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coldfanbou · 1 year

Text

Confessing

Wonyoung fic time. I got nothing else to say; nothing rough going on here.

Length 2.3K

Wonyoung x Mreader

You sat in a cafe, waiting for your friend to show up. You bring your drink to your lips, taking a long drink; as you place it back down, you see Wonyoung take the seat across from you. "I'm sorry for being late. I know I'm the one that called you here, but I-I just had to make sure I was ready." She says. You notice the slight stutter she made.

"Don't worry about it; I wasn't here that long." You reply. Wonyoung fiddles with her hands and keeps her head turned away from you. A deep-seated redness is coming across now. "Are you alright?" You ask while putting your hand on her forehead.

"I-I'm fine; I just need some water. I walked here really quickly." She says, finally looking at you. A waitress comes quickly afterward, taking her order. While you're waiting, you notice Wonyoung violently shaking her head. "So, are you ready for today?" She asks after as if she hadn't just done that.

"Yeah, it's been a while since we've gone out. Did you have anything planned? You kept everything secret from me.

Wonyoung nods and pulls out two tickets. "I got us these. They're for the carnival. I thought it would be nice to go." Wonyoung rubs her arms as she looks away from you again. Her drink arrives, and the two of you continue to talk until you're ready to go to the carnival.

At the carnival, Wonyoung gives the tickets to the man at the entrance, and you both walk through the large hallway leading to the carnival proper. The colorful lights in the hall paint the area. You glance at Wonyoung as she smiles with excitement. Coming out of the hall, you both notice the giant Ferris wheel in the back. "Do you want to ride it?" You ask Wonyoung.

She shakes her head, "Maybe later. Let's just walk around for now." You look at the many stalls; some are games, others are food, and a couple sells clothes, among other items. Wonyoung doesn't seem very interested in most of the games until she happens upon a fishing one. A simple game where you're handed a fishing rod and have to try to get the lure into a fish's mouth. The robotic fish pop up and bite the air before opening their mouths and sinking. They were different colors, indicating a specific prize type that you would get. You watch Wonyoung drift toward the stall; you follow her closely, wading through the crowd.

"Would you like a try? The first one is free." The carny operating the stand says. Wonyoung nods; he hands her a fishing pole and explains the rules. Wonyoung's attempt could have gone better, as her lure lands between the fishes. She lets out a disappointed sigh. You pay the man for a few more tries.

"What prize do you want?" You whisper to Wonyoung. She points toward a large bread plush, a red tag. You try to stifle a laugh seeing that of all her options; she'd want a piece of bread. She whines at you for laughing, slapping your arm. You grab the fishing pole and throw it forward to gauge how it'll fly. You land in between the fishes, much like Wonyoung's attempt. Noticing that the lure was lighter than expected, you give it less power and narrowly miss the red fish.

Wonyoung jumps in the air, "You nearly had it!" She yells as she smacks your arm. Visibly excited, Wonyoung starts pointing out where it might be easier. The red fishes are spread evenly except for the far left corner, where four red fishes sit beside each other. You take Wonyoung's advice and launch the lure into the far corner, smacking the fish. It had popped up and shut its mouth right before the lure got to it. Wonyoung squats down suddenly, holding onto the edge of the stall. She pokes her head over the edge, observing as you try again. You wait for the fish to start coming down to throw the lure. In what seems like a miracle, your toss was short and bounced off a closer fish into the mouth of a red fish just as it came up to bite. Wonyoung jumps up and screams before tossing herself at you. She holds you tightly as you celebrate your victory. "You did it!" She buries her head in your chest as she continues to hug you. The man gives you the bread plush and hands it to you.

"Your girlfriend must really like bread." He says with a laugh. Wonyoung immediately pulls away from you, turning bright red. You smile at her and hand her the bread. She immediately uses it to cover her face. You thank the man before walking away from the stall, telling him to give your other plays to someone else.

Wonyoung holds the bread to her chest. "Thank you," she says quietly. You pat her head.

"It’s no problem. I'm glad you like it." The two of you continued to walk around the carnival, eating food and getting on an occasional ride. As evening comes, you both get in line for the Ferris wheel. Once the ride begins, you look at the city skyline from the top of the Ferris wheel. Wonyoung looks at the floor nearly the entire time. "What's wrong Wonyoung?" You ask. She grips the edges of her skirt, gulping before she opens her mouth.

"Um… t-there's something I want to tell you." Wonyoung tries to meet your gaze but can't hold it. She puts up her bread plush as a barrier between you. "I-I…I like you."

"I like you too."

"N-no, I mean that I-I love you. As more than a friend." Wonyoung's grip on the plush tightens as she peers over it. "We've been friends since we were kids, but I've loved you for a long time. I-I wanted to…." She pauses for a moment. "I wanted to confess to you today. I wanted to do it here."

"You just did." You respond.

"N-no, but it's not the same. I don't want to be hiding behind this." She says, motioning toward the plush. "I wanted to have you really look at me."

You reach out and forcefully take the plush from her. "Go ahead then."

Wonyoung places her hands on her lap and looks down before collecting herself. She shakes slightly as she looks at you. "I've loved you for a really long time, but you were always out of reach. S-sometimes, I wanted to tell you, but you would be dating someone else. I-I want to be with you. S-so w-would y-y-you…" She tries to take a breath, and you see her struggling.

You kneel in front of her and take her hands in your own. "It’s okay." You say, reassuring her.

"Would you be my boyfriend?" She asks. Wonyoung has her eyes closed tightly as if awaiting rejection.

"I'd love to."

She hesitantly opens her eyes. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Wonyoung, I've loved you for a long time, too, but you never showed any interest in me, so I thought maybe I should date others to get you off my mind. Hearing you say that, though, makes me really happy." Wonyoung nearly pushes you onto the floor as she hugs you with all her strength. She continues to spout on and on about how she loves you. She can't help but cry as you accept her love. Wonyoung refuses to let you go as you try to return to your seat. The Ferris wheel ends soon, and Wonyoung rushes to dry her tears before you both leave the carriage. The day becomes night, and it comes time to go home. You both get in your car as you ready yourself to drop her off. "I guess I'll drop you off at home."

"Can we- can I sleep with you tonight?" She asks shyly.

"What?" You say, slightly stunned at her words.

"I want to sleep with you." She replies with her words trailing off at the end. "I've waited a long time, and I want to sleep with you," Wonyoung says, mustering her courage.

"Alright, we'll sleep together. It'll be our first night as a couple." Wonyoung smiles all the way home. The car ride was slightly filled with sexual tension. You hadn't expected Wonyoung to be so proactive as to say she wanted to sleep with you. You also hadn't fully registered what she wanted when you agreed. You couldn't say anything to her at this point and awkwardly drove the entire way home. When you arrived, you both sat in the car for a minute, unable to move.

Eventually, you were able to step out of the car. Wonyoung quickly followed. You both wasted no time as you made your way to your bedroom. "S-so, I guess we should take our clothes off."

"Y-yes, we should," Wonyoung responded with the same nervous voice. You both looked away from the other as you stripped down. "I-I can turn around when you do."

"Okay, we'll turn around on three. One, two, three!" You both turn around, covering yourself. "W-we should probably take our hands away." Wonyoung shyly nods, and you both slowly put your hands to the side. Your eyes make their way down Wonyoung's body. You get caught up at her legs, though, long, toned, and thick; you marvel at them. You slowly get hard as you think about Wonyoung's body. Wonyoung blushes as she watches your cock rise to full mast.

She steps forward, "Can…can I touch it?" You nod. She seems mesmerized by it as her hand reaches out and grasps your cock. You moan as she touches it. A smile crosses Wonyoung's face; she's happy she can make you feel good. Wonyoung starts to stroke your cock; without any prior experience, she's doing a good job. Her pace is anything but consistent, though, as she sometimes goes from incredibly slow to very quick. You run your hands around her stomach before taking a breast in each hand. Your palms squeeze her soft flesh, drawing a moan from her. Wonyoung's tits were topped with tiny pink nipples; her areola wasn't much bigger. Taking her nipple between your forefinger and thumb, you pinch her nipples while massaging her breasts. You both moan from the pleasure you're experiencing. You lean down slightly, kissing Wonyoung. She returns the kiss with enthusiasm, not wanting it to end. While you're kissing her, her hands start to move quickly. Her palm rubs the head of your cock as you both moan into the kiss.

You feel yourself getting close to your orgasm and your hips bucking automatically. Wonyoung feels your cock throbbing and sudden wetness as precum covers her hand. Your precum allows her to stroke your cock at a faster pace. "Wonyoung, I'm going to cum." You say to warn her. She continues to stroke your cock at a quick pace until you cum in her hand. The warm liquid spurts onto her forearm and covers her hand. While you recover, Wonyoung stares at her cum-covered hand, mesmerized by it, before putting up to her mouth and licking it. The salty taste fills her mouth as she licks her hand clean. The sight makes you hard again. "Should we continue?" You ask her.

Wonyoung climbs onto your bed and lays on her back. Her hands go down to her shaven slit, and she spreads her lips for you. Her pink pussy is there for you to take in. "Please," she says, almost like she's pleading with you to do it. "I want you." She says quietly. You climb over her and align yourself with her.

"Are you ready?" You ask before you do the deed. Wonyoung gives you a nod. You press against her entrance and push past her lips. You hear her gasp as you thrust inside her. You plant a kiss on Wonyoung's lips; her arms wrap around you as she keeps you there. Her walls caress your cock as you push deeper inside her. Wonyoung moans into the kiss as you start to move inside her. Your hands grip her legs as you thrust into her. "Wonyoung, you're so tight." You moan into her ear as you thrust. Wonyoung's walls try to keep you inside her, clamping down on your cock. Her moans grow louder at your comments.

"You're so big," she groans. You're pounding her into the bed as you revel in the pleasure. Her legs keep you in place as you split her apart with every thrust. Wonyoung closes her eyes and moans; you watch the beauty before you enjoy herself as sweat begins to cover her body. Her hair becomes more of a mess with every thrust. You cup her cheek, and she opens her eyes; she meets your gaze.

"You're the most beautiful person in the world, Wonyoung. I love you." You groan as the pleasure starts to become too much.

Wonyoung pushes her head up to kiss you. "I love you too." Wonyoung whines as she feels her climax coming. Her walls tighten around you as you continue to thrust.

"I'm going to cum, Wonyoung. Let me go."

"No, I want you to cum inside me. Please." You relent and slam your cock into Wonyoung again. You both shout as you reach your orgasm. Your semen fills Wonyoung. Her leg’s grip on you doesn't loosen; she keeps you in place as her cunt milks you for all of your cum. You watch Wonyoung's face drift into a pure orgasmic state as she feels you fill her womb with cum. After a few minutes, her legs finally release their hold over you. You stay buried inside her for a little longer before pulling out of her. You roll over onto your back, and Wonyoung moves to place her head on your chest. Cum leaks from her pussy onto her thighs as she uses her fingertip to trace something on your chest.

You put your arm around her head and kiss her forehead. "I love you," she says, her eyes trying to remain open as she slowly drifts off to sleep.

#wonyoung smut #ive smut #kpop smut #m reader #male reader

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rustedhearts · 1 year

Text

battlefield (boxer!steve x librarian!fem au)

summary: you reappear in hawkins after eight months away—only this time, steve’s nowhere to be found. what happened while you were away, and why are you refusing his calls?

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, breakup (though not really), manhandling (steve leaves a bruise), toxic relationship, steve sucks! but he tries to make up for it, reader (libby) wears glasses and has a little brother.

a/n: here's what i have to say about this one: the girls that get it, get it. the girls that don't, don't.

“it would help me to know, do i stand in your way? or am i the best thing you’ve had?”

—battlefield, pat benatar

hawkins, indiana october 1990

In February, you said goodbye to your family. You gave a temporary two week’s notice to the library with a firm promise to return when Steve’s first tournament had finished. You packed up your old bedroom, said goodbye to childhood forever, and stepped out a woman. Steve’s woman.

And all you knew, for the next eight months, was: Steve. Training, dieting, fights, press conferences, and endorsement deals. Steve, Steve, Steve. Life revolved around him completely.

Until October, when you returned to Hawkins, and said hello to your family once more.

You appeared on a Saturday afternoon. A crisp chill hung in the air, scented of damp soil and the sweet aroma of autumn leaves. They filled the town with rust-colored enthusiasm; the tree in front of your old bedroom window, though, was golden yellow. They made your green lawn appear like a pool of honey. And it was on your yellow lawn that your mother gazed out to find you standing, luggage in hand, staring at the door.

She dropped the duster in her hand and flew to the door, practically tumbling down the front steps to fling herself at you. She squeezed and prodded and pulled, assessing you like some sort of miracle on her doorstep.

“Oh, honey, I’m so happy to see you! What are you doing home?”

You kissed her cheek, flashed a smile, and rolled your suitcase into the house. You hugged and kissed your father hello, laughed dryly when your younger brother Nick made a joke, and strolled upstairs with your luggage. It was half of what you’d left with eight months ago. You appeared just as proportionally empty—halved. Missing, quite literally, the other part of you.

There was no Steve, and no sign of him on you. Only the big black sweatshirt he bought you from the Hot Rod cafe, paired with a white turtleneck and old, worn denim jeans from high school. You climbed into your old bed—still made with the same colorful quilt and frilly sheets—and closed your eyes, still wearing the clothes you’d worn on your flight.

You said nothing of Steve, or why you were home.

You just…slept.

♡ ♡

You slept until Sunday evening.

Until the sunlight dwindled and your father’s knuckles rapped at the door. You brought your head out from beneath the covers to peer toward the door just as it cracked open. Your father’s glasses glared with yellow lamplight.

“Honey…are you okay? You’ve been in here…—well, sweetheart, we haven’t seen you since you got home.”

You shrugged, sniffling. The sound came with a slurp of thick snot, and upon closer inspection, your father immediately noticed the swollen bags under your eyes and their reddened, bloodshot state. “Sorry,” you murmured. “Just jet-lagged.”

Your father stepped into the room, leaving the door open, and sank onto the edge of the bed.“Honey, did he hurt you? Is that why you’re home?”

Huffing, you threw yourself onto your back and let your hands flop atop the mattress. You glared at the poster of James Dean above your bed.

“No, Dad—“

“—because if he hurt you…I know people. I can have him taken out in—“

“—Dad! Stop,” you groaned, rubbing at your swollen, aching eyes. The pillowcase under your head had been soaked and resoaked with a river of tears, and now they sat in a crusty, dried trail on your cheeks.

Your father sighed, though that look of furrowed concern and disappointment lingered. You wanted to assure him he was incorrect. You wanted to promise Steve didn’t hurt you, that you were here on your own volition just to visit. But you’d be lying. And you were tired of lying on Steve’s behalf.

You hoped and prayed your father wouldn’t ask you again—because the next time, you wouldn’t be able to muster anything but the truth.

“We’re happy you’re home, honey, but…we just wanna make sure everything’s okay.”

You pushed your hair away from your face, puffing air into your cheeks only to expel it out. “It’s fine, Dad! Okay? I just…I just want to sleep.”

Your father slid off the bed, standing to full height again. He rubbed at his jaw—salt and pepper beard sounding rough and dry—and backed away.

“Alright. Well, your dinner’s in the oven to keep warm. Mom’s making pudding. Chocolate, your favorite.”

You pursed your lips, feeling guilty and small, and nodded meekly. Your father flashed a minuscule smile and headed toward the door. Maybe you could blame the jet-lag for your sudden abruptness, but that would be another lie. You’d been a bristly version of yourself ever since you left New York(…and Steve).

“Alright, honey. Sleep tight.”

“Night, dad.”

When the door clicked closed, you groaned and kicked the covers off. The room was stiff and warm, the windows firmly shut to clamp off any semblance of an autumn breeze, curtains and blinds drawn to hide the leaves. You didn’t want to see how pretty the world looked while you suffered miserably.

But at least you could shower. You could try to do that.

In your old bathroom—floral wallpaper, pink tile, frilly bath mats, potpourri on the back of the toilet tank—you stripped down bare. You clenched your fists and gazed into the mirror, and almost instinctually, your eyes fell to your left forearm. A swell of blood popped beneath the skin just in the center of your arm, appearing violet in the aftermath, indigo in spots: the shape of Steve, left bruised on you in a handprint.

You turned away from the mirror and turned the shower on, heat high. You stepped in and closed your eyes, lip caged between your teeth to cease the trembling. The shower stream boiled your tears and drained your nose. The water smelled a little metallic: old pipes gone unused.

Eyes sinking closed, you tipped your head back into the water and let it rain over you.

♡ ♡

"Who the fuck was that?"

Seated on a padded leather bench on a gym in New York City—book in hand, glasses perched on the bridge of your nose—gazing up at Steve looming over you. His skin practically steamed, drowning in a sheen of glimmering sweat, hair clinging to his forehead, overgrown and neglected on the road. Cheeks swollen with red warmth, brows creased, eyes nothing other than empty.

You closed your book and glanced off toward the back of the strange man's head, exiting your periphery. "I don't know. He wanted to know where the bathroom was, Steve."

Five minutes ago, another gym-goer came up to you, towel thrown over his hulking shoulder, and asked you where the bathroom was. He smiled a dazzling white, catalogue smile, and you pointed toward the toilets. You directed your eyes back to the book in your lap and said nothing else. Steve wailed on the mitts in the ring, answering every of Big's 'one, two' with a sharp smack of fist.

And now here he was, towering over you like you'd asked the man to dinner.

"How come every time I turn around, some creep is all over you? Huh?"

You sighed, setting the book on the bench beside your purse. Big lingered in the ring, pretending not to listen as he slurped water from a Gatorade bottle.

"I don't know, Steve—"

"—oh, so he was a creep?"

"Jesus," you groaned, throwing your head back toward the fluorescents above you. Steve had been a tangy sour taste in your mouth since you arrived in New York two days ago. "No, Steve, he was not a creep. He was just—"

"—you know, you must be doin' somethin' to invite all these guys your way."

You turned back to Steve, gaping at his furrowed frown. Surely he didn't mean that. Surely he wasn't questioning your loyalty to him. You'd done nothing but cater to him all year. You followed him around the country for his career; put your life on hold for his career; neglected and abandoned your own needs and desires for his career—only to be scolded for every wrongdoing in Steve's eyes.

"Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm tired of having to worry if every time I turn around, the vultures will swarm my girlfriend. They just eat you up, huh?"

You leapt to your feet, the ache to cry growing stronger by the second. His words cut deep—the implications behind them cut deeper.

"That sounds like your problem, Steve. Those are your insecurities talking, and they don't have shit to do with me," you hissed, snatching your belongings from the bench.

You were a step away from Steve when he called back out. "Hey. Hey! Get back here when I'm talking to you, Libby."

You scoffed, shaking your head furiously as you stomped toward the door. "You're fucking crazy if you think I'm gonna listen to you—"

His hand was on your arm then, yanking you into a spin. You flew into his chest, a painful collision for both of you. But you glared, serpent-like, as mean as you could muster, into the death stare of your boyfriend. You didn't like that look on his face. You didn't like the grip he had on you. It came out of nowhere.

But his rage-fits usually did these days.

"You're not goin' anywhere," he growled evenly.

You yanked at your arm, teeth clenching together. "Yes. I. Am. Let me go, Steven."

He persisted, fingers squeezing tighter. You coughed away a yelp, wondering if you stomped on his foot if that would loosen his grip or make it worse. You weren't sure you wanted to try—and suddenly, that hurt worse.

You never wanted to be afraid of Steve, and he promised you'd never have to be.

"Harrington," Big called sternly from the ring. He leaned on the ropes now, watching carefully.

"Shut the fuck up," Steve barked his coach's way, though his attention never left you. You pulled at your arm again.

"Let me go!"

"Let her go, Harrington."

"I said shut up!"

Eyes stinging with tears, you pushed at his chest with your spare hand, smacking your book against his bare skin. "Let go, Steve!"

You sprung loose, exhaling a weak cry when your arm came away throbbing and splotchy. You adjusted the strap of your purse on your shoulder and clutched your book against your chest, gazing at Steve like a stranger.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" you wailed, tears slipping free as you slammed into the door to exit.

He didn't come after you.

He stayed to train. You waited in the room, weeping noisily in the cold bathroom. As the hours ticked away, you found yourself dreading his arrival. Fearing what might come of it.

You scrambled to your feet, and in a rush of hyperventilation and buzzing nerves, you packed your bags. Anything you could grab on hand, anything you recognized as yours—you shoved it all into your suitcase on the floor and zipped it up. You knew, even as you slipped your coat on and rolled it through the door, that you'd forgotten most of your things.

And as you rode the elevator down, you stopped crying. You snatched the pen in your purse and hurried to the front desk, snatching a stationary pad and using the marble countertop for something solid.

Steve,

You promised me happiness, but all you've given me is pain. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep letting you hurt me, no matter how much I love you, or how much you claim to love me. Your anger and jealousy have ruined us, and I can't take it anymore.

I'm going home. Please don't follow me. Not even if you're sorry, and not even if you really mean it this time.

—Libby

"Please give this to Mr. Harrington when he comes back."

♡ ♡

"Hey, honey. Glad to see you up and...dressed! It's a miracle."

Your smile veered toward a scowl as you sank into your chair at the kitchen table, showered and in a fresh change of clothes: your high school sweatshirt from your final homecoming game, the green and gold of Hawkins High. It was still soft and smelled of laundry soap.

All your other clothes smelled like Steve.

"Yeah," you murmured, wet hair dripping on the table.

Your father shuffled into the room in his slippers, glasses perched low on his nose, just as your mother slid a cup of homemade pudding your way. You gingerly accepted the spoon, mustering the smallest grin of appreciation. You hadn't wanted to eat. You tried a packet of trail-mix on the plane and it made your stomach flop. The smell of Sunday dinner (meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans) still hanging in the kitchen air made you want to throw up.

But the pudding was smooth and sweet, and you ate small bites to keep your mother happy and your father quiet. You couldn't stomach another 'are you okay?'

You kept your sleeves tucked over your knuckles as you ate, limbs hidden in your sweatshirt and a pair of linty joggers. Soon, your entire family gathered at the table, licking pudding from spoons, tapping silver against porcelain to fill the quiet. The television hummed with an evening program in the living room. Even Nick sat, slump-shouldered beside you.

Their silence was almost as bad as their pestering.

"Guys," you sighed, spoon clattering on the table. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need you to...please don't hover, okay? I'm home now, and that's that."

You bounced between their gazes with a pointed look of your own, brows raised in question. Your parents bobbed their agreement, though the sourness to their expressions leaned toward hesitation. Your little brother, Nick, however, stared at the table with pursed lips. In his own silent way, his admiration for Steve spanned past athletic abilities and bled into morality. You didn't want to give him reason to believe Steve didn't deserve that admiration. Whatever happened between the two of you had nothing to do with him as a person.

You didn't want your little brother to think differently of his idol.

Before anyone could say anything else, the phone on the wall shrilled. You knew who'd be on the other line the moment your mother stood to answer, shuffling over in her pajamas and answering with a polite, chipper tone. You inhaled deeply when her eyes cut over to you.

"Sure, she's right here. Honey, it's Ste—"

You stood to your feet, chair screeching on the tile. "I'm sleeping."

You disappeared swiftly, steps ascending the creaking stairs followed by the clamp of your bedroom door slamming. Your father looked toward your mother, who pulled the phone from her chest and cleared her throat.

"You know what? She's sleeping right now. Try back in the morning?"

Steve's voice murmured through the other line in response, and your mother glanced at your father, who strained to listen.

"I'm sure she'll call you when she's ready, Steven. Just give her some space."

♡ ♡

Monday

You woke at noon and pouted at your disheveled reflection in the vanity mirror. A polaroid of Steve was wedged in the corner of the mirror: black hoodie, hood pulled up, strong jaw, cut cheekbones, a purpled split in his lip from a prior fight. He came home to you like that, bloody and bruised. He wasn't supposed to make you feel that way, too.

You pulled it from the mirror and placed it face-down on the vanity table. The kitchen phone rang while you coated your lashes in mascara, and again as you rummaged through your closet and a half-empty wardrobe left abandoned for months. You refused to touch your suitcase or the contents inside. It all reeked of Steve. All tainted by his touch.

The phone rang as you plucked your car keys from the glass bowl in the kitchen, and you heard it again—a distant, muffled blare—as you threw open the garage door and uncovered your untouched car. You drowned it in the growl of your engine, and for a moment, you felt relieved that it wouldn't be you crying today.

It would be Steve.

♡ ♡

You went to the only place you felt safe: the library.

Two words into your explanation speech, your boss, Shelly, placed a hand on your shoulder and slipped your name tag into your palm.

"Welcome back, sweetheart." She beamed, patting your arm and directing you on your way.

You dove right in, swimming through the stacks of books at a glacial, peaceful pace. You knew the system like the back of your hand, and soon all the books were in their rightful places on the shelves.

"Libby? Oh my god, when did you get home?" Lisa, another victim of abandonment for the sake of Steve, came rushing down the aisle you were in.

You hadn't spoken to Lisa since you left, and suddenly a pang of guilt crashed into you as she wrapped her arms around your shoulders. You returned the hug and mirrored her smile.

"Just the other day," you told her as she pulled away. "It was a last minute thing."

She bombarded you with questions, too blinded by enthusiasm to be upset with you for ghosting your friendship. You told her as much as you could, wincing when Steve's name came from her mouth. And like Beetlejuice or some other demonic figure, call his name three times and he shall appear.

"Baby."

You whipped around, smile crumbling at the sight of Steve stalking your way: sunglasses on, new Cadillac keys in one hand, a bouquet of pink roses in the other. Lisa became forgotten, and the stacks of books darkened like in vignette around you as Steve closed in on you.

You dropped the book in your hand on the metal cart you'd been working on, turning away from Steve to rush down the aisle.

"Lib—baby, come on!"

Lisa watched Steve zoom past her, mouth agape with confused awe as he chased after you. Your poker face remained bitter and impenetrable as you made your way through the center aisle, skirt flouncing with every stomp of your kitten heels.

"Libby, please, stop."

"I told you not to follow me," you droned without turning around.

His keys jingled with every jog after you, cellophane-wrapped flowers crinkling in his fist. You curled your fingers into a fist of your own, nails biting skin as his scent crept your way. You were grateful it was still school hours and the library was only half empty. Half the humiliation.

"You really thought—baby, please, stop."

Thick fingers circled your wrist, skirting you to a stop far gentler than the one that drove you away. His grip, much more delicate, still made your eyes sting. You kept your chin turned away but allowed your body to stop at his will. In your periphery, his puppy-dog look begged you to pay attention to him.

Steve heaved for air. "You really thought I wouldn't come after you? That I wouldn't fight for you? Baby, please. Come on, I love you so much. I'm-I'm sorry."

Your cheeks burned white hot, lip wobbling. He was always sorry.

You pushed at his hand, urging his touch away from you. He followed your movements, and like he didn't understand, he pulled you closer. You pushed at his chest this time, insistent on space between your bodies.

"Steve, stop," you sighed, wiggling your wrist in his hold.

"Baby, please just talk to me—"

"—you hurt me, Steve."

Steve sighed, head hanging toward yours. "I know, baby—"

"—you don't know. I told you not to come after me."

Steve took his hand away, shoulders drooping. He deflated with a syrupy sigh, the heel of his palms reaching for your jaw. The metal of his car key bit into your chin, the cellophane of the flowers you wouldn't be taking tapping your cheek.

"Libby, why are you doing this? Please, I'm here, I'm sorry." His voice wavered with undeniable guilt, dripped with sorrowful regret.

But it wouldn't be that easy this time.

How many times have you stood in this position now? How many times has he grabbed your face and kissed it clean of tears he triggered you to shed? How many times has he stomped on your heart, only to glue it back together for a chance to shatter again.

"Go, Steve," you mumbled, shoving his hands away again.

He'd never seen you so withdrawn. You were almost...cold. Unfeeling. Steve recoiled like you'd burned him, hands coming to dangle at his sides. You hadn't looked at him once, and you turned on your heel without doing so.

He watched you walk away, standing in the carpeted center aisle of the library with his heart in his hands.

♡ ♡

Tuesday

Steve sat on your porch with his head in his hands, elbows digging divots in his thighs.

Big and Mikey were frantic, calling his apartment phone insisting he return before the endorsements caught wind of his sudden departure. He spent the night tossing and turning, glaring at your flowers still wrapped and tied with ribbon on the kitchen table. He'd let them die if you wouldn't have them.

He woke this morning after barely a wink of sleep and found himself here. He parked the Cadillac on the curb and tapped his fingers on the wheel, wondering if he should wait it out in there. But then your mother tapped on the glass of the window, and he rolled it down to flash her a smile.

"Steven...I think she wants to be alone."

Steve nodded, looking off toward your window. "Yeah. Right, yeah. I just...I want...I have to—I just want her to—"

"—you can stay. But if she asks you to leave, please respect her wishes."

Steve nodded again, and watched your mother's car back out of the driveway moments later. When she was gone, and the house was empty aside from you, Steve hurried to the steps. He lifted a hand to knock and paused.

He really hurt you this time, he knew it all too well. But…you always took him back. No matter what he did, you always took him back if he said he was sorry. Why was this time any different?

Steve huffed, kicking the wedge of metal under the door. Why did he always have to snap? Why did he always have to lose control? You deserved better, and if you gave him a chance, he’d try to be that for you.

Muttering under his breath, Steve fixed his hands on his hips and began to pace the porch, rehearsing before he knocked: “M’ sorry…m’ sorry for bein’—ach, fuck. Libby, m’ sorry for—“

“—do you know what you’re sorry for, Steve?”

Steve whirled around, hands dropping to his sides. You were pajama clad and puffy-eyed, a pair of glasses too big for your face slipping down your nose. Your slippers had bunny ears and lint around the edges.

“Everything, baby,” Steve breathed, taking a wide stride toward the door. “I’m sorry for everything.”

You sighed, leaning against the doorway. You crossed your arms, and as you tucked them against your chest, Steve found the bruise on your forearm. He stopped in his ascent toward you, hands paused mid-air.

“Wha—what is…did I—is that from me—“

“Steve,” you whispered, yanking your sleeve down. “Just…it’s not a big deal, okay?”

He blinked at you, shuffling back a step. “Not a big deal? Libby, I never meant—it is a big deal, baby—“

“—obviously it’s a big fucking deal, Steven. I just…I don’t wanna do this right now, alright?"

Steve understood your sudden hostility, but it still made him frown. He took another step back, stumbled this time. He couldn't swallow past his heart, thumping in his throat. "O-okay..."

You looked anywhere but him. His shoes, the tree-coated lawn, the birds swooping down. You reached for the door behind you, stepping back into the house. Steve jerked forward, jaw clenching. He wasn't used to refraining from you. He didn't know how to stop from touching you, kissing you, feeling you. He felt sick over what he did.

"Is it—can I...come back? Can we talk?" He took his lip between his teeth and gnawed, ripping skin and splitting the seams. He sucked the blood into his mouth and you tipped your head, letting it rest against the front door.

His cheeks held the faintest pink glow, eyes doe-like and melancholic. God, you were easy, weren't you?

"Yeah...yeah, Steve, we'll talk."

Steve released his lip, nodding. His hands wrung together in line with his pelvis. "Tomorrow?"

You nodded, lifting your head from the door. "Tomorrow."

♡ ♡

Wednesday

The only place in town to get coffee was Laurie's, and you sighed as you stood on the curb outside the diner. The autumn breeze whipped around you in a brisk tunnel, skipping crisp leaves across the street, bringing wisps of hair to your eyes. Steve was already inside, tapping his sunglasses on the granite tabletop, knee shaking furiously against the booth. It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had breakfast in that very booth with him, smitten with his charm and drunk on his attention.

The bell chimed with your arrival, and Steve watched you with half-lifted eyes as you slid his way. You sank into the booth with grace, reaching for a pink sugar packet to fiddle with.

"Got you a coffee. Vanilla creamer," he said, motioning toward the stained white porcelain on your left.

"Thanks."

He sat, hunched, like halved version of himself. Sliced by his own wrongdoings, a pile of poisoned pieces in a diner booth. His knuckles ached from punching the old bag in his apartment, eyes heavy from crying. He cracked a toe on the end of his dresser and broke a mug. He nicked his finger on a shard when he fumbled to put it together again.

Even his regret was enraged.

Steve tapped his sunglasses again, scratching at his scalp. You cupped your palms around the mug for warmth, steam fogging the lenses of your glasses. He hated that he didn't know what to say. He hated that you weren't yelling at him, throwing things at him—something. He'd let you tear his hair out if it meant you still cared enough.

"Baby...I don't know what to say," Steve sighed airily, hands resting on the table.

You clicked your shoes together under the table, watching the vat of brown liquid ripple in your mug. "Yeah."

Steve looked at you. He watched you stare blankly, he watched you breathe out. "Yeah? That's...that's it?"

You shrugged. "I'm tired of being the one to explain, Steve. I'm tired of outlining your own behavior for you."

Steve dragged a hand through his hair, huffing through his nose.

"Alright, I'm not...I'm not sayin' you should. I just—I'm just sorry. You know I'd never hurt you—"

You cut him a look: incredulous, pinched, pained. Steve tossed his glasses aside, and they skittered toward the sugar packets.

"—on purpose...God, baby, I'd never hurt you on purpose."

You rolled your lip between your teeth, looking toward your arm, bruise hidden beneath another sweater. Steve mirrored your gaze, head sagging toward his shoulder.

"Can I...can I see it?" he murmured.

You turned to him, cheeks warm. The diner clinked with cutlery, clattering with piles plates. Only a few truckers and an old woman filled the space around you.

You pulled away from your coffee and nodded, hands falling to your lap. You took another look around as Steve sat up, inhaling to steady himself, and inched toward the edge of the booth.

"Not here."

Steve followed you to the alley, keeping a reasonable distance that killed him to maintain. You rolled your sleeve up, back to the brick wall, and let Steve cradle your arm to inspect. The hand that squeezed the skin scraped gently across you now. You shivered as his breath fanned the indigo mark. It was starting to fade at least.

You were about to remark on this small relief, attempt an ill-humored joke, when Steve collapsed to his knees. Chunks of gravel skittered with his weight upon them. You gasped and flinched at his sudden movement, gazing down to find his mouth coating your arm in weepy kisses.

You were frozen in his featherlight touch, fingers barely pressing into your wrist; smattering you in wet lip prints.

"Jesus, m' sorry. M' so—" He sniffled, loud and slurping. "M' so fuckin' sorry."

You leaned into the brick for support, mouth agape and only capable of silence.

"Please f-forgive me, angel, please. I'll never do it again, I p-promise," he whimpered, eyes like shallow, pink pools of water pleading up at you.

With unsteady fingers, you lifted your right hand to his cheek. He fell into you touch, sighing into the skin. He pressed a kiss to your palm, smeared tears against your uninjured skin. He hiccuped for air, jolting with stacattoed sobs. You'd never seen him so distressed. The closest he ever came to this was in Seattle, when the mention of his mother sent him into a spiral.

You slid your hand across the nape of his neck, lifting your palm to glide down the back of his silky hair. "Alright. Alright, Steve, it's okay."

He fell forward, arms winding around your thighs, face smushed against your stomach. You buried your fingers in his hair, kneading like dough.

"It's okay, you're okay. I forgive you, baby."

Steve nodded, squeezing you tight. You ached something awful in your gut, a piercing pang in your chest. You dipped down to press a kiss on his head, squeezing your eyes shut.

And right there in that sharp graveled alleyway, you got down on your knees with him. Eye to eye, mouth to mouth, you hid your bruise beneath a sleeve again and attached yourself to him. His tears were salty and cool, sucked free of warmth by the air nipping at exposed skin. His lips were soft and tasted like acidic coffee.

Remnants of a sob lingered on his tongue when he exhaled into your open mouth. His hands were hot and heavy on your cheeks. You clutched at his hoodie for dear life. He tore away from your mouth and journeyed kisses down your cheek—open-mouthed, full of breath, a little slice of teeth. He wandered to your neck and nuzzled deep.

A ceremonial on your knees.

Your mother would have questions. Your father wouldn't trust Steve for a long time. Your little brother would never know the difference. Big and Mikey would take the pair of you back without a word, because at least their pockets would still be lined with dough.

And Steve?

Steve learned that you'd stay, no matter how bad he could be.

♡ ♡

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #joe keery #steve harrington fanfiction #boxer!steve #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fic #steve harrington hurt/comfort

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boanerges20 · 7 months

Text

Yamaha XV1000 Virago by Black Cycles

#motorcycle #yamaha #xv1000 #virago #black cycles #rat rod #rat racer #cafe racer #style #custom bike #classic motorcycle #moto love #lifestyle

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das-a-kirby-blog · 9 months

Text

Alright, all "metadede real" jokes aside, I cannot get over how good of a duo these two really are

like meta knight was really considered a friend of Dedede's and when it came to the star rod he trusted meta with the past piece.

In order for the kf2 sworn partner thing to work really well, the two had to lean onto eachother. no one was taking the lead, no one was more than the other, they were equal in everything: music, design, attacks, all that. After that happened, I think this really kickstarted their relationship by a lot. To add on, their destined dish in the Kirby Cafe is called "I got your back," and their insignias are sometimes, coincidentally, everywhere together in dream buffet.

I believe it's heavily implied that meta knight spotted dedede somewhere in winter horns, but instead of fighting him, he returned back to the village to protect his waddle dees. Later on in the game he coincidentally came out of the colosseum the moment dedede was rescued.

To sum up my delightful paragraph, these two are the equivalent of one braincell.

#das for the last time shut up #my final message. goodbye #long post

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ayyy-pee · 2 years

Text

Strangers in Love

Chapter 1

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Kofi

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Female Reader

Summary: It's been five years since you've seen Kento, the divorce leaving you to pick up the pieces of your life alone. When a chance encounter brings you both together again, will you be able to find it in you to trust and forgive him?

Genre: Divorce AU

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Sex, Jealousy, Jealous Behavior, Divorce, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Arguments, Ex-Husband Nanami Kento

“ Ngh , fuck you taste so good.” Gojo moaned before you. You watched as his tongue darted out to lick thick white cream from his lips, leaving a wet sheen behind. “God, I swear I could eat you forever.” He continued, hands coming up to caress gently.

He sighed lovingly as he dipped his tongue through the creaminess again and again. You couldn’t pull your eyes away. It was so…gross.

“Satoru.” You called out to him from across the table.

You were both seated in the new cafe you had been dying to try. You were so excited for this place to open, but you didn't want to go alone for reasons you weren’t comfortable acknowledging yet. Satoru finally had a morning free, so you invited him to check it out with you before you headed to work.

However, it totally slipped your mind how much of a slut your friend was for sweets. Not much had changed since high school. He was still the same sweet toothed, messy eater he had always been and while you admired his consistency, you’d be lying if you said the absolutely lewd moans and smacking noises he let out while licking the cream out of the folds of a swiss roll weren’t embarrassing.

“What?” He asked, blue eyes beaming as the early morning sun cast its glow on him. In this light at this table next to this very large window, he almost looked like an angel. His shockingly white hair fell into his eyes and you reached forward to push his bangs back for him before they got doused in whipped cream.

“You’re so disgusting when you eat. Can’t you use a napkin at least once?”

“Baby-“

“Don’t call me that.” You interrupted, knowing Satoru ignored your request the moment it left your lips and would be calling you baby again in about three minutes.

“Why don’t you worry about your nasty black coffee and your sort of sweet honey almond bread and I’ll worry about enjoying this delicious swiss roll and my morning cookie milkshake with extra whipped cream on top.” He grinned, pretending to shiver in disgust at your breakfast and you tried to ignore the pieces of oreo stuck in his otherwise incredibly white teeth. It was a mystery his teeth weren’t filled with holes. As long as you’d known Satoru, you only knew him to eat desserts for breakfast, lunch and dinner. You often wondered where it all went to.

You looked down at your cup of black coffee. You didn’t actually know why you ordered this. You were more of a latte type of person, but the smell of the coffee beans roasting and the sweet scent of vanilla and honey wafting through the air made you feel as though you needed to balance the sweet with something a bit more bitter. You weren’t Satoru after all. An entire plate of sweets and a milkshake before 8am was sure to send you straight to the emergency room.

As you zoned out watching Satoru tongue fuck his pastry, you heard the telltale ding of the cafe door - a sign that another customer had entered. You paid it no mind, instead reaching forward to once again push Satoru’s bangs back. He smiled goofily as he leaned back in his chair and began drinking his thick milkshake like it was water.

From your peripheral, a head of blonde hair caught your eye. You cast a quick glance over and immediately regretted it. Your entire body stiffened, back straight as a rod in your seat. You knew that head of blonde hair. At one point in time, you knew that head of hair better than anyone else’s. And you knew that face. That face with its unmistakable jawline your lips used to ghost over, those unnaturally sharp cheekbones your hands used to caress. That face that belonged to so many memories - both joyous and painful - that you kept tucked away in the deepest crevices of your mind. It was your ex-husband. It was Kento Nanami.

You reached forward, trying to still your shaking hands and grabbed your cup of coffee, downing it all while ignoring the burn in your chest from the heat. You needed to leave. Now.

Your eyes darted around rapidly for a sign of any exit aside from the main one. You wanted to avoid him if at all possible. You hadn’t seen him in five years and you were hoping to keep it that way. You thought he left the city and yet, here he was leaned over in front of the display case, eyes roaming over the options. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you felt your shoulders sag slightly in relief while your mind betrayed you, wondering if he still ordered the same nasty tart parfait topped with strawberries. He always loved having that before work every morning.

Stop.

You squeezed your eyes shut, reminding yourself that this man who you used to find your limbs tangled around almost every night was now virtually a stranger to you. You didn’t know him anymore. You made that choice.

—————-

5 Years Ago

You checked the clock hanging above the kitchen sink again before letting out a frustrated sigh. 10pm. Your eyes cast down, taking in the sight of your empty plate and your husband's cold, stale food across the table from you. He missed dinner again by more than a few hours. No call. No text. He just didn’t come home for dinner. You’d lost count of what number dinner this is.

Quietly, you gathered your plates and discarded any leftovers into the garbage disposal, washing the dishes for the night. It wasn’t like he was going to touch any leftovers. Knowing him, he would come home, say maybe four words to you before showering and going to bed.

When did it get like this?

You and Nanami were good friends in high school - bonding over being two loner kids in their awkward emo phases. After graduation Nanami moved away, opting to go to a university outside of Tokyo. You stayed behind. You kept in touch, both growing out of your emo style and attitudes and becoming adults. The distance truly made your hearts grow fonder. You found yourselves talking all day, every day. If you weren’t talking on the phone, you were texting, sending each other selfies and videos until one day, Nanami moved back.

He wasted no time showering you with affection, letting it be known he felt more than friendship for you. And you couldn’t deny you felt the same. Casual dates turned into more romantic affairs. Eventually you moved in together and soon after were engaged.

Your marriage to Nanami was great at first, the honeymoon phase lasting longer than you suspected was normal for most couples. You were both so deeply in love with each other you couldn’t see straight. And then Nanami got a new job as a salaryman and that’s when things began to go downhill.

One particular night, you found yourselves entwined in bed after hours of love making. Tracing circles on your bare back, Nanami sighed.

“I hate my job.” He confessed so quietly you almost didn’t hear.

“Then leave, Kento.” You replied. The last thing you wanted was for him to suffer somewhere he wasn’t happy.

“I can’t just up and leave y/n. That would be foolish. I need the experience to be able to find anything better.”

He always looked at the bigger picture whereas you were impulsive, more likely to throw caution to the wind and never look back. Nanami grounded you while you encouraged him to let loose. A perfect balance.

“But Ken, if you’re unhappy, you can leave. We’ll figure it out. I want you to be somewhere doing something you enjoy.”

“You know what I would prefer?” He asked, kissing your forehead sweetly before running his fingers through your hair. You shivered at the touch, sighing happily.

“What’s that?”

“To be on a beach in Malaysia with you. I want to have enough money saved up that we can retire early and live our lives carefree on the water. Could you imagine?”

You lifted your head from his chest to meet his gaze, your heart fluttering when you saw the sparkle you had missed for some time dancing in his eyes.

“You want to be a beach bum?” You snorted. He responded with a soft pinch to your side, making you yelp.

“Of course not. I would like for you to lounge on the sand while I enjoy a good book next to you. We won’t have to worry about money or loading our train passes or about waking up early in the morning to squeeze in cafe time before going to work.”

At this, you stuck your bottom lip out, pouting. “What? I love our morning cafe time before work. You don’t?”

Nanami chuckled, a sound reserved only for you within these walls of your shared home.

“Of course I do, my love.” He leaned forward, kissing your bottom lip tenderly. “I just have other dreams for us. I see a different life for us - outside of the hustle and bustle of Tokyo. I’m going to get us out of here.”

Your mind raced with possibilities at Kento’s words. The world was vast and there were plenty of places to go, but Malaysia definitely sounded like a dream come true.

“Ok, baby. Malaysia it is.”

That was years ago. You were pulled from your trip down memory lane at the sound of the door opening. You glanced back up at the kitchen clock. 11:33pm. You heard Nanami’s agitated sigh before you saw him, fingers laced through the knot of his tie as he pulled it loose. He entered the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and sipping it. He startled when he saw you at the kitchen table, most likely expecting you would be asleep.

“Welcome home.” You muttered.

He hummed in acknowledgment, taking the seat across from you. In the dark light of the kitchen, you could see how tired Nanami was. The years had not been kind to him. His eyes housed dark circles beneath them, his lips downturned in what seemed to be a permanent frown these days, the light you so longed to see again long gone.

Most days were like this - you waiting for Nanami to come home from work until it became so late you fell asleep. He never thought to call or text, though you had asked him plenty of times before to do so. Not to keep tabs on him, but to let you know he was safe. And to be considerate of you. He never got around to doing it and most of your texts to him went unanswered. On some nights in the quiet of your bedroom, when the loneliness assaulted you, you wondered if he was having an affair, if there was another woman in the picture. You were embarrassed to think that you became so insecure in your marriage that you found yourself looking through his things one day. You found nothing to confirm your suspicions and so you let it go.

Dinners were spent mostly alone save for the times you went out with a friend to grab something, your heart not able to handle another night of cooking for two and eating by yourself in silence. Long gone were your morning cafe dates, Nanami opting to get up even earlier than you had before to get to work. His reasoning started out as “This is for Malaysia” and soon became “I have deadlines to meet. Surely you’re capable of getting a muffin on your own.” followed by the soft click of the front door locking.

No goodbye kisses, no shared meals. You couldn’t remember the last time you had touched each other outside of awkward bumps trying to maneuver around one another.

“Y/n.” Nanami’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back to the present.

“Yes?”

“I said I’m going to go shower and go to bed. I’m quite tired and I need to be in the office early tomorrow. Goodnight.”

And with that, he stood and left to the bedroom without so much as a glance back. You felt numb, your hands balling into fists in your lap. The built up frustration and loneliness you had been feeling the last few years were bubbling up and boiling over. You needed to say something to your husband. It could not stay this way forever.

With newfound determination, you entered the bedroom to find Nanami already under the blankets in bed, his back facing away from your side of the bed. You climbed in next to him, wrapping your arms around him. He sighed and you braced yourself for the rejection your advances were so often met with.

“Y/n, I’m exhausted.”

You ignored him, pressing soft kisses to the tender spot between his shoulder blades that only you knew about. You were met with a quiet groan from the blonde man before you. He shifted slightly, still trying to resist.

“Make love to me, Kento.” You placed another kiss to that same spot, running your tongue lightly over it. “Please.”

Nanami groaned again, louder this time and turned over to face you. “It has to be quick.” He murmured. “I’m very tired.”

While you felt heat pool in your core at him accepting your advances fairly easily, your heart couldn’t help but hurt a little bit at how he seemed to only be doing this to appease you, not because he truly desired you.

You felt Nanami’s weight press against you as he climbed over your form. His lips came down to find your pulse point on your neck, making you gasp out into the darkness of your bedroom. The sound caused Nanami to react, a moan escaping his lips as he continued kissing and sucking on your spot.

His hands roamed your body slowly, fingers deftly finding your hardened nipple and tweaking it. You moaned softly at the sensation, your body already going into overdrive after having not been touched in so long. Nanami’s body reacted as well, his hips coming down between your spread legs and pressing his clothed length against your throbbing core.

You loved Nanami. You longed to feel close to him, to feel your bodies tangled in the sheets the way they often were when you first began dating, when you were first married. However, in this moment, you were so nervous . Why were you so nervous?

Nanami pressed himself against you again, groaning as he brushed his lips across your jaw. Your heart was beating so hard, so fast you thought you were beginning to feel lightheaded. His fingers slid down from your nipples to the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up for better access to your wet folds. Your breath was coming out rapidly, the blood rushing so quickly through your body you could hear it in your ears.

Your mind raced with memories of the last few years. Your wedding, conversations had in this very bed, the many nights of empty plates sitting next to full untouched ones, the intense sadness you felt overwhelming you everyday. You thought initiating sex with your husband would bring you closer, would make you feel the tiniest bit of desire from him. But it all felt wrong.

As Nanami’s lips hovered over yours, your breaths mingling with each other, you felt your throat close up. Your eyes were warm with the onset of tears and as he moved closer to press his lips to yours you choked out a quiet “stop” before he could reach you.

Nanami froze above you. You couldn’t see his face in the dark and you were thankful for that because you knew there was no turning back from what you were about to do. You would no longer be able to touch him or call him if you felt the urge. You would not be in this position again after this. This was going to change everything.

“What’s wrong?” He sighed out irritably and you knew it was because he was tired that he was being grumpy with you. Regardless, it gave you the resolve you needed to say it.

“I-I want a divorce.”

———————

Present Day

“Y/n…” A distant voice called out to you. You didn’t respond. “Earth to Y/n. Hello?” A pale hand came up to cup your cheek. Your eyes snapped down to the hand then to the face of whom it belonged to.

“Satoru.” You gasped. He swiped his thumb across your cheek and it was only then you realized your face was wet. You had been crying.

“You okay baby?”

Your brows furrowed. “I told you don’t call me-“

“Y/n.”

Another voice spoke from behind Satoru. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. You looked up, coming face to face with who you wanted so badly to escape from. Nanami stood behind Satoru, a paper bag in one hand and a coffee in the other. You saw him glance down at Satoru’s hand still on your cheek and you slapped it away.

Satoru spun around in his seat and looked up, smiling brilliantly as he caught on to the current situation quickly. “Oh! What’s up, Nanamin? Haven’t seen you in awhile. Thought you kicked rocks to Michigan or whatever.”

Nanami cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly on his feet. “I did leave the city for a bit, but I’m back now.” His eyes were glued to you and you forced yourself to look away, staring into your empty coffee mug.

Satoru hummed. “Well, Y/n was just heading out anyway. She needs to get to work. Right, baby ?”

You bit back a retort at the pet name, simply thankful to Satoru for giving you an out.

“Right! I should get going or I’m going to be late. Wouldn’t want that.” You stood, gathering your purse and dumping your untouched bread onto Satoru’s plate. You were met with a scowl from him.

“Great running into you, Nanami. Um, welcome back.” You murmured. “Maybe we can catch up later.” And you fought back a wince at the fake offer that now hung in the air between you both, praying instead that the earth would open up and swallow you.

You moved around Nanami who was standing as still as a statue and made your way to the exit, waving back at the kind employees who yelled for you to visit again. You rounded the corner quickly, ignoring the ding from the cafe entrance behind you and the quick footsteps approaching.

“Y/n!”

Your body tensed again as you came to a stop on the sidewalk. You turned, coming face to face with your ex-husband again. He was breathing quickly, his coffee dripping down the sides of his cup as though he had truly hurried after you.

“Next week?” He questioned. You gave him a look of confusion.

“What?”

“Next week. You said maybe we could catch up later. What about some time next week?”

Your heart was in your throat now. Why? Why would he want to meet up? You had nothing to talk about. Unless he wanted to tell you about how amazing his life is now and how he has a new wife he loves and kids and -

“So, are you ok with scheduling some time for then?”

You shook your head. “Oh. Um, sure.”

He smiled that tiny smile he used to do when he felt shy and your body reacted against your will, heart pounding harshly in your chest. He almost looked like the Nanami you knew from high school, sans the side bang. “Ok. Is your cell number still the same? I can text you and we can iron out the details.”

You nodded. “It’s the same. Yep, just text me. I have to go.” You didn’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and hurrying to the train station. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You needed to get out of the same air space as Nanami.

You took a seat on the train, doors shutting shortly after. A vibration from your pocket alerted you to a notification. You pulled your phone out, seeing a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: It’s Kento. It was very good to see you again if only for a short while. I look forward to speaking with you later on regarding catching up. Have a good day at work.

Sliding your phone back in your pocket, you let out a long sigh, thinking long and hard about what possible plans you would be making with your ex-husband.

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