#I can’t wait for my next one later this year ^^

[vad-hander]

DIVORCE ME

pairing: NCT Jaehyun x reader

genre: married couple au!, angst, smut, a little bit of fluff, long distance

warnings: mentions of divorce, unprotected v sex, dom Jaehyun, biting, punishment, fingering, praise, protected anal penetration, spit as lube, reverse cowgirl, slight overstimulation etc

words: 16k

"What?" your voice sounded more like a bark over the phone. But it was a good thing, that's exactly how you intended it to be. 

"So you did get the envelope?" Jaehyun, though, on the other side of the line was chill, if you were to judge by the tone of his voice. "My lawyer left a sticker so you'd find the right place to sign it this time." Your fingers pinched your nose, thinking how you scribbled over printed letters last time you had the same envelope sent in. 

"I don't have a single pen in my house." You sighed and dropped the envelope right next to a pen and a pencil that were always present at the top of the cabinet at the entrance of your apartment. 

"I'll send over the courier with a pen, then." you opened your mouth, Jaehyun not letting you chime in. "I'll even make it two in case one's not working."

Your voice was steady, you looked once again at the papers that had your name at the top. "I said no. I won't sign these papers."

"Why?!" Jaehyun cried into the phone. "We've been living separately for a year. Why are you being stubborn? We’re basically strangers at this point.” Your palm rubbed into your chest, trying to calm down the stinging in your heart at that wording. 

Your fingers ran over the words written in larger font at the top - Divorce Agreement.

“I don’t want to.”

“You know I can get a divorce from you without your signature? I’m just not going that route yet.”

“If you think you’re threatening me and I’m scared - I’m not.”

“I know for a fact you’re not threatened. I was married to you for five years.”

“Good.” You sighed, ready to hang up the phone. You didn’t want to continue hearing his voice. “So… will you sign those?” 

“I gave you my answer already.”

“Please.” A tinge of desperation in his voice cut you deeper than he clearly intended to. 

“No, I said no.” That desperate need to cut all ties - it was making you nervous, you had words stuck up in your throat asking what was the urgency. 

“I can’t wait another two years for whatever you’re doing there to end. Are you coming back for any of the holidays?” His voice changed in slight annoyance and you snapped out of heartache.

“None of your business.”

“I am your husband, until you sign the agreement, it is all of my business. In fact, it should only be my business, no one else’s.” Whatever he meant with that, really. You weren’t seeing other people, but he won’t know that.

“Bye.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. Every conversation with the man left you tired. And drained. And it used to never be like this before. He used to be your love. Or he is your love?

“Was that your husband?” Kate, who clearly eavesdropped the whole conversation, peeked from behind the living room wall.

“Is the stress too evident on my face?” You turned on the bright smile and crossed the room to elegantly sit on the couch. 

“I heard the words papers and sign and remembered your story.” She gave a little sad nod and patted your forearm in comfort. Sipping on her wine right after. “I’m so sad your expatriation has to end early, but I hope your sister appreciates your wish to help her with her babies.” 

“I know.” you whined to fit in with the mood of your only friend over here. “It’s been a year, though, and I haven’t had a single break since coming, so maybe I’m a little excited to go back home and take a week off.” You leaned back a little, imagining waking up later than usual, having fancy breakfasts and sharing them with the man that desperately wanted a divorce from you. Good thing Kate was loud and unstoppable with her blabbering, snapping you out of that horrible thought. 

“I thought the pleasure of your life was bossing around dumb Americans like me, and having those horrendous cold coffees, instead of all meals.” Your heart hurt on behalf of Iced Americano.

“You aren’t stupid-.” You remembered to protest, though. “I said dumb!”

“Okay, y’all aren’t dumb, just maybe lack a bit of work ethic that make our Korean office thrive. And my coffees are not horrendous!” Your eyebrows furrowed in feign annoyance. 

“We tried to get the hype, the line to the bathroom afterwards was so long, we had to run to other floors, girl.” You chuckled into your palm, shocked at the information previously hidden from you. 

“Oh my god! And everyone I asked said the drink was fun! The hypocrisy!” Your palm hid your opened mouth. 

“Yeah, the lining up to the bathroom was definitely a fun experience.” 

“Good thing my flight’s tomorrow, I won’t have to face those people knowing they pooped their pants because of me.” Kate laughed loudly. 

“Gi-i-i-i-rl, but I’m going to miss you. If you ever back in the States, just hit me up? Any time and any day.” She sing-songed, her eyes closing a bit, lifting her nose up.

“Yes.” You gave her a straight nod. You weren’t sure you’d ever get back here, you were determined to never move out of the only place you ever were supposed to live in.

“Won’t you invite me too?” She giggled.

“Quit lying, you won’t ever leave Seattle.”

“Wait, that’s so true.” Her palm covered her mouth, a striking sign your friend was tipsy. 

-

“Go, go, go! There’s your auntie!” You heard the voice of your older sister even before you could register her face in the crowd of the Incheon Airport. Two sets of arms sneaked over the luggage trolley and wrapped your legs. 

“Oh my god, Nara, Uri, hi! My babies.” Your arms wrapped over the kids that desperately fought to climb up your body, though in the year you were absent they’ve grown too much for you to be able to carry them so freely.

“Hi. Welcome back home.” Your sister extended an arm, giving you a welcoming pat on the back.

“Hyunjoo! Hi.” You exclaimed, excited, sighing tiredly afterwards. “Thanks for making it all the way here to pick me up.”

“These two couldn’t hold back their excitement when I said you were coming back.”

“Oh, really? Really? I brought so much fun stuff for my little angels!” You put on the baby voice, tickling your nephews. 

“I want to see!”

“Let’s get in the car and see what auntie got for you at home, okay?” Your sister offered, and the four of you moved to the exit. “You’ve left with two suitcases, right?”

“Yeah, had to bring gifts for you all.” You chuckled, running your eyes over the trolley with four of those. “Now I don’t know where I’m putting all of these in my apartment.” You chuckled to yourself.

“The bigger question is if all of those will fit into my car.” Hyunjoo gave you a look. “Shit-.” You cursed, looking down at the kids. “I mean, damn. That I’ve not thought about.”

“Where’s Jaehyun?” Shit, that you also have not thought about. 

“He has work stuff, couldn’t make it.” You brushed Hyunjoo off with an eye roll.

“On a Sunday?” She gave you an accusatory brow. “The lovey-dovey guy that made you breakfasts every Saturday and never let you drive alone for longer than 30 minutes?” You had to busy yourself with the trolley and making a turn, so you won’t burn alive under her stare. “Is he still sour that you left despite his disagreement with that decision? Are you two not together… by any chance?” Wow, that escalated quickly. 

“No, no! Of course not. I told him not to come, since he was telling me all the time how busy he was with work. I’m going to see him… at home.” Those words were also hardly believable, given the lovey-dovey image your sister had in her head. He should’ve been here, pressing his mouth into your cheeks, to not go absolutely feral over his lips on yours in the middle of the airport, arms squeezing you in his hold. 

You had to shake the thought away. In realms of your current situation, the only realistic reason for him to be at the airport would be to make you sign those papers and finally set him free.

Realisation of what home implied also downed at you at the exact same moment. You had a home that was also his, it also happened to be the only home you had. Same went for him. What a coincidence, right? For two people, that lived in the city together for 8 years. 

Jaehyun was obviously still living in that same apartment, giving he expected you to be back in the country approximately in two years and three months. “Do you want to go see our parents first?” You tried to climb out of that corner unhurt. 

“Yeah, three hour drive one way at 4pm Sunday? No thank you.” Hyunjoo snorted, helping her kids get into their seats.

“Right, I didn’t realise it was this late through the day.”

“And we all have work and day care tomorrow. When are you back in the office?”

“I took day off’s this whole week, hoping I’ll put all the stuff away, get back to my life here, and-.” Sort out this divorce agreement. “Yeah.”

“I want to play with aunty!” Nara whined as her mom did her seatbelt, while you were putting your suitcases away in the trunk. 

“I’ll come over on Tuesday, okay? Pick you up from daycare and we can get bread on the way back home, and then unpack all the gifts I had purchased for you and your parents. Deal?” You asked the kids, but looked at your sister for approval, she gave you one with a nod and the burst of laughter from kids only sealed the deal. 

“You know, Jaehyun’s been weird, since you left. I think he’s still hurt.” You dreaded the fact silence led to this conversation. It was pure quietness, twins knocked out in the back seat, you were also half way through slumber after that endless flight. You had a feeling something was on Hyunjoo’s mind, with the way she tapped her finger over the steering wheel, you just had to predict it was your husband in question. 

“I’m sure he’s fine.” You waved her off, again. 

“He’s not seen us once. Mom invited him over for every holiday and every weekend get together. He would always say he’s sick, he’s busy, over at his parents house. Anything.” You were curious what face he made as he came up with those, especially if those weren’t over messages. He probably had his whole face red, lip tugging between thumb and pointing fingers as he was carefully picking out words to not be taken wrongly. 

“And you didn’t stop the invitations?” They should’ve known better than hitting the man that tried to hide with invitations. 

“Of course not! He’s family?” Hyunjoo looked at you scandalised. 

“He might’ve not been comfortable coming alone.”

“He quite literally spent two weeks at our house, when you were in college and had to leave for that conference in Singapore. He stayed with all of us, like your substitute, just because he had nothing to do during summer break. And now he’s uncomfortable?” You drove down to the traffic light that turned red, giving your sister a perfect opportunity to turn her eyes to you. “Tell me what’s been going on?”

“Nothing.” Like, you weren’t even lying. Nothing’s been happening - he’s been bombarding you with those divorce agreements, you’ve been disposing them into trash - the end. Other than that, it’s been full on radio silence. You didn’t even know what he looked like by now, what if something changed in his appearance and he won’t feel like home anymore? What if anything changed in his heart, or more like what if his heart changed to an extent where it can’t be reversed? What if your only outcome is in fact divorcing immediately? You shrivelled, pressing yourself more into the seat. 

“I’m going to tell mom, and she’ll flip out and get the truth out of you both. I’ve been covering for you! Acting like I know he’s busy and stuff. And I have to know the truth, in case I need to continue.” That sounded like both valuable threat and reason. Still, you didn’t want to risk your lives and announce that he’s been wanting a divorce to your sister, while she’s driving through a highway. 

“Okay. Okay, he might be a tiny bit upset.” 

“Tiny? It’s been a year, more of like a grudge at this point.” 

“It’s because we’ve been apart, and now I’m back home and we’ll be good.” At least, that’s the plan.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I quit the expatriation thing early so I could go back to him.” You whispered the truth under your breath. Everyone got different versions of your reason to be back home, but the real one was your wish to return. You needed to go back to the man that held your heart and tried to throw it back at you. You needed to see with your own two eyes, if he really didn’t love you anymore. “I made a mistake, I really missed my family, I missed Jaehyun."

“Really? I thought you said it was about the project cancellation.” “No. The project cancelled because I said I’m leaving, whether they’re letting me go back as the part of the company or not.” You sighed, the truth was not what you wanted people to think, but you were ready to throw this truth at your sister. She was trustworthy to die with that info.

“I expect you two to be all lovey-dovey next Saturday at our parents anniversary thing, or I’m busting you to mom-.” You almost gasped and cursed, this was a good heads up about the event this weekend and you were glad your sister, probably knowingly, gave you that. You had time to come up with a cover up.

“I’m not sure about that. Jaehyun’s been telling me about seeing his parents-.” The eye roll from Hyunjoo made you stop. “No, for real. He’s actually planned this for weeks. I swear!” You would never be able to bring the man that tried to divorce you to your parents house in 5 days. What sort of torture would that be. For either of you. “I’ll come see mom and dad during the week. Alone. Since he works. And on the weekend we were supposed to go to his parents, but since it’s our parents anniversary, he’s going there alone.” Wait, this sounded like a perfect cover up plan. You almost clapped your hands excited. This sounded like THE plan.  

“All I hear is excuses. If you’re lying to me right now - you’re dead.” She made sure the thumb slid right against her throat with a threat. You looked away, scared, only to realise you’ve arrived at the destination. 

“Thanks for dropping me off!” You chirped, unbuckling. 

“Do you need help with your belongings?”

“No, I’ll do it myself. See you Tuesday, right?”

“Right.” Your sister gave you a nod, pressing the button for the trunk to open. As you pulled out all your suitcases onto the ground, you watched the door close back down, walking up to wave her away. 

“Tell your husband I said hi!” You waved, as she drove by you. 

-

You punched in the code you last set, praying he hasn’t changed it. 

Jaehyun’s birth date, your birth date, the month you’ve become official. 6 digits in and as you heard the approving melody, your heart sunk. Hopefully he still kept it because it meant things for him, not because he was used to typing in those specific six digits. 

As you processed your next step, you came with a conclusion there was quite a chance you can be met with a very taken aback with your presence Jaehyun as soon as you opened the door. If the man is at home, he surely heard the little melody too and was walking up to the door right now, confused and probably totally alerted that someone punched in the correct code. 

Either of you was about to get startled at this spontaneous reunion. And you weren’t about to give him the opportunity to catch you unprepared. Opening the door wide, before you could notice anyone in there, it struck you - it looked and smelled just like you left it. 

Your eyes trailed around the opened to your eyes space - it was all the same, almost like he didn’t live here, though you sure he was - given the stack of papers on the cabinet, the sneakers that he seemed to purchase while you were away and the raincoat over a kitchen chair, drying up from yesterday’s downpour. 

And no Jaehyun in sight. 

It was a good thing, you had a little time window to drop off your stuff, pack your bags, take your car keys and run away to your parents unnoticed. You had not prepared yourself to see him, you have not even imagined what you would say or how you’d say it. You had a feeling you could get chocked up at the mere sight of him. Before all this, Jaehyun was the love of your life, your husband. 

Despite leaving him like he didn’t matter, you’ve missed him every day. 

You loved him every awakened day of your life, paying a price of literal money for your dumbness to go back to him. You were still expecting the check for the exact payment, but you knew the fine you had to pay for wrapping everything up early was about to end up with big numbers. And you really didn’t care for that, as long as you could make sure the man will let you back inside his heart. 

You quickly pushed all your luggage inside, closing the door and kicking your shoes off. Your eyes trailed to the side of the cabinet where you kept your slippers on autopilot, only to be actually met with the pair standing right where they belonged to. Lined up with Jaehyun’s. Like you’ve never left.

You put them on and trailed to your bedroom, you needed to take a shower first, unpacking right after.

Jaehyun didn’t bother with putting your stuff away, you expected him to maybe throw it away in a rage tantrum. You were expecting anything. And you would’ve honestly understood. You deserved it. You’ve found your shampoo in the bathroom, the clothes you left behind in your shared walk-in wardrobe. You picked up all needed belongings and quickly freshened up in hot water. 

Dragging the first suitcase on the floor, you took all your clothes out to safe space for the gifts you had to take back your family in that same suitcase. You felt so emerged in the acton, sorting things out, leaving things you brought for Jaehyun on the side, taking things for the washer to one pile of clothes. Fresh ones you could take to your parents to the other one.

“Who the hell are you!” You jumped in place, turning around and letting the man see you properly, not just the corner of your back peaking out of the closet. You didn’t even see or hear him come in, brain a mush with the jet lag.  “Y/n?” Jaehyun dropped the umbrella, that you guessed he grabbed for defence as he heard your movement, and stilled. “What are you doing here?” He gasped, losing his voice by the end of the sentence completely. 

The emotions on his face is what really hurt you. Not a single one of his muscles moved in the direction of smile, or relief, or any other emotion that you could describe with any sort of positivity. He frowned, then gasped again, closing his eyes as if checking if he hallucinated you here. Then he set his mouth in such a downward way your eyes almost gave up on you. 

“Hi?” You offered a smile, like the situation wasn’t this awkward unexpected reunion of two people despising each other and being half way divorced. You weren’t despising him, but if he was despising you, you liked to make him feel it was the same way on your side. 

“What are you doing here?” Your eyes immediately trailed down his arm - his ringer finger was still covered with a wedding band, your finger immediately tugging on the identical one over your finger.

“I’m just packing my stuff, I’m going to leave quickly, I’m sorry.” You dropped the smile or any other ridiculous imagination you had in your head. You felt like a thief under his gaze.

“No-. How did you get here? And you’re leaving back to the US already? Have you always been here?” Jaehyun frowned even deeper.

“No, they sent me back, turns out I’m also very much needed here, so they had to put Korea’s office priorities before Seattle.” You lied the only line you’ve practiced. 

“When did you come back? How did you get all this stuff back here on your own?” Jaehyun’s eyes traveled over your suitcases and bags.

“Does it matter?” You snorted. The only thing he cared for is how you got those suitcases in?

“Well, yeah?” He raised a brow.

“Hyunjoo picked me up at The airport and dropped me off here.” You shrugged, folding a shirt into a pile of dirty clothes. 

“You should’ve t-.” He cut himself off. “Are you planning… to stay… here?”

“In the country? Seems like a yes. In this apartment? No, I’m packing.” He didn’t have to shush you away, you’ll gladly leave. 

“Where will you go?” 

“Why exactly does this matter to you, once again?” You gave him what you hoped was a very disgusted look. 

“We’re married.” “Yet, right? Now that I’m here you’re surely getting me to sign those stupid papers of yours.” You snorted. 

“I-, ugh. I didn’t know you’ll be coming back so soon.” 

“That was intended.” You shrugged

“Where are you going? You don’t have another home in Seoul.” Jaehyun pressed and walked in closer.

You folded away from him, not willing to get even a lick of his scent and his presence this close to you. 

“I’m going to stay at my parents. Then work it out, doesn’t matter. You can have this place to yourself.” 

“Okay-.” He stilled, eyes unfocused. 

“Okay?” You looked up scandalised, your Jaehyun would never agree to something like that. You expected him to fight with you over this. You’d gladly fight with him over the division of property, in hopes to get closer somewhere in between. In hopes he’d say I don’t want to divide anything. I want you all to myself. And you’d allow yourself to fold into him and admit that you’ve never wanted this in the first place. “I was expecting you to at least act like you didn’t want that.” You just bit. 

“No, I’m just confused to see you here.”

“Why? Got someone already? Are they coming here? That’s why you’re all invested?” You let out the worst leave your mouth. You were scared, so worried, that Jaehyun let someone into his hurt heart to stop the aching you caused. 

“What the hell, no. You were supposed to be in another country for two more years. Of course I’m confused. I wasn’t expecting to see you here, on the floor wearing my stuff like you never left.” You looked down at the shirt - it was clearly his, you haven’t looked down on the print once since you picked it up. You should’ve guessed your things weren’t just laying around on top of the shelves here anymore. When you’ve been absent. For months. 

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to give you a heads up, so you’d run to the airport with your divorce agreement.” You shrugged.

“Shut up.” Jaehyun let out. And it wasn’t the mean shut your stupid mouth type of intonation. He grabbed onto his head, like it was about to explode, grunting a little. 

“Huh?”

“You’re the reason I even had to send it to you.” His eyes opened and directed at you. 

“I know, Jaehyun, I’m well aware of that.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“As I said, they sent me home early, turns out three years was a stretch. I know this is sudden, and I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, or ruin this bachelor life of yours. I’m repacking and going to my parents.” You should’ve not stuck with your pride. You should’ve fallen to his feet and asked for forgiveness. You hated this encounter. And you hated that you made it worse. 

“Bachelor life, what the hell-.” Jaehyun mumbled under his breath, grabbing onto his head once again. 

“We haven’t had a single conversation in a year, I could’ve never imagined this to happen-, in this way-. This seems to be even worse than I imagined. I should’ve went straight to my parents, just couldn’t tell Hyunjoo about this… us, I mean not us-.” You panicked, moving your arms around and avoiding Jaehyun’s gaze.

“While you’re at your parents’, you might as well tell them we’re getting a divorce, because I’m out of reasons to dodge their invitations.” Jaehyun interrupted your conscious mumbling with a little bite to his tone. 

“Don’t worry, since I’m here they won’t even be bothered by your absence.” You weren’t about to let that slip. 

“Okay, good, because I just got a text from your mom, hoping to see me on Sunday. I guess you’ll work that out yourself.” He gave you a subtle smirk. 

“I will, don’t you worry.” Jaehyun walked out the door of your previously shared bedroom, slamming it and you were sure he was cursing under his breath, because he always did that when he was stressed. At least he used to. 

You knew he’d be clearly surprised if he saw you, you didn’t expect him be angry and pent up and so unreachable, even though you were the one who left him. You made him consider filing for a divorce. 

You still hoped for a little smile or something along the way of that.

-

“So we’re just jumping straight to violence?” You trailed the route to the kitchen, not knowing if you should whisper or talk normally with him.

“And you broke up with me, and also expected me to have fanfares and cake prepared for your return? I want a divorce, I thought you had enough time to settle with that idea.” Jaehyun drank a glass of water in one go, filling up another one. “You did this.” 

“I didn’t break up with you-.” “Seriously? You left.” The way his voice went an octave higher cut you. 

“I told you, I-.”

“You’re asking for my opinion, or just telling me something that’s already settled?” Your body was straddling his thighs. Jaehyun scrolled through the phone after work, waiting for you to come back home so you’d have your dinner together. You ran into the apartment, bubbling with excitement. Jaehyun didn’t even have the time to put his phone away, with the speed you got on top of him and kissed his mouth. The man under immediately adjusted to your mood, fingers pressing into your thighs with pressure. Until you told him the reason for your excitement, or more specifically the timings of it. 

Because he was excited for the opportunity, before you let him know the contract was for three years. That’s when his fingers loosened the grip and his mouth turned downwards.

“No, it’s not settled. Obviously, I really want to go, but I would miss you terribly.” You leaned to peck his mouth, not getting any reciprocation out of Jaehyun.

“So you’re not going?” He lit up. 

“I don’t know. If my visa application-.” You drew circles on his chest. If your visa is approved, you will have to go, it seems. “You applied for a visa? Without telling me?” Jaehyun caught your fingers in his hold, voice more of a growl at the new piece of information. 

“I didn’t, my company literally have all the papers to do that for me. They’ve been considering me and someone else. As soon as I heard about visas - I came to tell you.” You lied there, a little. Another person was considered before, you were the only one they applied a visa for. You also had to give them your passport, but that was also the part you hoped Jaehyun won’t focus on. 

“So it is settled.” He sighed and let go of your fingers. “I thought you’d be excited for me?” You pouted leaning in to Jaehyun, who’s been looking away from you this whole conversation. “Baby, we could literally be talking on the phone all the time, in case they want me to go. All the holidays we’ll be together.” you kissed his cheek, expecting for him to soften. 

“I was excited, before you told me it’s for three years? And it’s settled, and you have not even considered asking me to come with you.”

“I have, but I don’t want you to lose everything here, this is only temporary. I love you so-so much.” You pressed your mouth into the corner of his. 

“Everything wouldn’t even matter if I lost you.” Jaehyun finally looked you dead in the eyes.

“Baby.” You murmured, touched, arms hugging his shoulders, face tucking into his neck. “You wouldn’t.”

- “Can we have this conversation properly? I don’t want you to go.” Jaehyun walked out the bedroom, suit perfectly wrapping his body. “I’ve been thinking about it for the whole night, and I can’t allow you going away. For three years. If it’s 6 months, okay. I’d somehow go with that. Three years - absolutely not. Honey, please hear me out.” Jaehyun’s fingers pulled onto your waist to turn you around and face him.  

“Do you want to come with me?”

“No. Not like this, not when it seems to be not even a second thought in your head.”

“It’s not like that, I have thought of you going, and it’s always you struggling because you left the job you loved. And what would you do afterwards? When we have to return? You will be jobless again? Your parents also won’t forgive me for taking their only son away from them.” You ran your thumb over his lower lip. 

“Okay, then both you and I - we’re staying here.” Jaehyun kissed the finger tip that’s been teasing him. 

“Baby, no, it’s not settled like that either.”

“Why are you lying to me about this?” Jaehyun whispered, getting closer to your face. “If you’re lying, doesn’t it mean you don’t want to go? You want to stay with me and can’t? You can quit. I’ll cover all our expenses while you’re looking for a new job.” His eyes focused on you, trying to see through the shield you’ve put on. 

“No, I want to go, but I also don’t want to leave you.” You also moved your face in his direction, expecting a kiss.

“Then don’t. If it’s not settled, then it’s okay to decline.” Jaehyun pecked your mouth. 

“You’re right.” You nodded, hearing a relieved sigh come out of Jaehyun’s mouth, kissing your cheek next. “It’s not too late.”

“I love you, have a good day.” Jaehyun gave your side a squeeze, leaving to put his shoes on.

“You too.”

-

You had no better way to tell Jaehyun what happened at work than literally start packing. You got your visa approved, you were set to leave in two weeks. There was no way for you to jump in and tell them to pick someone else instead. Your boss patted your shoulder proudly and told you how he had always believed in you. And coming up somewhere in between with I can’t do this felt just wrong. 

You couldn’t do this.

Despite the absolute itchiness of your entire body this whole day, you were trying to pick out clothes for packing. Agonising over the racks of your clothes for the past forty minutes. 

“Bab-. No. No-no-no, what are you doing?” Jaehyun’s fingers pulled the skirt out of your hold. “Where are you going?” He dropped on his knees next to you and held onto your face. 

“I came to tell them that I can’t leave for three years, I thought about talking to cut down to six months like you told me you could endure. But I was told I got the paper work approved, tickets purchased and everyone are expecting me in Seattle in two weeks.” You lowered your face into his chest, allowing for Jaehyun to hug you if he had strength to do that.

“Two weeks?” Jaehyun couldn’t even say it without chocking. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you earlier, I didn’t, because I couldn’t decide what mattered more-.” You eased into his hold more. 

“What mattered more? You couldn’t decide whether I, or a stupid job mattered more?” Jaehyun shook you a little so you’d open your eyes. 

“No, no. Of course you matter more. Baby, you obviously all that matters to me.” That’s not even what you meant with mattered more.

“Fuck.” Jaehyun chuckled lowly, clearly affected by the stupid slip of your tongue. “Can’t believe my wife’s a workaholic. Never used to be one.” He stood up, letting go of you and letting the skirt fall into the suitcase. 

“I am not. It’s just… Seattle? Have you ever been to Seattle?” You looked up at him. 

“I clearly haven’t.” Jaehyun looked away from you, taking the jacket off his shoulders. 

“Me neither, so I didn’t know how to say no to that.” Somehow, you had a strong believe that if it’s something you really wanted Jaehyun would give in and feel better about it because he loves you. You were clearly wrong. 

“Can’t believe these words are coming out of your mouth.” You held onto Jaehyun’s ankle so he wouldn’t walk away. Pathetic.  

“I know.” You stood up, taking Jaehyun’s face into your hands. “We will have to learn how to be long distance.”

“I don’t want to learn any of that.” He grumbled, like a hurt baby. Maybe, because he was one. And it was fair for him to be one, you knew that for sure. 

“Baby, I know, I don’t want to too. But life sometimes forces us to do things we don’t want to. Like this here.”

“Like being my wife?”

“Honey, you’re blowing this out of proportion!” You exclaimed. 

“Really? I just wouldn’t want to be married to a woman that can’t even voice out her priorities to me. That decided on her own she’s moving to another country for three years, when she has a family to discuss these things with. If you don’t care for me - good, I don’t want to care for you either. Maybe you’ve already planned to get a divorce?” Jaehyun pushed away your hold, looking away, running his fingers with force through his hair, pulling at the little hair on the nape. This… weren't the words you expected out of him. “You’re being dramatic.” You could only gasp out absolutely taken aback at that suggestion. “And jumping to ridiculous conclusions.” The words left his mouth so easily and so firmly. “Suggesting I want a divorce is blowing this out of proportion, no?”

“You’re being insensitive. I love you and I am against you leaving, but it seems like it doesn’t mean a thing to you. You’re still going, like we’re strangers. You didn’t want to talk with me about this. How do you want me to not jump to conclusions? You lay it all out for me. Next step is clearly a divorce.” 

“Good, let’s get a divorce then.” You let out with a bite. 

“Good.” Jaehyun nodded and walked into the bathroom. 

-

“Seeing this-, honestly, just the idea of you seriously going away - it’s making me dizzy.” Jaehyun spoke to you, finally, as you struggled to close the zipper on your suitcase. Jaehyun given you a cold shoulder for the entirety of two weeks. No talking, beyond questions his life depended on, no physical contact despite sleeping in one bed. He would only tell you in the mornings, how he wished you’d pick him over a job, and he would always run out of the door before you could tell him you would never pick anything over him. He’s number one in your heart despite the decision. 

And you could’ve been talking, kissing, and touching, and having sex, for that matter, with your number one for the whole two weeks. To fulfil at least the tiniest bit of your longing, but now you were less than a day away from your flight and itching horribly for his mouth all over your body.  

“Honey, it-.”

“I meant it, if you’re seriously flying away - we’re getting a divorce.” He looked you dead in the eye. That was a stare of someone who decided to make their words come true. 

“I am flying away, Jaehyun.” You sighed. 

“So you want a divorce?”

“No. I want to live through this opportunity and get your support.”

“I don’t want to do that. Three years is a whole fucking lot.” He bursted, expectedly. You just wished he would’ve done that much earlier, you needed to have that fight two weeks ago, not now. If you fought about it earlier - you would’ve already settled with the idea and spent your last hours together in each other’s presence, closer than you could ever get.

“I know, okay, I know. That’s a lot and it’s unfair, but it happened so quickly for me too. I had no information whether or not it’s happening for some time, and as I told you, the next day they say my visa’s approved and I’m expected in Seattle in two weeks.” You closed the distance between you, walking to the couch Jaehyun sat on. “I wish this went a different route.” “Why did you not tell me, when it was just in the talks? That’s something I’m genuinely not understanding. We always talked about the tiniest things? You text me about everything! But not Seattle? Is this some sort of punishment? Did I do something wrong?” You watched him gradually curl each finger into a fist, obvious display of silent rage. 

“I didn’t want you to worry, if nothing was gonna happen. You didn’t do a thing, I never punished you. I just knew it’ll be bad, if they want me to go. I wanted to keep it low because I love you! I didn’t know they’ll end up processing everything this quickly.” You wanted to go, but also didn’t. Talking about it with Jaehyun would’ve made that possibility real, and you were hoping it’ll just pass by you, while also praying for them to pick you. You also knew if you told that to him earlier - he would’ve supported you all the way through. He totally would’ve been 180 to him now, because he was always supportive of you. He was clearly raging because he was kept in the dark. He was almost doing exactly what you wanted him to do. Making it so much easier for you to leave. 

It’s unexplainable, really. Both your wish to go and not to.You were expecting worse, while hoping for them to pick you. It’s like you were split in two. One wanted Jaehyun to be the centre of your life, the other wanted to try things out of his reach also. 

“And now your flight is tomorrow and you think just leaving this as it is is going to do any good to this whole relationship?” You kneeled in front of him, taking in his pained expression. 

“You were the one who didn’t want to talk.” 

“Yes, because hearing that you’re not sure what matters more - me or the job was not on my bingo list for this year.”

“What do you want me to do?” You tried to be calm, talk to him like he was a baby.

“You know exactly what I want you to do - no doubt.”

“I literally can’t say no right now, we have to go through this.”

“You literally can. Say your husband is not allowing for you to leave the country. I’m okay to be the tyrant in the eyes of your co-workers if that means you’re staying.” Jaehyun moved his knee from under your hold. 

“Baby.” You reached for his fingertips, Jaehyun jerked back at the mere touch of you. “I don’t want to fight. I want you to make love to me for the whole night, so it’ll be enough at least for the littlest bit I’m away from you. Can’t you do just that? Can we not fight? I want to be talking to you, seeing you through my phone and waiting for the day we see each other again.” You patted his lower stomach, not knowing where to put your hands. Jaehyun forced you away from him. 

“You’re clearly not hearing me, I see.” Jaehyun slammed his laptop, walking out the living room.

-

You stood at the entrance of your apartment, shifting weight from one foot to the other, not sure if you’ll ever forgive yourself for walking out in full silence. 

“Won’t you kiss me goodbye? I feel like we’ll both regret it a lot. You haven’t touched me in two weeks and I can’t believe I’m leaving like this.” You called out to Jaehyun’s back. Despite the silent treatment, he spent the whole morning within your eyesight. The whole time you were packing and running around, Jaehyun kept himself somewhere close. It almost felt like he was walking you out and you were comforted by that.

“I won’t.” He grumbled. 

“I will miss you a lot. Despite what you’re thinking, I love you.” You trailed behind him, squeezing his wrist in your hold. 

“Yeah, you’ve clearly showed that.” Your husband tried to shake your hold off of him. 

“Instead of being a little bitch about it, you could’ve been looking up tickets to see me in June.” You whispered into his back.

“I don’t have the money for that, I’m not the one with a job in the States.”

“You’re still being a little bitch about it and are also lying.” He did have the money, his salary was still above yours even with this US increase you were given. 

“You’ll miss your flight, and we can’t allow that to happen. Go.” Jaehyun spared you a glance and walked off to the couch, busying himself with the iPad he didn’t even usually use. 

You had to swallow the lump in your throat, be the bigger person, because you were the one at fault. You tip-toed around your luggage, getting closer to the couch he occupied, crashing his shoulders under your weight, as you leaned in and pressed your head against his. “I love you.” Your mouth pressed into his set jaw. “I don’t want a divorce, I want to come back home to you. I will miss waking up every day and seeing your pretty eyes and feeling your fingers on my thigh. Come on, baby. Let me kiss you, if you’re divorcing me, am I not allowed to have my last kiss?” Jaehyun touched your arm that choked his neck, and you hoped he did that so he’d be able to turn around. You let him go and watched him turn around to you.

“We’re not having our last kiss, no. Please, go.” He forced you to stand up. 

“Jaehyun, you can’t be serious right now. We’ve been together for 10 years-.” “And those 10 years seem to be nothing to you, right? Since you were able to decide on leaving me with no second thoughts?”

Your mouth opened and closed, like you were a fish. Just air, no words to defend yourself or your actions. Jaehyun walked up to the door, rolled both your suitcases out and looked at you, clearly expecting for you to roll out the apartment in the same way. 

“Safe skies.” He rumbled, as you walked up to the elevator, not having a chance to turn around and look at him one last time as Jaehyun closed the door.

You hated how the taxi driver asked if you were okay, because you clearly weren’t - hot tears streaming down your face through the whole ride. You hated the side eyeing of every person at the airport, and then on the plane, judging your red face and puffy eyes.

You cried through the whole 13 hour flight, to the point you could barely see, both from soreness and puffiness of your eyes. They even pulled you for the random check at the airport, probably barely seeing the correlation between the photo and reality. You had to make up a joke about an allergic reaction. 

You got in the taxi and barely held back from bursting there too, taking another 3 hours to settle in your booked apartment and finally be left alone. You had two whole days up your sleeve to just soak in your loneliness and cry. 

Three months later you received the envelope for the first time. You tore those pages apart, calling Jaehyun despite it being late night back at home and cursing him. With every word you knew. You hated every bit of him for actually making those words come true. 

Since then, you would get the papers regularly and would regularly dispose them into trash. Your reaction also became more stoic - simple no’s over the message or on the phone. You were almost convinced he sent them just so you’d talk, and you’d agree getting the papers daily, if that meant you’d hear his voice and his steady breaths through the phone. 

-

“I thought I’ll never see you again.” Jaehyun broke down the dead silence that set in your apartment. You had no good reason to not leave immediately, but somehow you found yourself on the floor, going through make up like you needed to pick each item separately, stretching out time you could spend here.

It did you good, it seemed, Jaehyun finally build up courage to talk to you, or maybe just found words he could tell you.

“Why? It was set for just three years, and I would’ve eventually came back on vacation.” You haven’t used a single day, too scared to come back home and face him. But eventually, maybe, you could’ve done that. 

“I thought you’ll sign the agreement and I won’t every see you again. Purposefully avoid you.” Jaehyun sat down on the bed, not far from you, you could move a little to the side and rest the back of your head against his knee, and you felt like it meant something. These words also supposedly meant something, why else would he come to you, when you’ve settled already that you’re leaving. 

“Why?” You asked, careful. It was hard to keep your emotions at bay when they were already in your throat. 

“I couldn’t look at you, I knew I’d be so overwhelmed, and I’m proven right. I’m overwhelmed.” You turned your head, looking at Jaehyun to make a conclusion on his emotions. He stared into the floor before him, eyes blinking slowly, like his brain is picking out the words carefully to not tell you too much. You wished he didn’t hold back. 

“I’m so sorry, that I’ve suddenly been making your life a mess. We were never like this… right?” Jaehyun nodded slightly, zoned-out, it seemed. 

“You were right, I really regretted not kissing you goodbye, not taking you to the airport myself. Really regretted not calling you and asking if you were okay, somewhere far away from home, all alone and hurt by me. I regret so much not replying to your message letting me know you arrived safely. I fucking hate myself for never wishing you a good night. And now it’s too late, irreparable. I’ve blamed you, but actually made the worst moves to ruin our marriage.” Every sentence felt like a shot straight to your chest. Every pause and single breaths after each word felt like the rope around your neck was getting tighter. It was never too late to work on your mistakes, as long as he wanted it too. “I just hope, moving forward, we can be acquaintances.” You choked. 

“Right, acquaintances.” You could only muster out of your mouth. “I really have to get on the road.” You stood up, wiping the tear off your cheek, before Jaehyun could notice. You should’ve left before you’d head him call you an acquaintance. You were nauseous and probably weren’t save to drive.  “I couldn’t see my car key where I left it. Do you know where it is?” You changed the topic, turning around to look at Jaehyun with no trails of emotional trauma. 

���Ugh, yeah. It’s in my pocket. I’ve been driving your car lately, I’m sorry, I should’ve asked.” Jaehyun got up, looking around for his jacket, you assumed. 

“Why?” You asked, confused. He had his own car, the car he loved dearly, in fact. Always refused to go in yours, and he’s been driving it all of a sudden. What a weird confession to make. “Did something happen to your car?” It was the only logical interpretation of his words. 

“No, yours just eating less gas-.”

“Really?” You looked at him confused, maybe he was right, you wouldn’t know. 

“Yeah, here are the keys.” He reached out his open palm with the car key. You really refused to touch the skin of his hand. You reached out and then jerked your hand back, looking Jaehyun in the eyes to watch his reaction. He moved his other arm, grabbing onto your hand and pressing the key into your palm, covering it with the other. 

This really went out of the no touching route, you hated how you immediately needed his hands all over your body. That’s exactly what you tried to avoid. Longing. 

“I’m sorry if I left anything in the car-.”

“Stop, it’s not like your things would bother me.” You huffed, only now realising he’s still holding your palm between his fingers. “I anyway always preferred your stuff over mine, hope it’s something I could use.” You smiled, trying to make him feel better, yourself feel better. And it seemed to work, with the way Jaehyun looked you in the eyes and lit up for the slightest moment, before it felt like reality dawned on him, and he let go of you and dropped the smile. 

You grabbed your stuff and walked out the apartment. 

-

“Hey, Jaehyun?” Hyunjoo spoke into the phone in a hushed whisper, trying to keep the call out of everyone’s hearing ability. 

“Oh?” She could clearly hear his astonishment in that sound. “Hyunjoo, hi. I thought I had your phone number saved.” Jaehyun scratched his brow. Caught absolutely off guard to hear your family member on the other side of the line. Did something happen to you?

“That’s our aunt’s, mine’s occupied by Nara and Uri.” Hyunjoo was well aware that information didn’t matter to Jaehyun, but still. She felt like sharing. 

“Did something happen? Is my wife okay?” Even he himself hated the way he referred to you, unable to imagine how Hyunjoo must’ve cringed at him. 

“No, she’s okay.”

“I see.” He sighed, weirded out by the call. That silence only gestured further more for Hyunjoo that something was off. Her hunch was strong, and the vibe coming from Jaehyun - she could tell, it didn’t give off the usual openness and sweetness. She were even more concerned, than before she called. 

“I don’t know if my sister is lying that you two are all good, because something tells me you two aren’t on good terms-.” Hyunjoo trailed off, in hopes of Jaehyun catching the bait and telling the truth. 

“I don’t know what to tell you. I think it’s better you discuss these things with your sister.” Jaehyun sighed into the phone, giving away more than he intended. 

“All I know is, if she didn’t lie - you should definitely come, it’s our parents wedding anniversary. Our mom will eat your wife alive, you know how she hates when someone’s missing. Minhyuk is already a fallen victim for not coming in often enough, and it’s not long until she focuses on your absence.” 

“I’m really sorry, I won’t make it today. It’s a four hour drive from my parents-.”

“Are you really at your parents?” Hyunjoo furrowed her brows, trying to hear over the loud talking of your family. 

“Why?”

“There’s a train, you could hop on to that.”

“The train station is far from your house.” Jaehyun sighed, switching his arms that held the phone.

“I could pick you up.” Jaehyun stilled, not giving Hyunjoo an answer. “Do you love her or not?”

“Why?” Jaehyun sighed once again, and Hyunjoo could really hear the indecisiveness in that sound. 

“When I asked you if you loved my sister last time I saw you, your ears turned all red and you said that you’re so in love, you feel your head get dizzy from time to time. It was less than I year ago. We joked around how you two are never coming out of that honeymoon phase. You didn’t throw at me that sad little why. Something really happened between you two.”

Jaehyun raised his voice, Hyunjoo finally could hear him properly. “Your sister left for a year, of course something happened between us.”

“She made a mistake, also quit the job to run back to you and I hope you’ll appreciate that action and find it in you to forgive her for her stupid ways.”

“She did what?” By the way Jaehyun gasped Hyunjoo could tell he was far from knowing the truth. 

“What did she tell you about her comeback?” “That Seoul office needs were put before Seattle, so she was transferred back.”

“Unfortunately, despite a job, a marriage and other adult things in her life, she’s still a stubborn child, that can’t admit to things.” Hyunjoo rolled her eyes, looking for you in the crowded living room to scold you as soon as she’s off the phone. 

“I’ll text you the time my train will be at the station. Okay?”

“Yes, I’ll be waiting. Guess see you tonight?”

“Yeah.”

-

“Sweetheart, even Minhyuk made it over here after his shift! Where’s our precious Jaehyunie? Hey, Minhyuk, where did your wife disappear?” Your mom moved her attention back at you. “Where did Hyunjoo go?”

“I have no clue? She grabbed my car keys and said she’ll be back in an hour.” You shrugged.

“Where’s mommy, dada?” Nara asked her dad, pressing her little head into his chest. 

“Will come back soon, picking things up.” His mouth pressed into her ear, striking you a look you didn’t know how to interpret for the meanwhile. 

It all suddenly fell into place, when Jaehyun walked into the living room, Hyunjoo trailing right behind. 

Every member of your family, your mom’s closest friends, jumped off their seats to pinch his cheeks, or slap it in a caring manner, comment on how good he’s looking, or how sweet he is for coming despite the distance from Seoul or his parents’. 

It was hard for you to process his presence, especially when you didn’t even talk about it with him. You found your sister’s eyes on you with a smirk, not even hiding the fact it was her doing. You wondered how much she was able to work out on her own. About your marriage and the state it was in. 

You felt your mouth open in shock, as you watched the encounter between Jaehyun and your dad, only to realise that he’s progressively getting closer to you. Finally closing the gap and wrapping an arm over your waist, mouth latching onto your temple. The touch wasn’t giving off any feelings, it was clearly an act for the public. 

“Hi, baby.” He mumbled into your skin, moving away. “My mom told me to greet everyone on her behalf and she’s sorry for stealing me from this gathering.” He smiled sweetly at everyone, mouth pressing once again into your skin. “What is it? Why are you so flabbergasted?” He chuckled, fingers flexing over your waist like the last time he touched you, or kissed you in any way wasn’t almost a year ago. 

“You said you can’t make it, I’m just confused.” You finally pulled yourself together, letting a small chuckle out. You finally looked at him up close, plastering a smile onto your face, palm moving onto his chest as your lips landed in the corner of Jaehyun’s mouth. You would’ve kissed his mouth, but were scared he’d tap out of that excessive acting. “Hi.” You whispered, not sure if anyone was locking in on the acting in front of them. 

“Jaehyunie, you really made us worry, when my daughter was away and you wouldn’t come see us-.” Your mom pulled everyone’s attention back on you two.  

“I just couldn’t imagine coming here, knowing I won’t see my wife for three years. I’m sorry, I should’ve been more cautious of how you’ll feel.” He bowed, making your grandmothers coo at each other.

“No, no. It’s all good. It is such a blessing that project got cancelled and they let you come back. A family should always be together, now you can try for babies-.” 

“Mom.” You chocked. 

“Yes, we obviously need Uri and Nara to become the wiser older siblings, just like their mom is.” Hyunjoo teased.

“We haven’t thought of that yet, you need to slow down. I just got back-.”

“You two are almost thirty-.” Jaehyun cut off, politely. 

“We thought of a baby before everything happened, once my beautiful wife is ready, I’m sure it’ll happen.” You felt a little shiver of anxiety run down your spine. 

-

You watched Jaehyun’s back for a little, comprehending whether or not he’d hate you progressing with the act. He straightened his back a little, and it was hard to hold back any longer. You wrapped your arms over his waist, tucking your face between his shoulder blades.

He stilled at first, wrapping his fingers over your arm a moment later.

“Thanks for coming here, I don’t know why or how Hyunjoo did it, but you saved me.” Your mouth left a kiss on his back, before snuggling your face into the material once again. 

He tapped the back of your palm multiple times, before you worked out it was his call for you to let him go. You did so, taking a step back also, so he could turn around. 

Jaehyun looked down on you, face not giving much to interpretation, but his arms wrapped around your shoulders and tucked you into his chest. Your arms found their place on his waist. This here, it felt like you were home for the first time since you came back. Despite spending this whole week back here, only now did it feel like you returned where you belonged. You tightened your hold around him, Jaehyun letting his back hit the counter and welcome you between his legs, arms holding you firmer in his hold. It was hard for you to see the truth behind the action. Did he do that to put an impression on your family that you were good? Did he do that because that’s all he wanted to do since you came back? Your fingers caressed his back in little pats, eyes closing and muting all the background noise, focusing on the beating of his heart only. 

Jaehyun raised his head from the top of yours, only to bombard a multitude of kisses on top of your head. You felt like you were about to burn alive. 

“Aigoo, how did you two live separately for a year, when you’ve seen each other in the morning and already can’t let go of each other.” Your mom let you know the act was seen. Jaehyun pulled back. “In the morning?” Jaehyun smiled politely at your mom, shifting his gaze at you. You smiled innocently, resting your head on his shoulder, until your mom would move her attention elsewhere. “What’s this about?” Jaehyun whispered into your ear.

“Act like we spent the week at home, will you?” You smiled, mouth almost not moving as you spoke. 

“And may I know where you spent it?” Jaehyun’s arm wrapped tighter over your waist. The familiar press of his body against yours felt borderline ecstatic. 

“Four Seasons…?” You cowardly admitted staying at a hotel for the whole week, instead of facing reality. 

“You stayed at a hotel?! Instead of coming back home?” Jaehyun’s arm pushed you even more into his frame, hissing, making it wildly uncomfortable to press into his crotch during a build up for a confrontation. “Why do you hate me? I didn’t leave you.” Instead of a blow up, his shoulders slouched in lack of understanding your motives. 

You wished you could answer that yourself. 

“I guessed you won’t be comfortable being around me, but you came here. What did my sister tell you?” You hissed back at him. 

“That your mom was halfway done with nagging at Minhyuk, and you were next in line for my absence. Said you won’t come out alive out of it, so I had to hop on the train. If you’re dead, who’s signing my divorce agreement?” He chuckled, your palm landed on his chest, asking for a little bit of space between you two. The joke didn’t land where he wanted it to. At least you were hoping, that he’s playful and not about to pop the pen and paper from behind him.

-

“We haven’t slept in a bed together since April last year.” You stated, eyes glued to your double bed. 

“I’m aware.” Jaehyun simply shrugged. He might’ve not cared. 

“Do you… not want to?” You still made sure to ask. 

“I don’t care, I’m dead tired I’ll be knocked out on the floor, if it matters to you.”

"We should sleep tops to tails." you suggested, scared you'd eventually roll over into him and tuck yourself under his arm, like you knew you always did. 

"Sure." Jaehyun gave you the curtest nod and sat down on the bed with his back facing you. 

You grabbed the pillow and tossed it into supposed feet area, covering yourself with a duvet, thank God your mom had a spare one and you didn’t have to share it with him. "Turn off the light when you won't need it anymore. Thank you." you whispered and closed your eyes. 

Jaehyun was well aware of the fact you couldn't fall asleep with the light on, it was obvious the man also knew how much you hated to have your full body covered, because you were immediately hot all over even in the winter. But you had to intention of letting him see any of you from behind the material. 

You focused on the noises that were coming from him - he shuffled on the bed a little, clearly not lying down yet. Then he stilled, making you wonder if he was just staring at his phone, with the full illumination in the room. You were getting a little worked up at the idea of him purposely disturbing your wish to sleep. You wanted to turn around and see him and maybe have a little fight, because it seemed like the only valuable reason to talk to him. 

You were feeling too warm under the duvet, all because of those thoughts, you needed him to turn off the lights, so you'd pull it off yourself. When he'd roll to the other side and won't see your bare legs in the darkness. As you made up your mind to fight, you heard him get to his feet and finally turn the lights off. You held in a sigh. 

You listened carefully to his feet walking back to the bed and felt him sitting down. Heard and felt the mattress bend as he lowered his body fully and then shuffled with his own duvet. You felt the mattress bend under him as he probably turned away from you, and finally felt free to move the duvet off your body. 

Taking a long breath and actually trying to fall asleep this time. 

You tried not to picture much how you'd meet at the court's entrance to civilly agree on your divorce. You tried to shush those thoughts away and fall asleep quickly. 

You heard a little shuffle behind your back, Jaehyun probably moving his arms around to find a comfortable position. 

Until you felt his mouth on your outer ankle bone you were convinced Jaehyun was trying hard to fall asleep. Now you weren't so sure, as he moved his mouth a mere centimetre up. Your legs moved under his touch on reflex, trying to avoid the tickle of his mouth. 

Jaehyun's fingers wrapped over your sole, holding your leg in place, as his mouth trailed up your ankle to your calf. "Tell me if you want me to stop." He skipped a few centimetres up your body and pressed his mouth into the middle of your thigh. 

"It's okay." you whispered into the pillow, laying on your stomach. Jaehyun's mouth kissed your other thigh and moved away. You heard him shuffle behind you, probably sitting up, felt his fingers wrap around your ankles and pulling your body more to the centre of the bed. You tried to close your legs and felt his body between them. 

You were already so damn wet, not knowing what he wanted or intended to do, but you were just hoping Jaehyun won't take long to find out how he made you feel. 

His fingers ran up your legs while giving pressure to your skin, pressing his mouth right under your ass, the shorts giving him the perfect opportunity to feel up all the bare skin. You felt his tongue swipe up, while his hand squeezed the other side under its fingers. You perked your ass up, only to be pressed down with force. 

Jaehyun's luscious mouth moved up your butt cheek and left wet kisses, when you felt a striking pain of his teeth, digging into the soft skin. As you gave out a whine and shuffled under him, Jaehyun's free palm pressed into your lower back to keep you in place, pressing his teeth into you even harder.

Your hand blindly found his head, trying to make him let go. It's not like he didn't know it hurt, he purposely hurt you. 

"Baby, it really hurts." You finally whined, feeling his mouth let go of you and fall into your reached out hand, peppering kisses into your palm. 

Your butt cheek was on fire. 

"I know. That's your punishment for leaving me alone. For a whole fucking year. And staying at that fuck ass hotel for the whole week. Bet it doesn't even sting half badly to what my heart felt." 

"I'm so sorry." you tried to turn around and see him, but Jaehyun's arms pressed into your knees. This was clearly another part of his punishment. "My ass is on fire, i need ice." 

"I can give the symmetrical one to the other side, it'll for sure stop burning over here." 

"No, please, this already hurts a lot. Is there blood?" you whined. 

"I wouldn't bite that hard, you're silly. Just a little red mark. It's not that harsh." His fingers slapped the butt cheek and you let out an 'ouch'. It for sure felt like there was blood to you. "I missed you." he whispered in a hushed manner, pressing his mouth against you. “I had to fuck my hand for a year because my wife left me alone. Are you sorry for that also?”

“I am.”

“Good.” Jaehyun pressed flat out palm into your core, your body leaning into his hand to feel the pressure that made your eyes roll backwards. “Tell me if you don’t want to have sex with me.”

“I want to, my only concern would be my entire family sleeping in the same building.” You moved your body against his palm, giving yourself a bit of stimulation. 

“Then you have to be extra cautious with your noises.” Jaehyun moved his fingers to the side, teasing the material of your underwear. 

“You can silence me with your kisses. Please, let me turn around, I want to kiss you.” You whined, feeling his digits tease your slickness. Jaehyun’s thumb disappeared in your folds, giving you pressure you missed so much. One more swipe of his fingers and all you need is his hips thrusting into you full force. Fucking you stupid, until you can’t stand up the next morning. 

“No, I don’t want you to.” His pointing fingers rolled over your clit in circles.

“I missed you so fucking much, baby.”

“I can tell. You’re so wet, so warm, so ready to take me inside of you.” Jaehyun’s fingers rolled down your slit, pressing into your entrance. “But I kind of thought of something else?” His digits penetrated you, curling inside as your ass once again lift up from the mattress, adding on the friction and pressure. 

“Baby, anything is good for me. Can you move your hand faster?” Jaehyun pressed his other hand into your clit, drawing small circle while pumping his other hand in and out of you. 

“You can’t be cuming this early, no. I’m going to move slowly. You need to relax. Completely.” He let his hand from your clit press into your lower back to lay you back down. “Shh, you need to relax, I need you to be absolutely unwind.” Jaehyun caressed your thigh with that same hand, letting left-over slickness stain your skin.

“Why?” You mumbled into the pillow, arms grabbing onto the material, as Jaehyun pulled back. As the question left your lips, you felt his same digit give pressure to your anus. “Why?” You asked again, meaning why do you want to do anal when my whole family could hear us. Not why the hell do you want that now. 

“Are you against it?” 

“No, we maybe should’ve taken it home.” You whined as he caressed his fingers against you. “We can’t, not when you tell me you’ve slept in a hotel for a week, when I thought you were here. I could’ve been fucking you for a week, in every way I could think of. I could’ve even calmed down by now and started making love to you instead.” Jaehyun’s mouth trailed kisses down your back through your shirt.

“Do you know…how to do it properly?” He clearly did, you just liked asking stupid questions. 

“I had plenty of time to work that out.”

“Don’t tell me it was through other people.” You swallowed a moan, feeling him slip into your wetness. 

“You must be fucking insane. I would’ve kept my faithfulness to you even if you signed the papers and I walked into you five years later on accident. You’re the love of my fucking life, baby.” Jaehyun slipped two of his fingers inside of you, giving pressure to your ass with the third one. 

“Jaehyun-ah.” You cried into the pillow not able to go with the same slowness of his movement, continue with that mere pressure into your ass, you needed more of him and more firmly, like you knew he was able to give.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He whispered sweetly. 

There was no sweetness in your response. When you were horny, you were far from being sweet. “I want you to fuck my ass. And I want you to do it roughly.” 

“I hear you.” Jaehyun whispered, pressing his mouth into your shoulder blade. “Let me take your clothes off, stick your ass up.” He let go of you completely, moving back down and watching you get on your knees. You stuck your butt out for him, his fingers immediately hooking onto your shorts and pulling them down your legs, throwing them off the bed with your underwear. You felt his mouth latch onto your heat, swiping the tongue up and down your slick folds, causing you to fold into his touch and chase his mouth with your core blindly. Your head buried deep into the pillow to not let the whimpers coming out of you be heard anywhere beyond your bed.

Jaehyun ran his tongue up and down, extending the trail up to your ass, repeating that same action multiple times. His fingers once again found your entrance, penetrating you full force with no warning. He didn’t really need to, you were so slick, he could get himself inside of you with no issue right the same moment. “We don’t have lube, so we’ll have to stick to your pussy’s slickness and my saliva. If it’s not doing it’s thing and it hurts, just tell me, okay?” 

“It won’t hurt.”

“It can, baby. Promise you won’t endure pain to make me happy.”

“I won’t.”

“Good girl.” He moved his fingers from inside of you, pressing into your butt cheeks to spread you wider. You felt stars in your eyes as Jaehyun’s tongue slipped inside of you, it was firm, so wet and warm. You chased him once again, as he tried to move away from you, sticking his tongue into your vagina while his finger pressed into your other hole, taking your mind completely off that foreign but fascinating feeling.

Your arm reached out to your husband between your legs squeezing his thigh barely reaching with your fingers. If he was still your husband, he’d know you weren’t just wanting to hold on to him. And he was, indeed, still your husband, because you could hear the shuffling, and the struggle of him trying to take his sleeping pants off with just one hand. He finally did so, moving his hips forward, until the tip of his cock fell into your open palm and you wrapped around it, pumping his tip. Jaehyun let out the loudest sigh, like he was lifting weights at the gym, trying to hold himself together. You pumped him, until he became too heavy in your hand, pressing him into your slickness just so you could feel his warm leaking head press into your longing pussy. His cock felt so painfully hard and he obviously needed to slip himself inside of you. 

You swiped his tip against your slit, making both you moan with the way the swipe felt so full to the both of you, until pressing him into your ass. Letting him know you wanted him get inside of you, just a finger wasn’t enough anymore. You needed the full experience he wanted you to have.

“Wait, baby, I need to find the condom.” Jaehyun pulled back, slipping his length out of your hold. 

“I’m still taking birth control?”

“It’s not about that. Didn’t I tell you, had plenty of time to work out how to do it properly. I can’t do both your ass and pussy, because bacteria can cause infections in your vagina, we can’t be doing that, can we?” You nodded, feeling Jaehyun climb back onto the bed. “I can put it on you, like when we just started dating. You liked it so much.” You haven’t put a condom on him in maybe eight years, you wanted to remember the feeling. 

“It’s okay.” You heard the foil break under his teeth, “Don’t want you to move out of this position.”

“Please?” You whined, reaching a hand out between your legs once again. Only now did you realise you obediently sat in the same position, when you could’ve turned around and force his mouth onto yours. 

Jaehyun slipped his tip into your fingers, the rubber material hiding the tip from your direct touch as he slightly put it on already. You wrapped your finger over him and in one swift motion rolled it all the way up, giving his balls a squeeze before moving your hand back to the base. You guided his hips closer to you, smudging the condom with your slickness, as you worked him against you. He did say you’ll need a ton of lube for that. 

Jaehyun moved away, your arm going back to the pillow to give you steadiness. You stuck your butt out more, hoping it’ll make easier for the both of you. You felt a drip of his saliva fall onto your skin, felt him smothering your entrance with his cock and felt the pressure, slipping himself into you.

“Is it…not working?” You asked, confused. You felt pressure, but couldn’t even comprehend the depth of that motion. 

“It’s working, just don’t strain yourself, it’ll hurt me. Is it okay?”

“It is.”

“Do you want me to touch your pussy?”

“I want to feel this properly.” You whispered, sure of the fact he slipped past the tip - it felt like more pressure than before applied. “Fuck.” You gasped.

“Want me to move away?”

“No, I might need your fingers.”

“Where?”

“Clit.” Jaehyun urgently pressed his digits into your core, massaging your completely soaking mucous. It gave you that little bit of relaxation you needed to let go and allow Jaehyun to move further, he did just that, slipping himself in.

“Can I move?” Jaehyun sighed.

“Are you deep?” You felt like he was all in, he probably wasn’t. 

“Mmh, like halfway?”

“Yeah, do that.” You whimpered as he moved away, pressing himself once again. “Do more spit.” You felt his warm saliva once again drip down your skin. 

“Fuck, this feels insanely tight. Like the next thrust I’m not going to be able to move back.” He gasped with each thrust and you couldn’t understand if it somehow was what he expected. 

“Do you hate it?” “No, I just have a feeling this won’t last long.” You could feel Jaehyun get deeper inside of you with every thrust of his. “Fuck, baby, you’re taking this so well.” He whined into your spine. “Fuck, fuck.” He cursed under his breath, hips finally pressing against your ass. Your fingers reached out to his balls, giving them a little stimulation while Jaehyun recollected himself. “Can I do it properly?”

“You can try.” Jaehyun angled your ass, moving out of you, only to slap his hips full force into you. It didn’t feel like pain. Pressure - yes, a lot of pressure that you’ve never felt before, stretching that made your core throb. You felt so full of your husband, ready to take thrusts of any power and force. You whined under his hold, every thrust of his hips making your breath hitch, pressure under every finger of his on your waist making your back arch back in want. You physically needed him to fill you up, you couldn’t care at this point in what way, as long as he was holding you in his arms. 

His little grunts were getting progressively more expressive, making him mess up the tempo every once in a while. Jaehyun pulled out, and you could tell he moved away from you with the way his palms left your skin. 

You tried to switch positions, get up from your now sore arms and turn to see his face. Jaehyun caught your arms with his, looping it around and pushing you towards him. So you’d get on your ass, while being half-way hostage in his hold and have no way to move your arms around. Mid-action Jaehyun put in extra care to make sure his tip lined up with you, sliding himself right into your slickness as you landed on his thighs. Filled to the brim with him. Just him, the condom disposed before the action. 

You moaned. 

The sound was so raw and sudden, you were convinced every other person that wasn’t asleep in the house heard it.

“Stop clenching around me.” Jaehyun grunted into your ear, mouth pressing into your jaw. “We won’t last five minutes, sweetheart.”

“Let me move.” You whimpered, trying to raise your hips up but struggling while your arms are locked in his hold.

“Okay baby, ride me.” Jaehyun let you go, lowering his back on the mattress, palms resting against the sheets. Your fingers gripped onto his thighs, wrapping around them firmly, using them as a prop for stability, raising your hips up in the slowest motion you could muster and sinking down with that same smooth, fluid motion. 

Up and down. 

Another one hollowing yourself and filling up, all in that slow, almost teasing pace that helped you keep your composure. You felt your insides grip onto him in an attempt to hold back, you weren’t able to do anything about it. It was either this, or spasming around him in literal five minutes. 

And you couldn’t let that happen. 

You haven’t felt him like that in a year. You’d like him to fill you up for the entirety of the night.

And you knew he’d do that if you just voiced out the need. 

Jaehyun’s fingers rested on your hips, his silent gesture for you to raise up the speed. 

You really couldn’t. Not with the way those thrusts made his tip press exactly into your g-spot, making your stomach grow heavier by the second with pleasure. 

“Baby, are you good?” Jaehyun patted your side. You were uncharacteristically quiet during the process, just your thighs meeting his, fingers gripping onto his knee. Now, that you bent a little further. Mouth letting out heavy sighs as you were building up your high. 

“Good.” You whispered.

“I can help you.” Jaehyun met you half way, forcing a grunt out both you and him. 

“I’m doing good.” You cried in protest.

“You are, baby. You are doing so good and it’s getting painfully hard to hold back from cuming. Watching you sink down on me is definitely my favourite show to watch, but my vision’s getting blurry.” Jaehyun’s fingers forced you down onto him roughly as he buckled his hips into yours once again. “Can I help us both? Get on your knees. Please, baby.” You almost sighed, it was probably the first time you haven’t seen his face during sex, not once felt his tongue in your mouth. And he was the man that usually said he couldn’t think of fucking any other way than missionary because he loves to see your face expressions. 

Maybe he’s changed his opinion, or what has changed is his feelings. 

You did as he asked bending forward, tangling your legs with his thighs and getting Jaehyun lift his hips right into you. Quick-paced thrusts that made your bed’s wood creak under pressure. 

Jaehyun moved his hips up, his fingers pushing your core closer to him. The pace he moved with made you absolutely dizzy, you had no thoughts properly forming in your head except for maybe how he was using all of his core strength to chase both his and yours highs. 

Your hips met his thrust half way up, helping him to pop that bubble of pressure in your stomach, until you felt yourself pool. Silent gasps and cries escaping through your mouth. Then, like a chain reaction Jaehyun’s thrust lost rhythm as your pussy gripped onto him mercilessly. You sank down feeling him spill, making slow thrusts to ride out his high.

Jaehyun stilled, letting his limbs fall off your lower back and onto the bed. Heavy breathing filling up the room. 

You needed to lie down too, attempting to roll over to the side. Jaehyun didn’t let you, his arms wrapping over your waist, forcing you to fall down onto his chest. Keeping himself inside of you. “Can I have your body weight on me for a little while?” Jaehyun mumbled against your skin, mouth pressing into your shoulder. 

“You can.” Your voice barely came out of your throat. “It’s the first time we’ve gotten intimate in over a year. And the first time we didn’t even take our clothes off properly.” Only now did you notice and feel, that you both had your shirts still on. You wouldn’t be too surprised if the sleeping trousers he wore weren’t properly off his body either. “First time I haven’t seen your face nor kissed your mouth. And we’ve been together for a decade. Is that supposed to mean something?” You questioned in a whisper. Jaehyun didn’t budge, it’s like he didn’t care about the emotional turmoil you were going through. “Jaehyun?” you called out his name, squeezing his forearm for a reaction. 

“I’m so tired.” He let out a loud sigh into your ear, mouth pressing into your jaw. “Sorry, sweetheart, did you say something? I got knocked out under you.” He yawned, you had no emotional capacity to comprehend wether he play pretended or not. You wanted to not feel his arms press into your stomach. 

You pulled onto them and freed yourself, sitting up and eventually moving away. Jaehyun let out an ‘ouch’ at your motion.

You just felt hollow, just like your heart did last few months, throwing the shorts on and hiding yourself in the bathroom. 

Rebound sex seemed to be a bitch.

-

You dreaded to open your eyes, but you knew you had to. Your mom had a very strict policy of no sleeping past 9 am, and you weren’t sure Jaehyun got up to shower after what you did and put his underwear on. Or if he put the condom away or it was laying somewhere next to the bed.

Your mom catching up on obvious signs of you having sex last night seemed worse than facing your husband, and you opened your eyes quickly, looking over the room. Your eyes fell onto the chair, surprised to find Jaehyun sitting in it. Feet up on the cushion, eyes trained on the phone while he obviously scrolled.

Good thing he was dressed. 

Though he was wearing his jeans and that made you let him know you were awake.

“Are you leaving?” Your voice sounded like you had nightmares of your husband having sex with you and handing you the divorce agreement right as you were cuming. Or did you really dream that? You needed to check your bedside table for pen and paper.

“Hm…no?” Jaehyun looked up from his phone confused. “Good morning to you too, though.”

“Why are you in your jeans at 8 am?” You frowned.

“Can’t I take a walk?” 

“I’m sorry for asking.” You folded immediately. You could still feel his fingers on your thighs, you were in no place of mind to fight. 

“Do you… feel okay?” He tip-toed over the topic. 

“I haven’t moved a limb, don’t know.” Jaehyun dropped his phone on the floor, making you anxious with the speed he crossed the room to get on your side of the bed. “Did you throw the condom away?” 

“I did, your mom’s been up since like 5:30 am. I heard her move around the house.” He gave you the weakest smile. 

“I see.” You sighed, wildly awkward of Jaehyun standing above you like you were on your deathbed. 

“Can you sit up?” He questioned, clearly concerned over your physical state. 

“Jae-.” You had to stop a chuckle. “We had sex, it’s not like I’m going to die after that. We had sex before. A lot of times.” You would like to not think of those times to not get yourself worked up. 

“Not like that though.” He gave you a brow. You wondered if he meant the physical way he did it, or your emotional state or something else.

“Is that the only thing that bothers you?” Not like, the fact we have not kissed during the process?

“That’s first priority.”

“Okay, I’m going to sit up.” You let him know, pulling yourself together to get up. Despite the tiresome state of your system. Jaehyun watched your face intently, looking for any sign of discomfort that could come. 

Okay, he might’ve been right. You didn’t feel perfectly fine, you felt sore, a little pain also followed in your thighs. Nothing you couldn’t endure anyway. Jaehyun read through discomfort that showed on your face for a split second.

“See.” He sighed knowingly, walking off the bed and returning with a bag in his hand. “I got you something.” He admitted quickly, reaching his fingers into the bag. “This is an electrolyte water. Also vitamin c.” He got two bottles out of the bag, expecting you to take them, so you did. “I didn’t know if it’s better with heat or cooling - I got a heat pack and this cooling spray just in case-.”

“At the convenience store?” You asked confused, you’ve never heard of cooling sprays at convenience stores, but then again - you never looked for them.

“Yes.” He let all of the things fall onto your lap. “And this mini croissants salt bread. Thought you might like it. It’s the new product, got on market while you were away.” The baby-blue pack fell onto your lap last. You looked at everything, overwhelmed with the fact Jaehyun cared for you as much as he did before. Despite the signs earlier. 

Or maybe he just wanted to be nice, patch up your bruises and get you to sign those papers while you’re touched by him?

“Thank you.” You could only muster, raising your eyes to see his face plastered with cute smile, that made both his dimples pop. He gave you a nod and turned around probably to get rid of the bag.

“Jaehyun…”

“Yes?” At the call of his name he was looking you in the eyes in a second. 

“I still don’t want that divorce to happen… I didn’t come back because the project got cancelled. It got cancelled, because I said I’m going back home. I asked for their understanding a long time ago. First, they told me I needed to assimilate, that I was just home sick and thus asked to be dismissed. I agreed, stayed another month, but it wasn’t going away. That sorrow and emptiness weren’t going anywhere. I told them I’m going back, but they pleaded me to stay just another month to find a substitute. Then a month stretched into two and three. I only was able to make it back to you now. I was sick this whole time, when you first actually send me the papers, I cried the whole week. I wanted to go back immediately, and I weren’t allowed to. I really fucked us up, you were right when you said I acted like the 10 years of us didn’t matter to me… because I don’t know what the fuck I was doing. I left and realised that the life I thought I was able to live, actually was unbearable without you. How funny is that? Expected myself to kill this whole thing, return back home to you and slide into our bed like nothing happened, when I clearly hurt you, and myself. I love you so much. I’m so sorry, what’s done cannot be undone, so I guess I am signing those papers. I can’t hold you back forever, just ask your lawyer to send one more copy to our apartment.” You sobbed defeated. 

“What?” Jaehyun sounded astonished, you raised your face to see him. Probably jumping in happiness. 

“I said I’ll sign those papers.” You repeated to his face. 

“You still want to get divorced? I thought we just had reconciliation sex and will move on?” He took multiple steps back to you. 

“Huh? I thought this was a goodbye?” “And why would I go to a convenience store at 7 am then?” Jaehyun furrowed his brows even deeper. 

“To get me on your good side… so I’d sign the agreement?” You told him what you took this as. 

“Are you… crazy? How did I even marry a crazy lady like you.” He chuckled in clear disbelief. 

“You didn’t kiss me once last night, didn’t even look me in the eyes once. What was I supposed to take this as?” It was your turn to frown. 

“Me fucking you from the back like I said I was gonna to.” He exclaimed louder than intended, having you shush him with your hands immediately. 

“I don’t understand, I’m sorry.” 

“You’re back for forever? This is not a holiday brake, right?” Jaehyun crossed the room. 

“No, I’m back for good.”

“I wanted a divorce not because I didn’t love you. I wanted a divorce because I didn’t want to hold you back here. If you were gonna settle in the US for three years, I didn’t want to be the anchor that pulled you back here. If you’re here, we should reconcile and not do the stupid thing. I love you.” He said in one quick breath. 

“You do?” “Of course, sweetheart. I always will.” Jaehyun kneeled in front of your half-sitting body.

“I love you too.” You admitted quickly. 

“Good, I guess now that we’re settled I can have my real kiss.” He pulled on your palms, bending your back towards him. Before his mouth could touch yours, you pulled back.

“But why? Why you didn’t kiss me last night? Can’t believe in what you said.”

“I told you when you were leaving. We are not having our last kiss. I weren’t sure, last night, that it won’t be the last time I kissed you, so I refrained. Now that I am sure, I don’t have a good reason to not do that.”

“Your brain is… insane?” You chuckled, but instead of letting him pull you down, forced him up and on top of you, sealing your mouths in the slowest twirl of your tongues. 

“Mom! They’re making you more grandkids!” Your sister forced the door wide open, not giving either of you a moment to react, or to let go of each other. 

“Close the door!” you growled, hiding Jaehyun’s face in the crook of your neck.

“I heard enough moans last night, can’t be listening to that while I’m having breakfast! Come on you two! Mom said breakfast’s ready. I’m giving you 45 seconds to pull your shit together or mom locks you two up to conceive that baby now!”

“Ew.” You made the loudest sound of disgust, Hyunjoo threw a towel she had in her hands towards you and closed the door. Jaehyun raised his head up looking at you with the wildest grin, face gone red as a tomato. 

“She heard everything.” Jaehyun let out a low chuckle out. “I’m not going there.” He rolled over onto his back.

“You are! I’m not facing my family after what she just said on my own!”

hope you enjoyed, any feedback is highly appreciated <3

[my-castles-crumbling]

conflict - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 530

“Hey.”

Sirius had been avoiding this moment all day. Ever since that morning. He and Remus had somehow gone from cuddling together, having skipped class in favor of getting a rare moment alone, to yelling at each other from across the room.

His stomach churned violently at the memory.

He wasn’t sure what’d happened. It was all a blur. And he wasn’t sure it mattered, anyway. The point was that they’d fought. And now…it was over.

“Hey,” he replied hollowly, budging over so the taller boy could sit next to him in the small broom closet he’d been hidden in. “You used the Map?”

“Stole it from James,” Remus replied, settling next to him in the dark, his knee brushing Sirius’s.

“Remind me to kill him,” Sirius muttered under his breath, heart hammering in his chest.

Remus chuckled. “Sirius, we need to talk.”

Ah. There it was. The way all conflict ended. Sure, he and Remus could remain friends after big fights, for the good of the group. But this? This new thing between them was so fragile and big. There was no way it’d survive.

“Go on,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and turning away. He could stay strong while Remus talked, then break down by himself later. Even if he felt like he was full of lead right now. “Just say it.”

“S-Sirius? Wait, look at me,” Remus said softly, and Sirius felt one of those warm, rough hands brush his cheek.

He had to work to choke back a sob. Fuck, he would miss those hands. “Just break up with me, Moons,” he whispered, eyes still closed even as he turned his head towards the taller boy, years slipping between his shuttered eyelids. “I can take it, go on.”

“Sirius, what? I’m not–I’m not breaking up with you! Look at me, baby, c’mon!” Remus urged, thumbs wiping at tears.

Shocked, Sirius opened his eyes, blinking away the still-falling tears. “You’re not?” he asked incredulously. “But we argued. I–I called you a stupid, too-neat berk!”

Remus chuckled, pressing a kiss to Sirius’s forehead so tenderly that more tears formed in his eyes. “And I said you’re as messy as a real dog. Doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” he shrugged.

Sirius blinked. “Oh. Still?”

The taller boy laughed. “Yes, still! What, you think one argument about you leaving your shoes in the middle of the bathroom floor is going to make me want to break up with you?”

“Maybe…” Sirius trailed off, insecurities tying knots in his intestines.

But Remus didn’t laugh this time. Instead, he moved both hands on either side of Sirius’s cheeks and held his gaze. “Sirius, I want to be with you as long as you’ll have me. Forever, preferably. The only thing that will happen of you keep leaving your shoes out for me to trip on is I’ll banish them so you can’t leave them there anymore. The shoes may disappear, but I won’t.”

Relief flooding through him, Sirius grinned through the last of his tears. “How dare you, Moony? My shoes are expensive. And so very punk!”

But Remus just pressed his lips to Sirius’s, probably to shut him up.

[sammywritesfics]

QH43-Summertime Sadness

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2.3k Summary: Growing up being Jack's best friend meant having to hide your feelings for his hot older brother. When you let a joke slip about asking a friends brother for a condom, Luke is the only one who puts it together. Can you keep it a secret from Jack? Or will things with Quinn spiral out of control? Warnings: vibrator play, reference to sex, clit rubbing. Masterlist: here. Part Two.

--

You were ten years old when you moved across from the Hughes lakehouse. Michigan was the second place you had moved to that year. Your mother just had to transfer to a different hospital, in a different city. It certainly wasn’t because your father remarried. 

You were walking along the dock frustratedly. The only thing that excited you was the lake. You could swim for hours, the problem was you didn’t know when to stop. 

You swam out too far and started to get tired on the way back. You swam to a different dock and pulled yourself up. Dunking your feet into the water, trying to keep cool. The wooden dock was burning at your legs. Abruptly, a voice broke you from your thoughts.

“Hey! What are you doing on our dock?” A young brunette boy asked, frowning slightly at you. Next to him was a shorter boy, his hair was curly. Unlike the boy from before who had thicker wavy hair. Who you had seen a few times from across your dock. 

“I was swimming, but my arms started to hurt..” You frowned slightly, not expecting anyone to disturb your peace so soon. A boy who was taller than you with puffy cheeks walked right next to the wavy-haired boy. 

“Jack, don’t be rude..” the boy with puffy cheeks said, avoiding looking at you completely. And when he did, a shy smile broke out on his face. 

“I’m Quinn, these are my brothers..” Quinn gestured towards his brothers briefly before the youngest one walked over to sit next to you. 

“Luke! Not you too!” Jack whined, annoyed that the boys were just accepting that the strange girl was on their dock. 

Turned to look at Quinn and Luke, ignoring their annoyed brother. 

“Nice to meet you, Quinn. And you..” you smiled back at Luke who was shortly called back inside by their mother. He was too young to swim with the big kids, he was only six years old.

Luke frowned but walked past Jack to head inside. Jack decided to follow Luke, going to tattle on you to his mom. 

“Are you visiting..?” Quinn asked, still standing a little away from you. You made him nervous, he had not expected a girl to appear on his dock. Let alone a pretty one. 

“No..” you sighed looking back at the water below the dock. “I moved here with my mom” You glanced up to stare at Quinn. Analyzing his face for a second before you stood up. 

“You will be my friend..” You said confidently, leaving no room for Quinn to argue. Not that he would anyway. He just nodded, you then turned around and went to jump back into the lake. 

“Wait..” Quinn moved faster than you, grabbing your arm softly. “I need to know your name if we are going to be friends..” Quinn let out of the arm the second you met his gaze. 

You told him your name with a dim smile on your face. And with that you jumped back into the water, to swim your way back home. And you did become friends.

But Jack had proclaimed you to be his best friend. So naturally you slowly stopped spending a lot of time with Quinn. 

--

15 years later.

Trevor Zegras had slung his arm around you. You sat on Jack and Quinn’s boat. Quinn was driving while Jack sat on the cooler, telling Trevor about some random story from New Jersey. 

You leaned into Trevor’s affectionate arms. You had been friends since he met Jack. You couldn’t remember how they met, but it was some program for hockey. 

“Dude, you can’t believe everything Jack says about me,” Trevor said, raising his hands up in defeat. 

“So you didn’t spend twenty bucks on a condom?” You asked only half listening to whatever conversation they had before. 

Jack laughs even harder, having to clutch onto his ribs. Trevor debated his answer for a moment. 

“I mean I did...Hey, quit laughing at me!” Trevor cut himself off as he heard you laugh lightly. 

“He didn’t even get to use it-” Jack was cut off by Trevor reaching forward. Trevor flicked his hand across Jack’s arm. A playful gesture. 

“Actually that's not so bad…When I was eighteen I had to ask my friend's brother to buy me one..” You said, face flushing. You had hoped to lighten up some of the pressure around Trevor. It wasn’t too far from the truth. 

“Ew. I did not need to know that!” Luke exclaimed, moving to the front of the boat. Quinn looked up from the wheel of the boat. 

“What?” Quinn asked, the wind made it hard for him to hear anything. 

“She just told us that she asked her friend's brother for a condom..” Luke said, wrinkling his nose slightly. 

Quinn’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he looked back to the water. Luke shrugged it off before pointing to a spot to anchor the boat. Quinn nodded and quickly steered the boat. Eager to make sure you didn’t just drop a secret that he had kept for years. 

--

Three Years ago.

You had asked Jack to hide your vibrator in his room. But being the nosy gossip Jack was, you settled for reminding Jack of an embarrassing moment. 

“Do you remember when I covered for you at BU? I never told Quinn you slept with a girl in his car” you said quietly. Jack’s face grew flustered as he waved his hand in the air. 

“Fine. Fine..” Jack mumbled, making sure to hide it in a spot no one would find. 

“Jack…” you whisper-yelled as you knocked softly on the door. It was two in the morning, but you needed to ask Jack a favor. More of a ‘shut your mouth and help me. Or I will tell Quinn you drove his car’ favor.

After no answer you sighed, going to walk back to your room. Trying to ignore the throbbing in your panties. 

Quinn opened the door without a shirt. Your eyes flicked across him. His boxers slid up slightly on his thigh, and you forced your eyes back to his face. 

“What are you doing?” Quinn’s groggy voice asked, rubbing his eyes. 

Your face flushed a deep red, “I thought-” you said looking back to the hallway before turning to Quinn’s room. 

“You thought?” Quinn asked looking down back at you, he must’ve followed your gaze. 

“I was looking for Jack’s room...He swore this was his room.” You frowned slightly, hoping to avoid any more questions. 

“Why are you looking for my brother at two in the morning…” Quinn said, glancing briefly towards where your oversized shirt met your thighs. 

“In…that.” Quinn gestured to your shirt with a grimace. 

“Oh- No, Ew!” you said swatting at his chest. 

“Jack and I switched at the last minute, he wanted to be closer to Trevor..” Quinn said moving back slightly to let you in the room. 

“Jack and I aren't like that..” you said, you knew he probably didn’t think that. But you couldn’t stand the thought of him thinking it was true. You often had Jack play video games with you, especially when you couldn’t sleep. 

But you still wanted Quinn to know. You didn’t know why at the time. 

“I know you're a good girl..” Quinn paused as he walked further into his room. You followed because you felt like the conversation hadn’t ended yet. And you also really needed your vibrator. 

“I didn’t mean it like that..” Quinn said, sitting on his bed, and throwing a light blanket over his lap. You slightly wished he didn’t. No, he was your best friend’s brother. 

“I’m sure..” You said smiling, reassuring Quinn to get what he meant. 

“Maybe a little like that” Quinn’s voice fanned against your neck as you sat next to him. 

“What did you need?” Quinn asked, catching you off guard. 

“Jack hid something in here that I-” Your voice cut off into a breathy choke. Quinn held up your small bag that contained lube and cleaning solution for your toy. He couldn’t see inside it, but you didn’t know if he peeked at it. 

“My brother mentioned something about you leaving clothes in the drawer..” Quinn said before handing a small-ish bag towards you. 

“You didn’t look?” You asked, narrowed your eyebrows. Quinn’s face grew into a shy smile. He gazed up at you with a slight fondness. 

“Some secrets are yours to keep..” Quinn replied casually like he didn’t just remind you how sweet he is. You left that room feeling all warm, a new kind of pulse went through your body as you went back to your room. 

--

Present.

Luke squished between you and Trevor. Luke sat next to you with a smug smile. Trevor shrugged it off and continued his conversation with Jack. 

You looked up confused as Luke shook his head. He was telling you not to worry about it. Trevor was just an affectionate dude, you didn’t think much of it. Luke’s eyes slipped over to Quinn. 

After twenty minutes of driving on the lake. Quinn switched places with Luke and Trevor, who wanted to go swimming. You looked at him shyly. 

Jack looked at you for a moment slightly offended, “Why didn't you just ask me for a condom?” Jack asked, confused. Your face grew a slight pink, and you tried to play it off as the sun. Waving your hand in your face to cool down. 

“You were busy, plus it worked itself out..” you shrugged hoping to dismiss the topic. 

Jack nodded slightly more convinced, before he heard his name being yelled by Trevor. Jack smiled back at you and Quinn before going to jump in the lake. 

Quinn smirked at you before grabbing a beer. “I'm sure that man was very lucky, " he said. 

“I seem to remember it was his twenty-second birthday..” you said avoiding Quinn’s eyes as you grabbed the beer in his hand. 

“It was my favorite..” Quinn said before standing up. He pulled his shirt off, avoiding your eyes. He was always shy around you. 

You never had a chance to talk about it with Quinn after it happened. Or maybe you both feared the consequences too much. 

--

Three years ago.

It had been a few days since that night with Quinn in his room. You took a deep breath, the blanket covering you as Quinn sat beside you. He held up the vibrator softly running it over the lips of your clit. 

It wasn’t on, and Quinn missed your clit a few times. He let you slowly get used to the soft dim pleasure. 

You slumped back onto the bed more, your head tilting up as your mouth hung open. The pleasure was building horrendously slowly. You started to thrust against the vibrator, your soft whisper of his name made him turn the toy on. 

You wrapped your arms around him. Quinn sat between your legs as you hid your face in the crook of his neck. 

The vibrator was on a pulse setting, but the pleasure was now slowly rolling off you in waves. Your thrusts meet the toy as Quinn tilts the toy against your clit once more.

You started to suck onto the soft flesh of Quinn’s neck. He had one of his arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his chest. 

“Oh..” you let out the quietest gasp, your arms clutching his upper bicep. A few more moments of that same pleasure before he turned the toy off and dropped it on a pile of clothes. A wrecked sob broke through your lips as he patted your puffy cunt. 

You looked back at Quinn, his bare chest was driving you out of your mind. You trailed down his chest as Quinn let out a shaky groan. 

“Do you have a..” You started but gasped when you saw Quinn holding up a condom already. 

“You had that on you?” You asked, slightly disbelieving the fact Quinn knew you’d end up in his bed that night. 

“I might’ve heard you the other night..” Quinn said, smiling down at you. Quinn’s hard on, brushed against your thigh. That was the night you realized just how thin the walls were. 

--

Present.

Quinn was quick to jump off the boat once he heard Jack scream both your names. He left you drinking the rest of his beer in an attempt to cool off. 

You needed to get that night out of your head. You hardly saw Quinn anymore due to his schedule. And still, the thought made you frown slightly. 

--

You sat on the porch with a blanket on your lap. Luke was sitting on a lawn chair. 

“What the fuck is with you and my brother?” Luke asked suddenly, pulling you from the night's silence. 

“What do you mean? Jack?” you laughed a little, looking at your hands. 

“Or Quinn..” Luke grumbled under his breath. 

“I’m not fucking Quinn,” you said quickly, feeling defensive. 

“I didn’t say you were,” Luke said, leaning against the chair. 

“Well you fucking implied it.” you snapped back looking at the dark air in front of you. You were being overly snippy with him, which meant he was right on the bullseye. 

Luke sighed, putting an arm loosely around you, “Please, my brother has had eyes for you since before I could skate properly”. 

You sent him a shy smile, “He’s just been so busy, I haven’t seen him regularly since he was twenty-three…” You grumbled into your wine. 

“If you asked, he would make time. Just loosen up on the affection with Trevor. He was ready to throw him into the lake earlier” Luke said casually. 

“Quintin doesn’t get jealous..” You said quickly, too quickly. Luke pulled back, “Oh my god. You two have-” He stood up running a hand over his face. 

“No we haven't!" you pleaded with him to believe you. “That is so gross!” Luke groaned into his hands. 

“You cannot tell Jack!” You said seriously, your puppy dog eyes pulling Luke’s gaze. 

“You know I wouldn’t just make sure he's not the last to know..” Luke sat back down with you. He caught you up on New Jersey life. His season, his friends, and any girls he was into. All the while Quinn sat by the fire pit, sulking as you got on with his younger brother. 

-- Part Two? Requests are open.

[supernatural-sophia]

Somthing Old, Something new

for @colorlessjay

Summary/Prompt written by @colorlessjay

So this one was inspired by the song "Something Blue" by VIOLA

The idea is that Dean and Cas were childhood sweethearts. Having to hide who they are from everyone because neither of their families would approve. They make promises to each other. They hope to one day just run away together ad actually get married. Childish fantasies, Cas thinks, not taking Dean seriously when he says cas is IT for him

Especially when John gives Dean a choice when he's 18. Either stay in town and be an adult. Or come with him and Sam on another road trip. And Sam comes first above everything else

Dean makes a promise to come back, but Cas doesn't believe him. But he indulges the idea and tells Dean he'll wait

That was 10 years ago and Cas did wait. Stupidly he did. Only until his family set him up with a nice young woman named Daphnie who promises to make an 'honest man' out of him. His family hopes a marriage would cure Cas of his... desires

And Cas accepts. If nothing else, it'll make his family happy.

A week before the wedding though, Dean comes back to town

And castiel considers disobedience

Story by me, supernatural_sophia (Will later be cross posted to AO3)

Castiel stared at the small box on the table in front of him. His parents stared at him with high expectations, just as they always had. Daphne and her family would be arriving soon. Everyone expected Castiel to propose, and he was going to. 

He was almost 30 years old and hadn’t had a relationship in 8 years; even that one was a secret. Castiel’s attraction to men was less of a kept secret. That’s why his parents introduced him to Daphne. She was beautiful, faithful, and worked with men like Castiel who needed help turning their lives back to God. 

Castiel greeted Daphne and her family with a forced, but convincing smile. Throughout the dinner, he fiddled with the box in his pocket. He almost didn’t do it before his mother cleared her throat. 

“Castiel,” she smiled, looking at him with intense eyes. “Don’t you have something you want to ask Daphne?” 

Castiel could feel his nerves trying to jump out of his skin as he pulled the box out of his pocket, hands shaking. He got on one knee next to Daphne, and she let out a loud squeal before he could even begin speaking. 

“Oh my gosh!” Daphne gasped. “Yes! Yes! Yes!” 

“I haven’t even asked yet,” Castiel teased. It felt fake, like he was lying to her, but he guessed he was. 

“Well, just ask me already!” Daphne giggled. 

“Daphne Allen,” Castiel began. “Will you do me the honor and become Mrs. Daphne Novak?” 

“Of course I will!” Daphne squealed, taking the ring out of the box and placing it on her finger. She kissed Castiel with passion that Castiel wished he could give back to her. 

His parents smiled at him proudly, and Daphne’s parents clapped. He always thought he would leave this town behind with the one that got away, but now, here he was cementing his fate to stay forever. 

-

8 years ago

“How does it feel to finally be 18?” Castiel’s best friend, Dean, asked. 

“Honestly,” Castiel started. “About the same.” 

“Shut up,” Dean playfully shoved Castiel. “You’re literally an adult now. You can do what you want.” 

“Dean, we already do what we want,” Castiel said, acting like he was leaning in for a kiss before he swiped the bottle of whiskey from behind Dean. 

“Dude,” Dean scoffed as Castiel took a sharp swig from the bottle. “You can’t just leave me hanging like that.” 

“Like what?” Castiel feigned innocence. “What? Were you expecting this?” 

Castiel leaned in and kissed Dean. 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean grinned. “Something like that.” 

-

Present day (two years after the proposal)

Castiel was stocking the shelves at the Gas-n’-sip, trying not to think of the wedding plans. Daphne was so excited and wanted a large, expensive wedding. Castiel had never bothered to get a better-paying job because he always thought he would leave one day. Now, he was working overtime just to make some extra cash to help pay for her extravagant wedding. Luckily, they didn’t need to pay for a pastor or church since Castiel’s father was a priest. 

The bell above the door rang, and a customer, whom he knows to be difficult, walked in. Castiel put on his best customer service smile and headed to the counter. 

“Cassie,” The man grinned. “What kinda luck are we having today?” 

“Crowley, I’m not giving you any more deals on scratch-offs,” Castiel said, immediately trading his smile for a frown. “Or scotch.” 

“Who shat in your panties today?” Crowley challenged. 

“It’s just been a long day,” Castiel replied. 

“I’ll bet,” Crowley scoffed. “I mean, how long can you really put off getting married? My bet’s on one more month before you crack. Then the wife realizes you can’t get it up for her and she leaves you within the first 6 months.” 

“My personal business is my business, not yours,” Castiel sighed. 

Crowley was right, though. Castiel had been fighting this marriage for two years already, and Daphne was getting antsy. She had almost everything prepared and ready to be set in motion. All that was needed was the date, and Castiel kept pushing it farther and farther back. 

“Anywho, I’ll have 6 scratch-offs, a 6-pack of beers, and 20 bucks on pump 6,” Crowley grinned. 

“Of course,” Castiel rolled his eyes at Crowley’s use of the devil’s number. Ever since Crowley found out that Castiel’s father was a preacher, he has tried to upset Castiel with random ‘demonic’ things, such as buying things in three sets of sixes. 

“Thanks, Cassie,” Crowley smiled. “You’re a peach.” 

“Yeah, whatever,” Castiel scoffed. 

While his conversation with Crowley was going on, Castiel must have missed the bell ringing because he was surprised to see someone behind Crowley in line after he left. What was even more surprising was the green eyes that met his own. 

“Dean?” Castiel gasped. It felt like he had the wind knocked out of him, then shoved back down his throat. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean smiled sheepishly. “Long time, no see?” 

-

Ten years ago 

“Dean,” Castiel smiled when Dean entered the gas station. 

“Uh, hey, Cas,” Dean stuttered. “Listen, we need to talk.” 

“What’s going on?” 

Dean looked out of the glass door at the black Impala waiting to get gas. “I’m leaving.” 

“How long will you be gone?” Castiel asked. 

“Cas,” Dean sighed. “My dad wants another road trip.” 

“Like the one before you moved here?” Castiel asked. 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed. 

“We can leave tonight. After my shift,” Castiel said. 

“Cas, I can’t,” Dean said. “Road trip means-” 

“I know what it means!” Cas snapped. “That’s why you should leave with me.” 

“And leave Sammy alone with him?” Dean scoffed. “That drunken bastard needs something to hit. I’m not gonna let it be Sam.” 

“It shouldn’t be you!” Castiel cried. 

“But it’s going to,” Dean sighed. “Look, I’ll be 18 in four months. I’ll take Sammy and move back here. Just promise you will wait for me, okay?” 

Castiel felt tears prick his eyes, but he nodded his head. “Promise.” 

-

Present day 

Castiel wasn’t sure what came over him; he never considered himself a violent person, but he reached over the counter and punched Dean. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean groaned, placing a hand to his face. 

“I’ll be 18 in four months. Promise you will wait for me,” Castiel mocked. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean said. “I deserve that.” 

“If you’re looking to rekindle, you’re about 10 years too late,” Castiel scoffed. 

“I’m not- I know- I just-” Dean stuttered over his words. “I’ve been doing some self-reflection.” 

“I’ve been working double shifts to pay for my fiancée's expensive wedding,” Castiel snarked. 

“Your fiancée?” Dean asked. 

“Yes, my fiancée,” Castiel frowned. 

“Congratulations,” Dean said, even though his tone and face said the exact opposite. “Kinda surprised your parents are okay with that.” 

“They set it up,” Castiel said, walking out from behind the counter to go back to stocking the shelves. 

“They set it up?” Dean gasped. “With who?” 

“You remember Daphne Allen,” Castiel said, not looking at Dean. 

“Holy shit,” Dean said. “Is she a- a, uh, transsexual?” 

“No,” Castiel said. “And I think the term is transgender.” 

“Is she transgender?” Dean asked. 

“No,” Castiel sighed. “She’s a normal woman.” 

“Then why are you marrying her?” Dean asked a bit more angrily than intended. 

“Because I have to!” Castiel snapped, turning around to look at Dean. “Do you know how many gay men live here? How many are willing to act on it? How about being asked to wait for someone who wasn’t coming back? You don’t know what it’s like, Dean.” 

“Why haven't you left?” 

“My family is here,” Castiel gave a lame excuse. 

“Some family,” Dean scoffed. 

“You’re one to talk,” Castiel rebuttled. 

“You’re right,” Dean said. “And when you’re right, you’re right.” 

“Dean, what is this?” Castiel sighed, going back to stocking the shelves. 

“I just wanted to see you. See how you're doing. See if-” 

“See if I waited?” Castiel scoffed. 

“I don’t know, maybe,” Dean replied. 

“Get out, Dean,” Castiel sighed. “I can’t do this with you right now.” 

“What about tonight? We can go to the Rhoadhouse.” Dean suggested. “Sit out back by the dumpster and get contact high while we make out.” 

“Dean,” Castiel scolded. 

“I’m obviously kidding about that last part,” Dean laughed. “Just let me buy you a drink so we can catch up.” 

-

Twelve years ago (Two years before Dean left) 

Dean dragged Castiel by the wrist towards the back of an old bar. He sat them down in the shadow of the big black dumpster behind The Roadhouse. There were other couples making out, a few people passing joints around, and a handful of just drunk people around there. 

“Dean, what are we doing here?” Castiel whispered. “It’s disgusting!” 

“Look, this is the one place we can’t get caught,” Dean grinned mischievously. 

“A place where both our dads frequent?” Castiel pointed out the flaw in Dean’s plan. 

“No,” Dean scoffed. “A place where everyone else is so in their own business and doing shady shit, no one will even notice we are here.” 

Castiel looked around, and he nodded. No one was looking, no one was paying attention. He slapped the dumpster, and it rang out, but no one even looked in their direction. 

“Okay,” Castiel smiled. 

“Okay? Great!” Dean beamed before he through himself forward, passionately kissing Castiel. Castiel accepted the kiss happily and put the same amount of passion into his kiss. With the music from the bar being loud and the sounds of moans coming from other patrons, Castiel could let himself get lost in Dean’s love and desire. 

They started going to the bar as often as they could. Sometimes they would score a half-empty bottle of scotch. Sometimes they would find joints on the ground to smoke. Most of the time, they just made out. 

Castiel was actually willing to go further, but Dean never let him. He said he would sleep with Cas eventually, but he always rejected Castiel’s attempt at anything more than third base. Castiel was never sure why, but he didn’t mind the makeout spot or sessions. 

-

Present day. 

“I’m getting a drink with an old friend,” Castiel explained to Daphne. 

“Who?” Daphne asked. “Is it Bartholomew?” 

“I told you, nothing happened between me and Bartholomew,” Castiel sighed. “And no. It’s Dean Winchester.” 

“Dean Winchester?” Daphne laughed. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” Castiel frowned. “We were friends in high school.” 

“Dean Winchester? The guy who slept with the entire volleyball team?” Daphne laughed. “He was friends with you?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said, offended. 

“Prove it,” Daphne smiled. “Bring me with.” 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Castiel responded. Daphne scoffed. “Then again, I’m sure he’d be happy to meet my soon-to-be bride.” 

“That’s what I thought,” Daphne grinned. “I’ll go get ready.” 

-

Castiel was waiting impatiently at the front of the bar. 

“It’s rude to be late,” Daphne said. 

“Dean just got to town for the first time in years,” Castiel sighed. “He probably has catching up to do with other people.” 

Daphne sighed dramatically. “Of course, he wants to meet here as well, rather than an actual restaurant.” 

“I know Dean lives a different lifestyle than the bible recommends, but he’s not a bad guy,” Castiel defended. “Besides, there he is.” 

Dean waltzed up towards the couple. The purple bruise over his eye practically shone in the bar lights. 

“Oh my gosh!” Daphne exclaimed. “What happened?” 

“Oh, nothing I didn’t deserve,” Dean grinned. Castiel placed his hand onto Dean’s face and cradled his head, looking at the bruise. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered. “I should have given you some ice.” 

“Not the worst I’ve had,” Dean scoffed. “Besides, I told you, I deserved it.” 

“Still,” Castiel tried. 

“Did you hit him?” Daphne gasped. 

“No, he just saw me right after it happened,” Dean lied smoothly. “The gas station happened to be my next stop.” 

“Oh,” Daphne sighed, relieved. 

“Now, come on,” Dean said, swinging his arm around Castiel and Daphne. “Let’s grab a few drinks.” 

“You know,” Daphne said as they walked into the old, shady bar. “Castiel and I rarely drink.” 

“Really?” Dean asked as he led them to a table. “Why’s that?” 

“We don’t care for the taste, and it leads to sinful decisions,” Daphne said. 

“Interesting,” Dean said, eyeing Castiel. 

“Do you go to church, Dean?” Daphne asked, changing the conversation in a wildly different direction than Dean was willing to go.  

“I’m going to go get us some drinks,” Dean deflected. 

“I’ll pay,” Castiel said, getting up to follow Dean. 

“Two shots,” Dean said as he got to the bar. “So, this is the woman you are marrying?” The bartender set the two shot glasses in front of Dean, and he nudged one in Castiel’s direction, who took it quickly, not making a face. 

“Let’s not start,” Castiel said after the liquor burned his throat. He made a motion to the bartender to pour him another shot. “I’m just trying to-” 

“To do what?” Dean cut him off sharply. 

“I don’t know, Dean,” Castiel said before taking the next shot. Castiel then stared at Dean and tried to push down the feelings that were swirling around in his stomach. He ordered a cocktail for Daphne and got beers for himself and Dean before quickly turning around and walking back towards the table. 

“I was wondering where you went,” Daphne said, leaning in for a kiss. “God, what did Dean make you try? That’s horrid.” 

Castiel brought his hand to his lips, trying to ignore the memory of kissing this exact whiskey off of Dean’s lips when they were teenagers. He could tell Dean was also thinking of the memory. 

“He dared me to take a shot,” Castiel lied with a smile. “And you’re right, it is horrid.” 

“That’s not what you used to think,” Dean grumbled. 

“Tastes change,” Castiel spat in Dean’s direction. 

“Not that much,” Dean scoffed. 

“I sense some tension,” Daphne observed. “It’s not because of me, is it?” 

“No,” Castiel said at the same time Dean responded with a “Yes.” 

“Dean,” Castiel scolded before turning back to Daphne. “No, darling. It’s not you. Dean and I just didn’t leave on the best of terms. He’s trying to correct his mistake, but it’s too little, too late.” 

Castiel placed a few bills on the table, thanking Dean for his time, before waltzing out of the bar, not looking back at Dean or to see if Daphne was following him. She was. 

She followed him back to their now shared apartment and climbed into bed with him. Castiel was always glad she never asked him for sex. He wasn’t sure if he could provide for her the way a normal man could. 

Dean could. Dean slept with both men and women. Why couldn’t Castiel be like Dean? No, why couldn’t Castiel be like his brother Michael, who only loved women and God? But Castiel was different. 

His mind told him he was doing the right thing, marrying Daphne, but his heart, or worse, his libido, yearned for something different. Someone different. Someone with rough hands and lips that tasted like cheap whiskey. 

Castiel couldn’t sleep. He looked over to his left, where Daphne was sleeping peacefully. He knew she was a sound sleeper, so he carefully climbed out of the bed. He grabbed his clothes and tiptoed out the door without ever making her even stir. 

He went to indulge himself in one of his bad habits: smoking. He went into the alley where his apartment was and fumbled around for the fake rock where he stashed his cigarettes. 

“Those things will kill you,” A voice startled him. 

“Ain’t the worst way to go,” Castiel responded. 

-

12 years ago (Two years before Dean left) 

Castiel agreed to meet Dean behind the school during third period. There Dean was, dressed like the rebel he pretended to be, smoking a cigarette. 

“Those things will kill you,” Castiel said, approaching Dean. 

“Ain’t the worst way to go,” Dean grinned. “I’d rather go doing something I like than living a long, boring, miserable life.” 

“Touche,” Castiel smiled, accepting the cigarette from Dean. 

The cigarette was a sharp contrast to Castiel’s look, whereas with Dean, it looked like it belonged to him. Dean wore a leather coat that was arguably too big on him, ripped jeans, and an edgy band t-shirt, while Castiel wore a polo, khakis, and an expensive watch his father bought him. 

Dean lit a second cigarette. “I guess your dad was right about me being a bad influence.” 

“So?” Castiel responded, blowing out a puff of smoke. “I’ve gotten you to do a couple of things your dad wouldn’t approve of.” 

Castiel took a drag from his cigarette before moving close to Dean’s face and blowing the smoke into it. 

“Stop it,” Dean laughed. 

They finished their smoke break with a brief kiss before they both went back into school to finish their day. 

-

Present day 

‘Ain’t the worst way to go’

“Yeah,” Dean said. “It would be way worse marrying some stuck up bitch who you can’t even get it up for because your daddy wants you to.” 

“I know you don’t understand, but this was still my choice,” Castiel defended. “Daphne is lovely.” 

“Most men would punch me in the face to defend their lady after I called her a bitch, but I guess you covered the punching earlier today,” Dean spat into Castiel’s face. 

“Maybe I’ll do it again and not hold back this time,” Castiel snarked in return. 

“I’d like to see you try,” Dean scoffed. “You couldn’t take me.” 

“You wanna bet?” Castiel bit. “Because I remember taking you with less trouble than you had taking me.” 

“You son of a bitch,” Dean growled. He grabbed Castiel at the same time Castiel grabbed him, and their lips met each other with such aggression that it was almost painful. “God, I missed this,” Dean gasped. 

“You have no idea,” Castiel responded before pushing Dean up against the apartment building. He grinded his hips against Dean’s, but before they could go any further, a car alarm blared out and broke the trance Castiel was in. He pushed himself off Dean. 

“What happened?” Dean asked, catching his breath. 

“I have a fiancée,” Castiel responded. “I’m getting married soon.” 

“She doesn’t have to know,” Dean said. 

“No, Dean,” Castiel frowned. “I’m not starting this up again. I can’t.” 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean whined. 

“Good night, Dean,” Castiel said, turning his back and walking back inside his apartment complex. 

-

As Castiel climbed back into bed, he accidentally woke Daphne up. 

“Castiel?” She asked softly. “Is everything alright?”

“Let’s get married this month,” Castiel said before he even thought it through. 

“Seriously?” Daphne asked, sitting up. “Why now?” 

“I just think it’s time,” Castiel said. Daphne smiled brightly, and she wrapped her arms around Castiel. 

“Thank you, Castiel,” Daphne almost cried. “I was worried you would never commit.” 

Castiel just nodded, unsure of what to say. 

-

The perks of living in a small town are that most of the people invited to the wedding were from the there. They all were able to drop whatever was on their schedules and RSVP to the wedding. Both a perk and a downside is that word travels fast. 

-

13 years ago (Before Dean and Cas started dating)

Castiel thought Balthazar would keep his mouth shut, but he should have known. Balthazar swore he only told Anna, but Anna told some of her friends, and then it just spread like wildfire, until it got back to his father. 

Then, when Castiel got to school with bruises, his secret turned into fake rumors, which caused him more trouble at home and in school. 

No one wanted to be friends with freaky queer. They all thought it was funny to hit him, then make jokes about him enjoying it. 

On one of the days when he was trying to avoid everyone in the halls, he ran into one of the football players. He was a new kid, and Castiel thought he was too scrawny to be a football player, but rumor was he was much stronger and faster than he looked. 

“I’m so sorry,” Castiel apologized quickly. 

“It’s no biggie,” the football player shrugged. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” 

Castiel remained silent for a long time, just staring at the football player. He had bright green eyes, freckles, and a kind smile that most of the kids who went to his school didn’t have. 

“I’m Dean, by the way,” the football player stuck out his hand. “I know I’m pretty new here, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around before.” 

“I’m Castiel.” Castiel shook Dean’s hand. “And, I try to stay under the radar.” 

“Castiel?” Dean asked. “You’re the kid who-” 

“Stop, please,” Castiel begged. 

“You should meet me behind the school after third period,” Dean smiled. Normally, Castiel wouldn’t trust any offer like that, but Dean seemed so sincere. 

“Okay,” Castiel agreed. 

“Great,” Dean said, and his smile reached his eyes. “I’ll see you then.” 

-

Castiel couldn’t believe that he was meeting someone behind the school. He had almost convinced himself that Dean was setting him up for the worst beatdown of his life, but when he opened the door, it was just Dean sitting on the steps, drinking from a flask. 

“Don’t they do drug and alcohol tests for the football team?” Castiel asked, sitting down next to Dean. 

“Football and sobriety are overrated,” Dean responded, offering the flask to Castiel, who politely declined it. 

“Most guys here think football is everything,” Castiel replied. 

“Most guys here don’t know how to read,” Dean scoffed, taking a swig from his flask. He cleared his throat before speaking back up. “Is it, uh, true what they say about you?” 

“Some of it,” Castiel shrugged. 

“Do you-?” Dean paused, taking another swig of his drink. “Have you ever actually been with a guy?” 

“No,” Castiel said. “Just had a stupid crush on this guy in my brother’s class who blabbed about it to everyone.” 

“Have you ever been with a girl?” Dean asked. 

“I kissed Mary Anne in the third grade,” Castiel said. 

“Doesn’t really count,” Dean laughed. “Has the guy in your brother’s grade ever been with a guy?” 

“Not that I know of,” Castiel said. “Why are you asking all this?” 

Dean took a deep breath before quickly moving in and kissing Castiel. It was such a brief kiss that Castiel almost thought he had imagined it, but then Dean moved in slower for a deeper kiss. 

-

Present day 

“Are you kidding me?” Dean yelled as he barged into the gas station. Castiel sighed heavily and put down the bag of chips he was stocking, and turned towards Dean. 

“You knew I was engaged,” Castiel said. 

“Yeah, and I asked around and apparently you’ve been engaged for two years and now all of a sudden you are getting married!” Dean yelled. 

“You have no right to be upset,” Castiel said. “You had your chance.” 

“We were teenagers!” Dean scoffed. “We couldn’t get married. We still had a curfew.” 

“You left,” Castiel said. 

“I came back!” 

“Ten years later!” Castiel finally yelled. 

“That’s not fair. I had other priorities,” Dean said. 

“What’s not fair is expecting me to wait for you without a phone call or a letter!” Castiel argued. “For all I knew, you could have been dead!” 

“You can’t marry a woman you don’t love, Cas,” Dean finally said, voice lower and softer than before. 

“I don’t have a choice,” Castiel sighed. 

“Yes, you do,” Dean said. “You’re just making the wrong one.” 

-

The closer the wedding got, the harder it was for Castiel to sleep. He was tossing and turning so much that Daphne kicked him to the couch. Whenever he did sleep, he dreamed of Dean. Whether it was domestic or sexual, it was always Dean. 

Then, of course, as if the universe hadn’t thrown enough hurdles for him, Daphne invited Dean to the wedding. Dean accepted the invite with a sad smile but claimed he couldn’t wait. 

Time was moving too quickly, and Castiel was seeing Dean everywhere. Not just his dreams or at the gas station, Dean always liked to pay with cash for gas, but Dean’s face was in the clouds, the t-shirt Daphne wore to bed was the same shade as Dean’s eyes, and every song on the radio reminded Cas of Dean. 

-

10 years ago

Dean and Castiel sat on the couch watching a stupid romcom. Sure, Castiel liked them, but he knew Dean liked them more, even though he would never admit it. Dean always loved the grand romantic gestures at the end of movies, such as proposals or running away with someone. 

“Do you think we could ever get married?” Dean asked, absent-mindedly playing with Castiel’s hair. 

“Not if our fathers have anything to say about it,” Castiel responded. 

“We could do it in secret,” Dean said. 

“Wouldn’t they ask about the wedding bands?” Castiel asked. 

“We would wear them on the right ring finger instead of the left. Or wear it on a chain like a necklace,” Dean grinned. “We could totally make it work.” 

“Yeah,” Castiel sighed. “That would be nice.” 

Castiel bought Dean a ring from a pawn shop the next day. 

-

Present day

The day of the wedding came too fast. His father praised him for marrying a woman like Daphne, and his mother wept at the sight of him in his suit. Castiel, on the other hand, didn’t even recognize himself in the mirror. His eyes were dull, and his hair, for the first time in his life, was tamed, but three grey streaks had started poking through due to his stress 

He felt he couldn’t stand still as he waited at the top of the aisle for Daphne. A hundred eyes were on him, but the ones that hurt the most were the sad green ones sitting in the back. He held eye contact with them until the music started and the chapel doors swung open. 

The three bridesmaids walked quickly while the flower girl and ring bearer moved slowly. Castiel couldn’t tell which was worse, the fast pace or the children who seemed to be dragging the ceremony on. 

Then Daphne came out. She had a long veil over her face and a mermaid-style gown with beaded seams decorating it. She had a bouquet of yellow and blue flowers with some greenery spread about. 

Castiel looked back at Dean, who was still looking at him. 

Castiel could hear the pastor speak, Daphne speak, and even himself speak, but he wasn’t registering any of it. It was like all of their voices were underwater, and their faces were blurred. The only clear image was Dean’s face. Then Dean’s voice. 

“I object!” Dean interrupted the ceremony. Gasps filled the room, and Daphne burst into tears. Castiel’s father took one look at Dean and Cas, and fury filled his face.

“Don’t do this, Castiel,” Castiel’s father growled. Castiel just stared at Dean. 

“Castiel!” Daphne cried out. “Look at me!” 

But he couldn’t. He dropped her hands, and she started wailing. Castiel nodded subtly before taking the small step off the stage. The crowd was in uproar as Castiel made his way down the aisle, but it all seemed quiet to him. The world seemed to move in slow motion while he kept his focus on Dean, who was the only person in the room smiling. 

Castiel seemed to fit perfectly into Dean’s arms as they kissed gently. 

“I knew you would wait for me,” Dean smiled. 

“Shut up,” Castiel said. 

“Make me,” Dean grinned. Castiel leaned in for one last kiss before he took Dean’s hand, his new wedding band clinking against the old ring on Dean’s hand, as they ran out of the chapel finally leaving the small town behind them. 

[scary-grace]

11. YOU CAN’T RUN FROM ME FOREVER (scarier prompts) if you are open to it for Shigaraki Tomura

Hi there, anon! When you sent this prompt, it lit my brain on fire, and produced a fic that's cleared 50k words -- and a fic that's much darker than what I usually write. Your call on whether it counts as scary or not. If you hate it, send me another ask with any kind of prompt, and I'll rewrite the fic for you!

Savior - a Shigaraki x f!reader fic

When you broke up with Shigaraki Tomura at the end of high school, you never expected him to stalk you for years, and when you and Chisaki Kai got married, you thought you'd finally broken free. But life with Kai turns quickly from a dream into a waking nightmare, and with every month that passes, you can feel your chances to escape dwindling. Almost out of time, with no good choices left, you turn to the one person who swore he'd never give up on you -- and hope he's less interested in stalking you than he is in saving your life.

AU - no quirks. Past (and future) Tomura x reader, present Overhaul x reader. Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Depictions of dubcon, domestic violence, and reproductive coercion (Overhaul). References to past stalking behavior (Tomura). Angst. Hurt/no comfort for the majority of the fic. If you find any of the above too triggering to read about, please go check out some of the other fics in the fandom! there are lots of them waiting to be discovered and loved. dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapter 1

Before you got married, going out with Shigaraki Tomura was the worst mistake you’d ever made. Sometimes you try to reassure yourself that you were in high school, that high school is where people are allowed to make mistakes. But most people’s high school mistakes are little things – a bad outfit, a bad haircut, a bad grade, a speeding ticket or a broken curfew. Things parents yell over, and ground you over, too. They’re not the kind of mistake that follows you for the rest of your life. Short of getting pregnant and dropping out of school, dating Shigaraki Tomura was the biggest mistake it was possible for you to make.

He didn’t look it. They never do. He was quiet and kept to himself for the most part. The friends he did have were delinquents to a fault, who picked on most people but never on you. Nobody picked on you. You found out later that it was because of him, but not because he told you. Looking out for you wasn’t something Tomura expected you to be grateful for. It was just something he did.

And Tomura wasn’t bad, exactly. He was a perfectly typical high school boyfriend, the quiet almost-loner that girls like you think needs fixing, the kind of boy girls like you leave in the dust when you realize they won’t change. You stuck it out a lot longer than most, because you liked being with him and he treated you well – so well that your friends were jealous, even friends who’d never date him in a million years. But the two of you were never going to work long-term, so you broke it off the night before you moved away for university. It broke your heart more than you thought it would, but you told yourself it was the right thing to do.

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t, because instead of accepting it and moving on, Tomura followed you. He followed you for the next seven years.

He never threatened you or did anything to make you legitimately scared, but that also meant that he never did anything you could point to when you called the police. No angry emails or notes. No forced entry – the cops always assumed you forgot to lock the door or shut the window, no matter how many pictures you took of the door or window after you locked it. No stolen valuables, but when something turned up missing, you always knew who had it. You knew Tomura would give it back, whatever it was, if you asked – but then you’d have had to ask him, which meant talking to him. Stonewalling was the best you could do, even if it didn’t work. At least he wasn’t stealing your underwear.

You tried to hold it together, but by your third year at university, you were a wreck. Your grades crashed and kept falling, and you couldn’t tell anyone. All you could do was keep it together and hope no one noticed. Eventually, someone did.

You met the man you married in the tutoring center your senior year, when you were trying to salvage a chemistry class you’d failed as a sophomore and were in the process of failing again. Kai was a grad student, tutoring because someone made him, and he was better at it than everyone else combined. One night you were there late, almost to closing time. It was dark out, and even though Tomura had never threatened or hurt you, the idea of being followed through the darkness by something you couldn’t see terrified you. You panicked. Kai saw.

What is it? he asked in that dry, calm voice he always used to explain things you couldn’t grasp. Are you afraid of the dark?

No, you said. It’s just –

What?

You wouldn’t believe me, you said. Kai didn’t put up with excuses. You knew that already. It’s fine. You should go.

You were both standing up, backpacks slung over your shoulders. Kai sat back down. Try me.

You explained everything. It spilled out in a stammered wash of tears, your chest tightening until you could barely speak, and all the while Kai sat across from you, perfectly calm. He was going to tell you that you were crazy. You wanted him to. You wanted him to say you were out of your mind, that nobody would stalk you of all people for going on four years straight, and you’d use his reassurance that you were crazy to be scared to force yourself to walk home in the dark.

Kai, who never touched anyone, reached across the table. You thought he was going to put his hand on your shoulder. Instead he cupped your cheek, smudging away your tears with his thumb. His behavior is ridiculous, but I can’t fault the impulse, he said. I’d have a hard time letting go of you, too.

A warning bell rang distantly in your head, but the relief of being listened to, being believed, drowned everything else out. I’ll walk you home, Kai continued. He took his hand back. You don’t need to be scared of him as long as you’re with me.

And Kai was right, because Kai is always right, because the laws of the universe would bend and break before they’d do anything but prove him correct. You don’t need to be scared of Tomura any longer. Now, almost four years after you married Kai in the culmination of a whirlwind romance, you know that there are worse things than Tomura – and you married the worst thing of all.

Your cheek stings, and you keep your face pressed against the cool tile floor of the bathroom, knowing better than to try to rise. Kai looms over you, expression perfectly calm, barely a spark behind his eyes. “Go on,” he invites you. “Make another excuse.”

You shake your head, and he kicks you – not in the stomach, but hard against your hip. It’s one of his usual targets, and there’s a bruise still healing there from the last time you let him down. You whimper in pain. “Tell me how it isn’t your fault,” Kai continues as you cringe away from him. “I’ve been to the doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me. Are you really going to sit there and tell me it’s my fault you aren’t pregnant?”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” you whisper. Kai kicks you harder this time, and you slam both hands down over your mouth so you won’t cry out. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”

Apologies are worth nothing when Kai’s like this. It doesn’t matter to him whether you apologize or not. He’ll stop when he thinks he’s made his point, and not before. The words sneak out of your mouth anyway. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry –”

“I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry.” Kai seizes your arm and the collar of your pajama shirt and hauls you upright, putting you face to face. “I want to hear what you’ll do to fix it.”

“I’ll exercise more, like the doctor said. And take the vitamins. I won’t forget.” Your voice rattles. “I’ll keep track of my cycle like I’m supposed to. I can fix it. Please let me fix it. I know I can.”

He studies you. You stare hopelessly in his eyes, searching for something, anything you recognize as human. But there’s nothing. Kai’s amber eyes are flat and pitiless, like always. “Good,” he says. He drops you abruptly, and you fall back to the floor. “Get dressed. I’ll drive you to work.”

Kai likes to drive you to work. He says it’s important for the two of you to spend time together. Maybe he thinks that’s true, but you only know the effect it has – it means you don’t have a car at work, that you’re dependent on him to get home, that you don’t have even a spare second to think or regroup. You have to do it under his watchful eyes, which is how you do everything. You can’t even put your makeup on to cover the red handprint on your cheek without getting feedback. “Do the other side, too,” Kai instructs. “It’s uneven.”

You do, your hands shaking. You make the mistake of glancing down at the negative pregnancy test still sitting on the counter and spill setting powder into the sink. “Next time, use the spray,” Kai says. “Hurry. You don’t want to be late.”

No, you can’t be late. If you’re late, Kai will be late, and you’ll pay for it – later, when you’re not expecting it, when you’ve made the mistake of thinking he’s let it go. You get dressed the rest of the way, pick up the workbag you packed last night, and hurry to the door. Or try to. Kai’s hand comes down on your shoulder with a bruising grip. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Your head swims with terror, and worse when you feel his hands wrap around your neck. But he’s not choking you – just putting a necklace on you, one he bought for you on your birthday a few weeks ago. “Make sure your idiot coworker sees that. I’m tired of hearing about how she thinks I don’t treat you well.”

Your coworker doesn’t mean any harm. She’s just joking, because you and she are friends, because she assumes your husband is the rational, normal man he appears to be instead of someone who took a joke about your work wife stealing you from him way too literally. You nod, and you force the words out of your mouth, the ones you know he’s waiting for. “It’s beautiful,” you say. “No one’s ever treated me like you do.”

You turn back to face Kai and see him nodding, satisfied. No matter how many times you say those words to him, he never hears what you really mean. He thinks about himself in comparison to Tomura, your loser of a high school boyfriend who could never get a job like Kai’s job, never make the kind of money Kai makes, buy the kind of gifts Kai can buy. You think about Kai in comparison to Tomura, too. Tomura stalked you for years. Kai might kill you one day. There’s no comparison at all.

The drive to work isn’t quiet like it usually is, because Kai always goes back to asking human for a little while after he beats you. You’re familiar with the cycle. He never apologizes, never pretends it won’t happen again, but he acts the way he used to when the two of you were dating. You both know it’s fake, but sometimes it amuses him to play the part of a good husband in private as well as public. You might as well go along while it lasts.

“I’ve been asked to represent the company at a conference in Dubai next month,” he says, and you smile at him. Your cheek hurts. “I’ll take you with me. Where else should we visit while we’re in the region – Istanbul, or Cairo?”

You’ve dreamed about visiting both of them. You’re also convinced that they’d be great places for Kai to kill you, dump your body, and blame it on the locals. But you know he won’t do that. There’s a specific image Kai is cultivating, and until that image requires him to be a widower, he needs you. “Istanbul,” you say.

“Hmm. I favor Cairo,” Kai says, and you freeze in your seat. It’s either freeze or flinch, and Kai hates flinching more. “Why not both? We might as well travel now. It’ll be more difficult after the baby is born.”

“You don’t want our baby to be a world traveler?” You keep your voice light, playful. “Think how far ahead they’d be by the time they went to school.”

“Only an idiot would expose an infant to the kind of pathogens present on an airplane,” Kai says. “Neither of us are idiots. We’ll have plenty of time to travel once our child receives a full course of vaccines.”

“Of course,” you say. “I shouldn’t have forgotten. I just got too excited about it. Us traveling as a family.”

“Yes,” Kai says. His hand leaves the steering wheel to settle on your thigh, and you force your muscles to relax. “This month was a setback, nothing more. Next month we’ll succeed.”

He’s let it go for now, at least. You allow the relief to carry you the rest of the way to work.

Kai’s been playing the good husband since you got in the car, but once he reaches your office building, he kicks the performance into overdrive. He parks the car in a no-parking zone, comes around to your side, and opens the door for you, hand extended to help you out. It looks like a grand gesture, but you know why he’s doing it – if he kicked you too hard, it’ll show when you step up onto the curb. Sure enough, you stumble, and Kai steadies you, setting you back on your feet. “Careful,” he admonishes. “The nurses at the urgent care are busy enough without adding you to their list of patients.”

“I’ll be careful,” you promise. You’re conscious of eyes on you – so many eyes, always. As the heir apparent to the biggest pharmaceutical company in the region, Kai’s a local celebrity. His comings and goings are always an event, and you know your role by heart. “Do I get a kiss goodbye?”

“It’s appalling that you think you need to ask.” Kai cups your cheek with hideous gentleness and kisses you in full view of everyone in your office who’s standing by a window, like he’s a soldier going off to war trying to give you something to remember him by. As if you needed anything else. “I’ll be back at five pm, precisely.”

He lets you go, and you head to work, turning back just once to wave at him. He’s still there. You know from experience that he won’t leave until you enter the building.

Once you’re inside, you duck into your cubicle and sit down as quickly as possible. The fewer people see what your walk looks like right now, the better. Emi, your work wife, flops down on your desk. “Saw you and your hubby making out,” she says, and pops a bubble of gum. “You guys are gross. When Shouta finally realizes I’m the one for him, it’s payback time.”

Emi’s had a crush on Aizawa Shouta from the security division for as long as you’ve known her. Most of the people in the office think she’s insane for liking him, given how scary he is, but you’re on her side. You know what scary looks like. You know that Aizawa, who’s gruff and grumpy but never cruel, isn’t it. “How’s it going with Shouta? Any progress?”

“Little bit. He lets me eat lunch with him now instead of walking away.” Emi sighs dreamily. “We’re going to have five kids. I’ve already picked out their names.”

“Five is a lot. You’re going to have to grow an extra arm.”

Emi laughs. “What about you? Have you and Kai had the talk?”

“About kids?” Your cheek stings. Your computer pings and gives you an excuse to look away. “Not yet.”

Windchimes sound over the loudspeaker, signifying the official opening of business, and Emi blows a kiss to you before ducking back into her own cubicle. As soon as she’s gone, you turn to the locked door in your desk and open it to check on your supplies. You’re almost out. You have a little over a month to figure out how to get more.

Kai thinks he has you under control, and for the most part he’s right, shamefully so. But since you went off birth control, since the two of you started trying for a baby, you’ve been keeping a stash of Plan B at work. Every time you and Kai have sex, you take one within three days.

When Kai brought up trying for a baby, you knew instantly what it meant. If you have Kai’s baby, you’ll guarantee that he won’t kill you, but you’ll wish he would, because you’ll lose every scrap of freedom you’ve managed to cling to. You’ll have to quit your job, which you’ve only kept this long because it suits him to project the image of the young power couple, both decidedly going somewhere in life. The baby will be the only excuse he’ll ever need to keep you tied to the house, to him. And if threatening you ever stops being enough to keep you in line, he’ll have someone else to threaten instead.

You’re terrified that it’ll work, and at the same time, you’re scared it won’t work at all. The bottom line is that you can’t have a baby with Kai. You’ve been sneaking morning-after pills for months now, well aware that you’re running out of time. At some point Kai will get suspicious. At some point he’ll suggest fertility drugs, artificial insemination, IVF, and then you’ll have only three ways out, none of them good. Kill Kai. Try to leave him, which means he’ll kill you. Or kill yourself, make it stick this time, and be done with all of it for good.

There’s one more thing in your locked drawer, other than the Plan B. Something that was waiting for you at work, when you got back after your suicide attempt three years ago, in a plain envelope with your name written in handwriting that triggers only a faint shadow of the anxiety it used to. Tomura didn’t send a letter. Just a picture of the two of you hanging out in Toga’s backyard, with a message scrawled on the back. You can’t run from me forever. I know you don’t want to. I’ll wait.

It’s the last message you ever got from Tomura. If he’s stalked you since, he’s left no trace. And on days like today, when you’re hiding bruises and battling a headache and sick to your stomach with terror, you almost wish he would. At least then someone would see what was happening to you. At least then you’d feel a little less alone.

You knew Kai was being too nice about the Dubai thing, but it’s not until you’re packing for the trip that you understand the full scope of the disaster. The trip lasts for seven days – three in Dubai for the conference, two in Cairo, two in Istanbul. It maps almost exactly onto the point in your cycle when you’re ovulating. And neither Plan B nor any other form of emergency contraception is going to be easy to get while you’re abroad. You spend the night before the trip in a panic, then the morning of the trip talking yourself down. When Kai notices that you’re anxious, you tell him you’re just worried about the flight.

“What about it?” he asks. “The airline has an excellent safety rating.”

“They all do until something happens.” It’s easy for you to summon up tears. “It’s just – things are going so well, and whenever that happens it means something’s going to go wrong –”

You remember sharing the same set of worries with Tomura one time, except it was about something silly – your lines in the school play, or maybe a presentation you had to do. You remember how he shrugged. Yeah, it might go wrong, he said, and you protested, indignant. I still love you, though.

“Nothing will go wrong,” Kai says, perfectly calm. “Everything will go as planned. And if it doesn’t –”

He doesn’t need to finish that sentence. You know exactly who he’ll blame.

Everything does go as planned – the ride to the airport, the always-fraught stumbling through security, and the settling into the airline’s VIP lounge with two hours to kill. Kai orders drinks. One for him and one for you, which is strange, because he’s been harping on you not to drink since you stopped taking birth control. “Is this okay?”

“Yes. I know for a fact that you aren’t pregnant right now.”

You don’t want to be pregnant, so it shouldn’t sting – but somehow it does. “I guess I should enjoy it while I can,” you say. “Thank you.”

The drink is pretty. It comes in a pretty glass, with a flower garnish, and you take out your phone and snap a picture with it, even though you haven’t had social media to post it on in years. But as the shutter clicks, a idea pops into your head. You set your phone aside, take a sip of the drink, and glance at Kai. “I’m thinking about redownloading Instagram.”

He’s just taken a sip, too. He coughs. “Excuse me?”

“I was talking to my supervisor,” you say. “About promotions. She said that when upper management is looking to hire, they check on candidates’ social media to see what their personality is like. If I want to get promoted –”

“You’ll no longer be able to work once the baby is born.”

“They don’t need to know that. And in the meantime, I should try to make as much money as possible, right?” Your mind is screaming at you to shut up, to walk it back, but you keep talking.  “I wasn’t doing anything strange on my old account. If I post a picture or two every week, it’ll at least look like I’m active.”

“I suppose,” Kai says. He takes another sip of his drink. “My account serves a similar function, after all.”

You’re featured on Kai’s account a lot. Most of his rivals for the top spot have messy personal lives, and Kai’s veneer of domestic bliss gives a leg up. “Still,” Kai continues, “I’m surprised to hear you bring it up. Aren’t you concerned?”

“About?’

“Your ex.” Kai’s eyes narrow slightly. “You took down your social media because of him. Aren’t you worried about attracting his attention?”

“He hasn’t done anything in three years. He’s lost interest by now,” you say. “And even if he hasn’t – you always told me I didn’t need to be afraid of him while I’m with you. I should finally start taking your word for it.”

Kai looks pleased. You reach for your drink, but he lifts it out of your hand and sets it back on the table. Then he takes out your paper boarding passes and fans them out, revealing the first-class stamp along with the destination. “Now take the picture,” he instructs. Oh. You pick up your phone. “If you’re curating your image, always consider what lies in the background. This looks sophisticated. Your first photo looked cheap.”

Sometimes Kai reminds you of Hannibal Lecter. You snap a few photos, then come up with an idea. “Hold your hand out,” you say. He extends it across the table to you, and you take it with your left hand. Kai raises his eyebrows. “So my ring’s in the picture. It’s sophisticated, too.”

“Yes,” Kai agrees. “It also says you’re taken.”

You nod. Your heart is hammering, and you draw your hand away from Kai’s before he can feel your pulse. You redownload Instagram, then give Kai your phone, letting him choose the photo from the several you took and edit it to his satisfaction. He adds the tags, too, but leaves the caption for you.

What do you even caption it? That depends on why you’re posting it, and even you aren’t sure. Finally you tag Kai’s account and type a caption that sounds fun, maybe. Flirty, but it’s okay, because you tagged your husband. And a little bit of something else, something you don’t want to look at head-on. Run away with me.

Kai’s personal phone pings and he consults it. “The caption is rough, but passable for now. You’ll do better next time.”

“Yes,” you promise. Your hands are shaking.

The flight goes well, but that’s not to say there’s no turbulence; a particular patch of unstable air over the Indian Ocean scares everybody except you and Kai out of their seats. Kai’s not easy to rattle, and you’re so rattled from everything else that it doesn’t make much of an impact. Once the air smooths out, the other passengers fall back to sleep quickly. Kai stays awake, and alert. “What is it?” you ask.

“The bathrooms are empty. We should take advantage.”

That makes as much sense to you as anything else. It’s not until you’re up there, opening the door to one, that you figure out what Kai actually meant. As tiny as airport bathrooms are for one, they’re smaller for two, and you have no idea how Kai expects the two of you to have sex in here after he’s yanked you into the one he just opened. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

“Use your imagination.” Kai shuts the door. The click of the lock is unbearably loud.

You don’t have a clue where he got the idea that the two of you should join the Mile-High club in the middle of an eleven-hour flight. Then again, you don’t usually know where Kai gets his ideas for spicing up your sex life. This one feels far enough out of his usual zone to be the result of something he heard or something he read. Kai likes things clean and orderly, and he doesn’t like to be rushed – and he doesn’t like needing too much active participation from you to make something work. You can’t imagine why he thinks fucking you in an airplane bathroom is a good idea. You’ve never been more uncomfortable in your life.

And that’s it, you realize. Your discomfort is what’s getting Kai off here, the fact that you clearly don’t want to do this but are putting up with it anyway, just because he said to. He likes the reminder of your obedience, and you think he probably likes to forget where it comes from. Either way, he’s into it, and you’re as bent as it’s possible to be over the sink while he makes quick work of your clothes. You catch a glimpse of your own face in the mirror, see the resigned, vacant look in your eyes, and squeeze them shut.

Your experience with men is limited. You dated a guy or two in college, but your constant paranoia about Tomura scared them off, and you and Tomura only got farther than third base a handful of times. It was never scripted, always awkward, because you didn’t have a clue what you were doing – and at the same time, it was good. Good because it wasn’t a performance, because you weren’t playing a part, because it wasn’t about anything except feeling how you felt. That was another reason it took you so long to break up with Tomura. When the two of you were together, you felt good.

There’s something twisted and wrong about thinking about the guy who stalked you while the guy who might kill you someday fucks you from behind, but you have to think about something. Kai expects a certain performance from you, given the effort he’s putting into being kinky and spontaneous, and you can’t do it off the top of your head. So you come up with some memory of Tomura, try to pretend you’re there instead of here, while Kai’s thrusts shove you hard enough against the sink to leave bruises on your stomach and hips.

“Look at yourself,” Kai hisses in your ear. His hand brushes against your neck, and even the suggestion of it spurs you to look up. “Look. Who else would do this for you?”

He’s doing it for you? You could almost laugh if you weren’t so sickened by your own reflection. You can make the right faces, mimic the moves he likes with the scant space you have, but you know what Kai really wants from you. Noise. You would almost rather he choked you to death right here than that he forces a single sound out of your mouth. There’s nothing he can make you feel that’s worth it. Not even your memories are enough.

But Kai doesn’t leave things to chance. He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, and you cry out before you can stop yourself. Your husband doesn’t try to stop himself either – he pins you against the sink, fucking you fast and hard until he comes inside you. “No one else would do this for you,” he pants in your ear, as undone as he ever gets. “Don’t forget that.”

Kai never makes the comparison to anyone but Tomura, because in his head, he’ll always win. And you know he’s right. Tomura wouldn’t have dragged you in here. If the idea had come up, it would have been as a joke. You wouldn’t be in first class, you’d be in economy, and you’d have woken up with the turbulence and gone back to sleep.

Kai pulls out. You’re dully surprised that he manages it, given how little space the two of you are working with. “Clean up,” he orders. “I’ll be waiting.”

Cleaning up takes a while. Kai’s cleaned up, too – when you get back to your seat, the entire row smells like hand sanitizer. He looks you up and down and nods in approval before he lets you into the window seat. Your phone, which you left screen-down on your seat and connected to the plane’s WiFi, is inundated with notifications, almost all of them from Instagram. People from high school, from college, from the life you had before this one, all excited to see you back, most of them asking for a life update. Asking about the ring, about the husband – about the drink, in one case. But once you clear those notifications away, there’s one last banner glowing up at you. From your period tracker, informing you that you’re ovulating as of today.

As the Dubai trip unfolds, it starts to feel like you’re leading three separate lives. One where you’re Kai’s arm candy with a brain, an integral part of his power-couple image. One where you’re putting up with his attempts to get you pregnant at least twice a day and talking about how excited you are for a baby that hasn’t been conceived. And one where you’re a normal person, posting photos of your vacation on Instagram.

You do a lot of scenery posts. A lot of food posts. If there’s a photo of you, Kai’s usually in it. You’ve been getting DMs from old friends, and the comment sections of your photos get a little lively. Your favorite ones are probably the ones where Emi tags Aizawa, who you didn’t realize had an Instagram until now, and demands to know why he never takes her anywhere this nice. Kai sees you smiling while you read one and comes over to investigate. “No wonder she makes so many ridiculous comments about me. Her partner can’t measure up.”

“They’re not actually dating,” you say. “She likes him, and he’s either gay or dumb about it. I think she’s just having fun.”

“Fun,” Kai repeats. He scoffs. “You should set a higher bar for friends.”

You heart-react to Emi’s comment once his back is turned, then go scrolling through y our notifications. There are a few usernames you haven’t seen yet, although you know they’re still active. If none of them interact with you, you’ll know it hasn’t worked.

Kai is busy during the day in Dubai, and you try to make good use of the time. You spent a lot of time trying to hunt for emergency contraception, a lot of time trying to see the things you want to see, and the rest of the time you’re on Instagram, messaging your old friends, queuing photo posts with meticulously crafted captions that call back to inside jokes from your high school days. The captions won’t make sense to Kai. He didn’t know you back then. The person whose attention you’re trying to capture did.

You’re aware of just how insane this is. Tomura vanished out of your life three years ago, and the best thing you can hope for him is that he’s moved on, found something else to do, found someone else to love in a healthier way than he loved you. So what if Tomura left you that picture? He can’t have meant it. He wouldn’t wait for you, not when you married somebody who’s as different from him as it’s possible to be. He wouldn’t wait for you. Who would?

And even if he did wait, even if this does work, what you’re doing is still incredibly far-fetched. Have you really given up on saving yourself so completely that you’re trying to get someone else to do it for you? You don’t think so. You just know that Tomura’s good at watching. Good at picking up details. You want someone to watch what happens to you, no matter what it is, and know the truth.

At night you go out to dinner or drinks with Kai and his colleagues. You know what part to play, almost well enough to put the whole thing on autopilot, and when you’re not answering questions about your career goals or telling someone how proud you are of your husband, your mind is sipping off in a thousand directions, hoping that one holds a way out.

You’ve done your research about domestic violence, and you know your position is better than the position a lot of people find themselves in when they start trying to leave. You have a degree, you have work experience, you have a credit score, and best of all, you have your own money set aside, a quarter of each paycheck going into an account with nobody’s name on it but yours. You and Kai had a fight over that account a couple months after the wedding. You call it a fight because it was the first and last time you held your ground and won, as well as the first and last time he actually knocked you unconscious. It’s the only time either of you ever went that far.

You have money. That puts you in a stronger position. And for right now, for as long as possible, you don’t have a kid. If you want to leave Kai, now’s the time.

It looks possible on paper. In practice it’s not. There are too many moving parts, too many times where things would have to go exactly right, and Kai’s the only person who has that kind of luck. Even if you got clear somehow, Kai could find you. He’d find you through the lawyers when you tried to divorce him, or he’d find you all on his own, and once he did, it would all be over. He’d kill you and get away with it, or worse, he’d find a judge, wave your extensive history of paranoia and your past suicide attempt in front of their face, and get legal guardianship over you in a heartbeat. Leaving Kai won’t work, not unless you leave him without the ability to come after you again. He’s too smart to get caught in the act of abusing you, so you can’t trust the law to protect you from him. That only leaves one option. And that option is unthinkable.

So here you are. You do exactly what Kai wants you to do for the entirety of the Dubai leg of the trip, and he buys you a pair of earrings that cost more than the downpayment on your house. You’re wearing them as you get on the plane to Cairo. He insisted.

Kai has an itinerary in Cairo, like he does everywhere, but because you haven’t messed up yet, he’s made sure everything you want to see is on it. He steers you through the city with an arm around your waist, effortlessly confident in the way that made you fall for him, before you knew what it meant. And he’s more lenient with you than usual, too. If you get tired, if you need to stop for water, if you take one look at a crowded market and panic a little bit, Kai indulges it. It takes you a while to figure out why. He’s been giving a hundred and ten percent at the task of knocking you up. Too much stress and it might not stick.

His indulgence continues through Istanbul, and because you go above and beyond to please him, you’re able to convince him to take the picture. Just one picture, of just you, inside the Blue Mosque, the place you were most excited to see. Kai gives instructions like he’s directing a photo shoot, about where you should stand and how you should angle your face to best catch the light, and instead of getting one picture, you get three. One where you’re smiling. One where you’re looking up in awe. And one where you’re glancing back over your shoulder, the neckline of your shirt pulled aside, the faint shadow of the bite mark visible beneath it.

Kai doesn’t notice, or doesn’t care. He wants to post the pictures on his instagram, but you talk him out of it, compromising by giving him photographer credit in a caption Emi promptly calls out as “simping”. You embed the photo in the middle of a three-photo post before you leave the hotel, and you don’t check the notifications until the plane back to Tokyo has reached cruising altitude. The instant you do, your heart stops in your chest.

You’ve been waiting, hoping, but nothing prepares you for what it feels like to see it at last. togachan817 has liked this.

Himiko’s had that same handle since high school, and you never blocked her, not even when you realized she was feeding information about you to Tomura. You’d thought the two of you were friends, and you’d been too hurt to do anything but deactivate your account. And you’re glad you never blocked her. Now she’s seen your post. You know she’ll tell Tomura. And now it’s out of your hands.

Which of the photos did she like? You tap the notification, and the center photo appears. The one where you aren’t smiling. The one with the bite.

[drfrogphd]

My booth from Illinois Game Con yesterday! C:

[righteous-pines]

Moon 0

[kingdomvel]

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 3.4k | ao3

from this post

Eddie can’t stop the laugh that comes out of him because of the video on his screen, Gareth snickering next to him.

“This is great, I have to show this to the others later,” Eddie says. His fingers move automatically, pressing on the send icon and then on the profile at the very top, a move he has done hundreds of times.

“Dude, did you just send that to Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks with a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like that’s normal?”

“Because it is? I just send him the posts I find funny to find them later.”

“You know there is a way to save posts so that they are organized, right?”

“I don’t like it and this is like way easier.”

“It’s literally not,” Gareth says, but Eddie doesn’t pay attention to him or stop.

“Look,” he goes to the front page, slides to the dms and opens the conversation with Steve Harrington, always at the top. “It’s just right there.” He starts scrolling up to show him the long string of unanswered memes and videos, but Gareth interrupts him.

“Wait, wait. Scroll back down, what the fuck is that? Does he read your messages?” He is pointing to the little icon with Harrington’s profile picture just above the last video he’s sent. Eddie shrugs.

“It’s probably a bored media guy enjoying some memes on the clock or making sure I’m not a weirdo, it’s not like Steve Harrington actually uses this account.”

“You are a weirdo, I’m surprised you are not blocked yet.”

-

Eddie is on his phone, passing the time as he keeps an eye on the lonely customer currently looking through the new vinyls. It’s a routine, a mindless action as he saves another post to show the guys later, preferring to see their reactions in person. Nothing ever happens, that’s why he gets surprised to the point of sitting up when a notification appears on his screen.

Steve.hrrgtn: Dude, you just made me laugh in the middle of a table reading

Eddie freezes as the notification disappears. Did he see that right? He couldn’t have seen that right.

He goes to his dms and surely, there at the top, is a message from THE Steve Harrington, or at least from his account. A table reading. It has to be him, right? Not an intern or a media guy. The one and only.

Eddie sends a look to the customer, still engrossed in the new releases. He is tempted to call her so she can check if the message is real or an hallucination provoked by his boredom. When he looks down, the message is still there. It is also still there when he opens the conversation. His fingers hover over screen.

He can picture him, sitting around a long table with his castmates, hiding his phone like a student in class but unable to keep his laugh in.

The vision is a bit surreal. He made Steve Harrington laugh.

Batking: why are you looking at your phone in the middle of a table reading

Steve.hrrgtn: new season boring af

It’s Eddie the one that can’t keep his laugh in this time. The girl sends him a look, but he doesn’t care.

Batking: should you be telling me that?

 Steve.hrrgtn: I don’t even care at this point tbh

Batking: you are the one that signed the contract my guy

Steve.hrrgtn: I didn’t

Steve.hrrgtn: Never let your parents sign you into a multi season show when you are fifteen

Batking: I’ll keep that in mind for my next life

Batking: Sorry your parents made you a millionaire and famous

Steve.hrrgtn: 💀💀💀

Steve.hrrgtn: but really, at the time I thought hey it’s only a contract for five seasons for a teen drama, how bad could it be?

Steve.hrrgtn: now here I am, almost ten years later, listening to the worst script you have heard in your life

Batking: that does sound awful

Batking: you are making me happy that my folks are not in the picture

Is Eddie about to vent about his life to Steve fucking Harrington? It seems like it.

In the end, he doesn’t, because Harrington doesn’t answer to his message, probably swept away into actually working, or maybe he realised how weird it was that he was talking so casually to a guy he didn’t know.

Eddie doesn’t have time to wallow on it too much, because the girl comes to the counter with a vinyl and a question. The interaction with the famous actor moving to a part of Eddie’s brain normally reserved to daydreams.

-

Eddie thought that his interaction with Steve Harrington would be a one time thing, the guy looking at his phone because he was too bored and answering his message because, by some kind of cosmic coincidence, Eddie had happened to send it at the perfect moment. Just an impulsive action that he had regretted later. That’s why he is surprised when he gets a new notification after sending him the worst kind of shitpost ever, the ones that the algorithm feeds him at 2am – the current time – and send him in a fit of giggles with their complete absurdity.

Steve.hrrgtn: where do you even find these things

Batking: you are just jealous my algorithm is better than yours

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah everyday I dream about my instagram showing me a pig made with a sausage and sticks surfing some rotating meat skewers

Batking: It made you laugh though

Steve.hrrgtn: …..

Steve.hrrgtn: It did

Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving snort. It’s a bit crazy, knowing that somewhere out there a famous heartthrob is looking at his messages at 2am and laughing.

Unless this is the media guy.

Eddie prefers to believe that he is so funny he made a guy with millions of followers want to talk to him. Twice.

Batking: why are you awake at this hour anyway

Batking: shouldnt you be getting your beauty sleep

Steve.hrrgtn: we start filming the new season tomorrow

Steve.hrrgtn: today?

Steve.hrrgtn: and I can’t sleep

Batking: nightmares about the boring script

Batking: I see

Steve.hrrgtn: you could say that

Batking: well, check this out, your nightmares will go away

He sends another stupid meme (of the best kind, the ones from accounts that write in Cyrillic) and receives a set of skull emojis in answer.

-

Steve.hrrgtn: why have you stopped sending me memes

The message takes Eddie by surprise. It’s been a week since he texted with Steve Harrington for the second time – which still feels a bit surreal-, and he had decided to stop bothering the poor guy now that he knew he saw his messages. Going to his saved posts was still a nightmare, but Eddie knew how to behave.

Batking: didnt want to bother you now that you are working and I know you see them

Steve.hrrgtn: they have been my main entertainment for months you can’t just stop now when I need them most

Eddie blinks at the message. Months? The confirmation stuns him. The one that had been seeing his messages had always been him and not some media guy? Eddie remembers catching his name a few times on his Instagram stories. This is a bit trippy, if he is honest.

Batking: okay

Batking: as my liege commands

Batking: from now on I am your knight in shining armour your sole provider of memes

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: did you kill the villain today?

Steve.hrrgtn: This is a teen drama???

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: so, is the bad guy dead yet?

Steve.hrrgtn: Again???

Steve.hrrgtn: I told you like a thousand times that there is no bad guy to kill

Steve.hrrgtn: have you even watched my show?

Batking: I mean the scriptwriter

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Steve.hrrgtn: no, he is sadly not dead yet

Steve.hrrgtn: I think killing him would be a breach of my contract somehow

Batking: a pity

Batking: the way he insists on making your character straight? He deserves death.

Batking: don’t worry joe from normal life, I saw the way you looked at dacre, I know what you are

Steve.hrrgtn: I think that might have just been the way I was looking at Billy, the guy’s fucking hot

Steve.hrrgtn: an asshole though, glad he is not on the show anymore

Eddie pauses, his eyes reading the last two messages time and time again. Did Steve Harrington, heartthrob and ladies man, just admit to being attracted to a male coworker? Eddie’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He looks up at Gareth from his place in their couch. He is not paying attention to him, too focused on his laptop.

Eddie is having a bit of a crisis here and his roommate is ignoring him. Maybe it’s best that he is, Eddie doesn’t really want to share this with anyone. Should he bring attention to it? Should he just ignore it and brush it off? The decision is not that difficult in the end. He needs to know. He knows that there is no way he has any possibility of actually bagging Steve Harrington. Exchanging messages and memes is one thing, a pseudo friendship is one thing, but something more? Not fucking likely.

He still needs to know.

Batking: did I just get exclusive confirmation that Steve Harrington likes men? Should I call tmz?

Steve.hrrgtn: you wouldn’t get any money

Steve.hrrgtn: I’ve been out as bisexual for years, the media just chooses to ignore it

Steve.hrrgtn: wow look at these pictures of Steve Harrington with his new male best friend that he goes to dinner and all premieres with! Totally platonic! Oh now they have stopped hanging out completely? What could have happened to their friendship?

Steve.hrrgtn: he cheated on me, that’s what happened

Eddie blinks at his screen. So, he had tried to avoid learning anything about Steve that the man didn’t tell him himself. Just a chivalrous, treat the guy like a normal person gesture, but now he is wondering if he should have paid a bit more attention.

Batking: ah yes, the joys of compulsory heterosexuality and conformity

Batking: that sucks, dude

Steve.hrrgtn: did you really not know anything about it?

Batking: sorry to burst your celebrity bubble where everyone knows everything about your life

Steve.hrrgtn: no no, it’s… nice

Steve.hrrgtn: I have a question though

Steve.hrrgtn: why did you start sending me memes if you were not really interested in me?

Batking: well

Batking: I needed someone very famous that wasnt likely to really see my messages and seemed chill enough to not block me immediately

Batking: and dude, you are like waaay more famous than the show you are in, it’s ridiculous, thought you must be a douche for a long time

Batking: but an interview with you and your friend Robin showed up on my fyp and I saw that you were pretty chill

Batking: so it was between you and Timothee Chalamet

Batking: and it ended up being you because you are hotter

Steve.hrrgtn: of course I am

Steve.hrrgtn: thank you for choosing me tho

Batking: anyone would have

Steve.hrrgtn: the casting director of a complete unknown didn’t think the same

Batking: well thats THEIR loss

Batking: you do a great job with the shitty script of normal life

Batking: you would have acted the fuck out of bob dylan

Steve.hrrgtn: I do a better job in my other stuff

Batking: you have other stuff??

Batking: I’m going to be honest with you here, I only watched normal life so I had context to bitch about the boring new season with you

Eddie looks at the three little dots that indicate that Steve is writing appear a disappear a few times. Did he fuck up? Maybe he sounded too eager, maybe Steve thought it was a bit weird that Eddie assumed they would continue talking. But they have been talking for weeks now. Was it bad to assume?

Eddie closes the app, deciding to give the guy some privacy to write down what he wants to write down and heads to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. If Gareth senses the way his mood has soured, he doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes a couple of hours for an answer to appear. It’s simple.

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s nice of you

-

It’s Steve the one that starts the conversation a couple of days after that. Eddie only sees his messages an hour after he sends them, too busy with customers. The group of notifications on his screen when he is finally able to look at his phone very welcome.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I just realised

Steve.hrrgtn: well, my best friend made me realise

Steve.hrrgtn: she basically said that it’s weird that I’ve been talking with you for weeks and don’t know anything about your actual life and that you could actually be a stalker with a lot of patience or something like that

Steve.hrrgtn: so tell me about yourself? You are not living like down the street from me and waiting for the right moment to kidnap me like Robin says are you?

Eddie tries not to feel giddy at the thought of Steve talking about him to his friends. He has not done it himself, mostly because he tried once and they made fun of his ‘delusions’ as they called it. Whatever. He doesn’t really expect Steve to still be online, probably already swept out to his own job, so he just sends his answer.

Batking: a very reasonable fear, some facts to follow

Batking: I live as far from you as you live from Chicago

Batking: I am a humble employee at a record store where I have to deal with pretentious assholes daily that don’t really care about music and just about bragging about their record collection

Batking: I also have a band with my friends

Batking: we have a whooping 1756 listeners on spotify

Batking: I know, I know, you didn’t know you were talking with a rockstar try not to be very starstruck

The answer, to his surprise, comes almost immediately.

Steve.hrrgtn: 1757

Batking: what?

Steve.hrrgtn: what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t listen to your band now that I know it exists?

Eddie would be lying if he said that that didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is he developing a weird parasocial relationship with the guy? Probably yes, but is it even a parasocial relationship if he is actually talking with the guy and he called him his friend? This should be considered a normal crush, a normal, hopeless crush.

Batking: a very shitty one tbh here’s the link

Steve.hrrgtn: can I ask something else?

Batking: course

Steve.hrrgtn: you only have one pic in your profile and it’s with your friends

Steve.hrrgtn: which one are you?

Eddie taps the back of his phone a few times. It’s only natural that Steve would wonder that. He could just tell him, or… Eddie opens the camera and takes a picture, too close to see his face properly but enough that Steve will know who he is in the group picture now.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: this one

Steve.hrrgtn: fuck

-

Steve.hrrgtn: okay so the thought of you only seeing me in normal life is eating me alive

The notification comes when Eddie is with his friends, preparing for a night of DnD. Eddie was looking up some music to get the atmosphere going, but the music app immediately gets abandoned in lieu of the message.

Batking: can’t get me out of your head?

He knows he has been unable to keep the stupid smile out of his face when Jeff tries to glance at his screen. Eddie immediately slams the phone against his chest.

“Jeez, I thought you were looking at stupid memes again, who are you texting that got you smiling like that?” Jeff asks. He moves back to sit straight, so Eddie can look at his phone again.

“No one,” he says as he reads the new message.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I have a couple of indie films that are very good

So Steve has decided to ignore his message. Okay.

“He’s been like this for WEEKS now,” Gareth intervenes as he sits down at his spot. “He said it was Steve Harrington when I asked him when he started and has refused to say anything else.”

“The white boy of the month?” Jeff asks.

“White boy of the century,” Eddie feels the need to correct.

Batking: that’s great and all but I can’t watch your limited release indie films anywhere

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s why I’m sharing a link to the latest one with you

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t share it with anyone though

Batking: aw breaking the rules for little ol me?

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah yeah don’t get too cocky now

Steve.hrrgtn: can’t wait for your reaction 😉

Eddie stares at the winking emoji in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

“Can you stop texting your white boy of the century now so we can start?” Gareth asks.

“Just a second.” Eddie sends a quick message back before he moves to the music app again, chooses the first song he sees and puts the phone down.

Batking: send it to me, soldier, I will watch it tonight and give you my honest opinion

-

Eddie stares at the screen of his laptop, currently on his thighs as he was lounging on his bed, seeing the film Steve had sent to him. The film is currently paused, Steve’s face staring at him with eyes and mouth half open.

Okay, so Eddie just watched his famous guy turned friend have an orgasm – fake! Fake an orgasm, Eddie feels it’s very important that he makes that clear to himself – on screen after probably the most erotic sex scene he has seen in a non porno in the last 10 years. Fuck. How did he not know about the existence of this? How did this not make the news? Probably because it was with another man. Double fuck.

Maybe this is normal for Steve, for actors in general, to send their friends a link to a film where you have a soul shattering orgasm with a message about wanting to know their reaction with a winking emoji. It is not normal for Eddie. It is also not normal for his dick, who has not gotten the memo about this not being something it should be getting so excited about.

Eddie bites his lip. His finger moves on its own, backing the film a few minutes so the scene plays again. Eddie tries to convince himself that this is not weird if Steve was the one that wanted him to see this in the first place.

Eddie curses and takes a deep breath. He eyes his phone. It’s late, nearly midnight, but he knows that Steve is normally away at this hour.

Maybe this is not normal for Steve either, maybe he did want to get some kind of reaction out of Eddie.

Eddie snaps a picture of his laptop screen, careful to get the tent in his pants just in the edge of the picture. It’s very obvious on it what scene he is watching.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: you sure know how to get a guy hot and bothered

Maybe he can play it off as a joke if Steve didn’t mean it like Eddie wants him to mean it.

Steve.hrrgtn: glad to see my acting is that good

Fuck, Eddie fucked it up, right?

Steve.hrrgtn: it did come out very natural

Steve.hrrgtn: but the real thing looks better

Eddie feels on the edge of a precipice, as if there should be a warning on his field of vision about how his choice here will change the trajectory of his story.

Batking: can’t say

Batking: I haven’t seen the real thing, so I can’t really compare them, can I?

Steve.hrrgtn: would you want to?

Eddie can’t get his hopes up, he can’t assume, Steve is so out of his league, this can’t be happening to him.

Batking: have you acted in a porno I don’t know about?

Steve.hrrgtn: are you always this dense?

Eddie’s heart is dying in his chest, that’s the only explanation to how it’s feeling.

He doesn’t have time to type an answer, Eddie’s screen is suddenly filled with something else.

Steve Harrington is video calling him.

Eddie has never accepted a call so fast in his life before.

part 2...???

tag list: @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment (you didn't ask me to tag you but I guessed you'd want to see it?)

[noosayog]

[3:47 pm] ft miya osamu

wc: 700

--

When you slam open Atsumu’s bedroom door and plop yourself onto the carpet next to him, he barely looks up from his phone. 

“Ever heard of knocking?”

You lay belly down on the floor and scream into the worn fuzz of the carpet. 

“Gross. You know our bare, unwashed feet walk on this floor right?” 

He offers you a pillow and you take it, squishing it between the floor and your face. Atsumu waits for your breath to run out. 

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Atsumuuuuu…” you bemoan. “I’m going through a crisis.” 

He says nothing, continuing to scroll on his phone but you can tell you’ve garnered some of his interest. 

“I have a secret. Like one that I can’t tell anyone.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s so shameful. I’ve been keeping it to myself for, like, ever.”

“Yeah, I bet I couldn’t guess what it is.” The sarcasm is completely lost on you. 

“Yeah. You’d make fun of me. It’d be material for you to tease me for a lifetime,” you pause, take a deep breath. “I-

“-have a big fat crush on my brother?” 

You gape. “What?” 

He looks up from his phone. He blink at you, like you’re any simpleton. “You,” he says slowly, punctuating each word, ”have a big, fat, embarrassing, crutching, debilitating crush on my brother.” 

“I didn’t even realize you knew so many big words-”

“What?” 

The two of you freeze up. 

“‘Samu!” Atsumu exclaims. “Thought you weren’t gonna be back until later tonight.”

“I wasn’t.”

He gives no other explanation. You stay still, hoping that if you don’t move or breathe, he won’t notice you. The silence stretches.

“Ohhh.. kay. Well, I better go. You kids-”

You jolt awake at that, in disbelief that Atsumu would flee alone after what he’s done.

“I’ll go with!” You turn and run, making monumental efforts to avoid a dark eyes trained on you. 

You’re about to squeeze past when a hand slams against the doorframe, arm now blocking off your exit. Osamu stares hard at you while your gaze stays glued to the exit beyond, though it’s more like you’re staring at his bicep which is now stationed at your eye level. 

“I’m just gonna go…” you hear Atsumu mumble, ducking under Osamu’s arm barrier, stealing your escape route. 

“Jackass-” you mumble.

“Hey.” 

The low voice comes from right above your head.

“Osamu,” you greet, still staring at his arm. “I gotta go. I have plans-”

A finger comes up to lift your jaw. It’s careful, but still forceful. When your eyes finally meet his, the one finger turns into two which grip your chin in place. 

“Was what Atsumu said true?” 

It takes a lot for you to hold back a stutter. “Sounds like you heard him loud and clear to me,” you say, ready to slap his hand away. 

“I did.”

“Then why are you still asking-” 

“If it’s true,” he leans down, talking slowly. It makes you start to hyperventilate. You need a paper bag or something. “I don’t wanna hear it from my stupid brother.” 

His eyes are mesmerizing, captivating. Not even the many, many years of knowing him dulls the effect of his straightforward gaze on you. You think you hear someone concede, “it’s true.” 

“What’s true?” he whispers. He’s so close you feel his words ghost your mouth.

Autopilot talks. “That I have a big fat crush on you.” 

He eats up the next millimeter of space. 

“Yeah?” he murmurs against your lips.

Suddenly, his neck is caged inside of your arms and you’re licking up his familiar minty breath and surely this all isn’t your doing because your brain is still catching up. 

His smile widens against your lips and you can feel the smugness radiate off him. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have interrupted, then.” 

That clears the fog. You shove his shoulders away and try to ignore the fact that he doesn’t go very far.

“Why?” you demand. 

He kisses you again. “‘Cause my brother’s got a big mouth.” 

You tilt your head in confusion. Osamu takes it as an invitation to slot his face better against yours. 

His kiss almost makes you forget your train of thought, but that’s okay because he answers your question anyway. 

“And he probably would’ve blabbed that I have a big fat crush on you too.”

[batsandbirdbrains]

Hmm okay but picture this

Every time Dick has introduced his little brothers to his friends, they get annoyed and snippy and act like they’d rather be literally anywhere else or with anyone else. They constantly treat Dick like he’s annoying and they can’t be bothered to be around him, and usually Dick can just put up with it, ignore it, laugh it off. Because he loves his little brothers. They don’t really mean it. He has to tell himself they don’t really mean it.

But after several years of this happening anytime he brings his brothers around the other titans, or some friends he made on a mission, or literally anyone he knows, it starts to get to him. He stop inviting them to things with him, thinking they must not want to go anyway. He stops asking if they want to hang out with him at all. He’ll go whenever they call him, he’ll always help them if they need it, but he’s tired of being the one to always ask first to do something.

He’s just so tired. It’s like no one wants him around at all. It’s exhausting, trying to put on a happy face all the time.

So imagine his surprise when Jason asks him to go hang out with him and a couple friends. When Jason’s face relaxes at the sight of Dick walking through the door, and he tugs Dick over to a couple new friends he’s been going on missions with and he tells them, “This is my brother, Dickie. You probably know him as Nightwing.”

And these two can’t believe they’re in the same room as Nightwing. Jason looks like he won the lottery. Dick’s just happy Jason actually called him his brother today.

Then the next weekend, Tim begs Dick to help out the Young Justice team with training. Dick agrees, because of course he does. He’d do anything to help his brothers.

“Guys! My brother’s here to help with training!”

“Which one?”

“The best one, obviously,” Tim scoffs, then he tugs Dick into the gym and looks back at him with a shy smile on his face. Dick thinks his heart might explode after hearing Tim say with actual seriousness that Dick is his best brother.

A week after that? Damian asks him to come to the manor, says it’s urgent, and Dick rushes there, only to find Damian sitting with a notepad, waiting eagerly for him.

“What’s up?” Dick asks, sitting on the couch across from him. “Are you alright? You said it was urgent.”

“I have to write an essay for school,” Damian says, his face very serious. “It’s supposed to be about my favorite role model.”

“I mean, Jason is really the one who’s good at essays and stuff-”

“Yes, but Todd is insufferable,” Damian says quickly, then looks down at his notepad. “And besides, he is not my role model. So his input would be useless.”

“Damian?”

Dick is so confused. Damian all but pouts at him.

“You are my role model, Richard. I thought that was obvious.”

“Oh,” is all Dick says, but a smile spreads across his face. “Oh, okay. Well, yeah, okay. Do you have, like, questions you want me to answer or something?”

Damian moves to sit next to Dick, and they go over the essay prompt, and Dick answers a few questions. Helps Damian figure out how he’s going to structure his essay.

A few weeks later, Damian shows off the A he got on his essay, a small smile hidden behind the paper as Dick looks on.

Dick keeps the essay up on his refrigerator with a magnet Damian got him from the zoo. It has an elephant on it. It’s right next to the postcard Jason sent him the Gotham Airport as a joke, and the punchcard for the boba place he goes to with Tim. Two more visits and they get a free drink.

Maybe his brothers don’t hate him so much after all.

[alienzil]

Nanny Danny

“That is a whole ass baby,” was the only thought running through Lex Luthor’s head when the scientist proudly showed him the tube containing Project KR. It was not remotely the sort of thing he would normally think and most definitely not what he had expected to be thinking the first time he saw the clone.

He’d been pleased when he’d read the reports indicating the success of KR after years of failures. Lex had poured millions of dollars and literally his own blood into ensuring a clone of the alien could be made, one that would be under his total control instead of the unknown aspirations of Superman.  He’d wanted to see the fruits of his labors personally but this…

It. No, not an it. He scrunched his tiny face and smacked his lips and…did he smirk? Was that HIS SMIRK on that baby’s face?! No. No. Babies this small didn’t smile or smirk. They passed gas and their sleep deprived and addled parents mistook it for an intelligent response. He’d heard enough inane conversations in the Lexcorp office about the various progeny of his employees to pick up on that but still. This child had Kryptonian DNA, not to mention his own contribution. Surely, he was far more advanced than the dribbling potato shaped lump of an infant whose pictures he’d been forced to smile and nod over when Mark from accounting had rudely shoved them in his face at the last quarterly budget meeting. Yes, that was definitely a smirk. His, that was his smirk.

“So as you can see its growth is well within expected parameters and we’re planning to start phase one of accelerating the maturation process tomorrow once the testing is do-”

“Take him out.”

“Sir? The testing can all be accomplished while it remains in the tube. There’s no need to-”

“I said, take him out. The project is cancelled.”

“What?! Mr. Luthor you can’t!”

“I think you’ll find I can. Now get me my son.”

*****

Two years later

“Call them again”

“Sir, I’ve called them seven times. They won’t answer.”

“Then call another agency!”

“There isn’t another agency, Sir”

Lex glared at his assistant who stared back at him impassively. Mercy stood by the door staring off into the distance and pretending she didn’t notice him being bested by his own secretary.

He stopped himself from shouting again and took a deep breath before asking, “Then what, exactly, do you propose I do Mrs. Anderson? Adjust my entire schedule around naptimes? Find a toddler size lab coat and safety goggles and bring my son with me to tour the new clean energy project on Thursday? Perhaps buy a tiny business suit while I’m at it for the next board meeting?”

“I’m not suggesting anything of the sort, Mr. Luthor. I’m telling you that no childcare agency in Metropolis will return my calls anymore. Most won’t even answer.  You’ve gone through 27 nannies in the last 3 months. You need someone better suited to your son’s…special needs.”

Lex snorted. “Special needs might be a bit of understatement. He can lift a car over his head and his favorite word right now is No.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Thank you for…clarifying the situation, Marjorie. If there’s nothing else, you can leave.”

His secretary didn’t move. She looked at him like she was waiting for something and now that he was paying attention, he saw she was holding a file.  “Did you have a suggestion?”

Looking pleased with herself she responded, “Actually, yes, I did.”

“Well?”

She set the file on his desk and flipped it open. He looked down at the first page and raised an eyebrow, “What am I looking at here?”

“This,” she responded pulling out the top set of papers and spreading them out, “is the employee file and background check for Daniel J. Fenton, an intern that started in our engineering department about 4 months ago. He has one sibling, two parents and several close friends he regularly meets with. His current supervisor has nothing but good things to say about him and reports he gets along well with all his coworkers.”

She set out the next set of papers, neatly arranging them on the desk to be easily seen. “These are newspaper articles and screenshots of social media posts regarding a small town vigilante locally known as Phantom. The same small town, Mr. Fenton is from coincidentally. Also coincidentally, Phantom made his first appearance only a few weeks after Mr. Fenton was involved in a minor accident in his parent’s home laboratory when he was 14, the medical records for the incident are included.”

“Hmm,” Lex said observing several photos of Phantom and a younger Fenton arranged in order of similar poses and facial expressions and printed out side by side.

“Finally,” she said handing him the last set of papers directly, “this would be a report from the lab Mr. Fenton works in from an incident that happened yesterday. A test with a new protype went wrong and started a fire. Everyone evacuated per protocol when the alarms went off but one of the other interns was working on a programming issue off to the side of the lab while wearing headphones and didn’t hear the alarm or notice the fire. Mr. Fenton noticed his absence and returned to the lab to get him out.” She stopped talking and let him look at the last several pages in the file, a series of photographs of the lab.

“Is this ice?”

“Yes, it is. It’s several inches thick and covers half of the lab. It completely put out the fire leaving minimal damage.”

“This machine was moved?”

“It was. It was very close to the flames and would have required replacement if exposed to extreme heat or cold. That particular piece of equipment also weighs several thousand pounds and was bolted to the floor.”

Lex read through everything in detail then clasped his hands under his chin and stared at the photo of Daniel Fenton for several moments before turning back to his waiting secretary.

“Have HR send Mr. Fenton up. I’d like to offer him a promotion.”

[nekonaps0]

You are NAUGHTY!! Pt1

✦part2 part3

✦ characters: third years

✦ gn!reader

✦ dirty jokes

✦ their partner suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

Trey Clover

“Trey, your hands are always so steady when you’re baking… I bet they’d be just as good at frosting something a little more... sinful.”

Trey pauses mid-stir.

He slowly turns to you, lifts an eyebrow, and smiles… that calm, confident smile that betrays a whole lot of fluster he’s pushing down like a champ.

“Now… you know I’m sweet, not sinful… Unless you’re asking for a special recipe?”

He acts smooth, but his ears are a little red, and he starts avoiding eye contact as he stirs too quickly. If you catch him off guard again?

“You’re really playing with fire, sugar. Don’t be surprised if I bake you into something irresistible.”

Cater Diamond

“Cater, you’re always taking pics of your food… wanna snap one of me with just the whipped cream next time?”

He screams. Actually.

“OMG, bae!! You can’t just say stuff like that out loud… I mean, you can, but I might melt~!”

His phone is nearly dropped. He fans himself with his phone, bites his lip in mock-shock, then gets way too close.

“So when’s this whipped cream shoot happening? I gotta prep my lighting. And my appetite~”

You just turned this flirt-war into a full-on event. He's now plotting outfits and hashtags like:

#TooHotToPost #BlessedAndUndressed.

Leona Kingscholar

“You know Leona, if you keep growling like that, I’m gonna start thinking you want me under you for real.”

Leona stops. Smirks. Stretches lazily like a big cat about to ruin your life.

“Tch. You really wanna play that game, herbivore?”

He’s unfazed—in fact, he’s pleased. He loves a partner who’s bold and flirty, especially if it gets under his skin just enough to spark a reaction.

He’ll lean in close, voice low and teasing:

“Careful now… jokes like that’ll land you in a position you can’t handle.”

You’ve awakened the predator.

Congratulations.

Vil Schoenheit

“Vil, if you keep ordering me around like that, I’m going to start confusing your instructions with dirty talk.”

Pin-drop silence.

Vil looks at you like you just slapped him across the cheek and called him beautiful… Which you kind of did.

Then he slowly smiles like a cat that’s just noticed a helpless mouse.

“Is that so? Well, darling… perhaps next time, I’ll make the difference clearer. Shall I demonstrate?”

He lives for a well-timed, well-structured innuendo. You impressed him. And now he’s inspired.

Careful what doors you open with this man.

Rook Hunt

“Rook, I must be your next hunt… 'cause I can feel you stalking my thoughts—especially when I’m alone in bed.”

He gasps like you just confessed undying love and slapped him with a silk glove.

“Mon dieu! Ma chère, you wound me with your words… and thrill me all the same!”

He clutches his heart, swoons into a chair, and then grins like the predator he is.

“Such a delicious line, dripping with wickedness! Shall I pursue you now, or wait until the moonlight bathes us in temptation?”

You’ve turned the poet into a freak, and he is so here for it.

Malleus Draconia

“Malleus, you’re so tall. I bet even your horns are compensating for something~”

Malleus stares. Blinks. Tilts his head.

“...I was unaware you believed my horns served… compensatory functions. Should I… correct that misunderstanding?”

He’s 100% confused at first, not because he’s innocent, but because your innuendo feels like riddles to him.

But once he gets it, once Lilia or someone explain it later, perhaps?

Oh, he remembers it.

The next time you flirt?

“You’ve been teasing me my dear. Perhaps I ought to show you that dragons need not compensate for anything.”

And he’ll say it with that calm, deep voice and a tilt of his head that promises danger.

Lilia Vanrouge

“Lilia, you might look small, but something tells me you could absolutely wreck me if you wanted to.”

He chuckles. Like full-blown villain laugh.

“Oh ho~! My, my~ What a bold darling you are tonight!”

He floats toward you, arms behind his back, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Is that a request? Or are you simply hoping I take the hint?”

You’ve just turned on flirt-mode Lilia, and he’s dangerous. Expect teasing, whispering, and no personal space for hours.

“Now, let’s see just how wreckable you are, hmm~?”

Idia Shroud

“Hey Idia~ Wanna roleplay? I’ll be the innocent maiden and you can ‘hack’ your way into my firewall”

Idia dies.

Straight up collapses onto the floor, hood over his face, glowing like a neon strawberry.

“Wh—Whaaaaa—?! THAT’S—THAT’S NOT A DIALOGUE OPTION IN REAL LIFE!!”

He short-circuits. His hair flares pink. He makes incomprehensible noises.

The idea that you, his amazing, goddess-tier s/o, are flirting like this??

It sends him spiraling. In a good way.

Mostly.

Later, in private, he’ll try to flirt back:

“H-Heh… you keep this up and I’ll… uhh… overheat and crash, probably…”

He's trying, okay? Reward him with kisses.

..............................................................................................................................

Hehehe~ I’m back ✨

[vividxpages]

"you, forever."

pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

words: 2.6k

summary: Bucky thinks if he gives this whole congressman thing some more months, he’ll might be okay with this new kind of lifestyle. Everything for the mission, right? But he just can’t bring himself to accept the fact that he keeps missing out on the evenings with you.

a/n: I just love this man so damn much, the hyperfixation that started with watching my first ever Marvel movie (Civil War - I had no idea wtf was going on except for that this Bucky guy is super hot) is back in full force. Let me know what you think! ♡ and thank you for reading. ao3 version.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

On a Thursday night, Bucky spontaneously decided home was wherever your fluffy pink carpet slippers greeted him.

Just behind the doorstep they sat, perfectly chaotic and not where they belonged on the shoe rack right next to them, just as you liked it. He smiled down at the sight, careful not to trip over your bag on the floor as he closed the door behind himself and locked it for the night.

He had been up since six in the morning, attended seven meetings – felt useless in five of them – and ran on nothing but caffeine and pure stubbornness to get Val’s ass in the meantime. In the afternoon, he had not managed to get out of some talks and now it was dark outside and the day was close to being over.

Given his history, he had seen worse days.

Far worse.

But yet, the ache in his chest was close to being unbearable. 

He soundlessly kicked off his shoes, willing his shoulders to relax as he listened to the quietness of the apartment. Bucky longed for the one precious thing in his life he held onto after days like this one.

You.

He shuffled out of his jacket, too, abandoning it together with his leather bag and quietly made his way into the spacious kitchen. Evidence of your love for him waited just in sight on the counter and Bucky’s heart both clenched in pain and fluttered in adoration for you.

By the sink, he spotted a wine glass, the rim shiny and rosy from your lip gloss. Your empty plate stood in the sink, forgotten and doomed to be a task for another day. But right in front of him was the other half of dinner, meant for him and still waiting, a bowl full to the brim with a delicious greasy pasta and a red sticky note right next to it.

Eat up! :) I love you xx

The cherry on top was a glazed sugar cinnamon roll from the bakery you both loved so much.

Fuck, his heart was so fucking full of love for you, why did he still screw up like this? 

He had missed dinner. Bucky let out a sigh, exhausted and regretting yet another evening he had not been able to spend with you and impulsively grabbed the cinnamon roll, the sweetness exploding on his tongue. A picture of you flashed through his mind, sticking out your tongue at him when he had laughed about the sugar crumbs coating your nose. He would’ve loved to share this sweet treat with you, earlier and in the coziness of his and your home, together.

The frustration simmering just underneath his skin flared up and if it hadn’t been midnight and you probably weren’t in bed already, Bucky would’ve groaned.

When he had signed up for this, although his true reasons were slightly different from the official statement he gave to the press, he thought: normality – after so many years, he had finally reached it. (Sam had joked at some point that he needed a white picket fence now. Bucky had told him to fuck off.)

With a job like this, although he was still in kid’s shoes, he could be able to live an average life for a while. And a life with lots of time for the girl he loved.

Now, a few months later, he wasn’t so sure about it anymore.

He put down the cinnamon roll and decided to take a shower first before he’d heat up the pasta and finally crawl into bed to you. If he’d wake you now, he would not be able to forgive himself. Bucky’s thumb brushed over your handwriting once more before he slid into the dimly lit living room.

His heart, usually steeled when he went out of the door in the mornings, softened instantly at the sight presented to him.

You were curled up underneath a soft, knitted blanket, your chest rising and falling peacefully. You were still facing the hallway and Bucky couldn’t linger too long at the thought that you might’ve sat there and waited for hours for him to come home to you after your lonely dinner.

He first recognized one of his hoodies on you and your beautifully heated cheeks. Your naked legs were hidden beneath the comfy blanket, but he spotted your favorite pair of fuzzy socks on you and how you slept on his side of the couch, where the pillows smelled like him.

The TV was not running  - you were a books and boardgames kind of girl and over time had built an impressive collection Bucky oh so gladly sacrificed shelf space for. (Although today, no game box on the bookshelf was out of place. You didn’t own any games that could be played alone.)

For tonight, you had grabbed one of your books Bucky had gotten you on a bookshop date recently. Bucky had once glimpsed into it when you couldn’t stop squealing about it. It was filthy as fuck. He had been shocked that something with such a whimsical cover could be so dirty on the inside… But that author’s idea with the ties, the blindfold and the ice had been pretty fucking great.

Bucky stood very still, his eyes lovingly flickering over your calm features. Your rosy lips were slightly parted and a loose strand of hair had escaped and threatened to fall into your mouth. One of your hands was holding on to the collar of his sweater as if you had tried to fall asleep with his scent close to your senses.

There you were – his girl, his world, his everything.

He took a shuddering breath, snapping himself out of his brooding and silently stepping closer until he could bend down and carefully snake his arms around you. You let out a small sound in your sleep, not stirring unlike something else a little further down.

A protesting mrrrow! came from underneath the blanket and suddenly, a tiny white lightning shot out from the coziness and looked at him with outrage sparkling in her eyes.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth lifted.

At least Alpine was there for you… “Good girl.” He whispered to her and with it, the cat proudly snuggled up in his armchair and the girl in his arms sighed happily in her sleep.

God, he had missed you.

Somehow, although it was contradicting and should probably be mentioned to his therapist, this would be easier for him if you were furious with him. For missing dinner, for sometimes slipping only into bed late at night, for brooding over breakfast when his brain repeated a stupid thing he had said in front of cameras again and again and again.

But the thing was this. His girl was the gentlest person he knew. And never once had you been angry with him since he took up this job. Angry at stupid reporters? For sure. Angry at Valentina for being a lying cunt? (Your words, not his.) Definitely.

And even now, after another evening spent alone, your beautiful face was free from any frown. Bucky freed your legs from the blanket and effortlessly lifted you into his arms before he started to carry you towards your shared bedroom.

“Bucky?” You murmured sleepily just as he stepped over the threshold with you, his heart wanting to melt at your small voice thick with sleep.

“Shh, it’s just me, doll.” He replied quietly and pressed a light kiss to your temple. “Just got home. I’m putting you to bed, so you can be comfy, okay? Go back to sleep, it’s alright.”

You let out an unashamed yawn against his neck, the warm breath tickling his skin as your hand held on to the front of his shirt. Today at a short lunch, he had managed to spill sauce over it, but you didn’t seem to care much.

He reached the bed with you, holding you to his chest while he quickly drew back the covers with his other arm so he could gently place you down. He watched as your body melted into the bedding, the way you snuggled right into it similar to how Alpine looked when she cuddled with him. For the first time today, a real smile tugged at his lips.

“Did you eat?” You asked quietly, your cheek resting on his pillow as you rubbed your eyes.

His heart stung yet again. “I will, in a minute. Thank you for leaving me some. It looks amazing, I’m just going to change and-“

You let out a protesting whine when he tried to step back towards the attached bathroom, your hand quick to shoot out and grab his wrist. Bucky then saw something in your eyes you didn’t show often. Pleading.

“I’ll be right with you, I promise.” He said, lifting your hand to his lips to kiss every single knuckle of yours. Four silent promises. I’ll be better, I’ll be better, I’ll be… “I’ll keep the door open so you can see me, okay?”

That, you could tolerate.

Within the next few minutes, he somehow managed to slip into some new boxers and a sleep shirt while also eating your homemade pasta bowl, his clumsy multi-tasking all happening under your watchful eye. He smiled at you from time to time, his own exhaustion tugging at him and luring him into bed with you.

“It was delicious. You’re the best cook in the world, doll.” Bucky said and the bruising feeling in his heart intensified over how much he wished he would’ve been home earlier and able to say it over the dinner table to you. Maybe you would’ve slow-danced in the kitchen together after he’d done the dishes. Now, he’d never find out…

You beamed sleepily at his compliment, a satisfied smile on your face as you shifted and made space for him underneath the covers.

Something in him that always ran and never stopped came to a temporary halt as he found his place next to you. The sheets and your warmth were familiar to him as a quick grab to his gun holster, although altogether violently different.

You sighed happily as he put his arm around you and drew you to his chest, your body fitting perfectly against his side. He knew the hills and valleys of your body in and out, was a master at knowing what the smallest reaction from you meant and right now, everything about you was at ease. Finally.

Bucky silently kept track of your breath, noticing how it became more even as the time passed between you. He had tucked you in against him and your head rested on his chest, one warm hand splayed out on his stomach.

Mine, you seemed to say.

Yours, Bucky thought.

“I’m sorry for missing dinner.” He spoke regretfully into the dark space of the bedroom. You weren’t asleep yet, he could tell. He knew exactly how you breathed, how it hitched when you were thinking about something and how you sounded when he was kissing you, making love to you…and now, you were bedded on his chest, listening.

You moved, turning in his arms and needing the embrace to be closer. Rubbing your cheek against the soft fabric of his sleeping shirt, you murmured: “’s okay.”

“It’s not. You cooked.”

“I can cook again tomorrow.” It was between a statement and a question. Would he be here tomorrow?

“I would love that.” He whispered softly, his hand going in smooth and slow circles over your back. “But it’s not the point. I haven’t been a good boyfriend lately…”

You frowned at him. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true though.”

“No.”

“Doll-“

“It’s not true.”

“You deserve better-“

“Bucky.” The sudden sternness in your voice shut him up and your hand came to rest on his nape, drawing him down so his eyes could lock with yours. “No. You’re here now and that’s all that matters to me. You’re not less just because we’re not spending all twenty-four hours of the day together, although that literally sounds like heaven to me, okay? What you’re doing is important and I would never hold it against you.”

“You’re the most important to me.” He argued without force, sounding sad even to his own ears.

Something in you seemed to melt and you shuffled up so you could hold his cheek and kiss his forehead, then his lips, light as a butterfly. He chased your taste, a unique mix of your lip mask and the sweet treat of earlier, but you weren’t done yet.

“And you’re the most important one to me.” You replied gently, your smile so blinding with love for him, he almost would’ve looked away if he wasn’t so dependent on it, your happiness. “I’m not angry with you. So you shouldn’t be angry with yourself either. And as long as you come home to me at the end of the day, I’m the happiest you could make me, okay? It’s you, forever, Bucky.”

“Fuck, I love you so much.” He croaked, his strong arms wrapping themselves around your middle again to draw you impossibly close. You hummed in agreement, smiling against his neck as he buried his face in yours, breathing in the scent of your lingering perfume and body lotion. Your legs naturally tangled together with his and above the blankets it might’ve looked like you were melting together with him.

“I love you.” You whispered, like it was a cherished secret. “We’re okay. We’re always going to be okay together, yeah?”

“Yeah…” What good had he ever done to deserve the angel laying in his arms? “Okay, doll. Okay.”

You relaxed again, throwing one leg over his side and clinging to him like a lifeline. Behind your back, an oversized round plushie that usually took that job when he had to be out for the evening lay abandoned, or Alpine, who he could always rely on.

But god, was he happy that he was the one who got to hold you tonight.

Bucky listened to the sound of you slowly drifting towards a well-deserved sleep again, his thumb drawing smooth little circles into your shoulder, fingers occasionally slipping into your hair or softly scratching your scalp the way you liked it. He watched the shadows your lashes drew onto your cheeks, counted your freckles and the rise and fall of your chest until his eyes drooped for the first time.

“I don’t know if this job is for me…” He mumbled underneath his breath, tired and talking more to himself than you.

The blanket you shared rustled one more time as you lifted your chin and gently kissed his tense jaw, making it unclench. Your eyes were still closed when you said: “Then we’ll figure it out together, Buck.”

He let out a deep breath, the last bit of tension leaving his body at your simple affirmation and finally settling in for sleep with you.

Tomorrow, he’d cancel the meeting first thing. And he’d make a good and long breakfast for you with all the things you enjoyed. Maybe he’d take you to the quiet little park you both loved so much, hidden behind some old townhouses in Brooklyn. He’d go to the bookshops with you and carry your bags and in the evening, he’d make love to you for hours until your hearts beat in sync just like now.

Bucky knew you didn’t need him to, but he was going to make up for the time you’d been without him.

Your breath evened out and your hand in his became blissfully limp, protected and without a worry in the world with him close by. He kissed your temple one more time before he allowed his own eyes to close.

Bucky wasn’t sure about a lot of things in his life, but he was sure about you in it.

And he knew, however this life would look for him in the future, you would always be by his side, unflinching and fearless.

The love of his life and his forever.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾

[sixeyesonathiel]

love comes in small sizes

chapter one : fatherhood dlc unlocked!

pairing – ex situationship gojo x fem reader

summary : you and satoru have always been something—never labeled, never defined. from jujutsu high to stolen rooftop kisses, your dynamic is a mess of healing hands, half-confessions, and his infuriating habit of getting hurt just to keep your attention.

but when the weight of loss and pride tears you apart, you walk away—until fate (and a tiny, pink-backpack-wearing menace) drags you back into his orbit six years later.

tags –> canon divergence au, fluff, angst, humor, hurt/comfort, unlabeled relationship, grovelling satoru, secret child trope, reunions, miscommunications, second chances, happy ending for my own sanity

series masterlist. | collection m.list | next.

you and satoru gojo have always been something.

it’s just never been labeled.

from the moment you met at jujutsu high, he’s been a persistent force in your life—loud, overbearing, impossible to ignore. he pokes and prods, worms his way under your skin, grinning all the while like he knows exactly what he’s doing. and maybe he does. because despite your best efforts, despite the way you roll your eyes when he drapes himself over you or tugs at your sleeves like a child craving attention, you never really push him away.

it’s not just him, though.

because when he gets himself banged up on missions—when he returns with blood crusted at the edges of his uniform, bruises forming along his jaw, the scent of battle clinging to his skin—you’re always the first to reach for him. your hands glow with soft, golden light, the warmth of your cursed energy threading into his wounds, coaxing his body to knit itself back together. petals flicker at your fingertips, dissolving into faint sparks of vitality as you work, the remnants of your technique blooming in the air between you.

“you’re reckless!” you snap one evening, pressing your palm firmly against his shoulder where a deep gash is slowly knitting itself back together under your touch. his uniform is torn, the edges stiff with dried blood, and you can feel the way his muscles twitch beneath your fingers, still tense from the battle. “you always do this. you push yourself too far, like you think you’re invincible—”

“well,” satoru interrupts, flashing a toothy grin, his glasses pushed up just enough to reveal the brilliant blue of his eyes, “i kind of am.”

his voice is light, teasing, but you can feel the way he’s watching you—closely, carefully, like he’s waiting for something. the smirk he wears is easy, practiced, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, not when he’s tilting his head just slightly to the side, pressing into your touch like it’s the only thing anchoring him. and you hate that it works, that even now, even with blood still drying against his skin, he makes you want to soften. you press your fingers harder against his wound instead, ignoring the way he winces.

“not funny,” suguru chimes in from across the room, his voice steady, edged with something like exasperation. he’s lounging on the couch, flipping through a magazine like he’s only half-listening, but you know better—he’s watching, just like you are, waiting for satoru to take this seriously. “she’s right, you know. if you keep acting like you can’t get hurt, one day you will.”

“oh, come on,” satoru groans, tilting his head back against your lap dramatically, the weight of him pressing against your legs. his hair, messy from the fight, falls over his forehead in uneven strands, white against the deep red of his uniform. “not you too.”

shoko, sitting cross-legged on the floor, exhales a slow stream of smoke from her cigarette, her eyes lidded with fatigue. “they’re not wrong,” she mutters, flicking her gaze toward you. there’s something knowing in the way she looks at you, something amused. “you’re enabling him, you know.”

you scoff, fingers glowing faintly as the last of his wound seals shut beneath your touch. the golden light of your cursed technique flickers briefly, petals of energy curling along his skin before fading. “i am not enabling him,” you argue, shaking your head. “i’m keeping him alive.”

“see?” satoru grins, nudging your thigh with the back of his hand, the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your pants. “she cares about me.”

shoko scoffs. “no one’s arguing that.”

suguru finally glances up, closing his magazine with a quiet thud, something unreadable in his expression. “just don’t let him drag you down with him.”

your fingers still against satoru’s skin for just a fraction of a second, your breath catching in your throat before you shake your head, forcing yourself to keep moving. “as if.”

but suguru just hums, unconvinced.

and maybe he has a point.

because this is your dynamic: you take care of satoru, and he lets you. you worry, and he pretends there’s nothing to worry about. he teases, you scold, he grins, you sigh. and beneath it all, something quiet lingers, something neither of you are willing to name.

and if he lets himself get wounded just once, just enough for you to heal him—if he lets a single well-timed hit slip past his defenses, allows an enemy to believe, for the briefest moment, that they’ve bested him—well. that’s his secret.

it’s calculated, precise, a game only he knows he’s playing. he times it perfectly, choosing the kind of wound that won’t alarm you too much, won’t make you furious enough to see through him. a shallow cut here, a bruised rib there—just enough to warrant your hands on him, to feel the warmth of your cursed energy bloom against his skin. because no one touches him like you do. no one else can.

you’re careful with him, always, even when you’re mad—especially when you’re mad. your fingers press firmly against his skin, your lips pressed together in concentration, a deep furrow between your brows that he finds himself staring at more often than he should. your cursed energy hums through him, soothing in a way nothing else ever is, wrapping around him like petals caught in the wind—delicate, fleeting, something he wants to hold in his hands but knows will slip through his fingers if he grips too tightly.

so he watches you, through half-lidded eyes, through lashes that are a little too long and glasses that slip just slightly down the bridge of his nose. he commits the moment to memory—the feel of you, the way you hover so close but never quite meet his gaze, like looking at him too long will make you realize something you don’t want to. he wants you to realize it. he wants you to notice the way his breathing slows under your touch, the way he always finds a reason to lean just a little closer.

but you never do. or maybe you just pretend not to.

so he lets himself get hurt, just enough. lets himself have this, just for a little while longer. because if a single wound is the price for your hands on him, for the way you fuss and scold and heal him all the same, then—well. that’s a price he’s more than willing to pay.

but then, one summer night, something shifts.

it’s late—too late to be sneaking around campus, but that’s never stopped him before. the air is thick with the lingering warmth of the day, cicadas humming lazily in the distance. the two of you are perched on the roof of the dorms, your legs dangling over the edge, the wind stirring your hair as you watch the city lights flicker beyond the trees. it’s peaceful, or at least it should be, but satoru is shifting beside you, too fidgety, too present, like he’s itching to say something but hasn’t quite figured out how.

“so.” he nudges you with his elbow, his sunglasses pushed up into his hair, silver strands catching in the glow of the moon. his eyes, unshielded, are startlingly bright even in the dim light, a vivid cerulean that traps every flicker of movement like a kaleidoscope. “you like anyone?”

you glance at him, raising an eyebrow, unimpressed. “what?”

he grins, but there’s something a little too deliberate about it, the corner of his mouth curling just so. “you know. anyone in particular? anyone special?”

it’s meant to be casual. lighthearted. but there’s something just beneath the surface, something careful and quiet in the way he’s looking at you. his fingers tap idly against his knee, his posture loose, but you can feel the tension coiled just beneath his skin, like he’s holding his breath.

you hum, pretending to think, tilting your head slightly. “maybe.”

his grin widens, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “yeah?”

“yeah.” you tap your fingers against the edge of the rooftop, the faintest flicker of cursed energy sparking at your touch, like an afterthought. the air shifts, charged with something unspoken, something weightier than the teasing banter you’re used to. “he’s a pain in the ass, though.”

“must be a great guy.” his voice is light, but there’s an edge to it, something strained and expectant.

“oh, he is.” you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, watching the way his jaw tenses just slightly. his lips part like he wants to say something, but no words come. “except he never shuts up.”

“rude.” he gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense, his other hand bracing against the rooftop beside you. he’s closer now, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the faint brush of his knee against yours. “i am a fantastic listener.”

you snort. “sure, satoru.”

but he’s still watching you, still leaning just a little too close, his breath feather-light against your skin. the glow of the city lights flickers in his eyes, catching on the sharp angles of his face, softening the usual mischief in his expression into something quieter, something almost careful. his lips part like he wants to say something, but he hesitates, tongue flicking out to wet them before he closes his mouth again. his fingers twitch against the rooftop, curling and uncurling like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you, like the only thing keeping him still is the weight of whatever he’s holding back.

and then, just as you’re about to look away—

“you know,” he says, voice softer now, like he’s testing the weight of his own words, “if you did like me, i wouldn’t mind.”

your breath catches, the warmth of the night suddenly pressing too close, thick and stifling against your skin. cicadas drone in the distance, but the sound barely registers, drowned out by the rushing in your ears, the quickening of your pulse. the wind stirs your hair, cool against the heat creeping up your neck, but it does nothing to ground you when he’s right there, close enough that you can see the way his lashes flutter, the way his throat bobs as he swallows. the moment stretches, fragile and precarious, balanced on the edge of something neither of you can quite name.

he shrugs, tilting his head like it doesn’t mean anything, like he hasn’t just shifted the entire atmosphere between you. “i think we’d be good together.” the words are light, almost offhand, but his fingers betray him again, tightening into fists against his knees before forcing themselves to relax. his lips twitch at the corners, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk—something caught between expectation and defense, bracing himself for whatever comes next. the confidence in his voice doesn’t match the way his body betrays him, and it hits you then—he’s nervous.

your heartbeat quickens, hammering against your ribs, the weight of his words settling into your chest with something sharp and dizzying. you swallow, throat suddenly dry, fingers pressing against the rooftop like you need something to hold onto. “is that so?” your voice is steadier than you expect, but there’s something uncertain about the way it lingers between you, something questioning, something hopeful.

“yeah.” his gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t drop, doesn’t shift away like he’s waiting for you to call his bluff. he leans in, just barely, just enough for his knee to brush yours, for his breath to ghost against your cheek, for the air between you to thin into nothing. “it is.” 

he’s waiting. you could push him away, laugh it off like you always do. you could pretend this is just another one of his games.or—

you let the moment stretch, your fingers tightening in your lap, cursed energy sparking faintly against your skin. the world narrows, the sound of the cicadas fading, the city lights blurring at the edges of your vision. and then, before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let yourself hesitate, you lean in, pressing your lips to his.

he makes a small sound of surprise—quickly swallowed by the way he cups your face, the way he kisses you like he’s been waiting forever. his hand slips to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, his touch warm and sure. he leans into you, pressing closer, like he wants to drown in the moment, like he wants to lose himself in you.

and maybe he does.

because the next thing you know, he’s pulling you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist, his grip possessive in a way that makes your breath hitch. his infinity is off, the faint hum of his technique gone, and it’s only then that you realize—he wants this. wants to feel you, every point of contact, every shiver that runs through you as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone.

“satoru.” you murmur, fingers curling against his chest.

he exhales a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “just let me have this.” he whispers, and for once, there’s no teasing lilt to his voice. no cocky bravado. just quiet, aching sincerity.

the night stretches on, the cicadas singing their endless summer song, and somewhere between the tangled sheets and the soft, breathless laughter, you think—maybe he’s been waiting for you, too.

after that night, everything changes.

not all at once—at first, it’s subtle. the way satoru lingers a little too long when he passes you in the hallways, his fingers ghosting against your wrist before he pulls away like it never happened. the way he leans in when you speak, as if he needs to hear every single word, as if your voice is something he can’t go without. the way his gaze finds you in a crowded room, even when you’re not looking back, even when you pretend you don’t feel it burning into your skin.

but then, it happens again.

it happens when he grabs your wrist after training, dragging you away before you can protest, his grip loose but insistent. “come on, let’s go. training is boring, and it’s not like you need it—you already have a god-given talent. or, well, a you-given talent, i guess.” he flashes that insufferable grin, the one that makes it impossible to say no, the one that makes it feel like you’re the only one who matters. his thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist before he lets go, like he’s reluctant to lose the contact. like he’s testing a boundary neither of you are willing to acknowledge.

it happens when he shoves a half-melted ice cream into your hands, his own already half-eaten, a smudge of chocolate at the corner of his mouth. “i got your favorite,” he says, like it’s nothing, like he didn’t memorize the exact flavor you picked out the last time. and when you reach out with your thumb, swiping the chocolate away, his mouth closes over your finger without hesitation—lips warm, tongue flickering against your skin, blue eyes watching your reaction like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

but you don’t.

it happens when you end up pressed against the side of a vending machine, his hands braced on either side of you, his breath warm against your cheek. the fluorescent lights flicker, his sunglasses slipping just low enough for you to see his eyes—half-lidded, unreadable, something unspoken resting just behind them. he tilts his head, his lips brushing against yours, not quite a kiss, but close enough that it feels like one. and when you let out a slow, shaky breath, his fingers skim against your waist, trailing up the fabric of your uniform, just light enough to make you shiver.

it happens when he sneaks into your dorm after curfew, flopping onto your bed like he owns it, his hair messy from the wind, the scent of the night still clinging to his clothes. “move over,” he complains, but he’s already pressing against your side, already hooking his chin over your shoulder, already making himself at home in your space like he belongs there. and when you sigh, when you give in, he grins against your skin, his hand slipping beneath the hem of your shirt like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

and then, it just keeps happening.

but it also happens in other ways.

like when you fall asleep in class, forehead pressed against your arm, and you wake up to find his jacket draped over your shoulders, the faintest trace of his scent lingering in the fabric. you don’t mention it, don’t thank him, but the next time he dozes off, you tug your scarf loose and wrap it around his neck, watching the way his lips twitch in something like satisfaction even in sleep.

or when he holds his umbrella over your head instead of his own when it rains, his hair dripping wet, grinning like an idiot when you call him stupid. “what? i have my own built-in defense system,” he teases, tapping his temple like he’s making a point. but he doesn’t turn infinity on, not once, even when the water beads against his skin, soaking through his shirt. even when you huff and tug him under the umbrella properly, even when he bumps his shoulder against yours and murmurs, “see? you do care.”

or when he shoves a handful of candies into your pocket, grinning when you shoot him a confused look. “i know you like these.” he says, voice light, offhanded, like it isn’t something he noticed just from watching you. later, you find a small sticky note tucked between them, a doodle of himself with his tongue sticking out, with tiny scribbled words beneath: for when you miss me. you will.

it’s not a relationship, not exactly. neither of you say anything about it, neither of you try to define it. but there’s a shift between you now, something thick and heavy in the air, something that settles in the pit of your stomach whenever he looks at you like that.

like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

like he knows you won’t.

and when it happens again—when his lips finally, finally press against yours, when his weight settles over you, pinning you down in a way that makes your breath hitch—there’s no hesitation. there’s no teasing remark, no cocky grin, just the warmth of his hands on your skin, just the quiet hum of satisfaction when you pull him closer. he doesn’t turn infinity on, doesn’t keep any distance between you, lets himself feel you completely, like some lovesick idiot. like he wants to remember exactly how this moment feels, how you feel.

shoko notices first.

it’s not even subtle—the way she leans back against the school’s rooftop railing, cigarette dangling from her lips, eyes half-lidded in amusement as she watches you fuss over satoru’s scraped knuckles. he’s practically melting under your touch, his head tilting slightly as if he’s trying to press more into your palm without making it obvious. you’re focused, brows drawn together, lips pursed in mild annoyance at his carelessness, but your hands are gentle, fingers skimming over his skin with practiced ease. his long legs are stretched out in front of him, his glasses perched low on his nose, letting you see the way his bright blue eyes soften when they flicker up to meet yours.

“so, are you two, like… a thing?” shoko asks, lazily exhaling a puff of smoke, watching the way satoru’s mouth twitches at the question.

“no,” you say immediately, your voice firm, but at the same time, satoru hums, “hmm, maybe?”

your head snaps toward him, brows raising in disbelief, while he merely grins like he expected this reaction. his free hand comes up to push his sunglasses up properly, but the motion is slow, languid, like he’s trying to keep his grin hidden behind his palm. shoko lets out a snort, flicking the ash off the tip of her cigarette, unimpressed.

“yeah, okay.”

suguru is quieter about it, but he doesn’t need to say anything. it’s in the way his gaze lingers when satoru drapes himself over you, in the way his lips twitch like he’s holding back a knowing smile whenever you roll your eyes but don’t push satoru away. when satoru unceremoniously drops himself onto your lap one afternoon, long limbs sprawling across the bench, suguru doesn’t comment. he just looks at you, looks at the way your fingers absently thread through satoru’s hair, the way his lashes flutter at the contact, and he knows.

“you’re really serious about her, huh?” suguru muses one evening, when it’s just the two of them on the rooftop, the sky bleeding into shades of deep purple and burnt orange.

satoru scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, but there’s no real bite to it. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

suguru only shrugs, turning his gaze toward the horizon, the wind ruffling his dark hair. “nothing. just wondering.”

but if there’s one thing about suguru, it’s that he doesn’t wonder about things unless he already knows the answer.

still, life goes on. there are missions, there are late-night walks, there are stupid jokes and stolen glances and moments where the world feels like it’s standing still, like it will always be this way. satoru still rests his chin on your shoulder when he’s bored, still tugs on your sleeve when he wants your attention, still lets his infinity down when you touch him. suguru still watches with quiet amusement, still nudges satoru’s foot under the table when he gets too obvious, still exchanges glances with shoko that say this idiot is hopeless. everything feels steady, like nothing could possibly go wrong.

until it does.

until riko amanai dies. until satoru comes back from that mission looking—different.

his presence is still overwhelming, still too much, but there’s something sharp underneath it now, something cold that wasn’t there before. his shoulders are broader, his stance heavier, his hands looser at his sides, like he’s more aware of their power now. he’s grinning, like always, like nothing’s changed, but it doesn’t reach his eyes—not really. the endless blue of them looks deeper now, like a well with no bottom, like something in him has caved in and been swallowed whole. he’s stronger, untouchable, but suddenly, it feels like he’s farther away than he’s ever been.

and worse than that—suguru is slipping.

you feel it before you fully understand it. the way his voice is quieter, the way his patience wears thinner, the way he sighs more often, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s tired in a way that sleep won’t fix. his words become sharper, his glances more distant, and when you reach for him—when you try to hold onto whatever is still left—he only offers you a fleeting smile, a ghost of what it used to be.

one day, you watch satoru and suguru stand side by side, just like always—just like they always have. satoru is saying something, something cocky and arrogant and so typically him, but suguru doesn’t bite back the way he used to. he just listens, nods absently, something unreadable flickering in his expression. and for the first time, it feels like there’s a canyon between them, a chasm that wasn’t there before, widening with every passing second.

you don’t know it yet, but things will never be the same again.

one year passes.

twelve months, fifty-two weeks, three hundred and sixty-five days—each one dragging by in a haze, dissolving into the next like watercolors bleeding together. sometimes, satoru forgets where he is, what day it is, what he was supposed to be doing before his mind wandered again. everything feels muted, muffled, like he’s watching the world through a fogged-up window. time keeps moving, but nothing feels real.

suguru is gone.

satoru barely blinks when it happens. it should feel like something—something bigger, something louder, something that shakes the world the way it shakes his chest. but all he does is sit there, in the quiet aftermath of his best friend’s defection, listening to yaga’s words like they’re coming from underwater. the room is too small, too tight, pressing against the edges of his skin, and yet he’s weightless, floating in some vast nothingness where things don’t really matter. his fingers twitch, restless, aching for something to crush between them, but what’s the point? if he destroys the walls, the floor, the entire goddamn building, it won’t bring suguru back. it won’t change a thing.

he doesn’t remember leaving the room, but suddenly he’s outside, staring at the sky. it’s clear, painfully so, stars scattered across the darkness like someone thought to mock him with how vast it is. the wind tugs at his uniform, cool against his too-warm skin, and still, he doesn’t feel anything. it doesn’t make sense. none of it does. suguru wouldn’t leave. suguru is—was—his other half, the one who understood him in ways no one else could. he has you, he has shoko—but it’s not the same. it will never be the same. satoru is the strongest. the strongest doesn’t lose things.

except now he has. and no matter how tightly he grips the edges of his own world, everything still slips through his fingers.

you find him there, quiet for once, his head tilted back as he watches the stars. the moonlight catches on his white hair, turning it almost silver, his sunglasses hanging loosely between his fingers. you don’t say anything right away, just stand beside him, close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his. he’s grateful for that, the silent understanding, the way you don’t push him to talk when he doesn’t want to. but it’s you—you—and eventually, your voice cuts through the thick, choking air.

“come inside, satoru.”

he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “not yet.”

you hesitate, then sigh, your fingers brushing over his sleeve. it’s light, barely there, but he still feels it. you’re real. that’s something, at least.

“you can’t keep doing this.”

he doesn’t know what you mean—staring at the sky? ignoring everything? pretending suguru didn’t leave?—but he just laughs, a short, hollow sound, and grins at you like none of this matters. like he isn’t crumbling under the weight of something he refuses to name. “doing what?”

you don’t smile back.

you don’t say anything at all.

but your fingers tighten against his sleeve, just for a second, just enough for him to feel the warmth of you before you step away.

and he can’t—he won’t—let that happen.

before you can take another step, his fingers close around your wrist, pulling you back toward him. it’s not gentle, but it’s not rough either—just firm, desperate in a way he won’t let himself acknowledge. you stumble slightly, your palm landing against his chest, and he doesn’t let you move away.

“don’t,” he says, barely above a whisper. his voice is raw, frayed at the edges, like he’s holding something back. his fingers tighten, his grip the only thing grounding him. “not yet.”

your eyes search his, looking for something, anything, but he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to give you. he only knows that he needs you to stay.

“satoru…” your voice wavers, and he hates it—hates that you sound like you pity him, hates that you might see him for what he really is. but you don’t pull away.

his free hand lifts to your face, brushing against your cheek, barely there, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he holds too tightly. you don’t. you stay.

and then you’re kissing him. or maybe he’s kissing you. it doesn’t matter—he just knows that your lips are warm, that your hands clutch at his jacket, that he’s losing himself in the way you breathe against his mouth. it’s messy, uncoordinated, more about needing than anything else. he doesn’t care.

he just wants.

it doesn’t take long before he’s pushing you inside, backing you into his room, his grip never loosening. you let him. maybe you need this too. maybe you need something real just as much as he does.

it’s not love. not really. it’s a desperate, clumsy attempt to hold onto something—each other, maybe, or just the pieces of a world that’s slipping through both of your fingers. it’s the press of his body against yours, the way his hands shake against your skin, the way neither of you speak because there’s nothing left to say.

when it’s over, you stay, your fingers tracing idle patterns against his skin. his arms are loose around you, his breathing slow, almost steady. but he’s not asleep. he won’t sleep. not tonight.

his grip tightens just slightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. it’s unhealthy. he knows it. you do too. but neither of you move.

not yet.

a month later, you come to him late at night, standing in his doorway like you’re already bracing for a fight. your arms are crossed tight over your chest, fingers gripping at the fabric of your sleeves, like you need something to hold on to. your weight shifts from one foot to the other, hesitant, uncertain, like you’re not sure if you should even be here. but your eyes—your eyes are worried. tired. heavy with something he can’t quite name yet, but it makes his stomach twist all the same.

“satoru, we need to talk.”

he groans, throwing himself back onto his bed like a petulant child, limbs sprawled carelessly across the sheets. his uniform jacket is crumpled beneath him, the collar tugging awkwardly at his neck, but he doesn’t bother fixing it. instead, he throws an arm over his eyes, sighing dramatically. “ugh, if this is about me skipping out on yaga’s stupid lectures again—”

“it’s not about that.”

your voice is clipped, firm in a way that makes his fingers twitch where they rest against his forehead. something in your tone makes him hesitate, but he doesn’t sit up just yet, doesn’t acknowledge the way his stomach knots at the sharp edge of it. instead, he props himself up on one elbow just enough to grin at you, lopsided and careless, blue eyes glinting in the dim light of his room. “then what? are you finally confessing your undying love for me?”

you exhale sharply through your nose, pressing your lips together so tightly they pale at the edges. your jaw tightens—not in frustration, but in restraint, like you’re biting back words you can’t afford to say. for the first time since you walked in, your gaze flickers away, dipping down toward the floor, then back up again. “satoru.”

his smirk falters.

it’s barely noticeable, the shift so subtle that most people wouldn’t catch it—but you’re not most people, and you always notice. he covers it up with a roll of his shoulders, a quick raking of fingers through his hair, but he can’t stop the way his chest tightens, the way something uneasy coils deep in his gut.

he doesn’t like it.

you take a breath, shoulders rising and falling with it, like you’re steadying yourself. your stance shifts, one foot moving slightly behind the other, like you need an escape route, just in case. “i—”

“’cause i mean, it’s pretty obvious.” he barrels right over whatever you were about to say, voice light, teasing—too quick. he leans back against the pillows, arms crossed behind his head, a lazy grin stretching across his lips. “can’t blame you, really. i am incredibly handsome. the strongest, too—”

“satoru, this is serious.”

your voice cuts through his like a knife.

his grin twitches, faltering at the edges, but he doesn’t let it fall completely. instead, he groans, sitting up in one fluid motion, his frustration bleeding through in the way he rakes a hand through his hair. his bangs fall messily over his forehead, but he doesn’t push them back this time. “yeah, yeah, everything is serious with you lately.” his words come out sharper than he intends, but he doesn’t stop. “you know, you used to be fun. we used to be fun. now all you do is worry, and nag, and—”

you flinch.

it’s small. barely a twitch of your fingers, a quick inhale, a tightening of your shoulders. but he sees it, and the moment he does, regret clenches in his throat.

too late.

your fingers curl in on themselves, your nails pressing into your palms. your expression remains composed, but he sees the cracks forming—the slight tremble in your exhale, the way your shoulders stiffen as if bracing for impact. “satoru, i need to tell you something.”

his pulse kicks up.

it’s barely noticeable, the way his fingers tighten around the fabric of his pants, but you’re not most people, and you always notice. there’s something about the way you say it—something final, something that makes his skin prickle with the kind of unease he can’t shake.

he doesn’t let you.

“what? that i’m reckless? that i’m changing?” he cuts in, sharp and bitter, words laced with something dangerously close to something real. something he doesn’t want to name. “yeah, i’ve heard it all before.”

“satoru—”

“what do you want me to do, huh?” his voice rises, frustration twisting into something uglier, something more desperate. “cry about it?”

a long, heavy pause.

your face shifts—something breaking, something splintering right in front of him, and he hates it. your gaze flickers downward, away from his, away from the conversation entirely. your fingers curl tighter, drifting to your stomach, barely grazing the fabric of your shirt like—

he doesn’t get the chance to figure it out. because whatever it is, whatever you were going to say, it dies before it can even reach him.

you exhale, slow and measured. your fingers curl deeper into your sleeves, knuckles turning white, tension wound so tight in your shoulders that it hurts. there’s something unreadable in your expression, something quiet and distant, and for the first time in a long time, satoru doesn’t know what you’re thinking. the uncertainty makes his skin itch, makes his stomach turn. and then, finally—

“nevermind. i’m leaving.”

he scoffs, an ugly, humorless sound, sharp and bitter in the stillness between you. his lips curl, not in a grin, but in something twisted, something that doesn’t reach his eyes. “yeah, right.”

but you don’t roll your eyes. you don’t laugh. you don’t give him the reaction he’s expecting, the easy back-and-forth that makes it all feel normal. you just look at him—long and quiet and sad, your fingers still trembling where they clutch your sleeves.

“i’m serious.”

his chest feels tight, like he’s breathing in smoke, like his ribs are about to crack under the weight of something he refuses to name. the words don’t settle right in his ears, don’t make sense in his head, don’t belong in your mouth. you don’t leave. not him. not this.

but then you say it—you tell him you can’t do this anymore, that you’re leaving jujutsu society, that you can’t watch him become someone he’s not. your voice is steady, but there’s something fragile in it, something raw at the edges, like you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him. you say it like a choice, like something you’ve decided on, but all he can hear is that you’re leaving him.

and it makes him panic.

so he does what he always does when he panics—he lashes out.

“fine, go then.” his voice is venomous, cutting, every syllable sharpened into a weapon. he means for it to hurt. he needs it to hurt. “if you really think i’m so hopeless, just leave like he did.”

the second it’s out of his mouth, he wants to take it back.

because you freeze. because something inside you cracks, visible in the way your breath hitches, in the way your fingers curl into your palm like you need to hold something, anything, just to keep yourself together.

your mouth opens—then closes.

whatever words were lingering on your tongue, whatever truth you had been about to give him, they wither before they can take shape. they don’t belong here, not after what he’s said. not when he’s already decided to throw you into the same abyss as him. the realization settles in your chest like something sharp, something splintered, pressing against your ribs.

he doesn’t deserve to know. he doesn’t even want to know. so you just nod, slow and deliberate, as if committing this moment to memory—his face twisted with something between anger and regret, his fingers curled so tightly into the fabric of his pants that his knuckles go white. something hollow settles in your gaze, something distant, something final.

then you turn around.

and you walk away.

but just before you cross the threshold, just before the distance between you stretches into something permanent, you pause. your hand lingers on the doorframe, fingers splayed against the wood, as if you’re waiting—waiting for him to stop you, to say anything that might make this easier, to give you even the smallest reason to stay.

he doesn’t.

so you exhale, steady and soft, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper. “i hope it’s worth it, satoru.”

he doesn’t ask what is ‘it’—his pride, his stubbornness, his refusal to let you in—because he knows. he knows. then you leave, and he watches you go, convinced you’ll come back.

(you don’t.)

six years pass him by, and it’s safe to say that it wasn’t worth it.

he never says it out loud—never lets the words leave his lips, never even lets himself think them too long—but the truth lingers, settling deep in his bones like a slow, creeping ache. he feels it in the way silence stretches too long in his apartment, in the way he still catches himself pausing at the door, expecting to hear your voice. it’s in the way his fingers twitch, like they still remember the shape of your wrist in his grasp, the way his bed feels too big now, empty in a way that nothing else quite fills. he tells himself it doesn’t matter. that he doesn’t care.

(he does.)

at first, he’s bitter. you left him. you gave up on him. just like he did.

the thought twists, ugly and sharp, digging into the tender parts of him that he refuses to acknowledge. he doesn’t dwell on it. won’t. he has better things to do, more important things—missions, responsibilities, a world that won’t stop turning just because he wants it to. so he throws himself into work, into being the strongest, into playing the role that everyone expects of him. if he keeps moving, if he keeps winning, maybe—maybe—he won’t have to think about what he lost.

but then the quiet comes.

it always does.

he can hold it off for a while, can drown it out in the noise of battle, the weight of duty, the voices of the students he’s taken under his wing. but eventually, when the dust settles and the world slows, when it’s just him and the empty space where you used to be, the silence seeps in, heavy and suffocating. it presses against his ribs, sits in the hollow of his chest, winds around his throat like something clawing for a home. and in those moments, there’s no ignoring it.

he dreams about you.

sometimes, they’re good. warm. the kind that make him wake up reaching for something that isn’t there. he dreams of your laughter—light and careless, curling around the edges of his mind like something precious. he dreams of your touch—the way you used to smooth your hands over his shoulders when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the way your fingers would toy with the hem of his uniform absentmindedly, like you didn’t even realize you were doing it. he dreams of the way you used to look at him, with something so soft in your eyes, something he never knew how to name.

but other times, the dreams aren’t good.

sometimes you’re standing at the door, gaze unreadable, voice soft as you whisper, “i hope it’s worth it.” sometimes you’re walking away, and no matter how fast he moves, how desperately he reaches, he can’t catch up. sometimes you turn back, but there’s nothing left in your expression, like you’ve already disappeared, like you were never really there. and sometimes—sometimes, you don’t look back at all.

he thinks about looking for you. about dropping everything and scouring the world until he finds you, because if anyone can, it’s him.

but if you wanted to be found, you wouldn’t have left.

so he lets you go. or at least, he tries to. he tells himself it’s for the best, convinces himself that this—this missing, this hollow ache, this unbearable emptiness—is just another thing he has to live with. 

at least he pretends to.

and satoru seeing you again in what supposed to be an another monotone day clearly doesn't help his already pathetic facade.

he wasn't expecting to see you again, he dreamt about it often, that much is true but not like this.

not in the middle of a crowded mall, washed in artificial light, where the air smells faintly of buttered popcorn and overpriced coffee. not with the hum of idle chatter pressing in from all sides, footsteps tapping against the polished tiles, distant laughter ringing from a store playing a song he doesn’t recognize. not standing in front of a shelf filled with pastel notebooks and gel pens, head tilted in quiet contemplation as you skim the label of a glittery-covered planner. not looking so much like you that it knocks the breath from his lungs, like he’s been punched in the gut by the weight of time itself.

six years apart, and yet, seeing you now—nothing has changed.

your fingers still tap absently against the book’s spine, your brow still creases just slightly in thought, your weight still shifts from one foot to the other in that familiar, absentminded sway. it's the same little habits he used to watch from across a classroom, half-listening to you scold him for never taking notes, grinning when you’d huff in exasperation, muttering something about how even if you copied mine, you’d still flunk the test, gojo. it’s muscle memory now, the way he leans forward ever so slightly, the way his lips part to call your name before he even realizes it.

for a split second, he forgets the passage of time, forgets that you aren’t seventeen anymore, that he isn’t either, that the six-year gap between then and now has swallowed whole everything that was once soft between you.

somewhere between one breath and the next, his feet move on their own. he doesn’t remember closing the distance, but suddenly he’s there—standing right beside you, close enough to see the way the artificial lighting catches on the curve of your lashes, close enough that his pulse trips over itself in something stupidly close to nerves.

“woah,” he blurts out before he can stop himself, because he’s never been good at thinking before speaking, never been good at silence. his voice comes out rougher than he means, cracking on something fragile, so he leans into bravado, tilting his head with a grin like this doesn’t feel like the start of something dangerous. “didn’t take you for the cute little stationery type.”

you freeze.

not in an obvious way. it’s a flicker, a split-second hesitation, just the faintest shift in your shoulders, the way your fingers still against the spine of the planner. it’s long enough that something in his chest tightens, long enough that he wonders if you might run.

then, finally, you turn to him.

and satoru, for all his power, for all his foresight, for all his years of learning how to predict and anticipate—he’s completely unprepared.

your face is the same. but not really. the softness he remembers is still there, but refined, tempered into something quieter, something heavier. time has carved something sharper into the delicate lines of your features, something weary, something distant, something closed. and when your eyes meet his, something ugly churns in his gut at how unfamiliar it feels, how your gaze doesn’t hold him the way it used to—how it skims over him like he’s anyone else.

and then you open your mouth.

your lips part, hesitation flickering in your gaze, the faintest shift of your brows betraying something unreadable—something he isn’t sure he wants to name. for a moment, your throat bobs like you might say something else, something more, but then your expression settles into something carefully neutral. practiced. distant.

“gojo.”

not satoru. never satoru.

his stomach twists, and for a brief second, he hates himself for expecting anything different. of course, it would be gojo. of course, you would opt to say his last name like it belonged to a stranger, disregard his first name like it was just a word, just a title—like you hadn’t once whispered it into his skin, like it hadn’t once meant home.

he exhales sharply, a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth, though it feels stiff, foreign, like it doesn't quite fit on his face anymore. his hands shove into his pockets, his shoulders rolling with a forced ease, but the tension lingers, settling somewhere in his spine.

“so,” he drawls, playing it easy, playing it light, playing it like the years between you never happened, “you a teacher now? or just hoarding sparkly pens?”

there’s a flicker of something—amusement, maybe, or the ghost of it—passing through your expression. fleeting. barely there. but he catches it, latches onto it like a dying man gasping for air, like proof that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t the only one drowning in this moment.

and then you exhale, a quiet huff—not quite a laugh, but close enough that something in his chest clenches, tight and aching.

“it’s not for me.”

not for you.

his fingers twitch before he can stop them, the urge to reach out settling deep in his bones like an instinct he thought he’d long buried. his six eyes, ever-perceptive, drink you in without permission, tracing every minute detail, cataloging every shift in your stance. the way your shoulders hover between tension and ease, the way your weight subtly shifts as if you’re fighting the impulse to move—toward him or away, he can’t tell. but it’s your hands that betray you the most, your thumb brushing absently against your palm, slow and methodical, a grounding habit, a tell he never got the chance to memorize.

and yet, for all the little details his sight clings to, it’s the absence of something that twists like a knife beneath his ribs.

the faint indentation on your finger. a whisper of what once was—or maybe what never came to be. a ring should have been there. but it isn’t.

hope is a sickness, and it spreads fast, coiling through him like wildfire, igniting something reckless, something desperate. before he can stop himself, before he can think—before he can remind himself that hope has never done him any favors—the words slip out, raw and unfiltered as he stepped closer. “then who—”

but you do something he doesn’t expect. you step back. not much. just an inch.

but it’s enough.

enough to silence him, to lodge something cold and sharp in the hollow of his chest. enough to remind him that time is not a wound that can be rewound, that the six years between you are filled with things he was never there to witness. enough to remind him that no matter how tightly he might want to cling to the past, you have already let it go.

your expression doesn’t falter, doesn’t crack, but there’s something in the way your lashes lower just slightly, in the way your lips press together, careful and deliberate. restraint, or maybe consideration—like you’re choosing your words with more care than he deserves.

“it was nice seeing you, gojo.”

was. past tense. final.

his stomach twists, his throat constricts. he hates how easily you say it, how effortlessly you close the door between you.

you turn to leave. his whole body locks up. he should let you go. if he were a better man, he would let you go.

but he’s never been a good man, has he? never been selfless, never been someone who could bear to lose something precious to him—not again, not again, not again—

“wait,” he blurts out, reaching for you—

but in the corner of his vision, something shifts.

small. deliberate.

he doesn’t see it.

doesn’t see the way a tiny figure leans forward from behind a display shelf, chin tilted up in blatant curiosity, eyes sharp and calculating. doesn’t see the way her fingers tighten around the straps of her pink, glittery backpack like she’s bracing herself for something—like she’s trying to piece together the scene before her with the unrelenting scrutiny of someone who refuses to be left out.

she isn’t hesitant. she isn’t uncertain.

she watches.

studies.

eyes flicking between you and him, her expression shifting through something unreadable—thoughtful, shrewd, maybe even the slightest bit unimpressed, like she’s already decided she doesn’t like what she’s seeing.

he doesn’t see her.

doesn’t see the way she plants her feet, stance wide like she’s ready to charge forward and insert herself into the conversation the way only a child with too much confidence can. doesn’t see the way her tiny mouth presses into a firm, stubborn line, the way her nose scrunches in concentration, the way her little fingers drum against her arm as if waiting for the right moment to interrupt.

because right now, for the first time in six years, he finally saw you again. he only sees you.

he can only see you.

satoru doesn’t breathe.

not at first.

not when you disappear from sight, not when the absence of your presence leaves behind something gaping, something cold, something he doesn’t have the words to name. six years. six years of nothing, of static, of moving forward because what else was there to do but move? and now—now you were here, now you were leaving again, and if he doesn’t do something, doesn’t say something—

before he can even take a step, before he can even exhale—a tiny, pointed presence looms at his side.

looming shouldn’t be a word that applies to a child. but here she is. cornering him.

when he finally registers her, she’s already staring up at him, blue eyes sharp, head tilted in deep, almost theatrical thought. her posture is relaxed, but not in the way a child’s should be—no fidgeting, no nervous glances, no uncertainty. instead, there is something deliberate in the way she plants her feet, how she clasps her hands neatly in front of her, how she breathes so evenly it’s like she’s assessing him.

the soft scent of vanilla clings to the air around her, mixed with something delicate, maybe peach-scented lotion. her sneakers—pink and white with sparkly laces—are pristine, barely creasing as she shifts her weight. her cardigan, worn off her shoulders like a fashion statement, matches the ribbons in her hair, and her ruffled socks peek out from beneath the hem of a dress that isn't a princess dress but might as well be with how carefully chosen it looks—pale pink with embroidered flowers, soft and dainty.

but the most striking thing about her, above all, is that she is him. down to the way her lips purse in contemplation.

she blinks. once. twice. assessing.

and then, with all the grace of a tiny, self-proclaimed noble who has just encountered a most peculiar sight, she tilts her chin up and announces—“ugh. you’re taller than i thought.”

satoru blinks down at the little diva frowning up at him, her brows furrowing like he’s already failed some unspoken test.

she is… dazzling.

for all the wrong reasons.

because that is his nose. those are his eyes.

the slope of them, the sharp, fox-like tilt—so much like his own that it knocks the air from his lungs. it’s all there in the way her gaze flickers between calculation and feigned indifference, in the way her lips purse in mild dissatisfaction, in the way she shifts her weight onto one foot, expectant. her presence is something deliberate, something intended, as if she is waiting for him to notice her. but that’s ridiculous, right? right?

his throat bobs, dry. he clears it anyway.

satoru barely catches himself before he lets out a laugh—sharp, surprised, incredulous. instead, he exhales through his nose, slow and careful, before slipping his sunglasses off and hooking them onto his collar. the world is suddenly too bright without them, but he needs to see her properly. he lowers himself to one knee, eye level with the little diva who stands before him, hands on her hips like she owns the entire shopping district.

“uh.” he cocks his head, scanning her face for any sign of hesitation. none. not a single crack in that unshakable confidence. “hey, kiddo? are you, uh… lost?”

the reaction is instantaneous.

she gasps—loud, dramatic, affronted.

both hands fly to her chest as though he’s just accused her of something heinous, scandalized horror flashing across her tiny face. her perfectly arched brows shoot up beneath the sharp cut of her bangs, pink lips parting with the kind of exaggerated disbelief that could only be described as theatrical. she takes a step back, but not like she’s retreating—no, she makes it look intentional, like a leading lady on stage setting up the perfect moment of tension.

“excuuuse me?” she demands, her tiny chin tilting higher, voice dripping with the kind of indignation only the truly self-assured can muster. her hands, small but precise in their movement, land imperiously on her hips. “do i look like a peasant who gets lost?”

satoru blinks.

for once, his mouth moves faster than his brain, but that doesn’t mean it makes sense. he opens his lips, closes them, then opens them again, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “uh—”

“i have an impeccable sense of direction,” she continues, not even sparing him a glance as she flicks her hair over her shoulder, her tiny fingers adjusting an imaginary crown. her eyes shut briefly—dramatic, self-important, as if recalling some great tragedy. “unlike mommy, who keeps walking the wrong way even with google maps.”

he startles.

it’s subtle, a twitch in his fingertips, a shift in his stance—so minor most wouldn’t even notice. but he does. he notices everything. the way her voice rounds out just slightly as she says mommy, the sharp, confident edge softening into something softer, something practiced. it’s natural, the way she says it, habitual, like it belongs to her in a way no other word does. there is no hesitation, no awkwardness, no resentment—only warmth.

only fondness.

or maybe he’s imagining things.

he’s still trying to process it when—

“anyway.” she rolls her eyes, slow and deliberate, like she’s giving him the benefit of the doubt and immediately regretting it. her voice is lighter now, offhanded, but the unimpressed arch of her brow makes it clear: he is wasting her time.

“let’s get back to business.”

his brows furrow. “business?”

“yes, business.” she plants a tiny hand on her hip like she’s about to announce the world’s next big fashion trend. her stance is commanding, legs slightly apart, the picture of confidence despite being barely three feet tall. “keep up.”

satoru isn’t sure what to expect, but it definitely isn’t this.

because the way she looks at him—no, studies him—is unnerving. there’s nothing idle about it, nothing remotely innocent. her gaze is razor-sharp as it sweeps from his feet to his head, dissecting every detail like she’s mapping out a blueprint only she understands.

the pristine uniform. the tall frame. the striking, almost unnatural contrast of white hair and blue eyes.

he's been stared at his whole life, but never like this—never like he's the one being judged. the gaze on him is unwavering, sharp, dissecting him piece by piece as if stripping him down to something more raw, more human. then, as if arriving at some profound conclusion, she lifts her tiny chin and flips her bangs with a small, decisive nod.

“you have white hair.”

her lashes lower slightly, a subtle shift in expression that tightens something in his chest.

“you have blue eyes.”

satoru’s pulse stutters.

before he can process the shift in atmosphere, she clasps her hands together, fingers lacing neatly over her chest. the movement is fluid, graceful, too composed for a child so young. it reminds him of a practiced performer, someone who understands the weight of gestures, of theatrics.

then, with the finality of a verdict, she nods again.

“i guess you’ll do.”

…do what now?

he stares, momentarily incapable of thought.

there is something deeply unsettling about being scrutinized by someone who barely reaches his waist. yet, there is an undeniable weight to the moment, a strange sort of gravity pressing against him. he can feel it—his own energy mirrored back at him, sharp and self-assured, too knowing for a child so young.

his lips part, but he isn’t even sure what he wants to ask.

the answer comes before he can find the question.

“so,” she announces, as if stating the obvious, “i need you to pretend to be my dad.”

satoru chokes.

the cough rattles his ribs, sharp and sudden, like his own body is rejecting the reality of what he just heard. he presses the back of his hand against his mouth, shoulders tensing, but it does little to stifle the noise. his throat burns with the effort, and yet, the words still echo in his mind, rearranging themselves into something even more absurd.

he drags his palm down his face. “come again?”

the menace—no, the tiny, immaculately dressed con artist—squints at him.

“are you hard of hearing?” she enunciates, slow and patient, like she’s explaining a simple concept to a particularly dense student. her small hands settle on her hips, fingers tapping in silent judgment, and the stance is so eerily familiar that it sends a ripple of unease down his spine. her chin tilts up, her expression unwavering—like she’s used to being the one in control of conversations, and the thought alone is terrifying. “i said, i need you to pretend to be my dad for a father’s day event at school.”

something in his stomach lurches.

his brain can’t keep up. the words don’t fit, don’t make sense, don’t align with anything logical. she says them with such ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but for him, it’s the equivalent of a meteor crashing into his reality.

his throat is suddenly dry. “that’s… uh…”

“obviously, i don’t have one. and you were talking to mommy earlier, so you must be one of her friends.” she shrugs, breezy, nonchalant, as if she’s discussing the weather.

but it is a big deal.

a very big deal.

his heart is pounding so fast he might actually pass out.

“mommy always comes with me, and i guess she’s cool and all,” she continues, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. the movement is casual, self-assured—the same unconscious confidence he had as a child. satoru watches, helpless, as she flicks the curl over her shoulder with a tiny sigh, her expression morphing into something contemplative. “but i pity her, y’know?”

his throat tightens.

“pity.” he repeats, blankly.

“yeah, like.” she exhales, weight shifting onto one foot, lashes fluttering like she’s the protagonist of a soap opera. “all the other kids have dads, and she’s stuck with me all the time.”

his breath catches.

she sighs again, deeply, dramatically, as if she’s making some grand sacrifice. her lower lip juts out ever so slightly, just enough to look a little more pitiful, like she’s spent time perfecting this exact expression. “so, i figured i’d do something selfless and find a dad for the day.”

satoru swallows, something thick and unnameable clogging his throat. “that’s… very generous of you.”

she preens. “i know, right?”

and then—she leans in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“but don’t tell mommy,” she warns, expression shifting in an instant. her eyes are dead serious, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her dress as if to physically hold the secret in place. “she’d get mad.”

his stomach drops.

the weight of her words slams into him with the force of a truck, hollowing out his insides. his pulse roars in his ears, loud enough to drown out the hum of the store’s overhead music, the chatter of passing customers, the clatter of shopping baskets. he feels it somewhere deep in his chest, a sensation not unlike free-falling—because of all the ways this day could’ve gone, this was never in the realm of possibility.

“mad?” he echoes, voice suddenly hoarse, the word barely scraping past the dryness in his throat.

“mhm.” she nods sagely, lowering her voice even further, like she’s sharing classified information. her tiny fingers tighten around the straps of her pink backpack, knuckles pressing into the glittery fabric as she leans in just a fraction more. her expression is thoughtful, brows furrowing slightly, as if she’s considering something heavier than a child her age should. “i think she still misses my real dad.”

satoru stops breathing.

his chest tightens, a sharp, unbearable squeeze, as if his ribs have turned into a vice, crushing him from the inside out. the world around him dulls, the chatter of passing shoppers fading into static, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing like a swarm of unseen locusts. the air in his lungs turns thick and heavy, refusing to move—because everything, everything, is falling into place so fast he can barely keep up.

the kid stationeries you were browsing, the set of pastel pens you picked up only to set them back down, like you were debating whether to buy them. the pink, glittery backpack in her hands, the same shade of obnoxious bubblegum pink he once claimed to hate, but now realizes he would buy in a heartbeat, no questions asked. the way she looks just like him—the sharp slant of her nose, the high curve of her cheekbones, the impossibly bright blue eyes that reflect his own like a taunt. even the way she stands, weight shifted slightly to one hip, tiny hands confidently gripping the straps of the backpack—like she already owns the space she stands in, like the world itself is just a little too small for her.

holy shit.

“anyway.” she huffs, as if he’s the one wasting her time, her small mouth curving into a pout of mild exasperation. she adjusts the straps of the backpack in her arms, shifting its weight against her chest, fingers drumming impatiently against the sequined fabric. she tilts her chin up ever so slightly, radiating a confidence that shouldn't belong to someone so tiny. “it’s on friday, 9:00 a.m., at kikyo kindergarten.”

he blinks, the words sluggish as they filter through his brain, like a broken radio signal cutting in and out. “what?”

“the event, duh.” she frowns, unimpressed, tilting her head with all the attitude of someone who cannot believe they have to repeat themselves. her lips press into a thin line, tiny shoulders rising as she takes a slow breath, like she’s summoning every ounce of patience she has to deal with an absolute idiot. “weren’t you listening?”

his mouth opens, then closes, then opens again, but nothing coherent comes out. “uh—”

“you better be there.” she declares, arms crossing over her chest, voice firm and unwavering, the kind of voice that does not take no for an answer. her stance shifts as she leans in closer, an almost imperceptible movement, but one that carries all the weight of an unspoken challenge—daring him to refuse, daring him to disappoint her. there is something unreadable in her gaze, something old and knowing, something far too perceptive for a child her age. “or else.”

his pulse jumps. “…or else?”

she meets his gaze head-on, unflinching, as if she already knows she has him backed into a corner. her small fingers tap against her arm, considering, calculating—then, her lips curl into a smile that is nothing short of mischievous.

“or else, i’ll tell mommy you tried to kidnap me.”

his soul leaves his body. “WHAT—”

“bye now!” she beams, the picture of innocence, her entire face transforming in real time, as if she didn’t just completely dismantle his entire world in the span of a conversation.

in real time, satoru watches his own child scam him.

his tiny daughter—his menace of a child—spins on her heel, dropping the entire conversation like it never happened. she prances away, light on her feet, twirling slightly as she rounds the aisle you disappeared into, her little frame swallowed by the shelves.

her voice, when she speaks, is a melody, high and sweet and utterly deceiving. “mommy! look! this is the backpack i want!”

satoru can only stay there. staring.

his breath is shallow, like his lungs have forgotten how to function, like his entire body is refusing to move, to react, to process what just happened. the world feels too sharp, too clear, yet somehow far away, like he’s watching himself from outside his own skin. the fluorescent lights above hum too loudly, the colors of the store seem too vivid, and the ground beneath his feet feels like it's seconds away from giving out.

his daughter just found him before he ever found her.

his hands feel cold. his mouth is dry. his brain, usually a relentless, unyielding machine, capable of dissecting complex battle strategies in seconds, is blank. utterly, hopelessly blank.

she’s real. she exists. she is his.

and she just walked away like it was nothing. like she didn’t just turn his world upside down. like she didn’t just unknowingly rip open a part of him that he didn’t even realize had been closed off.

satoru exhales, slow and shaky, dragging a hand down his face. it doesn’t help. he blinks rapidly, trying to reboot his system, but all he can hear is the echo of her tiny voice—matter-of-fact, unimpressed, brimming with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

he comes to terms with something horrifying.

his menace of a child just blackmailed him. she didn’t ask. she demanded. she set her terms, delivered her threat, and walked away like a goddamn professional.

the absolute audacity.

the sheer talent.

his chest swells, something warm and bright bubbling beneath the overwhelming shock. his lips twitch, his vision goes a little blurry, and then—a slow, unhinged grin spreads across his face.

he has never been more proud.

“holy shit,” he breathes, blinking rapidly, his pulse still hammering in his ears. then, after a long moment of processing the absolute scam he just walked into, he straightens, grips the nearest shelf for support, and mutters under his breath;

“she so gets that from me.”

a/n: any normal person would be horrified finding out they missed out years in their child's life but he's not any normal person sigh he's so silly

tag list: @akeisryna

comment to be added on the tag list xx

[neferaskingdom]

♡ Mini-Charles | CL16

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: He’s used to fans, but something about this tiny one in Suzuka hits different, and Charles can’t stop smiling. Mini-Charles 2026 pretty-please? you'd make such an amazing maman mon amour-

A/N: Chat I fear I cooked with this one. Mini-Charles literally made my ovaries almost burst, so I present thee with this little blurb.

CHARLES LECLERC MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

One of the best parts about the Japanese Grand Prix was always the fan stage. Rain or shine, Suzuka fans showed up in full force, enthusiastic, respectful, and often wildly creative. Charles had seen all kinds of things over the years—handmade banners, fans in full Ferrari suits, even one guy who brought a cardboard cutout of him as a saint to every single event. But this time, something, or rather someone, really stole the show.

It started when Charles was doing the fan Q&A alongside Lewis. He was mid-sentence, answering one fan’s question, when he noticed a flash of red near the front row. Not the usual Ferrari cap or flag, but something... smaller.

A child, maybe five or six years old, standing perfectly still with his hands on his hips in what could only be described as an exact replica of Charles’ fireproofs. Down to the logos. Even the custom detailing on the sleeves. He was wearing a mini version of Charles’ helmet too—full visor, the matte red and white colors perfectly matched. And the stance. God, he was standing exactly like Charles does when he’s focused in the garage.

Next to him were two girls around the same age. One was decked out in Max’s navy fireproofs and helmet, and the other had gone all out in papaya orange, even painting freckles on her cheeks like Lando. But it was the little Charles clone that made him pause mid-answer.

He leaned slightly toward Lewis, nodding subtly toward the kid.

"You seeing this?"

Lewis squinted. Then grinned. "Mini-you? Yeah. That kid's got your whole aura going on."

Charles laughed softly, eyes still glued to the boy. "He stands like me. That's terrifying."

"He's probably got the hand gestures down too."

Charles kept glancing at him throughout the session. Every time he looked, mini-Charles was looking back up at him, visor slightly tilted, tiny hands on his hips like he was part of the team.

It didn’t take long before a Ferrari PR staffer approached the boy’s guardian and arranged for them to come into the garage. Word traveled fast, and before Charles had even finished his media rounds, he heard, "Little Leclerc's in the garage!"

The name stuck immediately.

She found Charles in the Ferrari hospitality area a few minutes later, practically bouncing as he pulled her by the hand.

"You need to come see this kid. I swear to God, it’s like someone shrunk me."

She raised an eyebrow. "They cloned you in Japan?"

“I just wanna see him up close,” he said, glancing back at her with the giddiest grin. “He had the little visor, chérie. The visor! And the gloves. Like mine! And he even did the pose. Did you see that?”

She laughed. “Yeah, I saw. You’ve been smiling like an idiot ever since.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I love him. He’s my favorite person here.”

By the time they reached the garage, mini-Charles was standing between two engineers, who were enthusiastically showing him how the pit boards worked. His fireproofs were real. High-quality replicas down to the seams, probably custom-made. Even his boots had the little CL16 logo printed on them. He was soaking it all in with this quiet, intense focus that looked way too familiar.

Charles crouched down and called softly, "Hey, champion."

The boy turned instantly, visor flipped up to reveal a round face and wide brown eyes. He didn’t speak—just lit up with a shy grin and ran the last few steps into Charles’ waiting arms.

Charles caught him effortlessly and stood, the kid now perched on his hip like it was the most natural thing in the world. His tiny gloves clutched the front of Charles’ polo, and the smile Charles gave him was soft, full of awe.

"You see this?" he asked her quietly. "I mean, come on. Look at the gloves. The detail. He’s even got the sponsor patches."

She stepped closer, smiling as she took in the sight of the boy.

"He’s better dressed than you."

Charles crouched beside him. “Tu es magnifique. You look better in my suit than I do.”

The boy just stared up at him in awe. “You’re my favorite driver.”

Charles clutched his chest, looking like he was about to melt into a puddle any second. “Mon coeur. I’m done for. You are adorable.”

They took photos—a lot of them. With the engineers, the mechanics, even Fred Vasseur came over to see what all the fuss was about and ended up holding the boy for a photo. The engineers joined in. The boy was passed around the garage like a VIP guest, posing with everyone, giving high-fives, and pretending to check tire pressures with an air of serious professionalism.

She stood nearby, arms crossed loosely, watching Charles with a fond smile that she didn’t even try to hide. He was fully enchanted. There was a softness in the way he bent to talk to the boy, the way he smoothed the kid’s hair when it stuck out from the helmet. She hadn’t seen that side of him in a while—not since their last trip to her home when he spent a whole afternoon playing pretend race car with her nephew in the living room.

Then Charles was waving her over, grinning. “Come on, chérie. You have to be in the photo too.”

“I’m not in uniform,” she said, gesturing to herself.

“But you’re part of the team,” he insisted. “We need a proper photo. Mini-Leclerc needs his whole crew.”

The three of them posed together—Charles, her, and the tiny version of him in the middle, clutching the helmet proudly.

"Smile!" someone called. "We need a nice family photo of the Leclercs!"

She froze slightly at the comment, but Charles just grinned, looking between her and the boy with a soft, far-off, dreamy expression. He didn’t correct them. Didn’t even blink.

After the photos, someone jokingly put mini-Charles on the scale, and the number made Charles nearly choke.

"Sixteen point sixteen kilos? Are you kidding me? That’s... that’s my number! Twice!"

He was laughing, absolutely delighted, holding the boy’s hand as the mechanics lost it behind him.

Later that night, back in the hotel, he was still grinning.

"Did you see how he stood by the car? Like he was about to jump in and drive it. I swear, it was like watching a tiny version of myself."

She sat on the bed, watching as he opened his phone and showed her photos from earlier. "Look at this one. Look how he’s holding my visor like it’s sacred. This kid gets it."

"You were smitten."

"Can you blame me? I mean... that could be our actual little Leclerc one day."

She looked up slowly. "Oh, we’ve moved on from 'mini-me' to actual mini Leclerc now?"

He leaned into her side with a sigh. “He was perfect. Did you see how serious he looked when I let him sit in the simulator? Like a little pro.”

She smiled. “You’re obsessed.”

“I am,” he admitted easily. “I want one.”

She blinked. “A simulator?”

“A Mini-Me. Like… a real one. Ours.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You want a kid now?”

He nodded slowly. “I didn’t, like, wake up thinking that. But then I saw him, and—mon dieu—he looked exactly like me. It was so weird. And he had the little gloves and the fireproofs. I swear, he had the same little fold in the elbow. I didn’t know kids could look that cool.”

She laughed. “Charles.”

“I’m serious,” he said. “I already found a onesie online. Look.”

He pulled up his phone and showed her a Ferrari red baby onesie with a tiny number 16 on the back.

“Stop.”

“There’s a mini balaclava too,” he said, completely ignoring her tone. “And look—this one has a hood shaped like a helmet. Isn’t that cute? I mean, come on. This baby looks ready for a race.”

“Charles. You're literally in the middle of a championship fight. You don’t sleep enough as it is. Not to mention you travel all year. When would you even see this baby?”

“‘I’d make time obviously.”

“And babies cry. And don’t sleep. And poop. A lot.”

“I can handle poop.”

She stared. “That’s your strongest argument?”

“No, my strongest argument is that I would make an amazing dad,” he said proudly. “I would be so fun. Like, I’d teach them how to race little go-karts and read them bedtime stories in three languages. And make the best sandwiches for school lunches. And if they wanted to wear their race suit to preschool, I’d let them.”

She bit her lip to hold back a laugh. “Max is having a baby,” he added after a pause.

“Oh no. You’re not doing this.”

“Why not? I’m just saying. Max is having a baby.”

“And?”

“So why can’t we?”

“Charles, this isn’t a competition.”

He pouted. “It’s not not a competition.”

“Unbelievable.”

He sighed and slumped against her, his fingers drawing aimless shapes on her arm. “You’d be such a good maman. You’re warm and patient and you already take care of me and Leo. It’d be easy.”

“Charles Leo is a dog. You’re talking about an actual real life baby here!”

“I’m not saying now now,” he said quickly. “Just… soonish. Ish. I’m just planting the idea. Watering the seed. Like a gardener.”

She rolled her eyes. “Can the gardener sleep now?”

He grinned. “Can I fall asleep while showing you just one more video? It’s this baby in a chef outfit trying to flip pancakes and he throws them on the dog.”

She groaned. “Bed. Now. It’s not the right time for this conversation.”

He followed her into bed, still murmuring about Mini-Charles and tiny helmets and kids in the paddock.

As she lay down, he slid in beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. "What if I just... keep showing you baby videos until it becomes the right time?"

"That’s not how this works."

"I found one earlier of a baby eating spaghetti for the first time and just losing it. It reminded me of you."

"Charles No."

"Or the one with the baby who keeps saying 'no' to everything? That one’s also very familiar."

"Go to sleep."

“I’d call him Jules,” he whispered against her neck. “If it’s a boy.”

“Go to sleep, Charles.”

He pouted into her shoulder. “Fine. But at least think about it. Just saying, Little Leclerc has a nice ring to it."

She turned off the bedside lamp and rolled back towards him, burying her face in his chest. "Sleep now. Babies later."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and sighed.

"Fine. But just you wait. One day, I’m putting that onesie in my shopping cart."

And she couldn’t help but smile.

Because if today had shown her anything, it was that Charles Leclerc would make a very cute dad. Just... maybe not this season.

“Bonne nuit, future maman.”

“Stop!”

He grinned against her shoulder and didn’t say another word. But she could feel the way his fingers gently traced circles over her stomach, and she didn’t stop him.

Maybe one day. Just not today.

[lovelake]

If words of reassurance alone can’t cure your boyfriend’s jealousy, maybe throwing in a makeout session can help.

solivan brugmansia x gn!reader | MDNI, 1.5k wc, kissing, jealousy, brief mention of him kissing reader while they're drugged so non-consensual touching, mentions of masturbation, he ends up cumming in his pants, let there be no typos

note: hi so i’m kind of obsessed with him </3 comments and reblogs are always appreciated! title is from the song ‘snakelike (the stars collide)’

masterlist read on ao3 requests open

“You’ve been quieter than usual.”

No response. You knew your boyfriend wasn’t rowdy, but the walk to your house after leaving campus was always filled with enjoyable chit chats at the very least. Tugging on his sleeve, your feet came to a pause as you turned to him.

“Tell me what’s on your mind, please?”

God knew he couldn’t deny his sweetheart’s plea, not in a million years.

“Ichabod.” Okay, so there was some venom in his voice. Just a little. He had to hold back from not seething the name out like it was a slur.

You knew they didn’t exactly get along. Crowe was friendly towards everyone, but Sol seemed reluctant to be polite to him. Every time they were in the same space, you kinda wanted to die to avoid the awkwardness of the tension. 

“Crowe? What about him?”

“He obviously likes you.” And he knew you liked him back at one point, he’d been watching you for a long time. And though you've been a couple for three weeks now, the uncertainty of it all still hadn’t left.

He trusted you. Your best friend on the other hand…well, not so much. If only you knew how extreme his jealousy could be—you were lucky Crowe wasn’t six feet under already. It would only take one mistake for you to be attending a funeral. It’s fine, he’d be there to console you. Nonono, bad Sol, don’t even think about it. 

“What?! No he doesn’t!” Maybe you shouldn’t be raising your voice, he seemed upset enough as is. You sighed, muttering an apology before continuing. “We’ve been friends for years, I seriously don’t think he sees me like that. And even if he did…you’re my boyfriend. So he’d just have to deal with it, I guess.”

Oh. He liked that answer. Ichabod suffering emotionally because his dream lover was out of reach? It was a wet dream come true.

Taking a peek at him, you noticed the upturn of his lips. “That certainly made you cheer up.”

“You always make me happy, pumpkin. I just don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t.”

“That’s not a good reason. He’s my friend and he’s important to me, so can you at least try to act civil around him? He always tries to talk to you and you just…glare at him.”

Now he was a little scared. Biting down on his lip, he mulled over your request. The last thing he wanted was for you to break up with him after he had finally won you over against all odds. “Fine, I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” you held onto his hand and gave it a squeeze, one that he returned as you both started walking again.

Three blocks and a flight of stairs later, the comfort of your apartment lured you both to the couch, backpacks discarded onto the floor without care. He sat right next to you, and you curled up against him, pulling your phone out your pocket.

“We always come to my house, I wanna see what yours looks like too.” 

“I like your house more but…sure, just let me know what day.” Yeah, so he had time to hide everything he’d stolen from you. 

Ding. 

His eyes flicked to the notification with a certain someone’s profile picture. His expression soured, and he looked away with a petulant huff. Clearly, he wasn’t over it. Not that he’d ever be, but you thought it was just a phase that would go away with some reassurance. How naive of you.

“Sol…”

He wasn’t budging, nose in the air as he waited for you to read the message. Or well, that’s what he was expecting anyway. 

“You’re so stubborn.” With a sigh, you toss your phone aside and instead move to straddle his lap to get his attention. 

His shoulders stiffened immediately, and a certain area under his pants sprung to life like clockwork. He gulped, the tips of his ears turning red. He loved being under you, but that usually only happened in his fantasies late at night when he stroked himself with your undergarments.

“What am I gonna do with you?” Cupping his face with one hand, you let your thumb glide over his bottom lip. “I can’t have you getting jealous every other minute.”

“I can’t help it.” He murmured, arms finally relaxing and wrapping around your waist to tug you closer. Having you close wasn’t anything new, he was clingy to the core. It always felt different when you initiated it, though. 

“I know…I just don’t want you feeling bad or insecure. I like you, I want to be with you.”

He grinned. “You promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Godyou’resosweetandbeautifulandfuckIwantyoutofuckme. From 0 to 100. His mind was already running rampant. You were sitting on him so prettily, how did he get this lucky? His eyes were drawn to your lips, his stomach felt warm now. 

“Tell me I’m yours and that you’re mine.”

You really shouldn’t encourage his possessive behavior, but it was kinda…hot? You’d play along.

You leaned down, lips nearly brushing against his. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

His dick twitched. Before he had the chance to sigh dreamily, you kissed him. He whimpered pitifully and kissed back, already attempting to deepen it. 

He had thought about getting a tongue piercing, but he wouldn’t be able to go weeks without kissing you now that he’d gotten a taste of what it was like. Though, maybe that torture would be worth it if it meant being able to make you feel good in the future.

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Then, a bombardment of kisses a day must keep the psychologist away, it felt like all your problems had been washed away the minute your tongue met his. 

His hands roamed your sides, squeezing whenever you tugged on his hair or bit down on his lip. In only five minutes, it went from slow and sensual to fast and needy. 

Your living room was only ever filled with TV noises and conversations. Now, it was nothing but heavy breathing, shaky whines, and the sound of clothes rubbing against each other.

And shit—no, no, no—he was close to making a mess in his pants. “Waitwaitwait, slow down,” he pleaded, voice a pitch higher as he held onto your hips. How embarrassing would it be if he came so quickly from simply kissing? Maybe you’d think he’d only last two fucking seconds in bed (he probably would the first time, and he knew that). 

“What’s wrong?” You ask breathlessly, eyes fluttering open to look at your boyfriend. 

“Nothing, just…” He sat up straighter so he could dip his head down and press his lips against your neck. It felt infinitely better than doing so when you were limp like a ragdoll. 

“Oh,” your eyes rolled back, your hand instinctively went to the back of his head to keep him in place. His cool piercings sent a shiver down your hot skin. Maybe if your mind wasn’t so busy spinning and seeing stars, you’d notice the ever so prominent bulge begging for attention against the side of your inner thigh. 

“Does this feel good?” He asked before starting to gently suck on you. If he was lucky, he’d mark you up. For once, he was eager to see Crowe tomorrow. He’d be sure to wrap his arm around your shoulder and then lean down to press a kiss against the hickey you’d have after all this just to spite him.

“Uh huh…” Your sweet moans fanned against his ear.

He thought this would save him from cumming, but your reactions were just making it worse. There was no way out of it. His stomach was tensing, and his eyes were getting teary—this always happened. “Haa….haaa…”

For someone who usually had little to say, he was so loud. But you didn’t know what was happening in his body, not until it was too late.

“Oh fuck…” His forehead rested against your shoulder as his body shook, black nails digging into you like he needed you close to handle the waves of pleasure. Luckily for him, his words were unintelligible because of how fast he gritted it out. “Iloveyouiloveyoufuckiloveyou.”

You snapped out of your pleasure-induced dazed, hearing him pant heavily and slump against you. You stayed frozen, and moments later, he tipped his head back instead to get air.

“Did you just…” 

Pressing your hands against his chest, you leaned back to get a better look. He did. Fuck he was pretty. Cheeks flushed. Lips swollen. Drool trickling down his chin. Brows furrowed. Eyelashes wet from tears.

You’d never been more turned on in your life. You hadn’t even touched him down there!

He opened his eyes, hiding his face with his shaky hand the second he saw you. “Fuck…I didn’t mean to. I was trying not to.”

You took his hand to pull it away, smiling at him. Geez, it was like you were proud of yourself, and he found it endearing rather than annoying.

“Um…I don’t think I have any spare pants for you. Or uh, you know.”

“…”

“I’ll get you a glass of water.”

“No, don’t leave yet.”

“I’m not leaving! The kitchen is literally right there.”

“Stay here.” He held you close, burying his head against your shoulder again and letting his temperature return to normal.

“Fine…”