train.”

“Shut up, you're such a dad,” you groaned, but leaned forward anyway. The lemon sauce was bright and tangy, hitting the back of your tongue in a way that made your eyes close. “Oh my god, that’s so good.”

“Good,” he sighed, almost relieved. “Morgan’s on stand-by to make you anything you want. Or takeout. Or whatever you need. At any point.” He looked toward the tiny plastic bed.

You followed his gaze. “Joe, we have to take him home tomorrow. And actually…do this. No hourly temperature checks. No call button.”

He nodded, scooting close enough to wrap his arm around you. "Yeah...we'll be the ones on call. For the rest of our lives," he stands up to get rid of your trash and grab you more water. "Little man's the star of the show now."

You happily take a sip, thinking about the sorbet you have saved for later. "Speaking of the star of the show, he needs to eat and the nurses said we might have to wake him up."

"Isn’t one of the rules to never wake a sleeping baby?"

"He's not a baby. He’s a newborn who needs to eat every two hours. You're the one that said we have to get him on a schedule the sooner the better so the sooner we get him used to being, you know, out of my body, then we can go from there. But for now, he's gotta eat. A lot."

Joe sighed but was already on his feet. "Okay yeah, I'm on it. I got him."

Joe gets up and gets Kai out of his swaddle and he doesn't move. No irritated sound or soft sigh or tiny stretch...nothing. “Come on buddy, open those eyes for me,” Joe murmured, running his thumb gently along Kai’s brow. The baby squirmed, his little mouth twitching before his baby blues fluttered open.

“There you are, little man,” Joe whispered, smiling. “You ready to eat?”

Day Three

"One arm, okay. Legs. God, since when did clothes get so fu—freaking hard?" Joe mutters, wrestling Kai’s squishy limbs into his going-home outfit. Kai is wailing like it’s a personal betrayal, which somehow makes the whole thing ten times harder for him and a million times funnier for you.

You and Nikki sit on the bed watching him after she's helped you pack all of your stuff and get dressed in normal people clothes (by normal people clothes it was definitely biker shorts and a crewneck) but you did shower. "Do you need help getting him dressed?"

"Yeah you look like you're struggling, real bad," Nikki tries to hold in a laugh, "also nice save earlier we could not tell you were about to say 'fucking,' like at all."

Joe sighs without looking up. “Nikki, please don’t cuss in front of our three-day-old. Jesus.”

"Okay Nik," you cut in with a small laugh, "can you let him focus so we can make it through this? Please," You turn your attention back to him, "Joe, do you need help or not?"

He shakes his head, "just got his little socks on and his hands are covered," Nikki packs a pale blue blanket in the bag she's carrying that matches Kai's outfit since he won't need it. The sun has decided to come out to really welcome him on his first day out of the hospital.

"God he looks so tiny in there," Nikki murmurs when Joe clicks the last strap of the car seat, her voice thick as she wipes at one eye. "I guess coparenting with you won't be so bad."

Joe chuckles, double-checking the buckle. “For the last time,” Joe says, mock-exasperated, “we are not co-parenting. My wife and I are raising our baby together. You’re just—”

"The one who was married to her first? And the one who will be raising him during football season while you run for your life every week and come home covered in bruises."

Joe opens his mouth for a comeback, but the concierge team knocks and steps in, breaking the tension. One person does a quick, practiced car seat check while another wheels in a chair for you. The rest grab your bags and head for the VIP garage.

“We have a few options for you,” the manager says, eyes flicking to Joe. “Main lobby—fast, high security, discreet. Or service elevator—longer walk, but…”

After locking eyes with you, Joe doesn’t hesitate. He pulls the pale blanket from the bag and drapes it over the car seat canopy, shielding Kai completely before tightening his grip on the handle.

“We’ll walk. We’re not going through the main lobby with him. I don’t mind if it’s out of the way. We’d prefer it, actually.”

The new dad walk, something the girls always talk about that you don't really understand until you're in it. Joe is obviously always hot, he's stunning and funny and cocky in a way that's not even rude. But sometimes he is rude but not mean? It doesn't really make any sense at all but seeing him take charge and valuing your privacy and wanting to protect your son as much as he possibly can is the best view. This is a brand new side to him that you've never seen and you don't think he's ever seen it in himself either. He's utterly and completely in charge. The way his eyes flick to every doorway and corner. The way his body angles just slightly toward the car seat, as if he could block the entire world with one arm if he had to.

And now, watching him carry Kai in that ridiculously boujee, way-too-expensive car seat, the exact one he researched for hours and insisted on ordering himself, you’re pretty sure he’s never been hotter.

He places him in the car, makes sure the seat is secured, bolted in tight and removes the blanket. You ease yourself out of the chair and Nikki helps you up, “front or back?”

“I’ll ride in the back with him.” She nods, letting you lead the pace until you’re settled in the seat. 

Joe looks over, gently moving Kai’s car seat back and forth to make sure it doesn’t move from its place, nodding when the base and the baby stay completely still. 

The concierge crew had the first pediatric and OB follow-ups scheduled and you had a laundry list of things you wanted to do when you got home, first on the list? Take a nap without the sounds of beeping and constant interruptions.

Nikki gives your hand a squeeze, “I love you. Call me if you need anything. Or if you need adult company. Or you know…a hug.” 

“I love you Nik, thank you for everything. Seriously.” She wraps her arms around you and touches Kai’s foot.

“I love you too. And my little munchkin.” She looks over to Joe and gives him a hug, “take care of them, please.”

“You know I will.”

“I know you will, 9.” 

Joe shakes his head, “we’ll see you later, Nicole.” 

“Obviously,” she gives his shoulder a squeeze and lets security walk her to her car. You watch her walk away and let Joe close the door when you’re firmly in your seat, hearing a few more “congratulations” from the staff. 

He climbs into the driver’s side and starts the car, grabbing your hand before putting it in drive. 

“I’d really like to get home today, if possible, no rush,” you joke, “please don’t go 25 the whole way and take every side street.” 

“We have precious cargo in here. I should’ve gotten that ‘baby on board’ sticker like I wanted.” 

“It’s too obnoxious and you know that,” he grabs your hand and kisses your palm at a red light, removing all traces of your train of thought. 

“We’re almost home. How’s he doing back there?”

You glance at him, sleeping in his seat, watching the soft rise and fall of his belly. “Perfect.”

Joe opened the garage and immediately headed to Kai’s side, tugging the car seat out with careful precision. You shifted toward the trunk, but he intercepted you with a sharp shake of his head.

“I’ll get him in and then come back for the bags. You, couch. Please.”

“Relax and rest. Got it,” you said, holding your hands up. “Scout’s honor.”

You let him lead you inside and he made a beeline for the living room, setting the car seat down. 

“Alright, here’s baby. Let me get you another blanket. And the nursing pillow, I’ll be right back.” Joe hums, handing him over. “I’ll grab some water too. And maybe a snack?”

You smiled up at him. “Please? You’re the best.”

He leaned down, brushing a kiss to your temple. “Not the best. Just doing my job.”

A piece of toast with peanut butter and a banana brought you back to life and you really had time to take in the silence. There weren’t any computers or IV drips or nurses coming in to ask questions. You were home, in charge of the schedule or lack thereof since that was the recommendation for the first few weeks, he was going to let you know what he needed and you and Joe pretty much were just at his mercy. Right now he was fed and happy, Joe softly patting his back, coaxing out any air bubbles like he was personally hired to do so. 

You let your head tip back and closed your eyes. The couch hugged you; the blanket Joe placed over you was warm in that way that meant he’d thought ahead. He’d plugged in the towel warmer days ago, before either of you knew exactly when you’d come home, like some part of him believed that if he could make this house feel safe enough, the world outside would stay away.

Joe decided it was time for a quick house tour. His hand was on Kai’s back all the way up the stairs, with his steps slow and deliberate, as if the house itself needed to be introduced to the new heartbeat inside it. “Alright, little man,” he whispered, voice low so it wouldn’t carry to the couch. “Let’s go see what we’ve been working with.”

He padded into the bedroom first, voice soft but sure. “This is where you’ll sleep—right here, next to me. Mom sleeps on that side but I’m gonna do most of the lifting so it just makes more sense for you to be here. We’ll see how tonight goes, but I think this is a good plan.”

The quarterback thinks about the last time he was in this room, you were napping and then you weren’t and now he’s holding a baby and talking to him like they’re old friends. He walks down the hall to the nursery. 

“And this, technically, is your room,” he said softly. “Got your crib, your books, the rocking chair that’s probably gonna save our sanity a couple nights. This is your space, buddy. You can be whoever you want here.”

He moved down the hall again, easing into his office as he rocked the baby. “This is where Dad goes to watch film and get gray hairs,” he muttered, rocking Kai once. “Lots of yelling at screens in here. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it PG for your ears. Most of the time.”

He could already picture himself with Kai in a little bouncer tucked next to the desk, his son babbling while he rewound a third-down play for the tenth time.

The stairs creaked under his weight as he carried Kai into the basement, the dark hush of the theater wrapping around them. He wandered through the adjoining space—the man cave, the den, the corner with the piano, his game setup glowing faintly in sleep mode.

“And this—” he pointed at the gaming setup, laughing under his breath, “—is where you’ll eventually watch me and your uncles yell at each other like twelve-year-olds. That’s family tradition, can’t escape it.”

Finally, he carried Kai upstairs and into the heart of the house: the kitchen. The fridge hummed quietly, the faint smell of banana clinging to the air.

“This is where the magic happens. You don’t care about it yet, because you’ve got an unlimited walking dairy bar at your disposal.” He smirked down at the sleeping baby. “But someday you’re gonna love this place. Right here—this is the fridge. World’s greatest invention. Morgan lives here, basically. You’ll meet him tomorrow. Fair warning—he might cry when he sees you. Don’t hold it against him, he’s just got a big heart. And sharp knives, so…yeah, no knives for you.”

Kai stirred faintly, a little wiggle in Joe’s arms, and Joe bent his head to whisper. “Okay I hear you, we’re done.”

He reached the living room, where you were still curled in your spot, breath steady, finally in deep rest. Joe lingered in the doorway, chest full, son heavy in his arms but lighter than air at the same time. “Alright,” he whispered, kissing Kai’s head before lowering him gently into the baby swing next to the couch. He dimmed the light, settled in next to you where he could still see him and dozed off, the weight of being home finally lifting itself off of his shoulders completely now that everyone was settled in.

Change → Feed → Burp → Swaddle → Sleep

Repeat.

The mantra lived in both of your phones, pinned at the top of your notes app as a cheat code for night one. Your mom and Robin had come over for dinner and snuggles after you woke up.

Everyone had tips, everyone had tricks. All you could do tonight was follow his cues and survive and advance. 

“Night station inventory,” Joe said, low and focused, like he was calling a play. “Diapers, wipes, extra sleep sacks cause we aren’t gonna swaddle this dude effectively at 3AM. We also have burp cloths, extra clothes in case of a natural disaster and pacifiers. Am I missing anything?” He asks, counting each item like he was preparing for war. 

“Nope, I think we’re good. I’m gonna grab some more water and maybe a few granola bars.”

Joe nods, “you can just put everything in the mini fridge. There’s liquid IV packets downstairs too and Morgan got those fruit bowls you like. You can grab a few while I get him changed?”

“Yeah I’m just gonna bring three days worth of snacks and keep them up here in case I never leave.”

“That’s kinda the plan,” he murmurs, “you stay horizontal unless you have to pee or something. I will bring him to you. Five days in bed, five on the bed, five around it.”

“Alright mister postpartum expert you change that poop, I’m gonna go grab my snacks. I think I can make it downstairs alone for 10 minutes.”

“You definitely can,” he said, already unsnapping Kai’s onesie, “but I don’t have to like it.”

The other shoe was going to drop soon, it had to. This was just a little too...simple. Kai ate and burped and you got him swaddled and flat on his back in the bassinet while Joe showered. You pretended not to notice the sad look on his face when he saw that Kai was already asleep because you knew he wanted to hold him or kiss him or literally just breathe him in like he was the last inhaler on Earth and Joe had uncontrollable asthma. It was actually kind of funny seeing him like this, the usual king of nonchalant energy had either been a ball of nerves or putty at the hands of a newborn who barely kept his eyes open.

"We have to get up and feed him every two hours, so we should sleep." You said to the room, whispering over the white noise machine. Joe definitely wasn't asleep yet, you could see his hand hovering above Kai’s chest; he felt the rise and fall and finally let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“He’s still breathing, Joseph,” you whispered, smiling.

He flushed, unbothered. “Yeah, well. He’s new at this whole being alive thing. And I’m new at this whole dad thing. Just needed a little extra lung inspection. Now I’m good.”

"Go to sleep before he wakes up screaming, get your nap in. Sleep when baby sleeps?"

"No, yeah, you're right," he moved his hand and rested it on his own chest with a deep breath, "goodnight."

"Goodnight baby."

11:18PM

The timer chimed low on Joe’s phone. He cut it off fast, like sound alone might break the spell of a quiet house.

“Showtime,” he whispered.

Kai, however, had no interest in showtime.

Joe unzipped the sleep sack with extremely careful fingers. Kai’s arms floated free like weightless breadsticks. No protest, no stretch. Just a soft exhale and the kind of limp that made you both uneasy.

“Okay,” Joe murmured, “let’s try the classic wake‑up protocol.” He brushed a fingertip along Kai’s brow ridge, then the shell of his ear. A slow blink. That was something. He tickled the soles of both feet. Nothing. He added a cool wipe to the back of the neck for a second.

Kai’s mouth opened, closed. A yawn you could drive a truck through. Eyes…still shut.

"Oh he's—he's out. You have to take his clothes off I guess," you muttered with a yawn.

Joe huffed out a laugh and pulled Kai against his chest for a minute like a system reset for the both of them. A few soft pats to the diaper area to check for a wet change. He decided to just change him anyway, knowing the cold air would disturb his slumber. “We need you awake enough to eat, little man,” he said, voice low and coaxing as he kissed his cheek. “You hate it now; you’ll love it in fifteen minutes.”

He carried Kai to you and you shifted upright, pillow behind your shoulders, nightlight dimmed to honey. You offered, and he nuzzled, but the latch was a lazy drift—lip on, lip off, the kind that gives you hope for exactly four seconds.

“C’mon, buddy,” Joe breathed, offering the warm compress again. The heat helped. Kai’s jaw widened, he took a deeper mouthful, and finally—finally—the first steady pulls as his eyes opened. You both stilled, listening for the swallow.

There it was. Soft, clear, tiny. Then another.

Joe’s shoulders dropped a full inch. “Time stamp: 11:40. Left side.” He typed it with reverence, like he was logging a game‑winning drive.

It didn’t last long; Kai tried to drift. You did the breast compressions the lactation consultant showed you—press, hold, release—and he roused again, cooperative for few seconds before his hands went loose and his mouth slackened.

Ten more minutes. Good pulls. A drowsy milk‑drunk unfurl. You burped him, two neat burps, a tiny hiccup—and Joe had him back in the sleep sack in record time.

“Let's wake him at 2,” he said, thumb setting the timer. 

He glanced at Kai, then back to his phone, and you knew what was coming.

“Don’t,” you warned softly. “Do not Google.”

He nodded solemnly. Then absolutely Googled.

- How to wake a sleepy newborn for feeds?

- How many wet and dirty diapers should my baby have on day 1/night 1 at home?

- Newborn breathing pauses, how long is a normal amount?

He winced at that last one and put the phone face down like nothing happened. He eased back to the bassinet, hand poised an inch above Kai’s sternum, feeling the lift he would not stop checking for. Joe let out a breath and let himself relax.

For a hundred blessed minutes, everyone slept.

2:00AM

The timer buzzed. Joe’s hand was already moving. “Alright. Halftime,” he said, too cheerfully. 

He unzipped the sleep sack. Kai’s arms popped out and hovered, fists curled. Joe dabbed a cool wipe at the nape again. Blink, blink. You rubbed behind Kai’s ears, then along his jawline. A stir. A yawn.

“Okay,” Joe said, “we’re awake.” He said it like an invocation. Kai disagreed.

The moment the diaper tabs peeled, Kai’s face went from cherub to thundercloud. He issued one warning squawk. Joe froze. “Okay, okay I hear you buddy. I'll make it quick.”

He wasn’t fast enough.

Kai arched, kicked, produced a fresh, righteous poop and then—because the universe is an artist—peed in a perfect arc that caught Joe squarely across the forearm.

Joe stared at his sleeve, flexed his fingers once, and sighed. “I deserved that.”

You tried not to laugh and failed. “I'm sorry, this is just too good.”

Change accomplished, Joe scooped him, kissed the damp temple, and carried him over. “Hungry now? Or just angry on principle?” he asked. Kai rooted furiously, then decided fury was the primary emotion available.

The latch was war. Kai head‑butted the target, latched shallow, popped off to protest, then latched again with the intensity of a tiny wronged customer demanding to see the manager.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” you soothed, repositioning. Joe cupped the base of Kai’s skull and lifted at the shoulders like he was taught. Nose‑to‑nipple. Wait for the wide gape. Chin first. Scoop.

He took it. Deep. Effective. And still mad at everyone.

The swallows came fast, the body stiff. He fought sleep like it was his job. You ran your finger along the ridge of his nose, Joe ran that rhythmic shoulder rub; both of you murmured nonsense—“you’re okay, you’re safe, we love you, yes, we hear your cries for help.” Kai answered with scandalized squeaks between gulps.

Joe’s eyes flicked to the clock. “Time stamp: 3:12. Recording ‘extremely offended but feeding well.’”

“Make sure to note it was your fault,” you whispered.

“Let's not point fingers here, this is a team effort. If we show any weakness, he'll smell it and capitalize on that.”

You let out a soft laugh that startles Kai for a second but he quickly closes his eyes again and keeps working through his emotions as he contemplates whether or not he wants to commit to this meal. Five minutes in, the anger softened to productive work. A few minutes after that, the work softened to heavy swallows. Much later, and the fists unclenched, legs dropping to that familiar loose sprawl.

“Burp intermission?” Joe asked.

You nodded. He lifted Kai to his shoulder, pat‑press‑pause, pacing three slow steps. Nothing. He altered the angle—hand lower on the ribs, thumb at the shoulder blade. A tiny burp. Then a second, much louder, scandalized one as if he could not believe you had the nerve to ask anything of him at 3:30 in the morning.

“There he is,” Joe breathed, grinning like he’d pulled off a trick play.

Back down to offer the other side. Kai latched like an apology and then, two minutes later, like he’d been replaced by a rag doll. Sleep took him mid‑suck. You tried to rouse him with a tickle to the feet; he tucked them up and glared, eyes slitting open just to communicate his disgust before closing again.

“I respect the message,” Joe said. “But you still need a little more.”

He roused just enough for five solid swallows. You called it. Joe zipped him into the sleep sack—learned, finally, not to overthink it—then lowered him into the bassinet.

His hand hovered as he watched the steady rise and fall. Joe’s shoulders sank.

He looked at you—your head tipped against the headboard, the towel-warmer heat tucked across your upper body, easing the ache—and something eased in his face, too. “Change. Feed. Burp. Swaddle. Sleep,” he recited, softer now. “Repeat.”

“Repeat,” you echoed, eyes already glassy with sleep.

Joe set the next timer with a grim little smile. “And before you ask,” he said, sliding down to sit cross‑legged by the bassinet, “yes, I’m going to stare at him again.”

“You’re a film guy,” you mumbled.

“This is really good tape,” he said, and reached one finger through the bassinet edge until it rested against the sleep sack—just enough contact to reassure himself that everything in this tiny, brand-new world was still moving like it should. Outside, the city was mostly asleep. Inside, your breaths and Kai’s fell into the same slow count, and Joe kept time in the dark, wide awake and completely undone.

Day Four

Night two - 3AM

The other shoe had dropped. Out was peace and calm. In was the scream. It would’ve been impressive if it wasn’t terrifying. You and Joe quickly learned that Kai could scream, for a while if he felt like it. 

He’d been doing it almost nonstop for the last 32 minutes. And it was so loud you couldn’t even hear the white noise machine anymore. You'd tried everything. His diaper was changed, Joe even insisted on changing the whole outfit because he thought Kai might be warm. He was re-swaddled, still angry. You tried rocking him in the nursery for a change of scenery, unbelievably pissed. Now it was his turn again.

“Shh, breathe buddy. Take a breath, you’re okay,” Joe tried soothing your tiny human siren to no avail. He’d been rocking him, bouncing his knees and patting the baby’s butt which usually worked and tonight, it just, wasn’t. His ran a hand along his jaw, throat tight. “What am I doing wrong? 

“Nothing,” you stand up to reassure him, placing a hand on his back. “Maybe he’s hungry again?”

“He literally ate 45 minutes ago, there’s no way he’s hungry again.”

You sigh, sitting on the bed and grabbing the nursing pillow, “okay well maybe we’ll just try this for now, so his mouth is doing something that’s not exercising his vocal cords?”

Joe surrendered him with relief and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, pressing his palms over his eyes. The second Kai latched, the screaming cut off. His tiny body melted, swallowing like he hadn’t been fed in weeks.

“You’re kidding,” Joe uttered, dragging his hands down his face. He glanced at you, then at Kai, who was happily guzzling. 

Kai was crying again less than half an hour later. Then again forty minutes after that. Both times he ate, had a diaper change and went back to sleep.

Joe flopped onto his back after setting Kai in his bassinet, arm over his face. “Our baby’s broken.”

“He’s not broken,” you laugh, turning over to face him. “He’s just…cluster feeding. It’s like a newborn version of a HIIT workout, except my boobs are the gym.”

He turns to meet your gaze, even in the dark. “You’re doing great, I wish there was more I could do to help but I—I don’t have boobs.”

“Oh yes you do, they’re great boobs, they’re just useless right now. And that’s okay.” You assured him. “You're here and holding him and burping him. All of that helps. And of course, reminding me to drink water.”

His smile tipped wide, a little crooked with exhaustion. “Hydration. That’s me. I’m your guy.”

You hold out your fist, too tired to commit to anything else and he fist bumps you. “Yes, yes you are.”

By 7AM, lanolin had become your best friend. You sat propped against the headboard feeding Kai with your phone in one hand, Amazon open to nipple shields you absolutely did not own yesterday but needed today. Joe had fallen asleep with a burp cloth on his head and one of your half eaten granola bars in his hand that he fed you during Kai’s sixth meal of the night.

Kai popped off with a satisfied sigh. You tucked yourself away, lifted him to your shoulder, and patted until a soft burp bloomed against your collarbone. You kissed the top of his head, swaddled him and placed him in his bed on your way to the bathroom. You opened the towel warmer and grabbed two hand towels you’d thrown in a few hours before. Warm compresses felt heavenly on your chest, slowly redistributing blood flow. 

You showered, a mini celebration for surviving the mental and physical marathon that was night two. When you stepped out, you were a new person in clean underwear, a fresh padsicle, and the softest nursing bra you owned. The bed was waiting, the room amber and quiet. You lay down and slept like you’d never slept before.

Almost an hour later, you woke up to silence. No screaming, no food demands, just…actual sleep.

You felt it before you moved—the heavy warmth of let‑down, the faint tug of milk in a body that, somehow, was matching his needs. Relief hit so hard it shook tears loose. You were doing it. It was messy and exhausting and, often, a little scary. But you’d cleared the first hurdle and you were still here.

“Hey—what’s wrong? You okay?” Joe’s voice surfaced from sleep, rough. He blinked at your wet cheeks and was upright in a second, granola bar thudding to the rug. “Any pain?”

You shook your head, laughing as more tears came. “No. I’m fine, I promise. It’s just…hitting me. We’re doing this. I’m really tired. And leaking as we speak. But I'm also really happy.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for an hour. He palmed your knee, then reached your hand and pressed it to his mouth. “Okay. Good. Happy and leaking I can work with.” He glanced at the bassinet, then back to you, eyes soft. “You’re doing it.”

You sniffed, wiped your face with the corner of the burp cloth he’d abandoned as a sleep mask. “So are you.”

Joe stood up and reached into the mini fridge, “now I’m starving,” he yawns, reaching inside. “Berry medley or power bowl?”

“Berry medley. Power bowl’s all you.” He passed it over, grinning when you took a sip of water. He clinked his fork against your mug. “Cheers,” you laughed softly, feeling the stress of the night wear off. 

“Proud of you,” he smiles, taking a bite.

By early afternoon, the house had returned to a more manageable rhythm. Kai was feeling merciful again, relatively quiet and extremely sleepy during the day, barely waking to eat every two hours. 

Kai announced his meal request with a tiny squeak in the middle of some random documentary about polar bears and their violent tendencies. The latch stung the second Kai found you. You hid it behind a breath, but Joe saw the wince flicker across your face. His hand was already on the towel warmer switch.

“Is it bad?”

“No it’s not horrible, just tender from last night,” you run a finger along Kai’s foot, “I have stuff coming in tonight that’ll help.”

He filed that away, mental checklist updated, before Kai settled into his steady flow of little hums as he ate. When he finally quit, you handed him off. Kai melted into Joe’s chest like it was his favorite place on earth.

It was sudden: a wet cough, then a rush. Milk poured out of his mouth in a startling sheet, blooming across his onesie and Joe’s shirt in one impressive splash.

The smell hit a second later: sweet‑sour, curdled milk. A thin stream slipped from Kai’s nose and Joe stilled, every book he’d read flipping open at once. Spit‑up vs choking. Color, sound, breathing. He waited for the cry—there it was, thin and outraged. He exhaled, already moving.

“Okay, okay. You’re alright.” He tipped Kai forward into a seated position on his thigh, one hand broad across the tiny chest, the other rubbing up between the shoulder blades. Kai coughed, gurgled, then let out a burp that felt like an accusation. More milk dribbled down, warm on Joe’s forearm. He glanced at the nightstand—the bulb syringe sat there calling his name. He didn’t need it. He let out a long, controlled breath.

“Upright,” he decided softly, shifting to settle Kai against his chest at a slight forward angle. “Fifteen to twenty minutes. I’ll be your recliner, little man.”

He stayed that way, damp shirt and all, until Kai finally dozed again. You handed over another burp cloth, but Joe just draped it across his shoulder and left the mess alone. The hamper groaned when he dropped the soiled onesie in. He stared at it, doomed and fond all at once.

“Ivy’s gonna kill us when she gets here tomorrow,” he muttered, tugging a clean t-shirt over his head after passing Kai back. “We are officially a two-loads-a-day household.”

You laughed, tired and soft, and pressed a kiss to Kai’s soft hair. Yes. This was the job description now.

Day Five

Joe was officially one of those dads. His baby had officially become an extension of his body. Between cluster feeding for hours at night and today’s dilemma being that Kai had decided to participate in a bassinet boycott, he learned to do everything with one hand. His parents had taken a shift in the morning so he could actually sleep, and for the first time in days he felt human again.

While you napped, Joe headed downstairs and found Morgan plating breakfast. He ate his avocado toast and turkey bacon with a baby tucked under his arm, snoozing peacefully like this was the one place in the world where he could have peace. 

“Is—is he…smiling?” Morgan notes, his heart caught in his throat. 

“Um, I mean it looks like it. He can’t really do that yet though, I think he’s just dreaming. Kid won’t sleep in his bassinet today so I guess this is the next best option.”

Morgan smirked. “So you’re just gonna hold him until college?”

“If it’ll keep him from crying for hours, then yeah. I’ll do anything. You can’t talk because you didn’t hear him last night. Little dude can yell, you don’t wanna test it.” 

The chef laughs under his breath, shaking his head as he cleans up. “He’s five days old and I’ve heard him cry maybe twice, Joe. I think I do wanna test it.”

“Fine,” Joe sighs, putting his plate in the sink with Kai still in tow. He walks with Morgan into the living room and sets Kai in the bassinet, swaddle and all.

“See? He’s fine.” Morgan notes.

Joe raises his eyebrows and starts counting in his head. Kai opens his eyes, kicking his feet and Joe crosses his arms. Kai progressively gets more upset the longer he’s in the bed. 

Then he’s screaming and Joe almost laughs when Morgan flinches like the smoke alarm had gone off. He takes off the swaddle and picks him back up, starting to rock.

“Alright, I hear you.” Joe muttered, scooping him up and unwrapping the swaddle. Kai quieted the second he was pressed to his dad’s chest. “I’m sorry buddy, that was mean.” 

He turned to Morgan.

“Okay yeah. Kid’s voice definitely carries. You’re right,” he admitted, shaking his head.

“I’ve slept 7 hours the last three days and I just traumatized my son to make a point, you happy?”

“Hey, I’m just testing your new dad strength.”

Joe scoffed, rocking Kai. “No, you’re testing my new dad patience and I don’t have much.”

You walked into the bathroom and stood in the doorway, watching him. “Are you getting ready to give him a sponge bath or a lobotomy?”

He rolls his eyes, “you’re hilarious, really funny. You won’t be laughing when he’s clean and calm and hopefully doesn’t wake up every hour demanding to be fed.”

“No you’re right. Please proceed, Doctor Burrow.” You snorted; everything was funny in your delirious state.

“Baby, will you bring our baby please?”

“Sure. I really hope this works.”

The sponge bath itself was quiet, almost ceremonial. Kai stayed awake, exactly what you wanted, eyes wide, trying to make sense of the dim light and the hush of your voices. With his umbilical cord stump still attached, a full bath was off the table, but the pediatrician had suggested a warm sponge bath to reset him, help him sleep longer and maybe even give you a longer stretch of rest.

You stripped him down to his diaper and carried him in. Joe had set up the rubber changing pad like a makeshift tub, carefully lined with the softest towel he could find. A bowl of water steamed gently on the counter, the soap and lotion neatly lined up, and a hooded bear towel waited in the warmer like a reward at the end.

You dipped your hand in the water bowl before dipping the washcloth in it. 

Joe looks over, "temp's good? Not too warm?" 

"No I think it's perfect," you reassure him, dipping the washcloth in the water and handing it to him. "Look at him, drowsy already."

To your relief, Kai didn’t protest. The first swipe across his chest startled him, fists balling tight, but the warmth worked fast. His features softened, eyes blinking heavy as Joe’s voice filled the space.

"Okay buddy, we're gonna get you nice and tired. You're gonna smell so good, you're gonna sleep even better. We gotta get in these little neck rolls too," Joe laughs as he dabbed carefully, "and your little armpits so you don't get all stinky."

"He is not stinky."

"He really isn't, he smells so good and he’s got the world's tiniest feet." He lifted one, kissed the sole, then wiped it gently. Kai’s legs twitched, then stopped moving.

You squeezed a little shampoo in your hand and massage it into his scalp. "This is kinda fun," Joe admitted, watching Kai sigh, his hands were relaxed at his sides, his body was going boneless the more he relaxed.

When Joe was done with his body, he wrapped him up in the towel and picked him up so you could wash his hair, "he's just got so much of it. How is this possible?"

"He has good genes, okay? It's not just all blue eyes and middle of the night screaming Joseph. He is also...beautiful."

Joe pressed his lips to Kai’s damp forehead. "God, he really is. We did good."

"So good, now let's get him dressed before he gets upset and this whole plan goes down the drain."

"Yeah we need to focus, getting this little dude to actually sleep is the most important thing right now. Cuteness aside."

Once you were back in the room, you were a well oiled machine. Joe rubbed lotion into Kai’s tiny legs, got him dressed, and kept him awake just long enough to hand him off so you could nurse. When Kai finally knocked out, you sank into bed, gave Joe the quickest kiss imaginable, and let the hum of the white-noise machine drag you under.

Two hours later, the screaming started again. By now, it felt almost automatic. Latch, feed, burp, quick change, water bottle in your hand, the rhythm of survival. Tonight’s cluster feeding only lasted three hours instead of last night’s seemingly never-ending marathon, but your body felt twice as heavy, eyelids sandpaper-dry, every muscle humming with fatigue.

You and Joe collapsed sideways on the bed, faces half-buried in the pillows, shoulders touching. Neither of you had the energy to move, but the giggles came anyway, that hushed, ridiculous laughter that only happens at 3AM when you’ve been beaten down by the newborn trenches.

“How?” you wheezed, voice cracking with exhaustion. “How is it possible to love someone this much that getting no sleep is actually funny?”

Joe’s eyes were half-shut, but his grin was front and center. “The new baby smell and holding him has to have some kind of brainwashing powers. I think my eyelids are shriveling from being awake, and I couldn’t care less. Is it weird that I actually miss him right now?” He tilted his head toward the bassinet. “He’s literally right there. I can see him. But it’s like he’s too far away. I love him more than I love sleep and that’s…insane for me.”

You let out a tired, happy sigh, cheek pressed to the pillow. “No, I get it. He’s wrecked our schedule, stolen our rest, and I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to be awake at this hour.”

“Me neither,” he murmured, reaching for you without opening his eyes. You scooted over to lay on his chest, giving his body a gentle squeeze to remind you that the moment was real.

Both of you lay there, wrecked and beyond delirious, hearts pounding in time with the tiny breaths from the bassinet-so full it was almost painful.

Day Six

The beautiful thing about a shorter cluster feeding stint was the rejuvenating feeling that came from real rest. It was night and day. In hindsight, it wasn't much, but it gave you your second wind. There was no ifs, ands or buts about it, you were alive again. 

And you weren't alone. 

You realized you had spent the last six days in a fog, a new baby trance where it seemed like the only thing you could think about was Kai. If you weren't thinking about him, you were feeding him, or changing him, or wondering if he was breathing or if he needed something. Or anticipating that he was going to need something soon. That was it. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And yeah of course you loved Joe and he was there and he was helpful and an amazing dad and that was beautiful but today, you saw him. Honestly, it felt like you were seeing him for the first time. And it took all the air out of your lungs. His hair is a little longer than usual, because he hasn't had time to get a haircut. A little stubble was coming in, because he'd been too tired to shave. There is this light around him that was intoxicating. You wanted to breathe it in, you wanted to breathe him in.

“Alright, little man’s ready to go,” Joe says, snapping you out of it as he clicks the car seat. “You packed the bag?”

You nod, not really trusting your ability to form a coherent sentence. "Yep, I've got it." 

He just stared at you and held his hand out and you laughed, "the bag isn't gonna kill me it's like 3 pounds. Your baby is much, much bigger."

“Don’t care. Gimme the bag. You can carry your phone and water. That’s plenty.”

You shook your head, grabbing your stuff and walking to the car after Joe slung the bag over his shoulder with that beautiful crooked grin you pretended not to notice.

While he’s driving, details start throwing sparks again. The ropey veins across the backs of his hands, a T-shirt snug at the biceps, sunlight warming his cheekbones, highlighting his jawline. His lips—soft, full, and ridiculously unfair—look like two temptations pressed together.

As you walk in you notice you aren't the only one who sees it. A receptionist blinks too slowly as he walks by. A nurse loses a word mid-hello. It should make you protective; instead you feel a mean little thrill of validation.

He doesn’t clock the shift at first—rooms have always bent around him—but even he feels it here.

You booked the first slot before official hours, Joe’s idea, and yeah, you’re suddenly grateful the entire southwest side of Ohio can’t tweet that Baby Burrow showed up for weigh-ins.

While you waited for Dr. Bell to come in, Joe spoke up, not looking away from the baby in his hands. “I don’t want this to come off sounding like I’m full of myself but—is it me or was everyone just…staring at me? More than usual. It was like the receptionist was looking through me. Like she doesn’t have X-ray vision but wishes she did. Am I crazy?”

“No, no you’re not crazy,” you lean on the counter, savoring it. “At all. They were definitely staring. It’s because of your dad glow.”

He furrows his eyebrows, adjusting Kai into the crook of his arm, “I have a what now?”

“A dad glow.”

His face is blank. “I don’t know what that means.”

“It means you look like you could carry a refrigerator with one hand and burp a baby with the other. It’s a thing. And it’s working.”

His ears turn pink. He tries not to smile and fails. “Thanks, I guess.”

“I’m pretty sure every woman in here wants to thank you, you know, for being so pretty.”

He shakes his head and you turn yours at the sound of a knock. Dr. Bell steps in with a nurse in tow.

“Good morning, you three. I hear we’ve got a Day-Six celebrity.”

“A+ list,” Joe corrects her jokingly; Dr. Bell chuckles like she’s been waiting to meet him.

“Let’s grab stats.”

The nurse lifts, the scale beeps, tape circles the crown, length board slides out. A tiny wail of betrayal; Joe’s fingers twitch, your hand finds his wrist.

“Birth ten-three,” the nurse reads from the chart. “Today nine-ten. Nicely up from discharge.”

Joe exhales so quietly only you hear it.

Dr. Bell warms her hands and leans in. “Most newborns lose up to about ten percent the first few days and are back to birth weight by day 10–14. He’s trending beautifully. Tell me how feeds are going.”

You tag-team it. 8–12 feeds a day, wake at three hours, night-three and four clusters, six-plus wet diapers, mustard colored poops. Dr. Bell listens to Kai’s chest.

“Lungs clear. Heart strong.” She peers in his mouth. “Tongue and palate look great. Umbilical stump’s normal—keep it dry, no alcohol. Any big spit-ups?”

Joe nods. “Just one. Out the nose. I ran the choking checklist, his color, cry, and breathing. Kept him forward, got a burp. He was mad, but fine.”

“Perfect,” Dr. Bell says. “That’s textbook. Keep him upright for a few minutes after feeds. Bulb syringe only if he’s pooling. Cry is proof he’s moving air but it sounds like you guys know what to look for if he's struggling."

She checks hips (a gentle Barlow/Ortolani), reflexes (root, Moro, grasp), and skin tone. “No sign of jaundice which is great. If he does look yellow in the legs and gets very sleepy, call. Fever check is 100.4°F rectal or higher—go straight to the ER, no meds first. Since he’s breastfed, your body will make milk with antibodies in case he does catch something.”

Dr. Bell glances at you. “Any pain with latch?”

“Tender. Night two was… a lot.”

“Totally normal. Heat before, lanolin after. If pain lasts beyond a few seconds, break suction and relatch. Football or side-lying can help. Don’t suffer through cracks, call us.”

She stands. “You’re doing beautifully. You look like a team. See you in a week.”

When the door shuts, you let out a slow breath. Joe looks up and catches the way you’re looking at him, like he’s a tall glass of water in the middle of a drought.

“What?” he asks, smiling.

“Nothing,” you lie, then let your fingers trace the vein at his wrist. His pulse jumps under your touch.

“Hungry?” he asks, meaning ten things.

“Starving,” you say, meaning all of them.

He tucks the car seat close, shifts the diaper bag, and somehow still finds a way to hold you in the space between. Outside, morning light hits the parking lot, paving the way for the beauty of the day.

The house went quiet after lunch, the kind of hush that made you believe in miracles. The sound machine purred from the corner. Joe stretched out on the couch with Kai asleep on his chest, one palm resting lightly over his clothed back, both of their mouths slightly open.

You drifted, half-dozing in the armchair, until a low gurgle broke the spell. Then a second. Then a very distinct whoosh.

Joe’s eyes snapped open. He lifted his head. "Oh my god," he waited, looking between you and him. All you could do was laugh. 

"Good luck with—" another bubbling noise, "that."

He slid Kai carefully to the changing pad, already moving on autopilot—diaper off, fresh one under, wipes in hand. “Alright, crisis averted. Piece of cake.”

With your eyes still closed, you nodded, not wanting to entertain his bravado when the day was so young. 

Joe sat back down, scrolling through his phone, scheduling visits with his friends who were all itching to meet Kai. He was going through the plan in his head, what time they should come, hoping Kai would be asleep at the beginning and maybe wake up at some point but he really was in charge of how the visit would go. Joe just texted the group chat and told them to come over at 3PM. In the midst of his focused and careful plan for the next day he felt Kai's entire body clenched. He was working. Hard. Joe frowned, sitting up, brushing a gentle thumb over Kai’s temple. “He's really struggling."

Kai let out another determined grunt, his tiny body arching slightly. His little hands, still curled into fists, were trembling from the effort, and Joe’s heart nearly stopped.

“Babe, his hands are shaking,” Joe said, his voice slightly rising with panic. “Is that normal? Is he in pain? Should we take him to the hospital?”

You were up now, placing a reassuring hand on Joe’s arm, your voice steady. “Joe, I promise, it’s normal. Babies tense up when they’re trying this hard. His little muscles are just working overtime. It doesn’t mean he’s in serious pain. It just looks like a lot because he’s so small.”

Joe’s jaw tightened as he looked down at Kai, who let out another loud grunt, his face growing redder with effort. The sight of his baby trying so hard, his hands still trembling slightly, made Joe feel helpless.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice almost pleading.

“I’m sure,” you said gently. “He’ll get through it. You’re helping him more than you realize.”

Joe nodded, though the worry in his eyes didn’t ease. “Alright, buddy,” he murmured to Kai, his deep voice soft and comforting. “Let’s get rid of whatever's stuck in there.”

He adjusted his hold, laying Kai across his forearm with his head resting in his large hand. With his free hand, Joe began to rub slow circles on Kai’s soft belly, applying a little pressure as you had suggested.

Kai responded with more grunts and squirming. His stomach let out a rough noise and Joe paused, his heart pounding.

“You’re okay, little man,” Joe whispered, his voice steady despite the panic creeping into his chest. “You’ve got this. Dad’s got you.”

Kai let out a loud, relieved grunt, his body stiffening for a brief moment before completely relaxing. The unmistakable sound of a diaper rapidly filling followed.

Joe froze for a second, then broke into a relieved laugh. “Oh, buddy, there you go.”

Kai’s face softened, his red cheeks fading as he let out a tiny sigh. His little legs went limp against Joe’s arm. Then came another sound. A rippling, catastrophic squelch that you felt in your soul.

Joe’s eyes widened. “Wow. Still going huh?"

You didn’t even have time to warn him. The diaper was already filled so all it could do was expand. A mustard-yellow tide with the ambition of a river, seedy and sincere, breaching containment with a slow creep out the side. And onto Joe's shirt.

“Uh…did he just explode?"

"Yeah," you tried to hold in a laugh, "I'm gonna—here," you handed him some wipes as he stood up and transferred Kai back to the changing pad. You grabbed wipes and the diaper cream. 

Joe peeled the diaper back and froze, a strategic pause. "Where did all of this come from and how is it coming out of such a small body?" 

“Here, let me help,” you said trying not to laugh, sliding in beside him with wipes and cream. “Lift his ankles. Good. Now tuck the clean one under. You can use the dirty one as a shield.”

Joe obeyed, composure miraculous, until a warm stripe found his wrist. He glanced down at the smear on his forearm, blinked once, and nodded. “Great, that's just, really nice.”

You bit back a laugh and lost. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you.”

“I love me less,” he said lightly, then softer to Kai, “Not your fault, man. That’s just physics and I really hate science right now."

The front door clicked open.

“Hello?” your mom called, sing-song. “We brought salmon and—oh!”

Joe did not even flinch. “In here,” he called back, still working. “We’re...mid event.”

His mom stopped at the threshold with yours, both women taking in the tableau: Joe bent over the pad, forearms braced, a smear of poop like war paint, baby legs held gently by two fingers like he was handling blown glass. You in support, wiping anywhere you could reach, the room smelling faintly of curdled milk and something way earthier.

Your mom’s hand flew to her chest. “Oh, Joseph.”

His mom’s eyes went a little shiny. “Look at you.”

Joe glanced up, sheepish and focused. “Hi. Welcome. Please don’t touch anything. It may have been pooped on.”

They happily and quietly watched the two of you work. You got rid of the diaper, the onesie and the tan burp cloth that was now stained yellow. Once he was wiped down and there was no trace of poop left and the new diaper was on, you got Kai a new onesie while Joe ran upstairs to grab a new shirt. He came back downstairs to find both moms in tears while your mom held Kai, who had conveniently gone right back to sleep. 

"What is happening right now?" He laughed.

His mom spoke up first, wiping her eyes. "We're just so proud of you. Both of you."

"You guys are just a really good team," your mom adds. "He's so beautiful. And lucky to have you."

Joe looked over at you and you smiled, holding out your hand for him to hold, "we're really lucky. He's pretty great."

"He's perfect," your mom sighs, cradling Kai's head before letting Robin have a turn.

Robin watched her son closely the rest of the day. She remembered the son who used to live by rigid itineraries and minutes shaved off film sessions. This son ate dinner one-handed, burp cloth tucked at his shoulder, as if no version of him had ever existed before Kai. The old Joe who didn't think that kids would be in the cards during his playing career because he just didn't have enough of himself to give and dedicate to something—someone who would need him at all times. And yes, it was the offseason now but his entire energy was different, more light, soft and...whole.

They were seated inside on the couch while you caught up with your mom on an evening walk, wanting to get some fresh air after being stuck in your room. Kai had just been burped and was sitting on his chest, a little bit of spit up dribbling down his shirt. Joe didn't hesitate, grabbing a burp cloth off the coffee table and wiping Kai's mouth, "you okay buddy?" He did a quick check to see if he felt gas build up but the newborn didn't move a muscle. "Alright, guess you're good. Just knocked out," he kissed the crown of his head and settled further into the couch.

Robin couldn’t hold back her laugh. “You’ve really got it bad, don’t you?”

"I do," he chuckled, "I can't help it. He's just—he's everything. I thought I'd be ready to just dive in and power through sleepless nights and crying and like you saw today, a lot of poop. But I don't know, mom. My heart is living outside of my body with him. Every time I lay him down I wanna check and make sure he's still breathing and make sure he's okay. And when he's crying I want to fix it as soon as humanly possible and when I'm not holding him, I want to."

"Unfortunately honey, it doesn't get any easier from here. Just wait until he’s giving you mini heart attacks on Sundays,” she giggles. “But you look good. You look happy and you're glowing."

He lets out a soft laugh, "so I've heard. He makes it easy though. And so does she. I didn't think I could love her any more than I did before but watching her bring him here? And seeing her in action is just, it's insane. A lot of emotions going. But I am happy. Happiest I've ever been."

"Good, that's all I've ever wanted for you," she says, getting teary eyed again, "now hand him over, I need a little more cuddles from this tiny ball of sweetness."

Joe happily hands him off, watching Kai melt into her arms. Robin hoped she’d stop crying eventually, but when she looked at Kai, she saw both her grandson and the boy she’d once cradled the same way. Her baby, now a dad. And not just any dad, one who was steady, gentle, and wholly present in a way she never could have imagined back when football was his whole world. He’d always been her pride. But watching him now, she thought, this is the best version of you I’ve ever seen.

Day Seven

“Kai bear, let’s get you changed,” you sighed, lifting him from the bassinet. You tugged off his onesie and gasped. “Joe? Can you come in here?”

You heard his footsteps pounding before you saw him. “What’s going on? Is he okay?”

“Sorry for freaking you out, he’s fine. His stump fell off.” You angled the baby toward him. “Look—you can actually see his belly button.”

Joe crouched down, wide-eyed. He carefully picked up the tiny dried stump between his fingers, inspecting it like a precious gem. “We need to put this in a museum. It’s history.”

You laughed, gently cleaning the belly button with a warm wipe, then patting it dry and folding the diaper edge away from the healing skin. “It is history. Step one of him growing. And now he can have real baths.”

Joe exhaled, still staring at the stump. “This is wild. I saw a lady online who turns these into, like, necklaces or rings or something. We could get something made and put it in his time capsule.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s very sentimental of you.”

“I know,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “But it’s the last physical thing connecting him to you. I wanna remember that—and I want him to have pieces of these days since he won’t remember them himself.” He ran his finger along Kai’s foot, voice soft. “A week old and we saw his belly button for the first time. That’s a big deal.”

You shook your head, smiling. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, I’m becoming a sap,” he muttered, lifting Kai into his arms. “Gotta get it all out before the guys come over and roast me for being soft.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you teased.

He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Thanks.” Then he looked back down at Kai, tracing a tiny circle over his clothed belly button. “Big day, little man. New belly button, new chapter.”

As soon as you got downstairs, Joe swaddled Kai and settled him in his bassinet. He got really quiet. And stiff as a board. 

“What,” you said, eyeing him.

He looked up, a slow wave of intensity washing over him. “I’m about to introduce him to four grown men who share water bottles and definitely don’t wash their hands after they use public restrooms.”

“Joe, your friends wash their hands,” you deadpan.

“Not enough,” he countered, already moving. 

He turned the entryway console into a checkpoint: pump hand sanitizer, travel-size disinfecting wipes, a stack of fresh masks (“optional but encouraged”), and because he planned for objections, fancy sanitized lotion for the complainers. He lined four burp cloths across the back of the couch like uniforms and vacuumed a path that had already vacuumed. Twice.

“Babe, this is a lot. You’re nesting again.”

“I’m sterilizing,” he corrected, flicking on the air purifier.

“With what, Joe?”

“Hold styles.”

You laughed. “You’re going to coach four of your lifelong friends through ‘how to hold a baby’?”

“I’m going to run a clinic,” he said solemnly, picking up a throw pillow. He tucked it into the crook of one arm, supporting the “head” with his palm. “And they’re gonna take mental notes or I’m taking my baby back.”

He glanced at the bassinet. Kai slept through his father’s TED Talk, mouth a soft O, lashes collapsed against cheeks. Joe softened for half a second, then heard a car door and snapped upright.

“They’re here,” he said, as if this were a raid.

The doorbell chimed. Joe actually looked like he was about to Lysol the entire living room for good measure.

You touched his arm. “They’re about to meet their new favorite human. It’ll be good.”

He nodded, jaw set. “After my speech.”

You opened the door and the living room filled with chaotic energy. Zacciah led with a wide grin on his face; Ibi behind him with a tote bag; Adam already clocking the hand-sanitizer station with a smirk; Trae bringing up the rear, hands shoved in pockets with a neutral stare.

“Gentlemen,” Joe said, standing sentry by the console. “Welcome. There are rules.”

“Oh God,” Adam muttered, but he was already pumping sanitizer.

“Shoes off,” Joe said. “Sanitize. Lotion if you whine. No intense smells. No kisses. Do not touch his face. If you have to cough, it’s into your shirt. Phones on silent. Photos okay only for us—no posting. And you will wash your hands again before you leave because that’s how hands work.”

Zacciah laughed. “Joe’s turned into TSA.”

“Joe’s turned into the CDC,” Ibi said, obediently rubbing sanitizer like he was scrubbing in for surgery.

Trae looked past them, eyes landing on the bassinet. “Is that him?”

Joe’s entire body shifted a degree warmer. “That’s him.”

Kai moved at the sound, gave a tiny stretch, then settled. The room went quiet.

“Clinic time,” Joe said, picking up the pillow again. He demoed cradle and shoulder, efficient and unembarrassed. “Head support is non-negotiable. Don’t jiggle him. If he burps on you, you say thank you.”

Adam deadpanned. “Thank you, sir, may I have another.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Joe said, and even Adam smiled.

“Who’s first?” you asked.

Zacciah stepped forward before he could think better of it. “I’m not scared,” he lied.

Joe placed a burp cloth over Zac’s shoulder like a coach draping a towel, then guided his hands into position, slow and sure. When he got the swaddle off and lifted Kai out of the bassinet, his voice dropped to a gentle whisper.

“Hey, little man,” he murmured. “We’re gonna meet your uncles.”

He eased Kai into his best friend’s arms. “Palm here. Elbow up a little. Great. You’re a recliner. He’s premium.”

Zacciah stared, stunned by the weight and the warmth, the way Kai’s mouth made a soft O shape. “He’s…small.”

Kai sighed and tucked his chin against the burp cloth. Zacciah's body locked in place, he raised an arm to lightly touch Kai's hair. “Whoa.”

“Okay,” Joe said, not moving. “Couple minutes, then he rotates.”

Adam raised a hand. “Is there a draft?”

“You’re third,” Joe said. “You don’t have the most steady hands, I’ve seen you drop several things.”

“Accurate,” Ibi said, beaming. 

Trae had gone silent. He stood with his hands clasped, watching the tiny rise and fall of Kai’s chest like it was a miracle. When you touched his elbow, he startled and blinked quickly.

“You wanna hold him?” you asked.

He swallowed. “I—yeah. If it’s okay.”

Joe’s eyes flicked, surprised at Trae’s gentle tone. He moved closer and did the whole burp-cloth ritual again, tucking it just so. “Same cues,” he said gently. “You’re the seat. He’s the nap.”

Trae took Kai as if accepting a folded flag. The baby shifted once, then settled, cheek finding Trae’s sternum. Trae’s mouth shook; he pressed it together and kept looking, like looking away would be disrespectful.

“His eyes are open,” Adam whispered. "Those are definitely his dad's."

Trae’s eyes glossed. He laughed at himself, embarrassed. “Shut up.”

“No one’s saying anything,” Joe said. He wasn’t teasing. He was looking at Trae like he understood the whole story you carry before you ever hold a baby, and how it rearranges you anyway.

Kai yawned—slow, world-ending—and Trae made a sound you’d never heard him make. He blinked hard, one tear catching in his lashes and not falling. “Damn,” he said, voice ragged. “I can’t believe he’s real. Most chill baby ever.”

“Yeah,” Adam chimed in, “he really is.”

The circuit finished, and Joe took his son back with the greedy tenderness you recognized in yourself. He checked the diaper without thinking, adjusted his hold, kissed the top of his head. 

You caught Joe’s profile— the way his hand kept moving over Kai’s back in that absent, soothing circle. He looked up and found you watching him, the corner of his mouth kicking up. You let the guys do their thing, grabbing your keys and heading out for a doctor’s appointment. 

Silence stretched, not awkward but reverent, until Adam finally cleared his throat. “So…we really have a nephew. And he looks exactly like you, man.”

Trae uses his sleeve to wipe his eyes, “can’t believe this baby’s got me crying. I’m so happy for you dude.”

“Thanks,” Joe said, voice rough, clearing his throat. “Feels like we’ve been talking about him for years and now he’s here and you guys get to be a part of his life.”

Zacciah shakes his head, “nope, we’re not doing this. Don’t start, you’re about to get me going too.”

“How’s fatherhood? Give us the real answer, not the PR version.” Adam asked. "Better than you thought?”

Joe laughs, thinking about the lack of sleep and the fact that he was covered in poop yesterday. “Um…you know that feeling when you go 15-0, win the Heisman and natty all in one year? 

They nodded, instinctively leaning in. 

“It feels better than that.”

For a moment, no one said anything. Coming from Joe, who had lived for the game, who’d once believed nothing could outshine the field, that was bigger than any stat. All of his friends stare, waiting in anticipation and a little shock for him to elaborate. 

“He really loves sleeping. And sometimes, I swear he smiles in his sleep, it’s probably just gas but the other day I was talking to him and I swear—I swear he smiled. Just hearing me talk. And that? That was the best feeling I’ve ever had in my life. Hands down,” he looks down as Kai lets out a yawn and a soft squeak. “This tiny person dictates my entire schedule, when I sleep, when I eat. I almost threw a party this morning when I saw his belly button for the first time, so yeah. Natty’s got nothing on this little dude. Nothing.”

They spent the next few hours holding him, Zacciah mostly just stared in awe after Joe threatened his Bengals tickets for all of eternity if he dropped Kai. 

Evening brought in calm. Kai was fed, extremely content watching the back of his eyelids in his swing. You and Joe had collapsed on the couch, “Now You See Me” playing low in the background.

“Hey.” He said.

“Hi,” you laughed, tilting your head. 

“I just realized we haven’t actually kissed in a week.”

“You kissed me this morning.”

He crossed his arms, “I gave you a peck. That wasn’t—it doesn’t count.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“That Kai is the best. But I missed you, I missed us. And I want you to come here.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but moving closer to him anyway. “Is this close enough?”

He pulled you all the way into his lap, arms wrapping snugly around your waist. “I already know what you’re about to say, and no—you’re not heavy. Relax.”

“Okay,” you breathed out. “I’m relaxed.”

“Good,” he whispered, kissing along your neck. His stubble grazed your skin, sending sparks down your spine. You wrapped your arms around him, and the softest sound slipped from your lips before you could stop it. The dad glow hasn’t faded, and the longer his lips are on you the more familiar it feels. There is some part of it that feels like uncharted territory now. Kissing him feels better than being wine drunk. It’s just as sweet, just as warm and so much more addictive. 

“I love you,” you tell him, pulling away just an inch to catch your breath.

His laugh was low, his breath brushing your lips. “I love you too. More than ever.”

Kai shifted in his swing with a tiny squeak, and both your heads turned automatically. He was still asleep, peaceful as ever. You looked back at Joe, your foreheads resting together.

Although it was just a few kisses, it was the first night that started to feel like you and Joe again.

Day Eight

It’s 8:33AM and Kai’s cries are bouncing off the walls. You can feel the overtired edge—he’s past drowsy, and fully into fight mode. His diaper is dry, he just ate, burped and doesn’t want to be swaddled. 

Your legs are tired from walking around the bedroom with him so you try the rocking chair in the nursery. He hates it, giving you a unsatisfied wail.

“Do you need a break? I can give it a try.” Joe fills the doorway, rubbing his eyes, T-shirt wrinkled, worry disguised as calm.

You press your lips to Kai’s damp cheek, surrendering him. Relief hits your arms so abruptly your hands tremble. “Please.”

“I’m gonna shower,” he knew that was code for I’m gonna have a mini meltdown please don’t come in and he gave your hand a squeeze before giving the baby his full attention.

“Alright buddy,” he sighed over the baby’s screams, “you’ve gotta work with me here.”

He rubs Kai’s back, looking for the emergency pacifier. The pacifier buys him three seconds, then Kai spits it out with the righteous outrage of an eight-day-old who knows what’s what. Joe tries again. Another three seconds. Still a no go. The scream returns, increasing in power.

He doesn’t flinch. “I hear you man. Loud and clear.”

By the time you reach the bathroom and the water hisses to life, Joe is downstairs, ready to pull out all the stops. In the living room, he settles into the softest corner of the room and starts the sway—barely motion, more like silent prayers. He talks while he walks. There’s one hand palming the baby’s back, the other supporting that heavy newborn head.

“Okay, little man. OTAs are coming,” he tells Kai, voice low and almost amused over the noise. “Means I've gotta go back to work soon. Don’t panic. I’m panicking for both of us.” Kai shrieks. Joe nods like it’s a fair point. “And yeah, the thought of leaving the house right now makes me sick, too. I don’t wanna miss a minute with you and your mom.”

Joe tries the pacifier again out of desperation, ending up wildly unsuccessful. The swing is a nonstarter. He sets it to a slow lull; Kai registers the betrayal and rallies louder. Joe exhales, decides to cut to the closer. Shirt off. Onesie off. The line of contact, baby cheek to heartbeat. He folds a hand wide across Kai’s back and when the baby’s ear lands on the drum of Joe’s heart, the pitch drops.

From siren to squeak.

From squeak to breathy little whimpers that die out on Joe’s chest.

Joe grabs the fuzzy throw from the back of the couch, drapes it over both of them without breaking that fragile spell, and lets gravity take his shoulders. The tendons in his neck go slack. He sleeps like a man who just won a seemingly endless war.

Thirty minutes later, the phone in the center of the couch vibrates against the fabric with a gentle rattle. Joe surfaces like he’s been in a coma—one confused blink, then another—and tightens his hand automatically on Kai’s back. The baby doesn’t stir. Joe fumbles for the rectangle by feel, squints at the screen.

DUKE TOBIN.

A breath, low and even. He swipes. “Hey, Duke,” he whispers, voice sanded down by sleep and care.

“Joe,” Duke says, warm enough that the hello is half congratulations. “I’ll keep it quick. You good?”

Joe angles the phone so it doesn’t press into Kai’s head and tips his face toward the ceiling, giving his airway room around a ten-pound furnace. “We’re hanging in.”

“Love to hear it,” Duke says, smile audible. “Wanted to ask your blessing before we move. Social media team’s got a simple congrats post prepped—no details, no photos. ‘Welcome to the jungle, Baby Burrow.’ We can put it out today if you’re comfortable.”

“I appreciate you asking,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft. “But, this isn’t really your department. Shouldn’t Emily be calling me about this?”

Duke lets out a nervous laugh, “No I know. I just wanted to see how you’re doing myself and let you know how important your privacy is to everyone in the organization. Especially because fans are wondering. They care about you.”

“I get it,” Joe says, firmer now, not unkind. “I know people care and I’m grateful. But this isn’t football, it’s my family and I want to protect them a little longer. Especially him.” He presses his thumb into a slow circle between Kai’s shoulder blades. The weight on his chest a constant physical reminder of what’s important now. “I want the first stuff to be ours. No timing pressure. No internet.”

“Totally fair,” Duke says. “And for what it’s worth, the only reason we floated it is because people are excited for Baby Franchise. They’ll be happy for you. But we’ll hold and I’ll let Emily know to kill the draft. You tell us when—if—you want something posted, and exactly how much. If not, we’ll stay out of the way.”

Something loosened in Joe’s shoulders, the remaining tension eased as you walked down the stairs. He ran his thumb across Kai’s neck, smiling at the little rolls starting to form.

“Thanks, Duke.”

“Of course. Hey—get some sleep if you can.”

Joe huffed a laugh that didn’t reach full volume. “Working on it.”

He ends the call, lays the phone face-down, and presses his lips to Kai’s cap. When you hit the bottom step, he looks up. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah, so much better,” you sigh, taking in the view. “Thank you, I needed that.”

“Of course,” he murmured, reaching for you as you parked yourself next to him. 

You grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze, “who was on the phone?”

“Uh…it was Duke.”

He feels you stiffen up a little, a reminder that you wouldn’t be able to live in the comfort of your home stuck in this newborn bubble forever. “What did he say?”

Kai opens his eyes, stretching and lifting his head like he wants to know what’s going on too. He flops back down a few seconds later. 

Joe cups the back of his soft head, steadying him. “He asked if they could make a baby announcement, I said no. He told me to get some rest, I said thanks and hung up. It wasn’t a very long conversation.”

You nod, leaning your head on his shoulder and letting out a long breath. “My mom and Nikki keep asking if we’re doing newborn photos and if I’m gonna post him and I just—I’m not ready to share him yet. So thank you, for saying no.”

He nods and turns his wrist so your fingers slide together. “Then we don’t,” he says simply. “You two are my whole world now. I’m not letting anyone steal this from us—not a photo, not a name. We share when we say so.”

“Agreed.”

The rest of the day was a restful lull, a rough morning long forgotten. Some random Netflix series captured the room, Morgan was in the kitchen prepping dinner and Ivy was upstairs tackling yet another two loads of laundry. All three of your clothes and your sheets were without a doubt covered in milk. Since his morning rebellion, Kai had barely uttered a peep, now happily dressed but tucked snug in his dad’s hold. You were convinced if he didn’t need you for meals that he would just stay with Joe until he could walk on his own.

“I’m gonna grab some water,” Joe huffs, standing up to place Kai in his bassinet. “Do you need a refill?”

You handed him your plastic mug, “please and thank you.”

He nodded and turned toward the kitchen not even making it three steps before Kai let out a small, startled whimper. Then another one, much higher.

Joe froze mid-stride. He pivoted like he’d heard the roof collapse, came right back, and set his hand flat over the newborn’s stomach. “Hey. Hey, I’m right here,” he murmured, barely above breath. The whimper paused, then wobbled, then rose, his version of a protest sticking to the ceiling.

Joe shot you a look that said I’ve got him and also I hate this, and lowered himself onto the ottoman beside the bassinet and rubbed tiny circles into the middle of his chest.

“Shhh. It’s okay, little man. You’re not alone.” A slow pat, a gentle steady bounce. “Dad’s right here.”

Kai hiccuped, furious for three more seconds, then downshifted to a wet snuffle. His fists unclenched. The room exhaled with him.

Joe stayed, hunched over, hand still on the small annoyed bundle of your son like he was anchoring a tent in wind. After a long moment, he tried again—stood up and reached for the empty hospital mug on the end table.

Kai fussed. Not loud. Just enough. A complaint that sounded like his whole body shrinking.

Joe’s jaw ticked, the smallest movement. He set the mug back down with care, like it might break the spell. “See?” he muttered, half to himself. “He doesn’t even like when I leave the room. How am I supposed to leave him all day?”

You could’ve laughed. Teased him about being dramatic. Instead you slid off the couch and came to kneel beside him, pressing your shoulder to his thigh. “He doesn’t like transitions,” you whispered. “He’s a week old. He thinks you’re part of his body. Which, to be fair, you kind of are.”

That got the corner of Joe’s mouth. Barely. He kept his eyes on Kai. “I just…I don’t want him to feel it. Any time I go.”

“Babe,” you sigh, picking Kai up now that he’s fully awake, “go get your water. He will survive the next five minutes without you, I promise. And when you come back, you and your clone can be one again.”

“You’re being mean,” he deadpans. 

“And you two are already co-dependent on day 8. Two things can be true. Please go, walk slowly.”

He gave you (him) one last glance before walking away. You held Kai up to your face, staring at him as he drowned. “I don’t know which one is worse, you or him.”

Day Nine

You didn’t want to jinx anything, but you felt like the last few days had been solid preparation for what to expect with early parenthood. There was no solidified schedule yet. There was however, a definite feeling of ease, comfort if you will, in being in charge of keeping a small human alive.

That comfort spread throughout your home when both families gathered for movie night. Top Gun: Maverick’s fighter jet sounds played in sour round sound throughout the room, your parents and his taking turns holding Kai and staring at him like he was the center of the universe. 

And for the last nine days, he really had been.

Your mom held him now, with a certain level of delicate care that you felt needed to be bottled and sold in stores. Kai was in heaven, nestled comfortably in the crook of her arms, with a posture that didn’t seem physically possible. His knees were pulled up, tiny hands splayed over each other against his chest, and his whole body curled like he was still womb-shaped. Everyone else was quietly chatting, taking in the precious moments with the newborn, when Joe excused himself to head to the bathroom.

"Be right back," Joe said, glancing over his shoulder as he stood up. You were sitting nearby, giving him a tired smile.

"Go ahead," she replied, her eyes following him briefly before she turned her attention back to Kai, running her hand across his soft cheek.

As soon as Joe left the room, something subtle shifted. Kai, who had been sound asleep for the last 20 minutes, stirred. His little eyes fluttered open, and his bright blue gaze swept across the room, looking for something. He blinked, turning his head as if trying to process what had changed. He let out a few soft, questioning sounds, his tiny mouth opening as if searching for something.

Kai stretched, putting his arms over his head with a wide yawn, his lips trembling as he continued to wiggle and squirm out of your mom’s hold. Someone paused the movie, keeping all the focus on the baby.

“Is he gassy?” You asked, looking over at the baby who was now clearly in distress. 

“I don’t feel any bubbles,” she said, calm as ever. “But he keeps moving his head…”

Robin chuckled under her breath. “He started fussing when Joe left. Do you think he’s—no, he can’t be looking for him.”

Your dad raised an eyebrow. “There’s no way.”

Everyone waited, your mom passed Kai over to Robin who was sitting a little further away just to test the theory. A few minutes later they heard the soft click of the bathroom door opening. Joe reappeared in the living room, walking back toward the group with a relaxed smile on his face.

“What’s going on?” he asked, a little thrown by the silence.

“Your son might be addicted to you,” your dad said dryly.

Joe frowned, scanning faces until his gaze landed on Kai. The baby’s eyes popped wider, head turning toward the sound of his voice. The cry caught mid-build, dissolving into a shaky little sigh.

Joe blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Robin said, laughing softly. He sat next to her, purposefully close to test everyone’s theory. 

At the sound of his dad’s voice and his ability to smell him, practically feeling that he was close, Kai’s body seemed to relax. He cooed, all previous grievances gone as he rested his head in the crook of Robin’s neck, facing Joe. Kai blinked really slow, and moving his head, refusing to let himself fall asleep.

“Here,” Robin sighs with a dry laugh, “he’s clearly got somewhere else he wants to be.”

Joe happily takes him back, kissing his neck as the baby yawns. “You can sleep buddy, I’m not going anywhere.”

The effect was instant. Kai melted into him, cheek squished against Joe’s chest, legs going back into that compact curl. He exhaled one long, shaky breath and closed his eyes again.

When they had dinner after the movie was over, plates passed, forks clinked, and laughter bubbled around the table—but Joe barely touched his food. Kai had tucked his face into the warm corner of Joe’s neck, breathing in deep like he needed proof it was really him. One tiny fist clutched the strings of Joe’s hoodie in a death grip, as if letting go was torture.

Joe ate one-handed, balancing fork and baby like he’d been doing it forever. Your mom arched an eyebrow. “You know you can put him down, right?”

“Tell him that,” Joe murmured, lips brushing Kai’s head. The baby shifted, coed, and sank heavier into him, in utter bliss.

He managed to eat everything one handed, until you grabbed Kai to head upstairs to feed him and lay him down for the night. 

Your dad was in a deep conversation with your mom and Robin about tailgating during the season, looping Morgan in on what he thought the best snacks would be because “it’s never too early to prepare.”

Talk of the season and football in general used to be what he lived for, but now with his entire heart upstairs the word “tailgate” was kind of sounding like a threat. 

“Something on your mind?” His dad asked. He didn’t wait for an answer, just nodded toward the den and Joe followed him downstairs. 

The den was quieter than it had any right to be, the fridge humming in the corner the only sound. Joe dropped onto the couch, elbows on his knees, rubbing his palms together like they still expected to feel Kai in his arms.

Jimmy sighed, leaning back. “Saw Dak this morning. Said you started workouts.”

“Yeah,” Joe admitted. “Been sneaking them in at home—late runs, quick lifts before his witching hour. Figured with OTAs I needed to ramp it up some.”

“But you feel guilty.”

“Guilty isn’t a big enough word for how I feel,” Joe says, sounding exhausted. “He cried when I left the room the other day. And tonight. I just—I’m not. I’ve known this kid for nine days and I can’t even bring myself to talking about leaving him and it won’t even be a full day. It’ll be hours. And it feels wrong.” 

Jimmy let out a knowing chuckle.  “That’s dad guilt, son. It’s permanent. When I was on the road recruiting, I hated knowing you and your mom were home without me. I missed dinners, games, even holidays. Tore me up every time.”

Joe’s jaw clenched. “Exactly. He’s so young, what if when the season starts he forgets me? Or I miss something super important?”

“You might.” Jimmy tells him. “But listen. You remember me being gone. And you remember your mom being a superhero. But you also remember the nights I came home and sat with you, even just twenty minutes. That stuck, didn’t it?”

Joe nodded, throat tight.

“I just don’t want him to ever feel like football comes first.”

“Then show him it doesn’t. Every day you come home, show him he comes first. That’s the part that sticks. And you married a superhero of your own. Between you two, that boy will never question where he belongs.”

Joe exhaled, slow and heavy, leaning back while Jimmy clapped his shoulder. “That little guy can't get enough of you,” his dad said softly. “You’re already doing a hell of a job. Don’t be so hard on yourself.” He sat in the den alone a little while longer, scrolling through the endless gallery of pictures of Kai he’d taken until he felt good enough to head back upstairs.

Later, after the house had gone quiet and your families had left, Joe found himself in the nursery at 2AM with a blowout that needed more than a quick change.

The tabs peeled, the wipes worked, and somehow in the middle of the mess his voice cracked open. “I’m not gonna lie to you, little man, I have no idea what I’m doing. I thought I did. But I don’t. I’m gonna mess up. I’m gonna be gone more than I want to, and sometimes I won’t be fun for a chunk of the year. And that might make you sad.” He fastened a clean diaper, smoothed it flat. “But I’ll teach you football terms so you can dissect defenses by kindergarten. I’ll show you SpongeBob and Star Wars—two non-negotiables. And when I’m home? I’m yours. All yours. As much as I can possibly be.”

He scooped Kai up, kissed his temple, and carried him back to the bassinet. The baby gave a soft grunt but didn’t stir once Joe laid a palm flat on his chest, letting him know he’s not alone.

“Glad you survived,” you whispered from the bed, voice thick with sleep. “Definitely thought that was about to be a two-person situation.”

“Nope,” he murmured, sliding in beside you, eyes on Kai. “I’ve got it.” He turned onto his back, one arm brushing yours. “Nine days down,” he whispered, “thousands to go.”

[yutaholic]

hemlock (M)

pairing: haechan (nct) + reader (female)

summary: after serving haechan with divorce papers, you can't take his silence anymore and head home to confront him.

warnings: strong language, explicit sexual content

notes: 7k words; very filthy with a happy ending

psa: reader and haechan grew up in the same foster home, and are not actual siblings.

The shiny floors of the lobby clicked beneath your heels. Probably louder than usual given you were stomping. The woman behind the front desk took one look at you and panicked, quickly rising to her feet as you approached, and said, “Ma’am, please let me announce you.”

“I don’t need to be announced to my husband,” you countered, shoving the doors open.

Hovering over his desk, Haechan lifted his eyes when you stormed into his office. He did a quick scan of you from head-to-toe, and liked what he saw if the smirk on his lips was any indication. He quite enjoyed the sight of you hurdling toward him like a freight train.

You slammed the papers on his desk, between his splayed hands, and said, “Sign these.”

And to the surprise of no one, he replied, “No.”

“Haechan, sign the goddamn papers.”

“Suck my dick.”

You threw up your hands and asked, “Do you seriously want a drawn-out court case? Do you have any idea how expensive that’s going to be?”

“I have plenty of money,” Haechan argued coolly. “And, thanks to me, so do you.”

“Go to hell,” you spat angrily, white hot rage flooding through your chest that he was just so… unaffected. You wanted to reach across the desk and strangle him, but you knew he would love that.

Haechan stood upright, grabbed the papers, and walked over to his shredder, feeding them into it. The loud grinding of gears filled the small space and once it finished, harsh silence filled the void.

You watched Haechan saunter toward you, closing the distance. His eyes were alight with mischief, as usual, while you glared at him in defiance and folded your arms.

“Long time no see, darling,” he purred, blatantly eyeing you.

“Don’t try to butter me up, dear. I want a divorce.”

Haechan shrugged. “Well, we don’t always get what we want.”

You took a step toward him, refusing to back down, and said, “You can’t keep me married to you.”

Haechan’s eyes fell to your lips and you could see that he was seriously considering kissing you. He quickly abandoned that thought, but leaned in, meeting your eyes again, and whispered under his breath, “Watch me.”

You bristled with frustration. “This isn’t fair.”

“Don’t talk to me about fair,” Haechan said, tilting his head cutely. Anything he could do to get under your skin. “I made you a deal from the jump.”

Your jaw clenched. Some of your bravado fizzled out when you remembered the last time you’d seen your husband, a month ago. When you told him you were drafting up divorce papers. “I’m not going to apologize,” you seethed through your teeth.

“Then I’ll see you in court.”

You bit your lip. He was beyond infuriating. You always felt like you were a step behind him, always. Throughout your relationship, Haechan played you like an instrument. He could make you do almost anything he wanted; and then convince you it was your idea in the first place. It was no wonder he was such a good lawyer, using his skills to get your brothers out of trouble.

You’d had enough and tried to disentagle yourself from your husband. Obviously, that wasn’t going well, so you tried to do the one thing he didn’t expect.

You braced your hands on Haechan’s waist and backed him against the desk, hard enough to earn yourself a grunt from his pretty lips. Drifting your fingers to his belt, you spoke coyly, “I want to negotiate a new deal.”

Haechan snorted, but his eyes were on your hands unfastening his pants. “What do you have in mind, darling?”

You reached in and grabbed him, peering up at your husband with heat as you fisted his cock. “Sign the papers and I’ll make you feel good.”

He played dumb. “How?”

You smirked and dropped to your knees.

Now, to your credit, Haechan never anticipated this move, but he wasn’t mad about it. He viewed your filing for divorce as the start of a chess match, and behaved accordingly. He had no doubt he would win, but he also kept in mind the queen was the deadliest piece on the board.

Haechan sank his teeth into his bottom lip, fighting a grin at how impatiently you dragged his pants down around his ankles. He gripped the edge of the desk behind him and teased, “You look so good on your knees.”

Your eyes had been glued to his cock, which was hardening in your hands like clockwork, but you shot him a scowl at that and snapped, “Don’t talk. It dries me up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You parted your lips and steered him into your mouth, focusing on the head with your tongue. You’d barely gotten him into your throat and a shudder rushed through your husband’s body. Still sensitive as ever. You loved that about him. He never got used to your touch.

Haechan tipped his head back and let out a staggered whimper, like he was trying his best to keep it at bay and failed, and one of his hands came round to fist in your hair. You liked when he pulled on your strands, so you let him do as he pleased. For now.

You sat at his feet, pliant and pretty for him, gazing up at him with teary eyes as if you were made just for his use. You knew he liked that, and you wanted him to bend to your will.

Haechan guided your head back and forth slowly, sinking his cock into your wet mouth until your lips sealed around the base of him. “Fuck,” he growled, pumping himself into your throat a little faster and you tapped on his thigh.

You sucked in a breath when he pulled himself from your mouth and coughed, blinking the tears from your eyes. You shifted your weight on your knees, very aware of the dampness in your panties, and finally looked up at your husband.

“Open up,” he whispered, bringing your head forward with his hand in your hair.

“Can I hold onto you?” you asked shyly, as if you weren’t currently sucking him dry like rent was due.

Haechan smiled at you being so submissive. “Of course,” he said, always rewarding your surrender with gentleness.

You reached for him, settling your hands on his hips as you took him in your mouth again, eagerly swallowing him down. The room filled with the wet squelches of his dick thrusting into your throat and soon, his endless stream of quiet moans. You hated how much you liked listening to his noises, but you couldn’t help the vicious clenching between your thighs. You dared not touch yourself though, and kept your hands on his hips.

Haechan gave a few last jagged thrusts, grabbed your hair with both hands, and emptied his load into your mouth, easing himself on your tongue until you’d licked him clean. Meanwhile, he made sure to whisper, “Good girl…. That’s my girl.”

You shivered at those words. They always made unspeakable memories rush back to you.

Your husband finally released your hair as you rocked back on your heels. You wiped at your wet cheeks and mouth, until Haechan slipped his fingers under your chin and raised your head to make you look at him again. Fucking hell, he thought. You were the most beautiful thing in the world. He touched your cheek affectionately and rasped, “You’re so stupid, darling.”

Expecting praise, you blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You sucked me dry after I shredded the papers.”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you glared at him as you realized that you had lost any and all leverage at the moment. You were so fucking turned on that you were prepared to confess to him that you weren’t nearly dumb enough and he should fuck you stupid, just to make sure.

You shook your head, hoping to rattle your traitorous brain back to its senses, but your pussy was in control at the moment, and she was livid. And horny.

Haechan watched the wheels turning in your head as he fastened his pants and taunted, “Just admit it. You wanna fuck me so bad.”

You clambered to your feet shakily and hissed, “I fucking hate you.”

“Sure you do,” your husband said dismissively. “See you at home.”

You glared daggers at him as Haechan circled back around his desk, going about his day as if you hadn’t just given him the blowjob of his life. “You owe me a new deal,” you eventually said.

“I owe you a nut. No more, no less.”

You seethed with anger, but didn’t dare humiliate yourself further and trudged out of his office in defeat.

The moment the door closed behind you and he was alone again, Haechan collapsed into his chair and heaved a big breath, muttering, “Holy shit.” It had taken all of his willpower to hide just how bad he’d been shaking.

He propped his elbows on the desk and held his head in his hands, wondering what in the hell he was going to do to remedy the situation he’d caused.

Your car idled in the driveway of a familiar house for almost twenty minutes. You stared at the unassuming two-story home, nearly identical to the dozens of others in the neighborhood. For a while, you lost yourself to the memories.

If you divorced Haechan, another chapter of your life would come to a close. Oh well, you thought. All good things must come to an end.

Says who? Haechan’s voice echoed in your mind. He never subscribed to such ideas. There was no rule that said life couldn’t be good - and stay good - forever.

Loss was nothing new to you, but it was the loss of your brothers that made your chest hurt. They worked very closely with Haechan. He would win them in the distribution of assets, for sure.

You sighed deeply. It didn’t change all the history you had with your family. The kids nobody wanted, that was your lot. Once upon a time, you’d been among the worst; an untamed hellion of a girl who wanted to damage herself and those around her as much as she could until there was nothing left.

It was the only way to take back control.

Haechan had saved you from yourself, and for that you would always love him.

You glanced down at your phone and reread his text for the millionth time. Not long after you’d left his office, Haechan had messaged you, Wait for me at home. Please. We can talk.

You’d responded, Fine. And left it at that. Truly, you wanted to talk to him more than anything. That’s how this ridiculous stalemate had begun in the first place. The bridges of communication between you and Haechan had inexplicably broke down.

Actually, not that inexplicable. Haechan was burning them down and you didn’t understand why.

Thinking about the big fight that led to you kicking your husband out, you shook your head and decided the three boys inside would be a good distraction. You hopped out of the car, dragged yourself onto the porch, and lifted your hand to knock, but the door swung open before you could.

Mark was already flashing you that big smile of his. “We had a bet going on how long you would sit in your car,” he said with a tiny laugh.

You rolled your eyes. “And Jaemin won?”

“Jaemin won.”

You snorted and slumped into your brother’s waiting arms, huffing, “Bunch of fuckers. All of you.”

Mark chuckled, patting your back as he hugged you tightly.

You were ushered into the warm kitchen and landed in a heap in the chair pulled out for you at the dining table. Jaemin was regaling your siblings about some drama with the neighbors while Jeno poured glasses of wine. You muttered a soft “thank you” when he slid a glass your way.

A few glasses later, you said, “He’s right though. I am an idiot.”

The conversation had inevitably turned to your marriage with Haechan. It went without saying that your brothers were very invested in how things would end.

“You really went to his office just to blow him?” Jeno exclaimed, putting his glass to his lips.

“I was trying to negotiate,” you said innocently.

“Yeah,” Jaemin said, lingering on the word. “Not your best move.”

“Tell me about it,” you droned, tossing back more wine, but it did nothing to dull the embarrassment you felt at being outmaneuvered.

Mark drunkenly spoke up, “I think it’s a great move.”

All eyes shifted to him and his rosy cheeks.

Mark glanced around the table and said awkwardly, “We men are simple creatures.”

You giggled while Jaemin and Jeno bobbed their heads in agreement.

A soft buzz settled in and the familiar symphony of laughter filled the kitchen, although one voice was missing. You sat with your brothers until night fell, reminding you of all the years you spent with them, talking till the sun came up.

Nobody knew you like they did. This was your safe space, the place where part of your heart would always live; the only good piece of you that existed.

“Divorce does seem a bit extreme, though,” Mark started, his eyes batting sleepily. “I mean, did you guys even try couples therapy?”

“You can’t convince someone who knows everything to go to therapy,” you replied, your voice filled with disdain. Therapy had been one of your first suggestions, but Haechan would rather dig to hell with his bare hands than be vulnerable with a stranger.

“Good point,” said Jeno. He was probably the most similar to Haechan in that regard. They had so many wounds from the past. Talking about it didn’t make them go away, especially when they’d spent so much time trying to forget.

Jaemin scratched his head. “You guys got married so young. You had to know that as you got older you’d hit some bumps in the road. Why are you ready to throw in the towel now?”

“I can handle bumps in the road. Shit, I can handle mountains, but I don’t want to handle them by myself. A marriage is supposed to be a partnership - that’s what we promised each other,” you said softly, stopping when you remembered the day you married Haechan. Sorrow filled you then. You’d both been so happy.

“What changed?” Mark asked carefully.

You stared at your glass of wine, swirling it slightly. You knew Mark probably heard Haechan’s side; they were best friends as well as brothers. Mark was the only person Haechan confided in. Not you. He only showed you his best side, his perfect side. But you’d bared your soul to Haechan and it killed you that he wouldn’t reciprocate.

“Nothing, I guess,” you finally admitted, your voice quiet as if shame had taken over. “We were always like this, but I was too in love to notice. Now, I see everything and… he won’t let me in. I feel like I don’t know him anymore.”

“You left, because you wanted him to come after you.”

You could hear the sympathy, but also the sharp edge of Mark’s voice. It was a statement and an accusation, and you knew then and there Haechan had come to that conclusion himself and shared it with his best friend. Maybe he hoped one day Mark would get the chance to voice it to you.

Once again, refusing to do it himself.

“My ears are burning,” announced Haechan as he walked in.

You ignored him as he took off his shoes and slipped out of his coat. When he marched right up to you and pressed a kiss to your cheek, you grimaced dramatically.

“Honey, I’m home,” said your husband cutely.

You deadpanned, “How was work?”

“Great. I got my dick sucked.”

You’d walked right into that one. Sneering, you so badly wanted to swing at his head. But he’d probably like that.

Haechan skipped away victoriously and poured himself a drink.

One-by-one, your brothers found excuses to leave you alone with your husband. The wine made you warm and relaxed, so you didn’t put up much of a fight. You sat across from Haechan at the table, watching him throw back a shot of something heavy, and tensed with just how goddamned attractive he was.

Your heart was mad at him. Your brain demanded you sever all ties to him for the sake of your peace. But god, your body wanted him so badly you couldn’t fathom going another night without bouncing on it.

All of which was made much worse by alcohol. You felt lighter, more at ease, and you realized too late you were now at a serious disadvantage when dealing with your husband. He could argue circles around you to begin with. Now, you were weighed down with wine. You were practically putty in his hands.

“You look drunk,” Haechan finally spoke to you, his eyes clouded.

“I’m not that drunk,” you shot back impatiently, avoiding his stare. You were going to hang onto your anger if it killed you.

“I can’t fuck you if you’re wasted.”

That snatched the wind right out of you. You looked everywhere but at him, knowing you would make a fool of yourself. “No one is asking you to,” you said, your voice low.

“That’s why you came back,” Haechan said calmly, spinning his glass of wine before taking a sip. His tone was red hot with mockery when he added, “You can hate me all you want, but you can’t stay off this dick.”

“Don’t be mean,” was all you could bring yourself to say.

“Why not?” Haechan reached across the table and snatched your hand, proceeding to play with your fingers. “You leave me. You threaten me with divorce. But I’m not allowed to be a little mean?”

You exhaled loudly. His hands on yours was ruining you. You wanted him to drag you across the table and take you in his arms, holding you until your heart healed. However long that took. But he had a point and so you surrendered. “You’re right. Be as mean as you want. I can take it.”

Haechan scoffed. He looked down at your hand and grabbed your ring finger, spinning your wedding band that he’d slid on your finger the day you married him, and whispered, “Feel this?”

“Yes.”

“You know what it means?”

“I know what it means.”

Haechan grabbed your hand tight and hissed, “It means if you wanna get out of this marriage, you’ll have to kill me.”

You tried to yank your hand back, but you were no match for his strength on the rare times he wanted to exert it. “Let go.”

Haechan shook his head. “Never.”

You glanced toward the table and watched him lace his fingers through yours, stroking his thumb over your hand gently as if he wasn’t ripping you to pieces with his words. Before you could stop it, tears slipped down your cheeks and you quickly used your free hand to wipe them away.

“Don’t cry, darling,” your husband cooed.

“I can cry if I want to,” you told him petulantly, like a fussy child. You chastised yourself for sounding so pathetic and groaned, “Fucking merlot.”

Haechan chuckled darkly and brought your hand to his lips, pressing one kiss after another across your knuckles.

Your eyes widened. Damn it. His soft lips reached your wrist and his kisses turned to nibbles then to suckling. You shifted in your chair, because you were flying at breakneck speed toward insanity. With his guard down, you ripped your hand away and whined, “We’re supposed to be talking.”

Haechan smirked, licking his lips. “I think you should take me upstairs and have your way with me,” he said shamelessly. “I owe you an orgasm.”

You let your head fall back and groaned. “Sex is not going to fix this.”

“I know that, but sex can at least do something about this tension,” he said matter-of-factly, and when you opened your mouth to argue, your husband cut you off, “You want it. Don’t even try to lie. I can see it’s eating you alive.”

It was the truth. You missed him so badly your body ached for him.

You were at the end of your rope. He was making you crazy with lust. Haechan always knew exactly what to say and do. You swung around to finally face him and said, “If I do this, you’ll meet me halfway with the divorce.”

“Not a fucking chance.”

You swore at him and got to your feet, heading upstairs to the room you shared with him. Haechan was right behind you, noting your steady gait. You notoriously stumbled all over the place when you were really drunk, but you seemed to have sobered pretty well in the past few minutes. Surely he didn’t have anything to do with that.

When you stepped into your room, Haechan slipped in behind you and shut the door, just as you wanted. You turned to him and he backed you into the wall, cornering you with his body against yours. You swallowed the lump in your throat and stammered his name, but any other words died on your lips when Haechan pressed a kiss to your neck.

“I just think there’s a more…,” you trailed, eyes fluttering at his hot mouth tracing under your jaw. “Amicable way for us to handle this.”

“I agree,” Haechan said blithely, lilting back to start unbuttoning your shirt.

Your body heated up by a thousand degrees. You watched him undressing you and stammered, “But you won’t… compromise with me on anything.”

Haechan tossed your shirt to the floor and then went to work on your jeans. His eyes were on the rapid rise and fall of your breasts. “Give me something I can compromise with,” he replied, calm as ever. “You keep asking for things I can’t give.”

“But that’s…,” you hesitated, his lips back on your neck, sucking right over your thundering pulse. Sanity was throwing itself out the window. His hands palmed at your breasts, slowly but surely taking off your bra.

“I’ve been counting down the days till I could fuck you again,” Haechan said in a low growl, kissing his way across your collarbone.

“I want that,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. You quickly cleared your throat and lied, “I-I mean, I want us to talk things out. You know, in between fucking.”

Haechan’s breath was scalding on your skin when he laughed. He traveled his lips down to your breasts, taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking. You were so malleable in his hands. He couldn’t wait to hear you beg before the night was over.

“Babe, I…,” you rasped, raking your nails over his scalp, trying to steer his dangerous mouth away from your chest. “I can’t think right now.”

“That’s the point, darling.”

Uh-oh. It was coming. You could feel the desire and the need boiling over and flooding into your veins. Any second now you were going to snap, throw him onto the bed (or the floor), and ride him into the sunset until he begged for mercy.

You sharply yanked Haechan’s head up, making his lips brush against yours and earning a delicious groan from his pouty lips. “You’re the worst.”

He grinned with delight like the devil himself. “You knew that when you married me.”

That was true. You knew what he was and what he was capable of. Mark’s question came to you again. What changed?

“You don’t fight fair,” you sighed under your breath.

“Why should I?” Haechan smarted, nibbling beneath your ear and playing with your breasts. “This is way more fun. And I always win.”

You held onto his shoulders and whimpered when he bruised your neck, crying out his name when he pinched and rolled your nipples. “Let me win once,” you choked out, grasping a handful of his hair again.

“When I win, so do you,” Haechan said shortly. “If you win, I lose.”

Those words swam around in your mind for a moment. Haechan kept kissing and touching you, but what he’d said drove you insane. “Are you saying… that what I want hurts you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

Haechan pulled back to look you in the eyes and you wanted to crumble to the floor. “Yes, you do. For you to win, you want me to change who I am. For me to win, I want you to stay exactly as you are.”

“I don’t want you to change,” you exclaimed, cradling his head in your hands as if he were about to vanish before your eyes. “I just want to know you.”

Haechan grabbed your wrists and pried you from his face, sneering, “No, you don’t. You don’t want to know just how broken the man you married is.”

Your lips trembled as you began to cry. “You think I’m not broken too? I just want you to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, but you won’t do that. It’s beneath you.”

Haechan released your hands. “It’s above me, not beneath.”

The tears were steady now. “Just love me,” you pleaded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. “That’s all I want from you.”

“And that’s all I’ve ever done,” he said coldly, leaning in to press his brow to your forehead. “But you fucking left me.”

You nodded and opened your mouth to speak.

Haechan crowded into you even closer. You didn’t think he could possibly press himself into you harder, but he did. His nose brushed yours as he whispered, “You have no idea what I want to do to you.”

His eyes went dark. You were ready to fold. All he needed to do was say the word.

Haechan reached up and grabbed your jaw gently. “When you left me, I wanted to hunt you down, drag you back, and tie you to the bed.”

Fire lit itself through your veins. Your heart skipped a beat. The way he’d said it made your knees weak. “Why didn’t you…,” you asked, shifting your weight. “Come after me?”

“You don’t want to stay with me. Who am I to make you?”

“You are my husband,” you said, raising your voice, and pushed his chest. “You’re supposed to drag me back to you. That’s what I wanted!”

Haechan’s eyes flickered.

You shook your head and cried, “I moved your queen across the board into enemy territory, where she was alone and vulnerable. And you did nothing.”

“I can only move one step at a time. She can move anywhere.” Haechan looped his arms around your waist and said, “She’s so much stronger than me. I knew she’d come back.”

“Don’t ever let me do that again.”

“I won’t.”

That was enough. You kissed him then, full of hunger and longing. Haechan kissed you back with so much lust and pain, you could feel it pouring out of him and into your skin. If you could just melt into him, life would be a lot easier.

Haechan steered you to the bed and shoved you onto the mattress harshly. In the next second, he was tugging your pants and underwear down your legs. Finding yourself naked while he was fully clothed, you laughed quietly. That was exactly how you would describe your relationship. You were open and real, he was sealed away and perfectly pressed.

“What’s so funny, pretty girl?”

You shook your head. “You’re so quick to strip me down. But you have to always be untouchable.”

Haechan snorted. “You can touch me.”

Your husband crawled over you and kissed you until there was not a single thought in your head anymore, chasing away the strife. You were completely tactile, only aware of his body on yours and his mouth on yours. You would be content with kissing him until sleep finally took you and put you out of your misery.

When the first cuff closed around your wrist, you weren’t surprised. Haechan didn’t stop for a moment until your hands and ankles were chained to the posts of the bed, distracting you with his tongue in your mouth. For the final touch, he smiled wickedly at you and gave you one more kiss while wrapping a blindfold around your head and tying it snug.

“Be good,” Haechan warned, climbing off the bed. You could hear his footsteps across the floor, and then nothing. With your sight gone, your hearing was all you had.

You laid there. Not that you had much of a choice. You tested the cuffs a few times, making the chains jingle. “H-Haechan,” you called out after a moment.

There was a small sound of movement, then familiar fingers touched your folds. You immediately squirmed. You must have wrestled a bit too much for his liking, because fingers became a flat hand delivering a single smack to your sex.

“I said behave,” your husband scolded.

You stilled yourself, but the rapid thumping of your heart threatened to rip you apart at the seams. Haechan touched and caressed between your legs, tormenting you, waiting for you to snap. The last thing you wanted was to give him any satisfaction. So, you bit your lip and willed your body not to move as two fingers pressed into your core.

Haechan tsked his tongue. “You think it pisses me off if you’re quiet?”

“God, I hope so,” you retorted.

Your husband laughed and the sound was downright salacious. His voice was even worse. “Joke’s on you. I’m not stopping until you traumatize the neighbors.”

You bit your lip harder, because his fingers were sinking in and out of you at a delicious pace, hooking against your sweet spot while his thumb pressed and rolled your clit. You could hear yourself getting wetter and wetter, so turned on it was borderline embarrassing.

“I’m not doing it,” you said stubbornly. “You won’t break me.”

“Famous last words.”

Your lower body tightened against your will. Damn him, you groaned inwardly. Despite your blindfold, you just knew he was smirking, his eyes on your perfect cunt as he buried his fingers inside. He dragged them against your walls, as deep as he could go.

“Remember when we were sixteen…,” Haechan started, fingering you to the edge of your first climax of the night. His tone was so dull, like he was discussing a business meeting that could have been an email.

“And you came in me after five seconds?”

A hand slapped over your mouth. Deserved, you mused. He’d lasted at least twenty seconds.

“You begged me for it,” your husband reminded, cocky. “You begged me to do it again too. You loved fucking training me with your body.”

You said something, but it was muffled against his palm.

“It’s my turn to train you. And you’re going to come now or I’m going to leave you tied up here until one of our brothers gets curious enough to check if you’re still alive.”

Fuck him and all the mean fucking filth that always came out of his mouth, you thought, but it was worthless. Your body coiled and shook as you released, your back arching on the mattress as much as was allowed by the restraints.

Haechan kept stroking his fingers in and out of you as you came, a victorious gloat on his face. He removed his hand from your mouth to press on your lower belly to keep you in place, your noises of pleasure filling the room.

“Fuck, yes, baby,” you moaned, writhing on the bed as he milked the last of your aftershocks. Finally, the need that had built inside you since getting on your knees for him was satiated.

Or so you thought.

“That’s one,” Haechan said nonchalantly and you gulped.

Time swiftly lost all meaning. Haechan worked you from one climax to another, your pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears. Actually, it was music to him. He loved listening to you beg.

At some point, Haechan’s phone rang and he had the audacity to answer, fielding someone’s questions levelly while still fucking you with his fingers. You partly wanted to ask who the hell was calling so late, but you couldn’t formulate the words when release was already dragging you back into its throes again.

Your husband hung up the phone and asked, “Where were we?”

“Please, Haechan. Please,” you chanted, whimpering desperately. Your body was slick with sweat, your cheeks damp with tears spilling from beneath the blindfold. You were an overstimulated mess, your body trembling wherever and whenever he touched you; even the lightest, briefest of caresses.

“Please, what?”

“I can’t take anymore.”

He chuckled. “You sure?”

You nodded rapidly. “Yes. I’m sure. Please.”

“Hm, I dunno,” your husband said, as if he were talking to himself. “I really like watching you get off.”

You were totally at his mercy and as far as mercy was concerned, Haechan had no reason to show you any.

Haechan played with your clit, his hand wet with the evidence of your many orgasms, and wiped off some of your slick on his pant leg before resuming his ministrations. “It’s probably a good thing I can’t keep coming over and over like you do, my little slut. I’d just stay inside you forever.”

“Fuck… you.” Your body arched off the bed again as you finished on his fingers, writhing. The orgasm was so intense you couldn’t even make noise, your breath stuck in your chest as you were trapped in a high between pleasure and pain.

The moment you settled down, Haechan said, “Tell me to stop.”

You took a few breaths. You were a nerve laid raw and he was still pumping his fingers in you, no matter how much you squirmed and shook. “If I tell you to stop, are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice wet with tears.

Haechan said nothing and the silence was brutal enough to crush you. For a moment, he just stared at you in wonder; your shivering and glistening body, your cheeks soaked with tears, your chest heaving for air. He had you right where he wanted you, but it wasn’t enough.

The bed shifted and you knew he was kneeling between your legs again, but this time, he propped over you and brushed his lips against yours, swallowing your cries. You felt his hard cock resting on your folds and it made you clench.

“Can I put it in?”

“Yes,” you said without missing a beat, nodding quickly.

Haechan slid into your wet, sore cunt and ripped your blindfold off, making you squint against the light. Your husband’s eyes rolled at the tight perfect vise of your walls and he groaned deep in his chest, biting his lip to keep from chanting, “Fuck.”

The sound that came out of you when he sheathed inside was mortifying. You let your head fall back on the mattress, satisfied at finally being filled, but so aching with release you couldn’t keep still.

“You don’t want a divorce. You want my attention. Now, you have it. Tell me what you really want from me,” your husband demanded, canting his hips back and forward, thrusting into you deep.

Your body accepted him hungrily. You pinched your lips together to stifle any more noises. They wouldn’t help your case. You were so sensitive it was almost brutal, your lips parted on another moan as he stroked his cock into you slowly, over and over. “I-I want…,” you trailed, your eyes rolling back. Another orgasm was already building.

Haechan smiled slightly at the twisted pleasure on your face and dropped his head to your chest, kissing across your breasts and lingering on your nipples. He snapped his hips into yours, driving his length into you so hard the headboard began to smack against the wall.

“Stop, stop, stop,” you chanted, fighting the binds around your wrists.

Haechan bottomed out in your heat and stilled, gazing down at you and watching you shuddering on his cock. “You want me to stop because it hurts or you’re about to come again?”

“I can’t come anymore.”

“I think you can.”

You blew out a breath. He was like a brick wall. Felt like one too, much to your delight. You searched his eyes, knowing there had to be some way to get to him.

Your husband smiled down at you and taunted, “Go ahead and think about it, baby. I can do this all night.”

You slumped into the mattress in defeat, your arms going limp at your sides. You unclenched your fists in surrender, letting go of the sheets. “Untie me,” you finally said. By your tone, it wasn’t a demand, but a request you knew he wouldn’t deny.

One-by-one, Haechan unbuckled the clasps around your wrists and ankles. You lay there demurely, acting like he’d done what he set out to do, but you weren’t broken. Not by a longshot.

The moment you were free, you launched at him, swinging at your husband’s head to throw him off balance. He caught your hands with his own, like you knew he would, but you tackled him anyway, knocking him to his back and landing right on him. Haechan fought back enough to make it interesting, but he relented pretty quickly when you dropped down on his dick and started riding him.

“Shut the fuck up, Haechan,” you growled when he opened his mouth to speak, probably to irritate you and you were beyond irritation already. Your whole body was screaming, your sex was utterly spent and aching, but this was the only way you knew how to slap that obnoxious look off his face.

Haechan grunted every time you slammed down on him, letting you pin his hands on opposite sides of his head. Your pussy grabbed him hard and when you stopped bouncing on his dick to roll your hips back and forth at a relentless pace, his eyes fluttered back and he moaned loud enough to make you laugh at him.

“If you would have come after me, we could have been doing this,” you said, annoyed. “You’re so stupid, my love. You’d rather have your pride than my pussy.”

Haechan shook his head. “Not true.” He struggled to get the words out with how hard you rode him, but finally managed to say, “There’s nothing I want more than you.”

“Act like it.”

Your husband reached for your waist and started to sit up, but you braced your hands on his chest and shoved him to the bed again. He grumbled in frustration and grabbed your hips harshly, digging his fingers into your flesh.

You propped yourself over him and dragged your lips over his jaw, nibbling at his neck. Then, you wrapped your fingers around his throat and squeezed, and hissed, “Come inside.”

Haechan’s eyes widened at you and he rasped, “Now who’s not fighting fair?”

You tightened your grip on him and worked yourself on his cock, feeling his hips rising to meet you like he couldn’t control it. “All’s fair in love and war,” you whispered.

Haechan didn’t question which one the two of you were. It was always war with him. He knew nothing else, and here you were matching him just as hotly. He whispered your name like a prayer and gazed up at you in worship.

It was all too easy to surrender to you, so that’s what he did.

“Give it to me.” You coiled both hands around his neck and kept your hold tight. Given the fucked out bliss on his face and the black pool his eyes had become, it was exactly what he needed. His cock was so painfully stiff in your cunt, you wanted to give him release so badly it possessed you.

Haechan panted and grabbed hurriedly at your body, his voice pitching as he warned, “I’m coming. Fuck. Don’t stop.”

You ground yourself down on his length and lost yourself to the high, crying out in pleasure when you finished one last time. Haechan released into your pulsing sex with a moan that echoed through the room, both of you whimpering through your ends. You rutted against each other to get through the aftershocks, Haechan painting your walls with his seed.

Your vision went blurry and you fell forward onto his chest, your husband’s arms wrapping around your body to catch you. Haechan held onto you with a desperation he rarely showed and felt himself floating back down to reality. Everything was warm and fuzzy, and he felt like he couldn’t get enough air.

You hid your face in his neck and closed your eyes. More than anything, you didn’t want to be parted; you wanted to stay locked against him forever.

“Are you okay?” Haechan asked after a moment.

“No,” you replied, making him shift under you with worry. “It hurts.”

Haechan started to gather you and lift. “Flip over so I can pull out.”

You clung to him harder and shook your head, and whispered sadly, “No. How I feel about you… it hurts.”

Haechan sighed heavily. “How do you feel about me?”

You let him sit up, keeping you in his lap, and even though he’d gone soft, you just didn’t want to be separated from him. You were fiending for any part of him you could get. You wanted the connection, you needed it. You were desperate to feel him. “That you’ll never love me as much as I love you,” you confessed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and hiding in the crook of his neck.

“It really pisses me off when you say shit like that,” Haechan snapped.

Your blood turned to ice in your veins. Haechan laid you down on the mattress beneath him and then pried himself out of your arms and off the bed. You grabbed the blanket and covered yourself, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable, and watched him start to dress.

“You didn’t deny it,” you spoke up a moment later.

Haechan bristled with anger and rounded on you. “I have never done anything different. You changed, not me. I’ve never lied when I told you I love you, but you lied when you said you would never leave me.”

“So, I’m the problem?” you exclaimed.

Haechan made a face, like that was exactly the conclusion he wanted you to reach.

“Don’t you see that I always have to do something drastic to get your attention?”

Haechan mocked, “Don’t blame me for you being dramatic.”

You sat on the edge of the bed, holding the blanket close around your naked body, and peered up at him with tears in your eyes. “You shut me out, Haechan.”

He stopped and frowned at you. “I did not,” your husband snapped vehemently, like the thought repelled him.

“You did.” A soft sob escaped and you covered your face with your hands.

Haechan panicked, dropping between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Look at me,” he said, whispering your name gently.

You shook your head, still hiding your face.

“Look at me,” he said again slowly, reaching for your hands gingerly and pulling them away.

You were a mess, your eyes red, your cheeks glistening with tears, your lips still swollen from his kisses. “You never tell me how you feel,” you cried, sniffing back more tears. “I’ve told you everything, but you won’t let me see you. Sometimes, I feel like I’m sleeping with a stranger. It hurts.”

Haechan hung his head in shame, staring vacantly at your lap. He sucked in a breath to steady himself and clung to your hands.

You leaned your head against his and continued, “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do, but you want to stay a mystery to me. You won’t let me in. I feel so disconnected from the person I want to spend the rest of my life with.”

Haechan’s eyes were misty now and he said, “I don’t want you to know… the shit I went through, the things I had to do. I don’t need you to carry that. I want that person to be dead. If I tell you about him, it would be like bringing him back from the dead when I worked so goddamn hard to bury him.”

“I understand, but that’s the thing about us and our brothers. We are the worst of the worst. We’ve been through hell. That’s why we’re the only ones that could get through to each other.”

“I know, but you’re different,” Haechan said shakily, wiping at his cheeks. “You’re my girl. If you knew… I could never survive you looking at me differently.”

You shook your head and assured him, “Don’t tell me, baby. Don’t dig up that body for me. Leave it be. But you’re so concerned with making sure I only see you how you want me to see you, that I’m barely getting glimpses of the man I love.”

“So, me crying right now - is that doing it for you?” Haechan asked with a tiny smile.

You laughed. “Yeah, it is. I don’t want you to cry, but crying is normal. It’s human. You think I don’t know you hide in the bathroom when you cry, because you think it’s weak? Why do that when you could be crying into my boobs instead?”

Haechan nuzzled your neck. “This is kinda nice.”

You chortled again, hugging him to your chest. “I just wanna feel you,” you whispered tenderly. “All the good. All the bad. Everything. Tell me how you feel… right now, in this moment.”

Haechan breathed you in, letting himself be cocooned by the warmth of you. Honestly, being on his knees between your legs and in your arms, feeling how hard you were holding him like he was your entire universe was healing something inside him. He’d never let himself be so sensitive to you and your touch before; that type of intimacy was too terrifying. It could so easily be abused.

“I think I’ve mastered the art of appearing vulnerable, but never actually being it. I always treat every conversation like an interrogation. Every relationship is a chess match. I don’t know who I am without this mask. I don’t want anyone to know the real me. I have to be…” Haechan trailed, the realization finally hitting him.

You nodded your understanding and finished for him, “It’s how you took back control.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“I know about that all too well. I figured if I broke myself beyond repair, then no one else could do it.”

Haechan met your eyes and ran his thumbs over your cheeks, wiping away the remnants of your tears. He could see the joy pushing through your pain; connecting with him like this was all you’d ever wanted. “And now?”

“The good with you is replacing the bad from my life before. I don’t think you know just how much you saved me, Haechan.”

Haechan smiled at you, warmth blossoming in his chest when you leaned in and kissed him warmly on the lips.

“I love you, and I don’t need to know your past to keep loving you. I just don’t want you to hide from me anymore,” you said, brushing his hair back from his face. He would never know just how beautiful he looked to you, his cheeks pink and his eyes starry.

“I’ll do better.” Haechan blew out a breath. He felt… lighter. It was such a foreign feeling to him. This stalemate between the two of you had thrown him off kilter. He thought you wanted more than he was willing to give - to dig up the past. But he’d misunderstood. You just wanted him.

He could let you in. It wasn’t so scary anymore.

“Thank you, and…,” you bit your lip to fight the urge to cry. “I’m sorry for leaving you.”

That was all he wanted. “I forgive you,” Haechan said, and he meant it. The battle was over and somehow, you both had won.

Copyright 2025 © yutaholic All rights reserved do not copy or translate without my permission!

[yeagersss]

Popular!Sukuna x Quiet!Reader (Part 3)

<- Previous

Note: In the previous part, it was mentioned that Sukuna was the school's prized boxer. I've changed it to basketball captain and Gojo and Geto are a part of his team.

--------

You sighed tiredly, staring down at the message from Sukuna explaining his ideas about the project the two of you have to do together.

You still can't believe it.

Sukuna could have paired up with anyone. Like one of those girls who were hitting on him. They would have said yes without a second's thought. But no, he deliberately decided to choose no one until the two of you were the remaining students without any groups, so the professor had to pair him with you.

You were starting to realize that this was his way of getting back at you for slapping him. He was dangerously perceptive enough to know that—for you—just being around him was enough to spike your anxiety.

You exhaled sharply, shifting in your desk chair before bringing your legs up to rest your chin on top of your knees.

After class, he gave you his number and—so far—he's only been talking about the project. But you still kept your guard up. Just in case.

Sukuna: [link]

Sukuna: This exhibition takes place on Friday. We're going there. Don't be late.

You glared at his texts. It wasn't even a suggestion. It was a straight-out demand. But... As you went through the details, you realized that this exhibition was going to be useful for the two of you. It was about the Heian court society, and since that is the era you two have agreed to work on...

You sighed again. You were about to text him back when suddenly you got a call.

You stared at the unknown number. Your mind was racing, and you were wondering who could be calling you. You thought about ignoring it at first, but decided against it. After a deep breath, you picked up the call.

"...Hello?"

"Hi there! We received your application for a part-time job as an assistant at the museum. Are you available to talk?"

Your eyes widened. You quickly straightened yourself and grabbed a pen and a notebook. "Yeah!!" You exclaimed too loudly and cringed a little at how excited you sounded. "I mean—Yes, I'm available to talk."

---

Sukuna frowned down at his phone. He used the towel slung around his neck to wipe away the sweat that had threatened to fall on his screen from his forehead.

He texted you about the exhibition two hours ago—before practice—but now he's done and standing in his locker room ready to hit the showers, and you still haven't replied to him. What the hell were you doing?

He clicked on your profile and glared at it—at the cat in your profile picture and the cat emoji in your profile summary that was making it pretty clear that you liked cats.

His thoughts were interrupted when Gojo slung his arm over his shoulder, leaning in without a care to stare at his phone while crudely sucking on a popsicle.

Sukuna scowled and shoved his face away. "Get the hell away from me."

But his white haired friend just laughed. "I can't believe the great Sukuna is moping over the fact that a girl hasn't texted him back." Gojo hummed. "Usually it's the other way around."

Sukuna gave him the best death glare he could muster up. "I am not moping."

Of course, Gojo was immune to the death glare that had Sukuna's opponents—even some professors— cowering. All that man did was go over to lean against Geto instead, who was busy on his phone.

"Nah, you definitely are. Your little plaything is playing you." He looked over at Geto's phone to read his texts with Shoko. Gojo had absolutely no sense of privacy, and Geto knows that far too well than anyone else, and at this point, he's pretty much given up on even stopping him.

And suddenly, the white haired man cackled out loud. "No way! Utahime's shifting into the campus dorms?!" His grin was the type of grin that you know means trouble. "We should surprise her!"

Geto sighed. "And by surprise, you mean crash in uninvited with two packs of beers?"

"Exactly!"

"I'm not gonna save you if Shoko decides to kill you, Satoru."

But Gojo simply batted his eyelashes at his best friend. "Aw, don't be like that. I know you wanna go too."

"I'm only going over tomorrow because Shoko told me Utahime needs help with the heavy lifting."

"Then it's settled! Sukuna's coming too, obviously."

"Pass." Sukuna grunted, pulling off his shirt and getting ready to hit the showers.

"Loser." Gojo snorted and glanced at Geto's phone again. His eyebrows shot up in surprise before his mischievous grin came back. Even Geto looked amused as both he and Gojo looked up at Sukuna.

"Oh, Sukuna~ Wanna know who Utahime's new flatmate is?"

----

The moment you got off the phone, you had a small smile on your face. You had an interview tomorrow morning at a local museum for the position of a part-time assistant. It was perfect. If you get the job, then it's your first stepping stone towards becoming an archivist.

But—oh god—you needed to pass the interview first. You've only given a couple of them in your entire life, and needless to say, you didn't ace most of them.

But you really needed this job.

You needed to prove to your father that you could support yourself.

You thought back to his look of disappointment when you told him you were going to change your program. The angry frown on his face when you had failed all your courses. The constant comparisons to your older brother.

You needed to be more independent.

"Uuugh, heavy!"

You blinked and looked over to the door of your bedroom. You could hear noises from the other side. The sounds of boxes hitting the floor and two girls chatting amongst each other.

And that's when it dawned on you.

The room next to yours had been empty when you moved in and now... It looks like your flatmate was finally here.

You stood up, your heart racing. You should greet her. She is going to stay here. The two of you are going to share a living space, so it’s only logical that you be nice and get to know her. Even if you're really awkward and have a history of bad friendships.

You huffed out a breath, mentally preparing yourself before going over to open the door, and saw the boxes around the living room and two girls going through them.

"Shoko, can you put that box over there?" The raven-haired girl said to the brunette with the dark circles. She looked familiar.

"Um..."

They looked up and noticed you standing there. You awkwardly tugged at the sleeve of your hoodie.

"Oh!" The raven-haired girl smiled and walked over to you. "Hey, I'm Utahime. Just moved into the room next to yours. So... We're going to be flatmates." And then she gestured to the other girl. "That's my friend, Shoko."

Shoko looked you up and down before smiling and waving at you. You felt a bit unsettled at her tired yet calculating stare.

You nodded, telling them your name. "...Nice to meet you." You said softly. You weren't sure what to think of Utahime. But one thing that crossed your mind was that despite that scar on her face, she looked so confident and beautiful.

You kind of envied her.

There was an awkward silence. You weren't... exactly sure what to say to her. You knew Utahime felt it too as she spoke up, pointing at the boxes behind her. "Right—well—I need to unpack. So... I'll catch you later." She cracked a polite smile your way.

You wondered if you should offer to help. But then you remembered you needed to prepare for tomorrow.

"Yeah... Catch you later."

You retreated inside your room, walking over to your desk with a soft sigh. You pulled your headphones on, music drowning out the heavy thuds and conversations from beyond your door.

Your phone lay forgotten on your bed as you turned towards your laptop, determined to prepare as much as you could.

----

The next day, before entering the office, you gave yourself a mental prep talk.

You can do this.

You're strong. You have potential.

You've changed. You're not the same person you were a year ago.

But your shoulders slumped as you leaned back against the wall, clutching the folder in your hands tightly.

You really wished you weren't alone in this.

"Would have been nice if someone was actually here to tell me all of that..." You mumbled.

But you steeled yourself, standing up straight, and entered the office to start your interview.

----

I'm sorry—The thing is, we're actually looking for someone who's more—how do I put it—assertive—

You dragged your feet across the floor as you made your way back to the dorms.

—a go-getter...

You rubbed your tired eyes. Your mind was constantly replaying the interviewer's words.

—and with excellent communication skills. So... We've decided to go with another candidate. I'm sorry.

You walked towards your door, fishing out your keys, ready to just go to bed and forget about all of this and—

"GOJO!"

You flinched at the raging screech, and suddenly the door was tore opened by a very, very angry Utahime.

"Get out of here right now, you piece of sh—!"

But she stopped when she noticed you standing outside with wide eyes and keys hovering in your hand. You looked at the scene inside the student apartment.

Behind Utahime, in the living room, were Gojo, Geto and—

Sukuna.

He was here in your apartment.

You felt your stomach coil as all eyes were on you. Geto had a glint of amusement in his eyes while Gojo looked outright mischievous with his grin. And Sukuna... He gave you a once-over. Eyes trailing you up and down to take in your not-so-usual attire. You knew this was the first time anyone was seeing you outside of large sweatshirts or oversized hoodies. You were wearing a white blouse with black trousers, what you believed to be an attire professional enough for an interview.

His gaze was intense on you. His lips were curled into a very smug smirk. As if he was reveling in the fact that his appearance had been a surprise to you.

But you were tired—so, so tired and not in the right mood to deal with him right now. You could barely even understand what Utahime was saying to you.

"I'm sorry I—I didn't see you there. Hey—are you okay?"

You bit your lip and brushed passed her, too self-aware of the gazes on you. "'s fine. I'm tired." You mumbled quickly as you made your way to your room. You just wanted to be left alone.

But then Gojo spoke up.

"Aww... Quiet girl. Don't be like that! Come on, sit with us. Have a drink!—or not. We brought non-alcoholic stuff too! Loosen up!"

Quiet girl.

Unassertive. Lack of communication skills. Quitter.

"Enough. Just enough already." You spoke up, your voice shaking. You didn't know where you were getting this courage from as you turned to glare at them. You knew your eyes were threatening to spill tears, but you didn't care at that moment.

"Stop calling me that. Just stop it..." You said, voice cracking. You dared to take a glance at Sukuna.

His smirk was gone, and he was staring at you with an unreadable expression. You couldn't tell what he was thinking, and at that moment, you just didn't care. You quickly retreated to your room and closed the door behind you.

Everyone in the room was silent, staring at your door.

"... Wow." Gojo whistled. "I think that's the first time I've seen her speak—"

"Enough." Sukuna hissed out as he got up.

Gojo blinked at him. "Sukuna—?"

But he shut him down with a glare. "I said enough. We're leaving. Let's go."

----

You were curled up on your side in your bed. Curtains closed, lights out, and mindlessly doomscrolling through TikTok. After going through the umpteenth ramen recipe video that popped up on your FYP, you suddenly got a text.

It was Sukuna.

He sent you one text, then another. You stared at the notifications for a moment before clicking on them to bring up the chat box.

Sukuna: You like cats, right?

Sukuna: [sent you a video]

Your brows knitted together as you stared at the video of a cute, tiny white kitten meowing and purring as it wobbled around on its tiny legs. It was adorable, and it did ease the sorrow in your heart.

But... Why did Sukuna send it to you? All you two have talked about so far is the project and nothing else.

Maybe he meant to send it to someone else. Maybe he sent it to you by accident.

Yeah, that makes sense. Maybe Sukuna was just sending it to one of his side chicks, and he sent it to you by accident. He doesn't even know you liked cats. Sure, you did have your own cat as your profile picture, but why would he pay attention to that?

Why would he even notice you?

It's not like you want him to notice you anyway. He's a jerk. A mean, selfish jerk who's just playing you.

You didn't dare reply to the video and decided to scroll up instead. That's when you realized you had forgotten to reply to his texts about the exhibition. After a brief moment, you simply reacted to the message with a thumbs up before placing your phone away.

You sighed and closed your eyes, deeply hoping that some rest would make you feel better in the morning.

[airconditionedgirl]

Be cool to do both.

Lust is the easiest one. Have a person, astonishingly attractive and endlessly provocative who works in Some Kind of industry that rewards those qualities (singer, dancer, sex worker, talk show host, etcetera) and who is really fantastic at it, maybe at all parts of their job but also specifically at making people desire them sexually, regard her with lust or even a kind of quasi sexual religious adoration. BUT also have this person be insatiable, have them desire everyone in every way, the effort that goes into focusing on any task when they just want to take the cute fat assistant by their side and fuck him on the floor in front of the crew should be herculean. They'd spend all of their time masturbating and fucking and it never actually does anything because what they really want is to fuck the people they can't have. Maybe they're also genuinely a bad person and has a habit of seduction, pushing boundaries or other darker things.

Gluttony would be a chef, or a photographer of food or a filmmaker of food related media like commercials. They either make food that rules or they know how to make food look like the tastiest shit ever. But this person also dreams of food, thinks of food, sees almost everything and everyone as food. They're never full, never satisfied, and always has to hold themself back from devolving into something dark and untamable. The reason why they're so good at their work is because they knows Exactly what it means to desire food. They struggles with intimacy of course, the urge to Bite is always there. I imagine.

Pride is fun, because there are a few different ways you can go. The others have kind of specific pressure points, but Pride can be any kind of person I think, because putting aside the obvious religious connotations of Pride being something that puts you in danger of thinking that you are above God's laws, it's also just ultimately self defeating. You can be too proud about anything and have it seriously fuck up your ability to do the thing you were proud of doing, without even being able to realize that that's what's happening. It also speaks to an ego, a self importance and entitlement. Why aren't people adoring you, they should be, you're wonderful and perfect and powerful, they Should love you, they should love Only You. Lots of different directions. If you wanted to make this a kind of superhero story, Pride would be the sin id peg as the active wearing a costume hero. The obvious point of reference is Homelander, but Pride doesn't have to be evil. They could be sincerely and genuinely good at their job and receive just praise for it, but it won't ever be enough

And that's the trick, honestly. Aside from the very excellent point OP had, a lot of people just don't understand why the sins are bad in the first place

It's not bad to feel sexual attraction, to eat a lot, to sleep a lot, to want things, to feel proud, to be angry, to be jealous or to be lazy.

The thing that makes any of these things bad is either just having too much of them, or letting those desires and feelings dictate your actions and to cause harm based on that excess or lack of control.

That's a modern context of course, ancient Christians probably had very different ideas of when and why the sins were bad, if they conceptualized them in that way at all.

There's also the issue that a lot of the sins kind of overlap in ways inconvenient for making characters out of them.

Lust and Greed and Envy are all very much about coveting something too much, destructively. Ultimately even if they have different connotations they can be very similar, or at least have one single subject at the same time. (interesting polycule possibilities if you did make characters out of them)

Pride, as I outlined above, definitely has shades of Envy as well, and Gluttony has shades of Lust and Greed.

Wrath and Sloth are pretty firmly their own things, or maybe not id love to hear someone go off about their conceptualization of these sins, but Sloth is kind of difficult to make a complex character around, so there are issues there.

I don't really have anything else to say, this was just fun

the thing that bothers me with 7 deadly sin based characters is when they cant decide if they embody the sin by suffering from it or by drawing it out of others. ie. if your gluttony demon is a guy who loves eating then your lust demon should be a gooner sex pest. and if your lust demon is a seductive girlboss then your gluttony demon should be a 5 star chef. does this make sense.

[zaynezone]

swim

synopsis: it's hard to stay mad at that face warnings: arguing, rough kissing, implied sexual tension pairing: Sylus x fem!reader wc: 1.3k an: i was gonna have this be for flufftober but the concept ran away from me lol so this is basically the aftermath of melodic weave if they were dating

“God, Sylus, I cannot believe you did that!” You huff the second your apartment door clicks shut behind you. The sound of your heels striking against the hardwood echoes sharply as you stride inside, each step heavy with irritation. You shrug off your coat with a jerky motion and toss it onto the couch, your chest tight with the remnants of adrenaline.

Sylus trails after you with an infuriating calm, his hands tucked casually in his pockets like he hasn’t just upended your entire evening. His laugh is low and amused, like he genuinely thinks this is all one big joke. “I happened to be in the area,” he says smoothly. “I figured you would be glad to see me.”

You spin to glare at him, your hair falling loose around your face as you yank off your heels and kick them carelessly toward the wall. “All of my colleagues were there, Sylus! All of them. What if somebody recognized you? Do you have any idea what could have happened?”

Annoyance burns hotter in your chest when his only response is that damned smirk, the one that makes your pulse spike with equal parts rage and something else you’d rather not name.

“If it were that easy to catch me,” he drawls, “I would have been caught by now.”

You drag a hand through your hair, tugging harder than you should, trying not to scream. The night’s tension sits heavy on your shoulders. “You were talking to everyone! They were one conversation away from figuring out who you were!”

You storm into the kitchen, needing something, anything, to ground yourself. The cold water you pour into a glass isn’t nearly enough to calm you, but you gulp it down anyway. Behind you, you hear Sylus scoff, unbothered.

“I played my part perfectly,” he insists, leaning lazily against the counter like he owns the place. “Perhaps if you had more faith in me, the night could have gone better.”

The glass clinks a little too hard as you set it down, your teeth gritted. “It would have gone even better if you never showed up in the first place.”

Sylus’s smirk falters at that, his sharp eyes narrowing on you. “Careful,” he says, voice dipping lower, edged with warning. “You sound like you didn’t enjoy yourself at all.”

You whip around to face him, heat rising in your cheeks. “Enjoy myself? I spent the whole night watching you work the room like some smug illusionist, praying no one would connect the dots. I couldn’t even breathe without worrying you’d ruin everything for me.”

He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, unhurried as he shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair. “And yet, I didn’t. No one suspected a thing.” His gaze fixes on you like a challenge. “You’re angry because I stole the spotlight, not because I risked anything.”

Your laugh comes out sharp, bitter. “You’re impossible. You never think about consequences, Sylus. You just waltz in, stir the pot, and expect me to clean up the mess afterwards.”

For a beat, he doesn’t say anything. His jaw tightens, his usual cocky expression hardening into something unreadable. Then, quietly but with force, he answers, “Maybe I just wanted to see you. Did you think of that? Or are you too busy being ashamed of me?”

That lands like a punch to the gut. The sting lingers, and your fingers curl tight around the edge of the counter. You open your mouth, close it again. You hate that he can cut so deep with so little.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper finally, shaking your head. “It’s not about being ashamed, it’s about you being reckless. And about me not knowing if I’ll lose everything just because you can’t resist making an entrance.”

Sylus moves closer until you can feel the subtle heat radiating off him. He doesn’t touch you yet, but the closeness alone makes your pulse stumble. His eyes, sharp and unreadable before, soften just slightly. “And yet…you keep letting me in.”

Your chest tightens, breath hitching when his hand brushes against yours on the counter, light, deliberate, like he’s testing you. His fingers don’t close around yours, but the whisper of contact is enough to make your defenses falter.

“I hate you,” you mutter, though your voice shakes, betraying the anger you’re clinging to.

His lips curve, but this time there’s no smugness in it, only something heavier. “I know,” he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath ghosting against your cheek. “But you love me too.”

The air between you hums with the remnants of the fight, all sharp edges and unsaid words, until you finally break. Your hand fists in his shirt, dragging him down the final inch.

The kiss crashes in, furious at first, all teeth and heat, as if you’re still trying to win the argument through the press of your mouths. His hand cups your jaw, tilting your face just enough that he can deepen it, and the fight inside you starts to unravel.

You let out a shaky breath against him, the sound swallowed between your lips. His other hand slides to your waist, anchoring you, pulling you in as though he’s afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his hold. The anger dissolves into something hungrier, slower, more dangerous.

Your fingers loosen their grip on his shirt, sliding up instead to curl around the back of his neck. The warmth of his skin under your touch makes your chest ache. His kiss softens, lingering now, tasting of an apology he’ll never speak out loud.

For a moment, the room is silent except for the uneven rhythm of your breathing. His forehead is still pressed to yours, and you can feel the faint tremor in his chest as he exhales. It’s enough to melt the last of your anger, though you try to keep your expression stern.

“You drive me insane,” you whisper, voice caught between exasperation and laughter.

Sylus chuckles low, the sound vibrating against you. “That’s rich, coming from you.” His thumb brushes over your cheekbone in a gesture so soft it almost startles you. “If I drive you insane, then why do you keep kissing me?”

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak and half-hearted. “Because unfortunately, I’m still stupid enough to love you.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and for once Sylus doesn’t have a quick, cocky comeback. He just stills, eyes searching yours with something vulnerable flickering in their depths. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Good,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

The ache in your chest softens, easing into warmth. You tug him closer until you’re tucked against him, your head finding its place against his shoulder. His arms wrap around you easily, protectively, and for the first time that night, you feel safe instead of on edge.

“Next time,” you mumble against his shirt, “at least warn me before you crash one of my work parties.”

“I’ll consider it,” he teases, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But no promises.”

You sigh, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. Maybe he’ll always be reckless. Maybe you’ll always worry. But wrapped in his arms, it feels like the kind of craziness you wouldn’t trade for anything.

[jarofstyles]

Wait I love the influencer YN idea so what about a blurb of her trying a bunch of pastries from a popular place and she’s rating them. So she takes a bite of each to try them and you can just see Harry’s hand coming in the frame to snatch up the pastry and finish it off and give his own rating in the background lol

God I am loving this trope I'm eating it up! And so is he…

Check out our Patreon for early access and 300+ exclusive writing and series with 3x a week updates!

Warnings- none really!

----

"Mmmmm... I'll give it a 6 out of 10. It could be better, I think. I will say I am probably unfairly judging because there is nothing that will ever judge a fresh chocolate croissant in France, but it's not the best I've had. Not the worst, and I liked the filling."

Y/N didn't need to extend her hand for the ringed hand to reach out, grabbing said pastry from her grasp. She laughed under her breath, bringing the napkin up to her lips and looking behind the camera to see him taking a bite of it, thinking loudly on his face.

"What's the verdict?" People knew she was with Harry, but she didn't really include him on camera. This was the extent of it, at least for now. She couldn't complain about it, because he'd come out of his shell a bit when the camera was around and seemed pretty comfortable when he was behind the lens as opposed to in front of it.

"Eh. S'a 4." He placed it down on the plate in front of him, not minding when Y/N laughed loudly.

"A 4? Come on, H, It isn't that bad." She grinned behind the napkin because Harry was a particular harsh critic when it came to taste tests. It worked out for them both considering her audience loved hearing his remarks in the background and he loved getting to eat her food.

"It's not great. A little stale. It should melt in your mouth." He defended his rating, making her shake her head.

"Alright, next." She bit back the giggle at his narrowed eyes from behind the camera, picking up a cupcake. "Since we have a bit of a tough crowd, I got something I know critics are known to like. This is a banana foster's cupcake." She undid a bit of the wrapper, looking it over. "It isn't over the top, I'll be able to take a bite without unhinging my jaw like a snake so I like that. And it smells really good, so they get points in my book. Simple in looks but I like the caramelized banana on top. You'd have to eat this day of, but I don't think I'd have problems with that."

When Y/N took a bite she knew Harry would like it. He was a tough man to impress, but she did know what he liked. "Oh, this is a good one. 9 out of 10 for me. One of the best cupcakes I've had, especially anything with banana. It isn't the artificial banana-"

"Give me that, please." He whispered, his hand coming into frame and his sweater sleeve blocking some of her as he snatched the cupcake away.

The groan he let out In approval was all the audience would need to know. And possibly use in edits, which.... she understood.

It was a nice sound.

"What's the verdict, Mr.Picky?"

"First of all." He said as he chewed, placing a finger over his lips as he swallowed. "Hate that nickname. I just know taste. Secondly, I'm keeping this. I'll give you money t'go get another." He wasn't giving it up. "Third- s'an 8.3 out of 10."

"The highest rating we've ever gotten from Mr.Picky! What an impeccable cupcake. Ya'll are gonna have to go try it."

She only hoped they'd be able to keep up with the influx that was going to come out as soon as she pressed publish on this video.

[sturnioz]

i can imagine chris laying his forehead on bun's jaw after sex when he typically just leaves after so this makes bun freeze. he stays there for like half a minute or even a quarter but it makes bun feel wiggly inside because why would he stay like that? (he's just high outta his mind) but when bun was about to rub his back, chris immediately leaves like normal

DONT TOUCH (I KNOW WE JUST FUCKED) fratboy!chris x shy!reader

word count. 650 warnings. high sex, creampie, slight mentions of drugs.

"fuck, fuck... tha's it... take it," chris' slurs in your ear, his words stringing into one barely incoherent word as his hips rut into yours, the wet sounds of your pussy being fucked by his cock making your head spin.

you're whining between shallow pants against his shoulder, your nails pinching his skin as you hold onto him to ground yourself despite already losing—your eyes gloss over, your toes curl, and your gummy walls flutter around his cock.

"she's suckin' me in s'good... wan' my cock so bad," chris groans as he lifts up on his forearms, his gaze peering down to watch himself sink over and over into your cunt, your juices glistening around the base of his cock and stomach. "she's makin' such a mess, fuuuuck..."

you can barely see him through your blurred vision, but you can just about make out his faded features. he's so high, having smoked way too many joints at the party—among other things—that his eyes are bloodshot and his pupils are dilated.

his movements are slow and sluggish, hardly keeping up with the same rhythm, but it's enough to have you seeing stars and turn into a babbling, gushing mess beneath him.

the words that leave your lips are unintelligible, just a mixture of high-pitched noises and garbled sentences that only seem to drive chris deeper into you, the squelching of your pussy being fucked and his balls hitting your folds spurring the two of you to finish.

he spills inside of you messily just as you cum around him, your body twitching through the aftermath as white spots cloud your vision. you're sticky and hot, desperate for him to pull out so you can waddle to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

but chris drops, letting out a low, drawn-out groan as he slumps against you, his weight sinking heavily into your chest, and his forehead, damp and clammy with sweat, presses to the side of your jaw, the warmth of his unsteady breath ghosting across your skin in ragged bursts.

you freeze—completely.

your lungs forget how to work properly. your arms stay pinned awkwardly, and your eyes are wide as they stare straight ahead, your vision sharpening as if panic forced you to focus.

you can't see his face, just a mess of dark curls pressed too close, but the fact that he's there at all, laying on you like this—still here instead of leaving like he always does—sends a rush of something fluttering through your stomach.

hesitantly, you raise a hand, your fingers hovering just above his back. you aren't sure what you're about to do. pat him? rub soothing circles? no idea. you just have this sudden need to do something than lay still and be silent.

but before your palm can make contact, chris exhales sharply and moves, his body lifting off yours with a sluggish effort as his cock slides out from between your folds, the feeling of his cum dripping out and coating the bedsheets below bringing you back to your reality.

as he shifts, his faded eyes watch yours for a moment then flick to your raised hand, still suspended awkwardly mid-air. he pauses just long enough to give you an odd look, like he caught you doing something weird in a place you weren't supposed to.

which, to be honest, is half the truth.

"... the fuck you doin'?" he mutters, not giving you a chance to answer straight away as he shakes his head and grumbles under his breath, scratching at the back of his neck before dropping down onto the bed beside you with a tired thump.

"... nothing," you manage, your voice barely audible as you lower your hand slowly to your side.

chris hums sluggishly, rubbing at his eyes before dragging his fingers back through his hair. "go piss," he mutters, letting his hand fall to squint sideways at you. "now, kid."

divider credits. @issysh3ll

©STURNIOZ est 2025 𐔌 . all rights reserved.

[charms-of-earth]

ooh! i'm pretty sure i read all about this place recently (i play a game a little game i like to call... wikipedia articles) there are aparently a lot of places called palmyra but i dont think all of them have amazing coral reefs like that. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Palmyra_Atoll scroll on down to "Esperanza treasure" to find the amazing lore of this island. then keep scrolling until "Sea Wind murder" for even more about the amazing rich history of this island. or read the whole article like i did. a lot of interesting stuff happened on this island, and most of it wasn't great, but she's in better hands now (not privately owned by rich people who had dubious ownership)

my summary below, written less eloquently than wikipedia. for anyone who struggles with the encyclopedia style of writing, or just wants a quick run-down.

some guys were taking treasure from the kingdom of peru to the spanish west indies. the ship was caught in a storm and then got spotted by pirates, who saw a damaged ship as an easy target. the pirates loaded the treasure and surviving crew onto their ship and headed to macao. a little over a month later there was another storm that veered the pirate ship off course and they go stuck on a coral reef. they tried to pull the ship closer to land, but it was too damaged. since there was too much treasure to carry by hand and not enough crew to carry it, they distributed what they could and buried most of it on palmyra. burying the treasure helped offload the ship, but some of the crew still had to stay behind. the mostly repaired ship then sailed off.

the rest of the crew spent a year there, relying on what rations they had and what they could find locally. most of the crew left on a raft that wouldn't fit everyone. the remaining men left on palmyra found four of their crewmates washed ashore soon after. the remaining were rescued by a whaler, bound for america, but one died en route. the remaining man died in a hospital 30 days later. idk what happened to the guys who didn't board the raft. died, probably. before the last survivor died, he wrote letters about palmyra and the buried treasure. 1.5 million spanish gold pesos, and the same amount of silver (maybe other stuff too like art) no idea what happened to the letters for 95 years, but in 1903, a sailor who was bound for the solomon islands gave them to a harbormaster of hololulu for safekeeping, but then disappeared. the harbor master waited for 20 years for him to come back, then talked to a reporter. then nothing happened until 1997, when someone found the shipwreck of the esperanza and filed a federal salvage claim. BUT the family who owned the island sued him and. yeah. the story inspired jack london to write "The Proud Goat of Aloysius Pankburn" in the saturday evening post. that's enough to make the island super interesting, right? well there's more! it was also the site of a (double?) murder!

Malcolm "Mac" Graham and his wife, Eleanor "Muff" Graham just wanted a relaxing tropical getaway. they packed up their yacht and sailed from san diego. enter Duane ("Buck") Walker (a.k.a. Wesley G. Walker) who killed muff (and probably mac too), then he and his girlfriend (Stephanie Stearns, no nickname) sailed away to Honolulu. they were arrested for the theft of the yacht, but no bodies were present at the time.

6 years later. a partially buried, corroded chest was found in a lagoon at palmyra. they must have thought it was the esparenza treasure. imagine the elation they must have felt, only for it to be replaced by horror and disgust as they realized it was human remains. muff's remains. the pair was found in arizona and arrested for murder. the girlfriend was acquitted, but buck was convicted. mac's body was never found. buck spent 22 years in prison, getting parole in 2007. he then wrote a book about palmyra island. he still claimed to be innocent. he said muff was cheating on mac, and the pair got caught. mac shot the both of them, but hit her by mistake. he and mac had a gunfight the next day and mac died from his wounds. he then went on to say that his girlfriends lawyer was full of himself and his lawyer was incompetent. he never implicated his girlfriend though. in 2010 he died in a nursing home. the case went on to inspire a true crime book (the sea will tell, written in part by bucks girlfriends lawyer), a CBS television miniseries, and then retold in The FBI Files.

But wait, there's even more!!

in 2000, the nature conservancy bought palmyra from the same family from earlier in the story. over the next few years, they were able to eliminate the rats that had come to the island in WW2 when the island was used by the US government for refueling(their numbers had grown to 30,000 in that time). they were also able to help the biodiversity of the island, planting some native species and eliminating some invasive ones!

another interesting fact about the island is it's location! it is pretty much in the very center of the pacific ocean. southern and northern currents meet here, meaning sea debris wash up on the beaches frequently.

tourists are allowed (unlike the many of the other US minor outlying islands) but it's so hard to get there that few try (it used to be impossible to get there by boat, back when the pirate ship crashed. but since then the US military destroyed a good portion of the reef during WW2. i hate that) here's what the fish and wildlife service says about tourism: "Public access to Palmyra Atoll is self-limiting due to the very high expense of traveling to such a remote destination. The Nature Conservancy owns and operates the only airplane runway on Palmyra, and by boat it's a 5–7 day sailing trip from Honolulu. There are four ways the public may gain access to the refuge: (1) Working for, contracting with, or volunteering for The Nature Conservancy or Fish and Wildlife Service; (2) Conducting scientific research via Fish and Wildlife Service Special Use Permits; (3) Invitation through The Nature Conservancy sponsored donor trip; (4) Visitation by private recreational sailboat or motorboat." since the island is in the middle of nowhere, allows visitors, has no permanent residents, it's the perfect place for amateur radio operators! it was actually one of those distance expedition teams that saved buck walker and his girlfriend. the area is treacherous with the reef, the currents, and the storms. anyway wow this got very long. thank you for reading this far and i hoped you learned something about 🌴𝒫𝒶𝓁𝓂𝓎𝓇𝒶 𝒜𝓉ℴ𝓁𝓁🌴

i have a youtube video about the use of jumpscares in horror games playing in the background while I work, and it reminded me of the single worst jumpscare i've ever experienced, which happened while I was playing a little game I like to call... Google Maps. (you play Google Maps by turning on street view, zooming in to somewhere that looks interesting, and clicking on any 360 photo views that people might have uploaded. i have spent many hours of my life playing Google Maps)

Anyway, spin this guy around to see something that legitimately made me jump so hard that I damn near threw my drink across the room

(more info under the cut if you're worried about what you'll see)

there's a fish very close to the camera

[rr-after-dark]

guard dog - andrew "pope" cody x reader

chapter six of ten

Series Summary: When you move in down the street from the Cody family, you definitely aren't expecting romance. But Andrew gradually becomes a fixture in your life, for better or for worse.

Chapter Summary: You wake up the morning after your dinner with the Codys to find that Andrew slept on your porch to keep you safe.

Tags/Notes: andrew "pope" cody x reader, afab/fem reader, girl next door trope, getting together, SMUT FINALLY!!, oral (both), fingering (f), piv (condom used), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk (lots)

Content Warnings: sexually explicit

A/N: this might be my fave sex scene ive ever written (and i have written Hundreds)

Word Count: 4.2k

You wake up bleary to sunlight and a headache that demands ibuprofen and a glass of water as soon as possible. After brushing your teeth, downing the drugs, and having a shower, you feel almost like a human being. It’s nearly noon, which is later than you’ve slept in years, and your stomach is absolutely growling.

As you check your phone, a package delivery notification drags you toward the front door. The thought of last night suddenly burns in your cheeks. Shit. Shit shit shit. You turn into a total nut when you’re drunk, even worse when you’re around Andrew, apparently. So you open your text thread with him.

– morning-ish

– sorry for being a drunk asshole last night

>> Morning, sleepyhead.

>> Don’t worry. You were cute.

– still wanna go out with me now that you’ve seen how much of a lightweight I am?

>> I’d still want to go out with you if you’d punched me in the throat last night.

>> You were so into me it made you stupid.

>> Not exactly a turnoff.

– careful or I’ll start putting myself in danger just to get you to lift me up and pin me down again

>> Don’t joke about that.

>> Please.

– shit, I’m sorry

– won’t do it again

>> I just need you safe.

>> Won’t be able to focus if you aren’t.

– I’m safe and sound at home for the day

– promise I won’t run around outside in my underwear

>> I know; I put you to bed.

>> I’ll text you our date details in a little while. Have some work to do this morning.

– sounds good

– thanks for taking care of me last night andrew <3

>> No problem.

>> Always will.

You slip your phone into your robe’s pocket, smiling and humming and hungry. The package on the porch is a blender, so you want to use it for a breakfast smoothie to turn your brain back on. You push the front door open – and directly into something heavy that holds it shut, much heavier than your package should be. When you hear the sound of someone moving, scrambling across the porch, you tug the door completely shut, lock it fast, and dial Andrew, heartrate rising at the thought that someone might be out there uninvited. Your brain goes to the worst place possible; maybe someone knows you’ve been hanging around the Codys and-

You hear a phone ringing.

Right outside.

Your eyes roll so far back it reactivates your headache.

You open up the door again and find no resistance. Andrew’s standing there, hands in his pockets, leaning against the fence he reinforced last week.

He lifts up his phone to show you calling him. “Need something, sweetheart?”

You cancel the call and stammer, “What are you- What are you doing here?”

“You went to bed drunk,” he says plainly. “I couldn’t set the alarm system without your pin.”

Eyes drifting over him, you realize he’s in the same clothes from last night. He spent the night on your damn porch. You scoff, “So you decided to, what, be my guard dog?”

“Something like that,” he concedes.

“You could’ve slept inside. I have a bed. A second bed. A couch. Armchairs.”

“No.” That’s it. He doesn’t have to say anything else. There are layers in that single syllable; he didn’t want you waking up thinking you’d done anything with him, couldn’t bear the idea that your front door was unlocked with you inside (he’d left his copied key at home and even the thought of leaving you alone for the fifteen minutes it would take agonized him), needed to stay as close to you as possible within his particular moral code. “I don’t sleep much anyway.”

Sighing and knowing that, with Andrew, all you can do is accept it, you take his hand and offer, “How about you let me make us some breakfast?”

He stays put and eyes you the way he always does. Intense. Curious. Wanting. “Tell me why you were calling me. Is there something I can do for you?”

You smack him on the chest, exasperated. “Because I thought some strange man was on my porch!”

Then his expression turns to a satisfied smirk. “And the first thing you did was call me?”

You give him a pointed look. Very pointed. “Would you rather I called the cops?”

He kisses you then. Tender, purposeful. Hand cradling the back of your neck. Against your lips, he murmurs, “Good girl.”

It goes right between your legs. “You can’t say things like that if you’re not gonna fuck me.”

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you unless you’re sober.” He reaches behind you and pushes the door open, guiding you into the house, lips barely leaving yours long enough to speak. As his hands drop to the tie of your robe, he teases, “Such a lightweight you’re still drunk from last night? Start the morning with a flight of mimosas?”

“Breakfast first,” you insist despite the gnawing pulse in your pussy because of his presence. You unhook yourself from him, take a deep breath, and add, “You can use my shower, too, if you want. While you wait. Since you fixed it up so well.”

“Trying to tell me I stink?”

It would be way too embarrassing to say ‘you smell fucking delicious from sweating in the heat all morning,’ so you nod and snicker, “Yeah, you’re disgusting.”

“Then shower with me.”

Walking over into the kitchen, you laugh even more when Andrew follows, hands around your waist, making you shuffle more than move. You open up the fridge and take out the eggs before turning back into his body. “I’m really hungry, Andrew.”

He takes out a large bowl from the cabinet and a whisk from the jar behind you on the counter, reaching around your body, reminding you just how easy it is for him to be in control. Then he kisses you again, dragging his lips from your mouth and over your cheek to your neck, his morning scruff scraping your tender skin. “Where’s the girl that was trying to jump me because she was so horny last night, him?”

You push him back, away from your body. He lets you, of course, a fact that you’re so aware of, and you point your whisk at him like a threat. “She’s starving to death and pretty sure she’s going to get what she wants even if you have to wait for half an hour first.”

At last, he chuckles and raises his hands in defeat. “Didn’t realize you were starving to death. Can’t have my girl doing that.”

He strips out of his clothes on the way to the staircase, leaving you staring at his toned ass and the dimples in his muscular back just above it. ‘My girl’ hangs in the air as you watch him go.

You turn on a playlist of oldies and make the best quick breakfast you can come up with, Smurf’s comment about him eating like a king still rattling around your brain. Frittata with some red onion, cherry tomatoes, and bell pepper, alongside some toast you spread with ricotta, ripe fresh strawberries, drizzled honey, and crumbled pistachios. Living on your own and skipping college ‘on time’ had put you behind in a lot of ways, but it at least made you a damn good cook in a pinch.

When Andrew emerges from the shower, he’s got one of your towels wrapped low around his hips. Ugh, he has abs. Strong abs, not show abs. His chest is defined but broad, his shoulders freckled, his arms veiny, his hands looking positively massive when they run through his damp reddish curls.

You don’t say anything about the ruddy myriad of bruises, different ages, from his collarbone down his torso. There’s a particularly fresh purple one just above his hip, right on that lovely V of the bones, the slope that leads directly to his-

“Stop staring or you’ll make me blush,” Andrew chides, sitting at the island and watching you.

“You make me blush ten times a conversation,” you reply, plating up meals for both of you. “Let me try to get even.”

You set two plates of food in front of him then pour a hot coffee and an orange juice to boot. He lets out a low whistle. “Jesus, you just made all this? Like right now?”

You press a kiss to his cheek and set your own food next to his, lingering to brush your fingers over his bare back. You notice him roll his shoulders into your touch. “Come over when I have some time to prepare and I’ll really impress you.”

“You don’t need to impress me,” he says as he digs in, taking a teenage-boy sized bite of his toast and washing it down with a gulp of the scalding coffee. “Fuck, this is good.”

As you eat your own food, you can’t help but enjoy stealing glances at him. The expressions he makes when the flavors burst. The little noises of satisfaction when he catches some honey on his lip with his tongue. “Maybe I want to impress you.”

Around a mouthful of eggs, he shakes his head. “M’not worth impressing.”

You frown around the lip of your coffee mug. “Don’t talk down about yourself in front of me.”

He smirks as he polishes off the last of the food. “I look like I take orders to you?”

“Not from your brothers, maybe,” you tease, standing up and taking the dishes away. When they’re in the sink, you turn around and make blazing eye contact. Fiddling with the tie on your robe, you raise an eyebrow and add, “But I think I might be able to get you to.”

His eyes light up as he stands, shoves the stool back, and walks over to you with need in his eyes. “Yeah? You wanna give me orders, pretty thing?”

The tone in his voice turns you into smoke, snatching all the bravado and brattiness from you. His right hand drops between your bodies and yanks the ribbon of your robe. Then he skims it off your shoulders. Instead of letting it fall on the floor, though, he catches it, folds it, and sets it on the counter behind you.

Then he steps back and admires the sight in front of him. You’d grabbed the robe after your shower, so you’re now completely naked in your kitchen. And Pope’s eyes are all over you. Memorizing you. His middle two fingers drag from the hollow of your neck, between your breasts, over your stomach. Down, down, down.

When his fingers stroke through your pubic hair, playing for a second, you outright gasp. He slips his fingers between your legs, which widen a bit automatically, and strokes them along your folds, not at all surprised to find you wet for him already.

You chase him for a kiss but he dodges it. Instead, he looks you dead in the eyes and says, “Come on, try it.” His free hand goes to your throat. Not pressing. Not choking. Just there. “Give me an order.”

“Andrew, I-” His fingers start to circle your clit with intention now, not teasing anymore. Heat blooms everywhere he touches and he presses his forehead to yours as he does it. “Fuck.”

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Andrew mimics your expressions as you fight to think of anything at all. His mockery is only making it harder, so mean and so soft at once. “Go ahead, baby, tell me what you want me to do.”

When he calls you ‘baby,’ everything clicks into place. You hop up on the countertop, wrap your legs around him, and yank him as close as you can. “Call me your girl again,” you breathe against his mouth, “and give me your fucking cock.”

He laughs as your greedy hands go to the towel around his hips, whipping it away without a thought, “Yes, ma’am.”

When he’s naked, you have to pause, chest rising and falling faster than you would’ve expected for how little he’s even touched you. But you can’t help it. He’s so beautiful. “Christ, you have abs. Like real, actual abs.”

He shrugs innocently. “I had my shirt off when we met, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I wasn’t exactly trying to sleep with you then. I was trying really, really hard not to look at your muscles, actually.”

Chuckling at your gaze glued to his pecs, he stands back and flexes. The bastard. “You’re definitely making up for that now.”

“Sue me.”

His body is positively irresistible. You lean forward and kiss his neck and across his chest, lowering down until you have to hop off the counter. The sounds Andrew makes are sinful. Little breaths and almost-whimpers like he’s a virgin. He lets you push him back against the island and you tongue your way over his abdomen, sucking on that fresher bruise, making him grunt, his cock twitching against your shoulder.

Eyes roving all over you when you get to your knees, looking so sexy he can hardly breathe, he asks, “What do you think you’re doing?”

You wrap your fingers around his cock. “What’s it look like?”

As you take him into your mouth, he groans and brushes your cheek with his thumb. “It looks fuckin’ incredible.”

Encouraged by his praise, you take him deeper, one hand going up to play with his balls as you slide down. It’s been a while since you’ve done this, so you can’t go too far if you don’t want to make your stomach turn, but the amount that you’re capable of definitely seems to be working for Andrew. His mouth falls open and his head leans back and he’s cursing and grunting in a way that only makes you want to please him more. 

“Sweetheart, I- Fuck. Fuck.” Andrew’s hand fists in your hair and yanks you back, rougher than he’d intended. The sting across your scalp only makes you want him more. “You’ve gotta stop.”

You blink up at him with doe eyes. “Why’s that?”

He rolls his shoulders and chuckles darkly, “Because I’m gonna be really disappointed in myself if I cum down your throat without getting to taste your pussy first.”

Instead of guiding you to your feet, though, he joins you on the floor, pushes you onto your back, and yanks your knees up around his shoulders as he settles on his elbows. You laugh as the cold floor bites you, heightening all your senses, “What are you doing?”

Andrew pushes his face between your legs and practically growls into your cunt, “A gentleman always gets his girl off first.”

You’d come up with something clever to say back, but Andrew’s done teasing now. You can’t think as he attaches his mouth to your clit, lips wrapping and slightly sucking and tongue pressing over and over, playing with you to find what works. He drops his hand down and uses his thumb to slightly pull back the hood of your clit, exposing the most sensitive part of you.

You breathe out, “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Andrew chuckles against your body and you moan as the lightness and vibration turn your brain’s settings up to max. You’re fucking dizzy with how good it feels and he never changes what he’s doing. Instead he’s just letting you build, letting you thrash against his face, letting you groan as it gradually gets more and more intense.

He pulls off for a second to plunge two of his thick fingers inside of you. As all the breath evaporates from the room, your walls clamp greedily around him. His eyes are trained on the way your body reacts to him, the slick pooling around his knuckles, the slight pulse of your clit each time your cunt flutters with desire. “Fuck, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. You taste so good.”

Then his mouth is on you again. His fingers curl back toward himself and the added pressure takes you past bliss and into something deeper, pulsing, ridiculous. It’s like you need to pee but not quite, just pressure building, the welling of an orgasm that’s tighter and messier and needier than usual.

Feeling you beginning to grasp around him, Andrew slows down. He slows down. Your piercing whimper, pathetic and desperate, has him rock hard as he drags things out. Your orgasm is a toy for him, a thing to experiment with, something he wants to make bigger and better than you can do for yourself. His eyes are on your face and he’s totally focused. It’s that same intense stare he gives you when he’s thinking hard. Like he’s seeing through you.

When Andrew finally lets you cum, it blooms out of you with more of a cry than a moan, a long and slutty sound like a zipper being dragged open. Andrew’s rumbling, pleased moan sends you into frantic aftershocks that have you gasping and writhing like you’re trying to buck him off. But he’d never let you. No, Andrew stays on you exactly how he wants until he’s coaxed you through the orgasm, leaving you breathless and sweating and shaking.

And, with you already pliable and hazy with lust, he mounts you. You realize he must’ve snooped around to steal a condom from your bedroom and tucked it away without your noticing because he takes the time to put it on in record speed. Then he thrusts hard inside of you. He’s big but you’re ready for him after he warmed you up so well.

His large hands bruise into the slope of your hips as he holds your ass slightly off the floor so he can pound into you. Christ, he’s strong. He’s really strong. You might as well be a ragdoll with how he manhandles you into the position he needs to fuck you deep and hard and human. It’s devastatingly sexy.

For someone so quiet and reserved, Andrew definitely has a mouth on him during sex. He cradles the back of your head with one hand so you don’t bang it on the floor and uses the grip to hold you close, his mouth against the shell of your ear, muttering filth straight into your brain.

“You’re so fucking wet for me. So needy. Thank you for taking me so well; you feel like goddamn velvet, angel.”

Thank you. He said thank you because he’s honestly grateful to be here fucking you, completely in the moment, keeping both of you present and adoring. Your pussy holds him tight in response and you grab his back, feeling the ropes of his muscles tensing with every one of his thrusts. The slight upward curve of his cock works your G-spot and you moan into his neck, your sweat mixing with his.

“That’s right,” Andrew assures, drawing out more and more of those noises from you. His cock is unrelenting, steady, everything Andrew is. It’s stretching you and molding you and creating you and you really can’t stop every rolling groan from your throat when he bottoms out with each thrust. “There you go. Don’t hold back. Don’t you dare ever be quiet with me. I want you to forget everything but my name. Everything but me fucking you.”

You clasp your legs around his hips and whine out, “Andrew.”

“There’s my good girl.” With you holding your own body up off the floor now using your legs, he can free up his hand to drop to your clit. “Need to feel you cum around my cock. Need to find out how you clench up for me.”

“Andrew, please,” you moan, not even sure what you’re asking for, not even caring anymore, not even existing for any reason but to take what he’s giving you.

“That’s it. Say it, sweetheart; say my name. Over and over again. Scream it. I want this whole neighborhood to know it’s me making you feel so fucking good you can’t think.”

And you do.

As pleasure crashes through you again, you babble his name over and over, your orgasm making the two syllables run into each other and vibrate. Andrews groans loud and deep as your pussy grabs onto him; he wrenches his fingers in your hair and sucks a mean bruise into your neck to stop himself from spilling out right then and there. He’s not done with you yet.

With him fucking you through the orgasm and not letting up and leaving so many hickeys, painful and perfect, over your neck and tits, you whimper, “Andrew, it’s- it’s too- it’s too much.”

“Too much?” He licks a long stripe up the center of your neck and bites your lower lip. The shaking of your legs is everything he wants and more. You kiss him back like you’re on fire. His sweat drips onto your cheek and you lick it off and he watches, rapt. He buries his forehead in your neck and grunts, “You sure? Because I really think you can give me one more, honey. I know you can.”

In a swift move that makes your head spin in the best way, Andrew flips your bodies so that he’s on his back and you’re on top of him; somehow, you don’t think his cock even left your pussy. If it did, you’re too fuck-drunk to notice.

He uses his thumb to strum over your clit as he bares his weight on his feet to fuck up into you. All you have to do is sit and take it and you don’t want to do anything else, maybe ever again. Andrew watches your dreamy expression and teases, “Still too much? Or can you cum one more time for me?”

Made of clouds and sunlight, you nod and ride him, gripping the countertop above you to stabilize yourself as his body slaps into yours, the noise wet and mean and sinful. “I- I think I can. If you’ve got me.”

“I’ve got you,” he assures seriously. His cock slows ever so slightly along with his touch and that turns the want in you from a sparking firework to a burning candle. It restarts the clock of your body, no longer rushing, no longer breaking. He reaches up and touches his other thumb to your lower lip. “Don’t even think.”

Your lips part and, unthinking just like he wants, you’re wrapping them around his thumb. The salt and weight of his finger on your tongue grounds you and comforts you and makes your already hazy thoughts bubble into happy nothings. When Andrew pulls his thumb from your mouth, his hand goes back to your cheek, cradling your face, looking up at you like you’re the only reason the planet spins.

Andrew whispers, “You’re so beautiful.”

You don’t even realize how close you are until you hear him say that. The rasp in his voice and the honesty in his words have your legs going from shaky to trembling, your breaths going from shallow to shattering, stomach going from butterflies to swarm. His free hand steadies your hip as he continues playing with your clit.

“Go on. That’s my girl,” he urges. His voice is as desperate as his body. “Let go for me. Please, sweetheart, give me one more. You can do it. I need you to.”

It’s feeling Andrew’s rhythm stuttering and his thighs twitching and his balls tightening beneath you that pushes you over the edge again. The knowledge that being with you gets him off like that. His dark, moody face loosens open with ecstasy, all his tension dying at once. As you finally clamp around him one last time, you collapse downward, rolling your hips, chasing friction with your body, kissing him hard as his lips fall open. Despite all his talk, he doesn’t say anything as he cums, just clasps onto you and holds you close and lets out a deep breath.

Both your bodies slick with sweat, you breathe hard together until his cock softens fully inside of you. Neither of you speak for a long time, but the eye contact is warm and intimate. You’ve never seen his features completely relaxed, content, peaceful. His hooded hazel eyes are soft and serene as they search yours. His lips are pink and tender and he presses them anywhere he can find, leaving sweet kisses over your shoulder and neck and cheek.

After a while, Andrew helps you to your feet, tying off and throwing out the condom quickly, and touches your chin. “Was that okay?”

You laugh out loud – a real, full laugh with a snort and a grin and a head thrown back.

His brows furrow adorably. “What? Is there something I-”

“Andrew,” you giggle, placing your hand on the center of his toned chest, “you just made me cum three times. You called me beautiful. You thanked me.” With a step forward, you kiss him softly, lips almost chaste, and murmur, “‘Okay’ would be kind of an understatement.”

A lovely, proud smile parts his lips. God, when he smiles he looks so boyish and sweet, a far cry from the stern Pope Cody his family sees. He brushes your cheek with his thumb and asks, “Does this mean I can call you my girlfriend?”

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join the taglist here

[wenchwrites]

HILLWENCH'S WHUMPTOBER 2025

I will be assigning 2 prompts each to a character of mine, and intend to complete a decent work in at least one for each by the end of October. I shall be slow, and also may take breaks (or even abandon the challenge) as demanded by my mental health. Below are my chosen prompts.

Mags Ortega - #2, focus on sewers and accountability. Magdalena is adventuring through the Vegas sewers with either Veronica or Boone, who asks too many questions about her past, causing her to snap at them. - #9, focus on touch and flashbacks. A more positive one, focusing on an intimate night between Mags and Veronica. Centers around Mags' trouble relinquishing control and allowing herself to be touched, lots of fear and flashbacks but at the end of it all she feels safe.

Diana Blackworth - #4, focus on nonhuman and changing 'loss of powers' to be 'powers gone haywire'. Diana's shadow goes out of control while she's patrolling the city, and she is 'saved' by a much more experienced and terrifying monster. - #29, focus on fainting and broken dishes. Whump set during Diana's first relationship, a day where she's having a lot of trouble staying upright and her partner does nothing to help, just watching.

Gelid - #31, focus on bleeding out. Gelid crawls to a pond so she can wash out a recent wound, only to find that despite the warm weather, the pond is frozen. Mostly body/medical horror with her attempting to treat the wound, but also some hints at her starting to turn into something supernatural. - #12, heavy focus on sacred place. Gelid in the village chapel, desperately trying to figure out what saint protects things like her, and eventually deciding to pray to nothingness.

Chamomile - #19, focus on all except the titular wild, as Cammy operates in cities mostly. Might actually spin a little twisted empowerment into this- the idea that he feels free when on a rampage. - #28, focus on backstabbing. A more frank look at the dark side of her tutelage under Richy O'Keefe- likely a torture/brainwashing session as punishment for an attempted escape. One of the more fucked up ones in the list, would into child abuse and implied sexual trauma.

Welp. We'll see if I do any of this. Off we go!

WHUMPTOBER 2025: PROMPTS LIST

Welcome to Whumptober 2025 — The Eighth Year!

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation CHALLENGE (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are four prompts for each day of the month, giving 124 for you to play with! There is also a list of 18 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.

All prompts are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!

You can produce work in any media you choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). You can participate as much or as little as you want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

Information on how to TAG is here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

This year’s playlist can be found here.

The ‘Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt’ post can be found here.

And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics’ post is here.

We’re very excited to see the community come together for yet another year of Whumptober! Go ham with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the best of luck, but most importantly: HAVE FUN!

Happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

Text versions of the prompts, including a google doc format, are posted below the cut!

A Google Doc of the prompts can be found here for easy copy-and-pasting!

Whumptober 2025 Prompt List

No. 1: “Please don’t cry” Lamb to Slaughter | Ceremony | Beg for Forgiveness

No. 2:  “You’ve got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears.” Prophecy | Sewer | Taking Accountability

No. 3: “I look in people’s windows, transfixed by rose golden glows.” Isolation | Candlelight | Found Family

No. 4: “Don’t be scared, I’ve done this before.” Non-Human Whumper | Iron Rod | Loss of Powers

No. 5: “My panic’s at the ceiling, but I’m face down on the carpet.” Quivering | Dream Journal | Phobia

No. 6: “No grave can hold my body down.” Caught in a Net | Medical Restraints | Pinned to the Wall

No. 7: “Tell me that you’re okay, and I’m fine.” Trapped with the Enemy | Elevator | Pushed Beyond Breaking Point

No. 8: “Oh horror, oh horror, what did you see?” Self-Inflicted Injury | Held at Gunpoint | Dissociation

No. 9: “We’ll make it alright to come undone.” Touch | Flashbacks | Scalding

No. 10: “There’s nothing you can ever say, nothing you can ever do.” Without Consent | Secrets | Lips Sewn Shut

No. 11: “Can you get through all the pain inside you?” Hidden Injury | Laceration | Forced Reveal

No. 12: “It’ll be for nothing.” Cardiac Arrest | Sacred Place | Withholding Medical Treatment

No. 13: “How dull is it to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished.” Never Enough | Insignia | Forced Retirement

No. 14: “In the end, it’s worthwhile.” Ignoring an Illness | Body Bag | Wounded Caretaker

No. 15: “You can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts.” Failed Rescue Attempt | Body Part in the Mail | Live-Streamed Torture

No. 16: “I’ve had the rug pulled beneath my feet.” Repressed Trauma | Permanent Marker | Disorientation

No. 17: “Tell me there’s a hope for me.” Internal Bleeding | Coma | Redemption

No. 18: “As the world caves in.” Dystopia | Ruins | Environmental Whump

No. 19: “You’re on your own, lost in the wild.” Dehumanisation | Living Weapon | On Patrol

No. 20: "That's New." Symptomatic | Fancy Event | Resignation

No. 21: “Sold my soul, broke my bones.” Kneeling | Makeshift Splint | Brainwashed

No. 22: “All the battles I want to win, nothing matters but giving in.” Self-Sacrifice | Collar | Hunted for Sport

No. 23: “How’d I get to this place?” Intubation | ICU | Choking

No. 24: “I must confess that I feel like a monster.” Came Back Wrong | Painful Transformation | Amnesia

No. 25: “Have you earned your stripes?” Lost Faith | Collision Course | Left to Die

No. 26: “Nothing like a relapse to rehash the kid who was scared.” Relapse | Drawn Curtains | Power Cut

No. 27: “Would you even want me, looking like a zombie?” Surgical Scars | X-Ray | Bedside Vigil

No. 28: “I could always see straight through you.” Backstabbing | Constellation | Creative Restraints

No. 29: “I hope you see the sun someday in the darkness.” Fainting | Broken Dishes | Last one Standing

No. 30:  “I’m putting my trust in an entire half-empty glass.” Burn it Down | Mirror | Confrontation

No. 31: “Even with the smallest cuts. You can still lose so much blood.” Bleeding Out | Gunshot Wound | Rescued by the Enemy

Alternatives List:

"A smile so bright, he’s the devil in disguise.”

“I hear you’re alive, how disappointing.”

“If all my days are numbered, why do I keep counting?” 

Concussion

Viral

Suicide

Immortality

Jealousy

Organ Theft

Ziptie

Deal with the Devil

Yearning

Innocent Bystander

Unreality

Soulless

“Hold my hand.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“I hate this job.”

[flopetterry]

good graces l clark kent

clark kent x reader oneshot

summary ; when all the pressure of clark’s double life gets too much, he ends up taking it out on you.

tags : fem!reader, angst, miscommunication, hurt/comfort, groveling

wc : 5.8k

cw : NOT PROOFREAD, lack of capitalisation, wrong uses of periods and comas, girl idk i do this in my free time i’m no writer

a/n : jesus christ i forgot this was my drafts y’all! lmaoooooo. i’m wrapping up superman summer with this fic. a palate cleanser and a little break from the andrew series lol. i don’t know how to feel about this one, but i hope you like it. i listened to a los of sabrina carpenter when writing this, feel welcome to do the same. my asks are open if you want to chat, give me constructive criticism or have any ideas or requests in mind. remember to treat people with kindness, because that’s the real punk rock!

your friendship with clark kent is something that feels like breathing. easy and natural. you started working at the daily planet around a year and a half ago, where you met this big, clumsy man. a nerd trapped inside the body of a bodybuilder.

entering the building you feel your nerves getting the best of you. thundering heart against your ribs and clammy hands, biting your lip.

the loudness of the place, the frantic pace and the coffee smell was a lot to take in at once, but you took it like a champ…or so you thought.

you don’t last more than two minutes before you turn your heel and accidentally bump into a- wall!? no it cannot be a wall, it’s far too soft to be concrete.

you feel a pair of arms grabbing your arms, stabilising you

“golly! i’m sorry didn’t see you there”

the way you tilt your head back is almost comical, i mean the man is huge! you don’t say anything just stare with wide eyes, trying to make sense of what just happened.

your way of staring is not very subtle. you study every inch of this man’s face. his jet black hair, the way a curl falls over his face like someone had put it there on purpose, his pink cheeks and bright blue eyes covered by those black frames. the way his lip tilts with an apologetic smile. this guy is gorgeous. and that’s an understatement.

before you can say anything, someone is already talking for you.

“you’re scaring the new hire, kent” at the sound of a woman’s voice you finally tear your eyes off his face.

you are met with another pair of blue eyes, but this girl wasn’t as tall as the behemoth of a man than you had just encountered. the deep purple cardigan she was wearing made her feature pop.

she offers her hand, which you quickly shake. “i’m lois lane, this is clark-“ she say as she point that the man in front of you “-i’ll show you around”

“oh- thank you!” you reply, still shaky.

lois shows you around the bullpen, she tells you a little bit about her- well now your- coworkers. jimmy, cat, steve, clark.

“the one that almost pushed you into oblivion is clark. don’t be scared, he’s the kindest guy i know- which gets annoying at times- but don’t let his size fool you. he’s a big softie” you nod in understanding.

at the end of the tour, she drops you off at your new cubicle, in which you spend your entire first day setting up.

at the end of the workday you pack your things, ready to just get a nice, warm shower and go to bed. until a voice interrupts your thoughts.

“hey! i’m sorry for bumping into you earlier. i can get very clumsy at times” you could tell he was flustered.

it was so interesting and captivating seeing such a big and obviously strong man (i mean the way his shirt hugs his arms is insane???) being so flustered and…soft?

“oh don’t even worry about it. i’m just glad i didn’t run into a wall or something” you say as non chalant as you possible can.

“i’m still sorry. how do you take your coffee by the way?” your eyebrows furrow instantly at the question, but you answer it anyway.

“well um….i usually just go for an iced latte” you’re met with silence and a quizzical look.

“all year around?”

“yeah?…i mean im pretty hot all the time, no matter the season, so iced is usually my go to” you didn’t realise your choice of words until you say the deep red shade of his cheeks.

“OH- NO! i didn’t mean it like that i meant that my body temperature-“

“it’s okay, i understood what you said it’s just your choice of words that took me by surprise”

you just smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

“well i guess ill see you tomorrow then, miss..?” you fill out the blank space with your last name, which is met with a nod from his side.

“see you tomorrow, kent”

next morning

you were running late thanks to superman. of course he had to destroy the red line last night, making you late for your second day on the job.

you practically run to work. on top of being new and nervous, now you were also sweaty and frazzled.

you push the doors of the bullpen and quickly make your way to your cubicle. you stop in your tracks. there was a transparent plastic cup, filled with a soft brown liquid and ice. condescension running down the cup. a yellow post-it on your desk, next to the cup.

“sorry for yesterday i hope you like it

-c.k”

you look up, in hopes of making eye contact with the person you were hoping for, but he was already looking your way, with that beautiful smile of his.

‘thank you’ you mouth to him

‘no problem’ he mouths back, leaving you with a dimpled smile.

since that day you and clark have been really good friends. the friendship growing deeper, softer and stronger by the day. every shared secret, every shared meal, all those late nights at the bullpen. it all led you to a dead end street. you don’t know where those innocent feelings flowered into something more, something that you could no longer control. 

the type of feelings that make your stomach turn every time he smiles at you and. the type of feelings that makes you look for him in a crowded room. the type of feelings that makes you gravitate towards him. 

you have tried to make those feelings go away. dating apps, blind dates, but everything failed. everything failed because you constantly comparing the guys from the dating apps and the blind dates to clark. thinking “clark would never do that” or “clark would've done xyz instead”. so instead of taking your mind off clark, it just made you think more of him. 

you like teasing him. the way he turns red is quite amusing. you think that he’s just shy and incredibly susceptible to your banter, but everybody else knows that isn’t the case. 

his entire existence is an oxymoron. a tall man with huge muscles that are noticeable even through his blaze and a mess of black curls on top of his head. one single curl always falling on his forehead like a domino. you think that’s insane, being that hot and nice? almost like he’s from a different planet. 

today is just an average day at the daily planet headquarters. two hours into the workday you lean on clark’s desk, as usual. you noticed the dark circles around his eyes and the unusual slouch on his shoulder when he came in this morning, so you walked over to his desk trying to cheer him up, but you see that jimmy had the same idea as you

 “i mean, come on man! how are you single? you’re like perfect” jimmy exclaimed with a knowing smirk on his face. 

clark doesn’t look up. just clicks something on his computer screen a little harder than necessary. jimmy ignores that, of course. “come on, man, don’t give me that. you’re massive — in the way that makes people trip over their own words. that whole farmboy charm? that’s like crack for half the women in this office.”

you see it — the way clark’s jaw clenches, ever so slightly. the way his shoulders stiffen just enough to tell you that today might not be the day for jokes.

“it’s actually astonishing really- “i have my flaws, you just don’t see them because you’re too focused on the good ones” he said, trying his best to not trip over his own words. eyes still focused on the screen in front of him. he was tired, the night before hadn’t been easy. fighting that creature took a toll on him. any other day he would've recovered in the blink of an eye, but today was a gray day, which means that the sunlight was covered by the clouds. he wasn’t trying to brush you off, not at all. he just didn’t know how to behave, even less now when his energy was so low.

“well-” you said, standing straight, ready to make your way back to your desk. “i think you’re a great guy, your girl will come soon enough” a giggle escaping your lips. before he could reply, you started making your way across the office. turning your head you make eye contact with lois. a knowing smirk painted on her face after listening to your interaction with clark. you winked back. 

-

an hour after your little banter break with clark, you saw him walk out of perry’s office. his brows were furrowed and his steps were faster and heavier than usual. worried, you walked over to the coffee station where he was making his fourth cup of the day. his movements were frazzled and aggressive. “woah, is everything okay?” you murmured. a strained “i’m fine” came out of his lips. you were not gonna give up, and he knew that. you leaned closer, trying to not attract attention to yourselves. “hey if you need something i’m here, you know that” that caught his attention, only responding with a stiff nod. and with that, a gentle pat on his arm and a soft smile you left him alone. 

halfway to your cubicle you hear lois. “hey what’s up with him?” she asks with worry lingering in her voice “i don’t know, i’m gonna give him space. he’s probably just tired” lois nodded, understanding. “hey we’re going to o’clubs afterwork, just a couple drinks with it being friday and all. you should come! i think clark is coming” she said, wiggling her brows and giving a you knowing smirk. pushing her arm playfully you replied. “shut up-” a smile drawn on your lips “but yeah sure. i mean i don’t have any plans so” dragging the “o” sound in the end. “great!” she replied, full smile this time “see ya there”. 

-

five hours later that’s where you found yourself. sitting by the end of a table at the pub around the corner with a vodka cranberry in hand. you all sat on a big table, clark sitting on the other end, right across from you. you made eye contact from time to time. sometimes he would just give you a lazy smile, other a knowing nod. you would smile back.

the bar was crowded. people flowing in and out of the bar. you could tell most of them came for afterwork drink, just like you. the smell of beer and fast bar food lingering in the air along with loud laughs and the sound of the different television broadcasting sports games and news channels. 

after a while you see him stand up, making his way to the bar. you figured he was getting a refill. looking down to your drink, you figured you could use one too. 

turning to your left, you lean to lois and speak in her ear “i’m getting another one, do you need anything?” lois didn’t reply, she just shakes her head with a smile on her face. she is definitely tipsy. 

with that, you stand up from the table, making your way to clark. leaning on the the counter you tell your order to the bartender, and quickly turn to face clark. this part of the bar wasn’t as loud as where the tables were situated, so you didn’t need to scream someone’s ear off. “how are you holding on?” you blurt out, trying to sound cheery when in reality you were worried. i mean you were good friends? you felt a tug on your heart at the thought that maybe clark felt like he couldn’t talk to anyone. but you were there! he could talk to you about anything! and yet he didn’t. maybe he got heartbroken by a secret girlfriend no one knows he has and he is too uncomfortable to tell you anything about it because the only thing you do with him is banter. just the thought of it makes jealousy run through your veins.

another strained “i’m fine” came out of him. his voice was deeper than usual. maybe he was sick? “are you sick? you don’t look fine to me, clark. i think you should see a doctor or maybe talk to some-” you didn’t finish that sentence because the unthinkable happened. 

“I SAID I’M FINE! DIDN’T YOUR HEAR ME THE FIRST TIME?” you had never seen clark scream at anyone, much less at you. you flinch at the loud voice, fear taking over your body. a cold shiver running down your spine. you take a step back, shame washing over you “i-i’m sorry clark i was just worried about you- “I said I’m fine! God! not everything is about you, you know? Not everything needs your constant hovering, your… neediness.” 

that word. neediness. it felt like a slap. it landed hard. your stomach dropped, you take. a big step back. you immediately feel the lump in your throat and the sting in your eyes and the way your heartbeat started rising up. unbeknownst to you, clark could hear it. he could hear and feel the way your your heart started thrumming against your ribs and the sudden change of temperature. 

he could practically smell the fear, the humiliation he had caused. and in that moment he’d realize what he’d done. how deep he’d cut. and that pretty much did it, he crashed back to earth. 

he took it out on you. he turned the tiredness from the night before, the frustration over perry’s tantrum, into a white hot ball and threw it at you. you! the last person that deserved any of that. all you had done was check in on him, trying to cheer him up after taking one single look at his tired face. 

and you knew that. you knew that his treatment was far from deserved. whether you had been annoying or not, it doesn't fall on you! he has a mouth which he could have used during one of the MANY times you annoyed with with your “unimportant things" to let you know that he needed space. but he never did. and now you were here. at o’clubs with a yelling clark kent in front of you. one moment he was red and screaming, the next he looked white as a sheet. 

“jesus, i-i’m sorry you didn’t deserve that-” you quickly cut him off. your sadness shifting into something stronger. something like anger. “damn right i didn’t” your voice is cold. cutting. you turn around, leaving him dumbfounded leaning on the counter. you didn’t even wait for the drink. you couldn’t be around him right now. 

making your way over to the table, you felt a sting starting to form tears in your eyes. you had to get out of here before anyone could notice the shift of atmosphere. lois took a look at you, trying to gather your things”. 

“hey, hey, hey! what’s going on? what happened?” your face and teary eyes sobered her right up. “it’s nothing- i’m just tired im gonna go home” you said, your throat was starting to give up on your. “do you want me to come with you?-” you pause “what? no! you’re having a great time. i’m fine. really! i’ll see you on monday” you said, straining a smile from your lips. with an understanding smile she just nodded. 

clark scanned the crowd, but you were already out the door. and it was his fault. he. ouldn’t stay there. he needed to get out. the crowd, the smell, the remorse. everything. it was eating him from the inside out. 

after a couple rounds of half assed goodbyes, he tried to walk away from the table to make his way to the exit, a slap on his arm stopped him. turning around he found a very angry looking lois. “what the fuck did you do, clark?” he opened his mouth but was quickly cut off “she was crying you know that? she tried to hide it but she was crying! you’re lucky you’re a big man because i would hand your ass over to you if i could.” with a finger pointing at his chest she said “you better fix this, kent.” and with that she turned around and walked back to the table, as if nothing had happened. 

later that night, clark will lay on his bed. wishing he could rewind, wishing he could turn back time to a different time where he hadn’t screamed at you. a time where he hadn’t taken out his feelings on the wrong person. the person that cares about him, that always tries to cheer him up. a person that he probably lost. you.

clark doesn’t sleep that night. his mind too full of regret, of remorse and sadness. anger at himself, anger at the world. it wasn’t often he felt that way. but he did now, the difference is that he doesn’t have you to feel better this time. 

across the city, your night was no better. you tossed and turned under the covers, unable to sleep, unable to rest. nothing worked. not music, not journaling, not the cold side of the pillow.

because this didn’t feel like any old argument.

this felt like heartbreak.

the daily planet bullpen. monday, 07:45

you don’t expect to see clark already seated at his desk. he was early. he’s never early. 

you tear your eyes off him, quickly making your way to your desk. you stop in your tracks. a beautiful iced latte sitting on your desk. yellow post it sticked next to it, but there wasn’t a corny note this time. 

“im sorry for yesterday” 

you didn’t need a signature to know who it was from. you feel his burning gaze from across the bullpen. you don’t look up. you don’t smile. you don’t walk over to his desk and bother him with your neediness. instead? you take the note and the drink, walk over to the trashcan and dispose both of them. i can buy my own damn coffee. was it petty? yes. was it necessary? absolutely. 

what you don’t see is that is not only one se of eyes fixed on you. there’s three sets of eyes following your every movement. clark, jimmy and lois. 

their eyes widen at he sight of you throwing it all in the trash. 

“i know that’s right” mumbles lois, earning a glare from clark. jimmy just lets out a dramatic exhale along with a “wow. i’m so happy i’m not clark kent right now” giving him a pat on the shoulder and getting back to work. 

the morning drags. you keep yourself busy, trying to tune everything out. drowning yourself in work. your inbox was full, so that wasn’t a problem. 

last minute edits, quick revisions, a short meeting. you don’t even realise it’s lunch time until you come back from your meeting. your favourite sandwich sitting on our desk. a napkin sitting next to it, something scribbled on it. 

“i know this doesn’t fix anything, but i thought you might be hungry. -ck”

you end up gifting it to cat, not wanting anything to do with it. 

monday passes by, and so does tuesday. 

wednesday stays the same. a coffee sits on your desk, 

then a sandwich at lunch time. on friday you get a bag of those chips you like. you gave everything away every time. your coffees were given to the overworked interns, your sandwiches to cat or daisy, the receptionist. the chips were gladly received by steve. on thursday when you got a donut from the bakery down the street, you handed it over to jimmy. 

clark never said much, but he looked. he looked for a reaction, for an emotion, something. but you were not gonna give him the pleasure. keeping a poker face every time. 

this would be so much easier if he weren’t so..clark-like. this wouldn be so much easier if he were cruel and rude. if he yelled and left it there. but no- he had to go around giving apologies in form of caffeine and sandwiches, sweet notes and puppy eyes. 

so after a whole week of nonsense, you know you have to make him stop. you don’t even stop by your desk, you don’t want to risk seeing another perfect latte with some fucking post it signed by “c.k”. no, you walk over to hid desk instead. 

this takes everyone by surprise, everyone being lois, clark and jimmy. 

“we need to talk” you huff out. 

he looks up from his screen, his eyes are wide. not bothering to hide the shock on his face. 

“uh- yeah! yeah sure” you give him an expecting look “wha- now?”

“yes, kent. now” you never called him by his last name. his heart beat started accelerating. he stands up from his chair, following you into the break room, not before look back to lois and jimmy. both giving him pity looks. “it was nice knowing you, clark” says jimmy, earning a slap on the arm from lois. 

thankfully the break room was empty.

once the door shuts behind you, you cross your arms and turn to him.

he stands awkwardly by the counter, like he’s not sure whether to apologize or brace for impact.

“okay,” he says, voice quiet. “i’m listening.”

you let the silence hang for a beat too long.

then, flatly:

“you need to stop.”

his brows pull together. “stop what?”

“the notes. the drinks. the food. the lingering looks across the bullpen. i don’t want it.”

you watch the words hit him like cold water. he swallows once, hard.

“i get it. you feel guilty, and you’re trying to make it up to me” you swallow, trying to keep yourself together. trying not to break. “but you can stop now. we’re coworkers, and i guess i forgot about that when i talked your ear off about my personal stuff and my neediness” you feel you heart start to ache, but you keep going “you don’t need to pretend that you like me anymore, you’ve made yourself very clear. i won’t bother you anymore, just please stop with the gifts”

clark’s expression is…utterly confused. “what do you mean “coworkers”? we’re more than that” but you start shaking your head “no clark, it was one sided, i thought we were but i guess i read your kent friendliness for something more. you don’t have to pretend anymore. it’s fine, i’m a big girl i can take it” you see the way he shakes his head as he makes your way over to you. 

“no! stop doing that!-“

“doing what? i’m not doing anything. i’m just respecting your boundaries” 

“stop, you’re forgetting the part where i didn’t mean it. i didn’t mean when i said you were needy. i would never think that about you” 

“it’s fine clark really, let’s just not make it awkward. it’s bad enough as it is.” he opens his mouth but nothing comes out. 

“let’s just get back to work, but please stop with the gifts. it’s fine”

before he can say anything out, you slip out of the room. at your desk you find the coffee that he left that morning, before you dragged him into the break room. you give it over to agnes, the intern of the month. 

-

the gifts didn’t stop. they just changed. 

instead of lattes every morning and sandwiches appearing magically by lunch time, you were gifted notes. 

on monday it was a simple “i miss you, i’m sorry”

tuesday “you’re more than a coworker to me, i hope you know that” 

wednesday “i didn’t mean to hurt you” 

by thursday you were losing your goddamn mind. the notes caused you to lose focus. which is why you ended up staying late on thursday, trying to finish up your upcoming article. 

you’re the last one in the bullpen, or so you think. your screen glows pale, you’ve been staring at the same paragraph for- at least- ten minutes.

you don’t notice her, until she speaks. “you need to get yourselves out of this misery” you glance up searching for the source of the voice, catching lois leaning on the side of your cubicle. 

“excuse me?” 

“look, if he had said to me what he said to you, i would’ve dragged him by the tie across the bullpen, you know that. but i think we’re past that, don’t you think?”

“he hurt me, lois” 

“yes he did, and he shows up everyday, coming up with new ways to show you how sorry he is. he shows up everyday, leaving notes and whatnot on your desk, begging for you to hear him. he’s not even asking for redemption. he’s asking you to hear him out.”

“i did hear him out-“

“no you didn’t. you are trying to come up with new ways to avoid getting hurt again, i know you more than you think” you stare in disbelief, she keeps going “there's nothing else he can do, he can’t go back in time and fix what he did. he has done his part, it’s time you do yours. i know you are trying to push him away, but we both know that’s not what you want or need. you’re hurting him too” 

“i’ll say one last thing, it’ll clear the air. i’m not justifying his actions, but he would’ve never lashed out that way unless something really wrong had happened” 

the words wash over you, like a cold bucket of water. “shit” you whisper to yourself. you need to make things right, you need to at least hear him out. 

“i gotta go” you say, turning off your monitor and gathering your belongings as fast as you can. 

“atta girl, see you tomorrow. i want to know every detail!” lois basically screams after you. 

you don’t even bother taking the metro, you catch a cab, telling him clark’s address. 

the drive is quick. you make yourself known to the door man and run up the stairs. you don’t even wait for the elevator. 

you huff and puff as you knock on his door. silence.

you knock again. nothing. 

you press your ear to the door for a second. nothing.

but just as you’re about to step back, defeated- you hear movement.

finally you call off him. “clark? i know you’re home!” 

and then you did something you shouldn’t have, but you would end up being grateful you did. you grab the door handle and slowly twist it. the door was open. of course. 

you step in, leaving your coat and bag by the door, ready in case he kicked you out. “clark? i know you’re in here!” you keep walking towards the living room, and then you see a body laying in the sofa. it started stirring. “oh god. i’m so sorry did i wake you? i’ll lea-“

you stop. 

you stop dead in your tracks. 

because it wasn’t clark kent laying on that sofa, it was fucking superman. 

“superman?” you keep walking closer, curiosity getting the bets of you. 

you blink hard. once. twice. was it the lighting? were you just sleep deprived or was stress staring to make you crazy? but it was unmistakable. the suit cringed perfectly to his body, the red cape serving him as a blanket. 

he kept stirring, and the he opened his eyes. your brows furrowed. because those eyes belonged to clark. you quickly put two and two together. 

“wait- clark?” that completely wakes him, wide eyes trying to make sense of what was happening. 

“darn it- you weren’t supposed to find out this way-“

“you-you’re superman?” 

he looked defeated, didn’t even try to out you a fight. 

“yeah..”

“you’re superman? and you’re also clark?” 

“kind of- yes” 

you start to put the pieces together. the late mornings, the frazzled looks, the constant cancellations. clark kent is superman. 

you’re frozen. “holy shit” he stands from the couch, suit and all. he walks closer to you, slow steps. trying to test the waters. 

“are you..scared?”

“what? no i’m just- i came over to apologise and i didn’t expect to find superman-“

“wait- apologise?”

he’s standing now, fully awake, cape dragging slightly on the floor. the version of him you thought only existed on front pages and emergency broadcasts is now right in front of you… barefoot, hair messy from the couch pillow, voice laced with disbelief.

you nod, still trying to catch up to your own thoughts. “yeah. i mean, that was the plan before this happened—” you gesture vaguely toward his glowing chest emblem. “i had a whole speech, actually.”

“oh.” his voice is soft. he looks a little dazed, like he just remembered he’s in the room too.

“but now i feel like i’m the one who owes you about seventeen more apologies. or… at least a drink. or maybe a sedative, because this is a lot, clark.”

he huffs out a short laugh. it sounds tired. “tell me about it.”

you stay silent for a moment. “why didn’t you tell me? we could’ve talked about it, you know?”

he looks down “i know. but i was scared, it hard enough for me to be around you as clark kent, i didn’t want to mess up as superman too”

you are taken aback “why is it hard for you to be around me?”

he looks up, he looks into your eyes “it was easier pretending it was all one-sided. safer. if you didn’t really know me- all of me- you couldn’t really reject me. and i could keep orbiting you without ever crashing.”

“clark…” your voice is soft now. something in your chest aches.

“but then i crashed, and i took it out on you. i was tired and overwhelmed, and you were there being the sweet and caring person that you are and i just- exploded” 

your eyes soften. this big man, with the weight of the world in his shoulders looked like a kicked puppy. 

“i’ve been trying to fix it. i’m not expecting forgiveness, but i do hope that you can understand that i didn’t meant what i said to you that night.” you eyes starts to sting “i cannot stand the thought that you might go around thinking that i find you annoying or needy, because i don’t”

“when you said we were ‘only’ coworkers, it hurt me because you’re not ‘just a coworker’ to me, not just a friend either” you heart rises higher  and higher. he takes a step closer. “i love you, not in a friendly way. every time you sleep over i can only think about how it would be to sleep next you every night. to feel you stir at night and have your body next to mine. or how a slow morning would look like. i know this sounds silly because maybe you don’t even feel the same, and i’ve just ruined whatever was left of this friendship beyond repair but-“ 

“you haven’t” you feel your heart pounding against your chest, and now you are aware than he can probably hear it too. 

your voice is barely above a whisper, but it’s enough. his eyes flicker with hope, but he doesn’t speak. he waits. you take a slow step forward.

“you didn’t ruin anything, clark.” you pause, trying to steady your breath. “i was angry. i am angry. but not just because of what you said- i was angry because i care about you so much it scared me. i didn’t know what to do with that.”

you look up at him, letting the truth sit heavy in the room. “and i’ve been trying to convince myself that you didn’t care. that you were just being… you. kind. clark. but every time i told myself that, it felt wrong. and when you kept showing up- with coffee, and notes, and dumb snacks- i couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

he exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

you keep going. “you said it was easier pretending. i get that. it was easier pretending for me too. but i don’t want easy anymore.”

“what do you want?” he asks. a whisper, brittle and vulnerable. 

you don’t answer him. not with words anyway. you stretch your hand, caressing his cheek, your other hand grabbing the back of his neck, softly. bringing him down to you. 

you kiss him. it’s soft and innocent. vulnerable. the kiss s-ears for itself, saying those things you’re still afraid to put into words. 

you feel the way his hand sneak around your waist, pulling you closer. tongues clashing. the kids transform into something deeper. it’s hungry, making up for the time wasted. 

finally you pull away, looking him in the eye. he’s awestruck. his lips are bruised from the kiss, his cheeks flushed. 

“well-“ you say “that’s one way to clear the air” you smirk, teasing him. 

that smile that you’ve missed so much appears on his face. dimples and all. 

you stand there for a moment, arms around each other, letting the stillness settle between you — not heavy, not tense. just full. like something cracked open and finally, finally let light in.

“so… what now?” he asks, quieter this time. “do we just… go back? to the newsroom, to our desks, to pretending we didn’t almost fall apart?”

you shake your head. “no pretending. not anymore. we’ll figure it out — one step at a time.”

he smiles. and it’s so clark — that soft, earnest curve of his mouth that feels like home. 

leaning into him again, your voice soft. “i’m glad i came.”

“me too,” he says. “even if you broke into my apartment.”

“door was unlocked.”

“still broke in.”

you kiss him again, just briefly. “whatever, hannah montana.”

the next morning. the daily planet bullpen 7:55

you step into the bullpen, iced latte in hand. this time, you bought it yourself. making your way over to your desk you feel a presence behind you, sneaking up on you. 

you sit down on your desk, clark lays on your desk as you unpack your things. 

“good morning, kent” smirk on your face. you catch the way lois’s neck almost breaks because of how fast she looks up. 

“good morning” he says smiling. he leans down, close to your ear “lunch later?” which earns him a wink and a nod from you. 

as he walks back to his desk, you see lois and jimmy scurrying over to yours. “okay. what was that?” hisses jimmy. 

before you’re able to answer lois speaks up “do you took my advice?”

“what advice? why does no one ever tell me anything?” 

“shut up, jimmy” both you and lois say in unison. 

finally you speak up. “there’s nothing to say. can’t people flirt with their coworkers anymore?”

jimmys eyes widen like saucers “are you out of your mind?” lois just laughs, playing along. 

“yeah, jimmy! don’t you flirt with cat like- every chance you get?” remarks lois. 

“whatever” he mumbles. 

from his desk, clark can hear the entire conversation, smiling to himself. 

so down bad for this man y’all 💔

[pinksplace]

i’m addicted to bucky getting jealous because walker’s hands are all over his girl

I love jealous Bucky so much oh my god and I love the Bucky and walker

there’s also like a second version of this in my head where Bucky pulls you into a dark corner and fucks you instead but this one got legs first so in the meantime I love a little gala moment (what are we if not still chasing the glory of the avengers tower) ANYWAY for warnings, there’s cursing and like alludes to sex, fem! reader (she/her pronouns and described wearing a dress) and as always! gratuitous use of italics

Bucky was used to Walker pulling this shit.

It was Walker after all, a nightmare in tactical gear.

But you? His sweet girl? Never.

Yet here you were, laughing, throwing your head back like Walker had said the funniest thing in the world and Bucky knows that’s just not possible. You hand on Walker’s shoulder, body tilted towards his in a way that can only mean come closer.

Don’t Bucky started on the dress. Velvet, a perfect fit like it was sewn onto you. You should be on his arm. Tucked into his side, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him onto the dance floor.

No, that’s still Walker.

Bucky watches you move, Walkers hand falling into Bucky’s place at the small of your back as you make your way to the center of the room.

It had been Valentina’s idea, setting up two of the ‘New Avengers’ as a power couple. Something about how you and Walker tested the best with focus groups. She’d dismissed any arguments with a wave of her manicured hand and the words “Not like any of you are dating anyway. Suck it up.”

You had promised Bucky it would be fine, that it was better this way. After all things between you were still so new, no one on the team even knew. The last thing you needed was the pressure of the public eye. It’s just pretend, you promised.

Right now, watching Walker touch you like this. Bucky couldn’t find a shit to give. It was like you were egging him on, begging him to blow up. Pretend or not you’re his girl, everyone should fucking know it.

It was a slow song, something sentimental and soft. You and Walker fall into an easy rhythm (Bucky can’t see you whispering instructions to Walker and cursing at him when he steps on your toes). Walker’s hands on your waist, yours around his neck.

Around the room you have a rapt audience, benefactors and government officials alike all watching your every move.

Bucky’s fine, really he’s fine. Then Yelena saddles up beside him, something fruity and bright in her hand. “They’re kinda cute.” She says, taking a sip and then grimacing. “Too sweet.” She mutters, before finishing it off.

“What?” Bucky asks, he doesn’t bother to look at her. Yelena reads him like a book, he knows she’d see it all on his face.

Yelena puts her empty glass down behind him on the bar. “Those two-“ she points a lazy hand to you and Walker, “-they make sense.”

“No they don’t.” Bucky reacts rather than answers.

Yelena jerks her head toward Bucky, eyebrows raised. The speed of his response not lost on her. “Why’s that?” She asks

Bucky doesn’t have any actual answer. Instead he scoffs and crosses his arms, doing his absolute best impression of nonchalance says, “She can do better.”

Yelena nods, “Like you?”

Shit.

Bucky sighs, finally turning to look at her. “That obvious?”

She shrugs, waving her hand for the bartenders attention. “If looks could kill.”

Walker would be dead.

Yelena gives Bucky a dry smile and a friendly pat on the shoulder “Fuck Val.” She says.

Yeah. Bucky thinks, Fuck Val.

Then he’s moving, abandoning Yelena at the bar without a second thought.

John sees him before you do, stopping and dropping his hands from you immediately. If Bucky didn’t know better he’d think Walker might actually be reading the room. Then of course he opens his mouth.

“The fuck are doing Barnes?”

You whip around, staring at Bucky with what he thinks is a mix of shock and relief.

“Buck?” You ask.

Bucky ignores Walker, extending his hand towards you instead, “Mind if I cut in?”

You and Walker answer at the same time

“Not at all.” You say with a smile, warm and oozing affection. You place your hand in his, exactly where it belongs.

“Yes, actually-” John argues. “-are you forgetting the plan?” His voice is cutting, the same tone he uses when he’s flustered or outnumbered on a mission. Also the same voice he uses when Bucky makes him feel stupid.

Bucky doesn’t bother to answer, instead he uses your hand to pull you to his chest, his vibranium hand falling onto its rightful place at your waist. It’s like it all disappears.

“Hi.” You whisper, smiling up at Bucky like you’d been waiting for him to get there all night.

“Hi.” He says, pulling you even tighter. “Thought someone should show you how to actually dance.”

You hum, eyes twinkling. “That’s all?”

Bucky begins to move, he can hardly hear the band over the blood pumping in his ears, but he doesn’t really care. You fall into step with him, finding an easy rhythm as Bucky takes the lead. You spin, you sway, you’re not convinced your feet actually touch the ground the entire time.

“I also thought-“ Bucky continues, leaning in close enough to whisper in your ear. “-that you deserved a better partner than Walker.”

You laugh, airy and short. “Didn’t take you for the jealous type.”

Bucky nods, pulling back so he can see your face, staying close so your noses brush. “Never claimed to be an evolved man.”

“Never said I wanted you to be.” You tell him, the smile on your lips turning devilish.

“So it was on purpose.” His hand on your waist falls a little lower, resting where your ass begins to curve.

“Thought Valentina would appreciate some theater.”

Bucky clicks his tongue, “Almost killed Walker.”

“I’ll make it up to you.” You promise, “Later.”

“Yes you will.” Bucky insists, “In the meantime-“ another dramatic spin, “Lets give them a show.”

Then he kisses you, making it abundantly clear that you are his and much to your delight, also proving he’s yours.

god I love this man

anyway I don’t know how I feel about this piece I genuinely am like at a loss so anywhoosies love you all!!!

Masterlist!!