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silknspice · 4 months ago

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BAD LIARS —

fake dating hockey! vi x reader | fluff, angst, fake dating trope, romcom-ish, smut (mdni 18+) wc 20.8k

synopsis: following the release of four outdated love letters, vi vanderson is more than willing to start fake dating the girl of her dreams as a way to get rid of your clingy ex (and her ex hookup): caitlyn kiramman.

content: fake dating trope, some fake insta/snap stories/smau content!, language, betrayal, makeup smut (kissing, fingering, oral, mdni!), clingy ex!caitlyn, college au, lying, miscommunication

Three-fourths of your favorite cereal is absolutely disgusting.

The deep blue circles start off sweet, but leave a bitter aftertaste that stains your tongue. The auburn ones aren’t all that bad, but they get too soggy, disintegrating into grains that fade into the now colored milk. The chestnut brown discs are so scarce that their taste is completely forgettable; you swear there’s only three in each batch.

Had these been the only flavors, you’d chuck the box in the trash and scold your best friend-roommate Mel for even bringing them into your shared apartment. But that one-fourth of strawberry pink circles make it worth it every time. They’re sweet on your tongue, sweet on your heart, swee—

“What’s with the look?”

Mel’s concern-filled voice brings you back to the present, making you smile sheepishly like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. The girl slides her white puffer jacket on, keys jingling in her hand as she awaits an answer.

“Nothin’, just ate a blue one.” Your mouth flattens, attempting to squeeze the bitter flavor from your tastebuds.

The gold-eyed girl hums. She blinks as her arms cross and she takes two, then three cautious steps towards you. Her gaze flickers faster than light, attempting to read every inch of your body language.

“You know,” she starts, sitting down to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. “If you need to talk about it, I’m here. Don’t feel like you have to suffer in silence.”

That makes you snort, soft reassuring laughter following as you shake your head with confidence.

“Suffer? Mel, I broke up with Caitlyn, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, but transitioning from a relationship to a peace-abundant single life is hard nonetheless.. unless you’re ready to jump to the rebound stage?” Her full brows raise in persuasion as she finishes her sentence. In her mind, getting laid would solve any problems that the complex inner-workings of your mind could craft.

The question catches you off guard once more. Not that it should. It’d be a big fat lie to claim the idea never crossed your mind. In fact, it planted itself inside your brain like a bug and dug all the way down to memories you’d attempted to forget. Down to highschool of all places (God forbid). Down to those four names that perfectly defined the word ‘desire’ for you. Ellie Williams, Caitlyn Kiramman, Sky Young, and Violet Vanderson.

Ellie, a fellow camp counselor at Wildflower Haven your junior year, took hold of your heart on day one. Sneaking out of your cabins at night, skinny dipping in the camp lake, even making matching bracelets that you claimed you’d ‘wear forever’. Your crush blossomed at superluminal speed. But before you knew it, camp was coming to an end and you were saying goodbye forever.

Caitlyn Kiramman. A classic senior-year-of-high-school crush that didn’t develop until the first semester of college sophomore year. Your now ex, who is the last person you want to think about. High five to your high school self for predicting that one, though.

Sky Young, a skating instructor at your local ice rink: Polar Peaks. After you’d fallen on your face for the fourth time and were ready to give up, you saw chestnut brown curls above you, decorating one of the friendliest smiles you’d seen to date. She helped you rise to your feet and held your hand for a lap around the rink. Unfortunately, you were a sophomore when she was a senior, and a week later you returned to the rink to find out she’d officially left for college. Not that there was anything between you two. Still, you could dream.

And last, but certainly not least, Violet Vanderson. The star athlete of your school’s hockey team then and now. Sculpted muscles, a singular tattoo that multiplied quickly after graduation, and a killer smile that could put a halt to the gears turning in any girl’s head.

It was a simple interaction. You were the first one to read your final poem in front of your literature class with clammy palms, a shaky voice, and a dream. As you finished, looking at attentive students like a deer in headlights, Vi was the first to clap. It was enthusiastic, loud, and genuine. And like always, other students followed suit.

Vi didn’t know you. She knew of you, the bits and pieces she could gather. You were somewhat of a social butterfly, you smelled of strawberry and vanilla every time you passed her seat, you were mind-consumingly beautiful, and you could write. Unfortunately for the both of you, your paths didn’t seem to cross any further than that.

And so, you wrote a letter.

Four love letters, to be exact. Each one in the high point of your crushes, attempting to soothe the longing feeling in your gut that ached for you to do something. You wrapped them all the same, in either a dark blue, chestnut brown, auburn, or pink envelope with a bow on the seal, even going as far as addressing and stamping them. Of course, they were never meant to be sent, which led them to their hiding place in a rose-red cylindrical fabric box that was stashed away into the depths of your closet.

“C’mon, you’re hot and single again. I have some good contestants–”

“I don’t know Mels,” you cut her off with a look too mixed to decipher. “But really, I’m good,” you reassure, taking another spoonful of cereal into your mouth.

Yuck– another blue one.

“Sevika, what the fuck!”

Gert’s complaint was drowned out by skates shuffling against the abused ice. Players clad in blue and white practice jerseys messily fill the space, fighting to keep up with Sevika. The woman speeds past, guiding the puck along the ice and slamming it into the goal.

The sounds of hurried feet and grunts subside, leaving breathless panting and shared looks of confusion across the teammates’ faces. But one pair of skates never slows, coming up behind the buff figure and skidding to a stop.

“The hell are you doing?” Vi scolds the woman with a scrunched up face of judgement. This is the sixth time Sevika’s pissed her off this week and it’s starting to get on her last nerve. “You’re hogging the puck. You’re not the only person on this team, in a game this would’ve–”

“Get the hell out of my face,” the burly woman throws back, shoulder checking Violet hard enough to make her break her cool, squaring her shoulders and raising her voice with a “Sevika,”.

“Vanderson! Grove!” Coach Talis’s voice echos throughout the rink, making the hockey players stop in their tracks.

“Unless you two want to run extra drills: cut it out. Now.”

“Is it just me, or is she being more of a fucking pain than usual?” Vi asks the woman across the locker room rhetorically, slipping on a clean compression shirt and plopping down on the bench to knot her laces.

“I told you dude, she wants to be you, or at least take your spot.” the blonde sighs, pulling her braided hair from under the pullover she just slipped on. “As long as she’s taking her anger our on you and not me..” She continues, and the pinkette throws her a scoff before the blonde continues.

“You know if you need stress relief, you could always go back to Kiramman. Heard the pretty girl called things off with her.”

And although her teammate only muttered the words, they set off blaring alarms within Vi’s mind. Because she can’t go back to hooking up with Caitlyn, she lied to her friends saying the two of them were ‘too busy’ when in reality Vi called things off because she couldn’t stop thinking about the one girl she knew nothing about. You. And suddenly, you and Cait were dating. Suddenly, she sure as hell couldn’t tell anybody the real reason she stopped seeing her.

“Nah Abby, not happening,” she simply replies, attempting to sound as bored with the topic as possible.

“Fine, stay dry. I’m just throwing things out there,” the blonde puts her hands up in defense, shutting her locker as she walks towards the exit. “Later!” she waves before slipping out of the door.

A beat passes. Then two. Then three. Finally, she takes a deep breath, leans down to unzip her practice bag, and reaches in.

And out Vi pulls a pink envelope, decorated with a bow perfectly placed on the front and her name adorned with hearts on the back.

The force of cool air coats your face as you walk throughout campus, ranting on the phone to Mel about your latest hell of a group project. “And it’s not even.. even.. sorry, I’m getting a call. Talk at home!”

You smile at the friendly contact photo covering your screen, rounding some greenery as the parking lot comes into view. With a click of the ‘accept’ button, you're greeted with the gentlest of voices. “Hey!”

A soft chuckle leaves your lips.

“Hey little man, look I’m about to drive home so I can’t talk for long,” you blinked a few times, realizing you went further from your car and spinning on your heels.

“No worries,” he starts, “I just wanted to let you know that last week I was helping clean your old room and I found some letters, looks like you forgot to send them out? They were stamped and addressed and everything, so I just sent them for you.”

Ekko continues, giving some speech about God knows what.

But you can’t hear any of it, because the ringing in your ears is deafening.

No.

It takes a few beats of your pure, shocked silence before your brain powers back on. And once it does, every inch of your mind is racing.

Okay, you thought to yourself. Ellie’s letter was addressed to camp, so there’s no chance of it getting to her anytime soon, if at all. Sky’s been gone for years, but you can’t remember the address you put down for her letter. Violet– shit. She definitely has hers.

Oh. No. No, no, no.

Your body feels oh so fragile and suddenly the idea of fleeing the country doesn’t sound entirely heinous, because only a few feet away stands Caitlyn.

Her blue hair is in a messy ponytail and her outfit is less perfected than usual, urgently thrown on. She’s searching, a determined expression plastered on her face as her gaze flickers through crowds of students.

For a moment, you pray it’s a misunderstanding. You pray she’s in a rush to find someone else, because there’s absolutely no way your ex was mailed a love letter you wrote in highschool.

But your eyes trail down to her hand wrapped around that beautifully decorated navy envelope, and your knees are seconds away from buckling.

“Yeah, yeah uh huh that’s great and all Ekko but I’ve really gotta go. Call me another time, okay?” you hit the ‘end call’ button with more force than needed and dash to your car.

As you swing open the car door and drop inside with a slam shut, you can feel it. The way your heart pounds against your chest as if it’s trying to escape. That achy feeling that crawls its way up the back of your throat and transforms into tears that prickle at the corners of your worried eyes.

You shake your head, putting the key in the ignition and immediately shifting to reverse, not tending to your clouded vision.

“Woah!”

The somewhat-familiar yelp has your foot slamming on the breaks. Your face scrunches in confusion, the sleeve of your coat wiping your eyes just enough to make out the empty space behind your car as you look in your rearview camera. You’re confused, ready to switch the car back into ‘reverse’ before a tap tap at your window makes you gasp.

Violet stands there, looking relaxed as an almost smug smile coats her lips.

Your face distorts, torn between speeding off and giving in to her request, but before you make a decision, your manicured hands are rolling the window down. Cool air flows inside, but it loses to the subtle warmth that fills your body from the way the pinkette is eyeing you.

“You know you’re supposed to check behind you before pulling out, right?” she teases.

The question itself is mocking, but the glint in her eye and how she leans down to relax a forearm on the car tells you to let it slide.

“Right,” you agree. “Right, sorry about that. I just really need to leave so–”

“Think y’ can explain this before you do?”

With no time to brace yourself, she holds up that stupid decorated pink envelope, and all you want to do is faint.

“I don’t..” you whisper, accepting there’s nothing you can say to make this go away. But that blue hair is nearing, and you’re going to have a heart attack.

“Can you get in?” you ask, voice a soft plea.

Vi’s expression falters. That was the last thing she expected.

“Please?” you try again. “I can’t talk about this here.”

Your foot’s going to fall asleep if you sit like this any longer.

The two of you stay perfectly still, worried that any form of movement will penetrate the bubble of silence that formed as soon as Vi sat in the plush passenger seat.

Her mind is racing, because the beautiful girl she’s had her eyes on for months sent her the most heartfelt confession she’s ever gotten, and now she’s sitting in her car in a secluded area of a park. For a moment, she wonders if she’s dreaming. But the sound of your seat belt unbuckling and you shifting to face her, sweet and cautious eyes looking into her soul, has her heart skipping beats. She concludes she’s wide awake.

“Interesting spot for our first date,” she hums after clearing her throat. “You’re not gonna kill me, right?”

That has your expression faltering.

“You’re..” you stammer, “you think this is funny?”

“Listen I’m just a little confused, sunshine,” she doesn’t miss the way your body stills at the nickname. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. But you and her majesty just broke up, and I think you should know that her and I—”

“Just– let me see that.” you cut her off and reach out for the rosy packaging, but Vi’s quicker, pulling it back with a squint in her eyes.

“I’d like to know how mortified I should be,” you confess quietly after a beat of silence. “It’s been a while since I read yours.”

Naturally, the athlete oozes confidence and cockiness, but the pure confusion that colonizes her expression makes all of that fade for the moment. Her guard is down, allowing you to reach over her lap and seize the envelope.

“Wait wait wait,” she starts as you focus your attention on pulling the folded paper from the envelope.

“What do you mean ‘yours’? Are you saying I’m not the only person who got one ‘f these?” she asks, voice laced with confusion and another emotion you can’t quite pinpoint. You ignore her, hands stilling as sour nostalgia hits you in the gut and knocks the wind out of you.

My dearest Violet,

Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but when they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with the class, a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the nervous shuffling of my feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, truly love you.

You physically can’t read the rest of this.

The tense sensation in your stomach only tightens as you hastily fold the paper and toss it back to the athlete, who’s still examining you with a curious glint in her eye.

“Okay– here’s the thing,” you begin after a deep breath. “I wrote four letters, and they’re all outdated, like– from sophomore through senior year. A family friend sent them out by accident.”

The explanation has Violet blinking, because in one sentence you’ve managed to crush her plans that she confidently pranced over with. In one sentence, you’ve made her question what the hell she was thinking. In one sentence, you’ve washed away her suave persona and turned her to a questioning pile of mush, because– you’re not just trying to get into her pants?

“..Well who else got letters?” She cringes at her whiny tone, running a hand through her hair for comfort.

“Uh,” you sigh and shift your position as you look anywhere but the girl, dread consuming your almost-annoyed face. “A girl from summer camp, some girl from the ice rink, and… Caitlyn.” The last word comes out as an embarrassed murmur that leaves Vi’s mouth agape in shock and pity.

A few beats of silence pass before Vi’s eyes light up.

It might be a crazy idea, and you might despise her after the suggestion leaves her lips, but she can’t pass up this opportunity.

“Things with Kiramman must be tense now, right?” she offers.

Your lips press together in silent agreement, gaze trailing to your shining phone screen. 35 new messages and 6 missed calls from Caitlyn, just in the past two hours. You’d texted Caitlyn an explanation as soon as you’d parked: that Ekko sent her an old letter and that was just that. But still, stubborn as always, the bluenette refuses to believe you.

“You could say that,” you mumble reluctantly. “I just,” you whisper, “I don’t know what to do.”

Her gaze flickers up and down your frame once in final thought. Your bright eyes drooping with worry and once confident voice lacing with insecurity makes up her mind. She wants nothing more than to console you, to wrap her strong arms around your frame and make you beam. Vi’s not sure if it’s her or the seventeen year old in that creative writing class speaking, but words fall from her lips.

“I could be your girlfriend.”

A wave of disbelief washes over you, leaving widened eyes and a pounding heart in its path. The panicked expression on your face is enough to have her next words sputtering out in consolation.

“Fake girlfriend, of course.” The way your eyes soften in thought fuels her to continue. “Just for a little while y’know? To give Kiramman the hint.” Her words are spoken with more power as she sees the gears turning in your pretty little head.

The idea’s heinous, and the thought of your scheme being revealed makes your stomach turn in embarrassment for the both of you. It’s ridiculous, idiotic, and risky, but your phone lights up once again with a text from your navy-haired ex, and that’s enough to make you answer.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

caitlyn: I know you didn’t mean what you said. Just come and talk to me, love. caitlyn: Jesus, don’t be stubborn.

The messages continue on like a flood, piling onto your guilty conscience until the notification ringing becomes all too much, making you flick the silence button on your phone. The quiet doesn’t last long as you near the doors of the practice rink. Five players burst through the doors, a cluster of chaos and yells surrounding them before one girl, hair tied back into a dark brown bun, notices you.

“That her?” she whispers to her teammates, their backs facing you as they walk away, but they whip their heads around (noticeably at that) to get glances at you.

“Damnn.” another draws out, earning a slap on her neck.

“How’d Vi do that so fast?” you hear another quip before they take a turn down the hallway.

You only smiled gently, rolling your eyes at the comments as your hand pushed open the door to the rink. At least you make a believable couple.

“You know, my words were ‘you could always go back to Kiramman, the pretty girl dumped her’, not ‘you should go bag your ex-fling’s ex-girlfriend’. They’ve been broken up for, what, two weeks? Does she even know about you and Cait?” Abby’s raspy voice fills the ice, making Vi shush her in annoyance.

“Yes, of course she knows.”

There’s a beat of silence, neither of the players move when the words of a lie fill the air.

“Fuck fine. No, she doesn’t know yet. I’m just waiting for a good time..” Vi confesses, aimlessly kicking the ice.

“You know this makes you messy, right?” the strong blonde grinned.

“Oh fuck off. Messy is pounding half the swim team.” The pinkette sends an accusatory glance and Abby’s raising her hands up in innocence with a shrug and a smug smile. She rounds the ice and stops in her tracks when you enter the room, glistening skin and a patient waiting look on your face.

She snickers, letting out a quick whistle as she skates towards the exit off the ice. “Violet,” she coos in a sing-songy voice, “look who’s here for you.”

The blonde waves goodbye to her friend once and sends you a wink before exiting the room.

Your hands are clasped behind your back as you take your time walking up to where the carpet and ice of the rink are separated. Realizing your limit, you lean your side against the entrance, looking at the athlete whose eyes are grazing over your attire painfully slow.

“You want some skates?” she finally speaks, eyes meeting yours with a glint.

You laugh gently. “Hell no.” She snickers along with you, removing her helmet to run a hand through her hair.

“So you’ve,” you slightly raise your hand to point your thumb in the direction Abby and the other players exited, “you’ve told people already?”

Worry flickers over her face, because for some reason she just can’t read you right like she can read other girls and it drives her insane.

“Yeah, something wrong with that?” she asks cooly, placing her helmet back on the pink fluff as she glides around.

You bite the inside of your cheek in thought, finally shaking your head. “No, no I mean that’s the whole point, for people to know.” you hum.

“But I have to ask, why are you doing this?”

Vi stops in her tracks, body turning to face yours from feet away.

She contemplates it, telling you the truth. That she’s infatuated with and intrigued by you. That you’ve completely ruined hookups and “crushes” for her because she can’t get you out of her head. And maybe she doesn’t know you too well just yet, but she’s going to. And yes, she used to fuck your ex girlfriend way before you were even girlfriends, but it has absolutely nothing to do with the bond she wants to have with you, and she prays it doesn’t affect deem her unreliable.

Yet none of that can come out of her mouth. So, she settles on her practiced lie and prays whoever’s up there doesn’t look down on her for it.

“Coach doesn’t like my reputation for ‘getting around’. Says it just doesn’t look good. Being with you gives me some cover.” She talks smoothly, making sure there’s not a hint of guilt behind her voice, because it's a lie. Coach Talis couldn’t care less about what she’s doing in her free time as long as she shows out on the ice.

You only hum and nod.

You don’t notice how close she’s gotten until she’s there, staring down at you. Her musk and amber scent is intoxicating, seeping into your nostrils while powder blue eyes catch yours through her helmet and– is it possible she looks better than you remember?

“The letter,” you sputter out, mentally cringing as the pinkette raises a brow. “Can I see the letter again?”

She’s cheesing, reaching into the pocket of her pants to whip out the neatly folded paper and.. is she just keeping that on her?

As if she can read your mind and wide eyes, she speaks. “Just knew you’d want it,” she explains, placing it between your waiting fingers. She watches as you unfold the paper and look up at her. Thick silence fills the air before the athlete gets the hint, blinking twice with a nod. “Right, sorry,” Vi apologizes simply before skating off.

You take a deep breath, heart swelling the same way it did when you first wrote this sweet confession.

My dearest Violet,

Do you remember Ximena Talis’s creative writing class in junior year? You acted so uninterested in each lesson when your teammates were around, but while they were busy skipping class, you were sticking your nose in the next Shakespeare play or Edgar Allen Poe poem. You shared your own writings with a bored look painting your face and an awkward laugh spilling from your throat (although, they really weren’t that bad). But when I stood in front of our peers and performed my spin on “Annabel Lee”, you rose to your feet in applause. I’ll always be grateful that it was you who gave me my first standing ovation. Because in that moment I knew, from my happily raised eyebrows down to the shuffling of my nervous feet, that I love you Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.

When I sat back down in my seat, you slipped a pink sticky note back onto my desk. Gentle handwriting and a sweet smiley face in the corner decorated the words “that was amazing, how do you write so well?”. I’d never had my heart pound harder, never felt my palms sweatier or my spirits higher. As each day passes, I hope you’ll look at me with the same rose colored glasses as you did that class. I dream each night with my lovestruck brain of you taking me by the hand and asking me to be forever yours. I’ll be waiting, no matter how long it takes.

- forever yours, ____

It doesn’t take long before you get that warm and fuzzy feeling, the same one that caressed your body while you wrote this very letter. It takes even less time for it to be replaced with soul eating shame that has you wanting to curl into a ball.

“You’ve always been a good writer,” she calls out, nearing you. “I meant it when I said it.”

“..I know,” you agree, a smile forming against your will.

Vi’s grinning at your sass, and damn is the only word that fills her brain. “How are things with Kiramman?” she asks gently.

“She just doesn’t believe me. She’s texted a thousand times since yesterday and is totally convinced I want her back.” you roll your eyes in exhaustion.

“Do you?”

You pause at her question, because underneath that carefree and playful persona hides a hint of worry behind Vi’s voice, and it’s fueling the curiosity within you. “Why are you asking?”

A beat passes. “Just wanna know how humiliated I’ll be after all of this,” the pinkette admits.

Her confession makes you laugh and shake your head. “I wouldn’t do that to you,” you hum. “I broke up with Caitlyn and that’s that. If it takes a fake relationship and a little pda for her to see that then so be it.”

Vi nods, making sure not to let the smile she’s feeling creep onto her face.

“So you like writing, you’re smart as hell, you dress real cute,” she points a finger up and down your outfit and you tilt your head. “Anything else I should know about you or our little.. ordeal?”

You tongue your cheek in silent thought before replying.

“You can’t kiss me.”

That has Vi’s brain short circuiting, because the image you’ve set in her mind from those words alone is sparking a crimson glow across her face and– fuck she shouldn’t be thinking about this. But she had to admit (to herself, not out loud of course), she’d have no problem with running her lips across yours if you asked for it.

“Did Kiramman not kiss you, angel?” ‘She’d have to be a fucking idiot not to’ is the next thing that wants to come out of her mouth, but she settles for a soft tease. “That’s a couples thing, if you didn’t know.”

“We kissed, obviously.” You cross your arms as you speak. “You can– y’know, hold me, kiss my.. anywhere else.” Both you and Vi feel a shift. Damn, are ice rinks always this warm? “Just, no real kissing. It’s too personal.”

Vi gently nods, slipping out a soft ‘alright’ because you have a good point.

She moves forward to step off the ice, placing a firm hand on your waist to gently guide you out of the way as she passes. Your body tenses at the touch, whipping your head towards the girl in surprise.

The pinkette notices, and she knows she shouldn’t chuckle at it, but she does. “If it’s gonna take ‘a little pda’, you might wanna get rid of that before this weekend,” she’s speaking cockily as she nears her bag, her helmet coming off for good.

You clear your throat. “What’s this weekend?”

“Party ‘m takin’ you to. Think of it as our couples debut.” And Vi loves the surprised little look on your face as you ask her if that’s ‘really necessary’.

“You really think anyones gonna believe we’re together if I’m at a party all by myself? Who’s gonna fight off all the girls craving my attention, sunshine?”

You wonder if the notorious smirk on her face is permanent as she slings her practice bag on a sculpted shoulder as she moves to tower over you, the cool air of the rink becoming very present.

“So you’re coming, yeah?”

Your eyes travel from hers to the empty space beside her in thought.

“Of course.”

“You’re sure it’s not too boob-y?”

You tug at your low cut top, half yelling over the chaos of other students to your roommate who’s eyeing you like your one head has turned into five.

“Wait, you didn’t want it to be ‘boob-y’? Practically wearing a bra,” she yells back with a knowing smile, sipping from the red cup that quickly found her hands. At the sight of your worry, her smugness turns to playful comfort. “Come on, you’re at a frat not a damn funeral. You look sexy.”

“She’s right.”

The raspy voice behind you is unfamiliar, sending a soft chill down your spine that turns you on your heels.

You’re met with a tall, muscular, brownskin woman. Half of her hair is pulled back, and loose strands fall to decorate her face that holds piercing eyes which are completely directed on you. You’ve seen her before for sure, but her name is the last thing on your mind as her eyes trail over every inch of your exposed skin.

“Sevika,” she tells lowly, placing a red cup between your manicured fingers to which you scoff under your breath.

You give her the benefit of the doubt.

“___,” you offer your name, looking for any hint of recognition on her face, and you get it when she smirks and tilts her head.

“I know who you are, beautiful,” she purrs.

“Then you also know I’m Vi’s girlfriend?” you throw back. The words feel completely foreign on your tongue, but come out so awfully right.

The raven’s eyebrows raise right before she huffs out a laugh of disbelief, sipping from whatever mixture graced the cup in her hand. “Girlfriend?” she repeats. “Shit, with the way she was talking about you, I thought you were just a hookup.”

The air’s suddenly much thicker, tenser, and you don’t have much time to process what Sevika just laid upon you before pink hair makes its way through the crowd.

“There’s my girl,” Vi calls out as she nears you, her sweet words cutting the tension like a knife. “Been looking all over for you,” she speaks as gently as she can in the atmosphere, completely ignoring the presence of her teammate.

“Hi,” you simply let out. Your knees feel weak and you think maybe you’re not cut out for this, because the pinkette slides a warm hand around your waist and places a chaste kiss down on your bare shoulder.

She’s pulling back from your skin when her eyes land on the cup in your hand, a confused glint in her eye as she squints. “Thought you drove?” The calloused fingers tracing meaningless patterns on your skin and soft breathy words hitting your face from just inches away make you feel like Melting. What’d she ask again?

“No,” is all you manage to stammer out, shifting in the girl’s arms until the right words form in your head. “No this isn’t mine.” you’re mentally facepalming.

Vi’s eyes flicker from you, to the cup, to Sevika, finally piecing together her part in this. The athlete stands a bit taller, gently taking the drink from your hands and shoving it against Sevika’s chest. Some of the liquid splashes over the cup, leaving droplets of a stain on the angry woman’s shirt.

Sevika’s slowly taking the cup without breaking eye contact. Her gaze is sharper than daggers as Violet huffs out a scoff, her grip on your waist more present as she guides you away from the brute and through the crowd of partygoers.

“I’m sorry about her. One asshole of a teammate.” Vi’s words kiss your ear to avoid yelling as she walks. “You okay?” she asks slightly softer, which earns her a nod and quick ‘yeah’. The pinkette’s hand snakes from around your waist down to grab one of yours, holding you tightly as you worm your ways through the horde.

As you exit the crowd your left arm finds its way to wrap around her right, placing your free hand lazily on her bicep, because if you had to feel her fingertips on your skin anymore you’d faint. The pair of you walk through the spacious backyard, decorated with a pool, groups of your classmates, and a cluster of hockey players lounging on some couches that circle a fire pit.

“You ready?” She whispers softly.

“Ready,” you reply with a smile that turns into an “o” shaped mouth, big worried eyes capturing VI’s. “They won’t ask me about hockey, right?”

The girl lets out a sweet, genuine laugh, and so cute is what she’s mentally replying.

“There you are!” Abby calls out as soon as the two of you are in her vision. The rest of the team follows, greeting both you and Vi, throwing her smirks or nods of approval when you have your focus elsewhere. Vi sits, sprawling out against the couch with her legs perfectly spread for you. As if it were natural, her hands find their way around your hips and she guides you down into her lap.

And you hate it.

Not the feeling of her firm chest against your back, not her warm legs encasing your bare and crossed ones, not even the way she wraps her muscular arms around your torso and places her head so close to yours.

You hate how normal she’s making all of this feel, how your brain is being fried with each touch, but your faux girlfriend doesn’t seem to be bothered one bit. And you’re starting to wonder if it’s a problem.

“How’d you two even meet? Didn’t you and the chick from the basketball team just break up?” one of her teammates questions you with a raised brow.

Fuck is all your brain renders, and you hope the shock didn’t show on your face because—

“I’ve had the hots for her since high school, thought it was time to do something about it,” Vi replies. A proud feeling washes over her when your body relaxes in her arms.

You’re gently squeezing her arm twice, thankful that she’s such a great actor. She’s running her thumb against your skin, thankful that you can’t read minds.

A few sweet nods and noises of approval are let out before Abby speaks up. “‘The hots’? What are you, fifty?” She jokes, earning a grinning ‘fuck off’ from Vi.

The teammates’ conversation continues both with and without you, leaving moments for you to think of something ‘girlfriendish’ to say or a new place on Vi’s skin to touch. And then, it starts. Against Vi’s rolling eyes and Elora’s complaint that this is “so middle school”, a game of truth or dare ensues. Ever the fun one, the blonde convinces everyone that it’ll be fun, that it’s good to be childish every once in a while.

So far, Gert’s been dared to send an ‘i miss you’ voice note to her ex and is utterly ashamed, Abby’s mouth tastes both bitter and spicy from the liquor concoction the teammates dared her to drink, another girl has been stripped down to her shorts and wife pleaser and shooed away from the fire to ‘endure the cold’ for ten more minutes.

When it comes to the other teammates, you don’t know how many “___ and i banged” truths and “take this many shots” dares you hear before it’s finally your turn.

“Truth or dare?” Vi coos in your ear.

“Truth–”

“Dare?” she cuts you off with a mean grin. “Alright, I dare you to jump into the pool. Right here, right now.”

Your head whips towards the girl fast enough to send chills down the pinkette’s spine. The hockey team is whooping and cheering you on as Violet comes to a stand with your mid area still locked by her arms.

“No– no– I said truth Vi!” you sputter out. Your body and mind are moving at an astronomically slow speed because before you know it, Vi’s scooping you off the ground and throwing you over her shoulder effortlessly. As she begins to walk, the hollering of the team growing in intensity, one of her warm hands lays at the back of your thigh, holding down the bottom of your already short skirt. The other trails its way down your leg and to your feet, slipping off your shoes and letting them fall with a plop.

“Violet Vanderson.” you warn firmly, squirming in anticipation as you neared the icy blue water. You’re feeling five emotions at once, and at the same time evaluating how much Caitlyn’s perception on things truly matters, because you’re this close to firing your ‘girlfriend’.

When she suggested this entire ordeal you imagined it’d be standing together for an hour and dancing, going out for drinks once or twice, maybe even an instagram story or two.

You didn’t expect pool shenanigans, shoulder kisses, and powerful arms wrapped around your sides every two seconds. You didn’t expect to be having fun, let alone like it.

“Put me down!” you yelp through rising giggles.

“A dare’s a dare, angel.” she speaks lowly over her shoulder to you, who’s dangling helplessly in her grasp. “C’mon, it looks good for us as a couple,” she whispers.

“Wait wait wait!–”

Your last threat is drowned out as Vi jumps into the glowing blue.

“Wonder how many people have had sex in here tonight,” you joke through chattering teeth. You’re holding your soaked hair together to the best of your ability as to not drench everything in your path, but truthfully, water is the cleanest thing to grace those frat floors. Vi trails right in behind you, snorting out a laugh as she leans against the closed door.

The pinkett’s pool stunt only had you upset for so long, mostly out of shock of her actually going through with it. However, once you rose to the surface of the water, the only things that could spill from your mouth were hearty giggles.

What made it ten times better was that people saw, Vi’s teammates whooped while others just snickered at the ‘new couple’s’ playfulness.

What made it a hundred times better was Abby informing you of how pissed Caitlyn looked, staring at you and Vi before storming back the way she came from.

“Enough to start a new std?” She flashes her pearly whites at her own joke.

“Violet!” you cringe, making her chuckle.

As cold as your water-soaked clothing, skin, and drenched hair makes you, the athlete’s soft gaze is a lighter igniting a blaze in the pit of your stomach. For the first time in a long time, protected by the walls of someone’s room, you’re able to explore her face.

Perfect, full brows are intercepted by a slit with one to match down on the the left of her rosy lips. Sweet freckles dance on and around her nose, and gosh she’s pretty. It’s the same face you’d admired years ago, but you still look at her as if you’ve discovered her beauty all over again. You stand there attempting to pinpoint what shade of blue her eyes are when she finally speaks up.

“Here,” the athlete steps closer, taking off her thick black coat and handing it over sheepishly. “Can’t do anything about your skirt, but I thought these would help.” A hint of blue and white fabric peeks out from underneath, and you unravel it to reveal a jersey. One of her jerseys.

There’s a glint of suspicion in your eye, and Violet’s in fear.

“You just.. keep this in your car? All the time?” You question with a perfectly raised eyebrow.

Vi clears her throat. Because no, no she doesn’t. She just had to do something to get you in her clothes.

A beat passes with no response, and finally the pinkette’s eyes are flickering around the room before she turns. “I’ll let you get changed.”

The door’s opening and closing before you can protest, and it’s finally safe for that suppressed smile to grace your lips without shame.

It doesn’t take long for you to strip out of your sopping clothes and into the oversized comfiness of Vi’s. You examine yourself in the full length mirror, fixing your wet hair to the best of your ability and running your hands over the warmth of the new clothing. It sMells just like Violet, and you convince yourself that you don’t care, but underneath that protective mask is the lovestruck teenage girl you once were.

Turning on your heels, you gather the wet bundles of fabric and head for the door when someone on the other side beats you to it.

Correction, the last person you want to see beats you to it.

Caitlyn’s quick to step inside the room, closing the door with an indecipherable expression plastered on her face. Her brows furrow with more distaste than usual, and her once perfect navy blue locks now have strands messily shaken out of place. Your tongue is strangled by the bite of your teeth. It takes everything in you not to roll your eyes to the back of your head.

“Violet Vanderson?” She wastes no time, chary eyes examining your face with crossed arms. “Really?”

You’re done holding back, so you scoff.

“Yes, really. What, are you jealous?” you quip. “Y’know what, don’t answer that. I already know.”

She ignores the sassy remark. “I’m surprised you chose her, considering everything.”

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. “Considering, what exactly?”

Caitlyn’s poker face had been drilled into her since she was a kid, but the bluenette physically had to suppress the amusement from taking over her face when she realized: you had no clue.

“I just didn’t think she was your type, and that was awfully fast,” she saves.

“I didn’t cheat on you, if that’s what you’re insinuating.” You spit the words like they burn on your tongue as impatient hands come up to rest on your hips.

“I’m insinuating that I don’t believe whatever this is.”

That has you pausing. Your face, demeanor, and attitude all stay the same, but you both notice the shift in the air.

“I think you realize you messed up when you broke things off, and now you’re playing hard to get.” She continues, stepping forward as her toned arms fall to her sides.

“There’s no need to play games with me, you know.”

Cait’s look is condescending, and it only pisses you off more when her hand reaches out to caress yours. The perfect persuasion, an easy fix to all of her problems when the utter of her surname isn’t quite enough. But you’re not easy, and you didn’t mess anything up. So you quickly swat it away, sneering as you step around the tower of a girl and towards the door.

“Get over yourself, Caitlyn.”

You exit the room with blood red vision, a fury which follows you on your journey to find Mel in the drunken crowd and pull her to the front while Vi offers to walk both of you to your car.

And in your red haze, you miss the eye contact Caitlyn and Sevika make from across the crowded room.

Sweat is dripping from the athletes’ foreheads down to the stretch of their neck as Talis blows his whistle, allowing the players to catch their breaths.

Normally, Vi would be more than willing to stay longer than the scheduled practice time. Running fun drills with Abby, racing Gert, whatever the matter may be. Hockey is her thing.

But, at the moment, you’re also ‘her thing’. And right now you were patiently waiting in your apartment for Vi to make an appearance. A friendly one, of course. Away from watching eyes and overwhelming questions, where you could discuss your next moves in peace–as peaceful as you could get with the muscular tease looking at you as if you were a star to wish on at night.

So she keeps her mouth shut and her eyes trained on Coach Talis (who’s giving some end-of-practice spiel) as Sevika glides up next to her.

She keeps her mouth shut as the brute lets out a soft scoff at how hard Vi’s trying to ignore her.

She has to bite hard on her tongue when the woman mutters something about the pink-haired athlete needing to ‘give up while she’s still ahead’.

And her mouth opens immediately when your name falls from Sevika’s lips. “___, she really is somethin’ huh–?”

“Don’t fuck with me, Sevika,” she threatens, a tad louder than expected. Their stubborn gazes stay locked on one another, and Sevika’s letting out a scoff while squaring her firm shoulders.

“Or what?” the raven throws back, intimidation oozing from her presence.

“Hey! What did I say?” The bubble of their rivalry is popped as Coach Talis raises his voice.

“That’s it. Bag skates.”

[REDACTED]: you sure this’ll work?

When Vi finally shows up at your sun-glistening apartment, her hair is wet from the quick shower she took, she’s a total blubbering mess about how she’s crazy sorry and feels terrible for making you wait an extra hour, and she’s holding one cup of coffee that looks exactly like the one you always order.

“Vi, seriously it’s okay,” you chuckle, and the girl deflates in soft relief. A smile sweet as honey graces your face and Vi finally figures it out: you’re just an angel in disguise.

You reach over from your seat on the couch to take the cup of coffee from her hand. It’s your order to a T, and the sip you take sends a cold trail of liquid down your throat and into the warmth of your stomach.

“Mmm,” you hum, making Vi malfunction when you lick the remnants from your lips. “Did you chug yours on the way?” you ask.

Perfect blue eyes blink twice while Violet calculates the odds that you’ll say yes if she were to suggest you drop the whole act and venture off on a real date right now.

“Oh– hell no. I can’t stand coffee. I just went to get you one,” she hums without thought. Fifty-five percent chance, not good enough.

“Again, I’m sorry. Sevika’s been more of an asshole than usual. Made us run back and forth on the ice until we practically collapsed. Don’t know what the hell she was thinking though, almost missed her shift at that rink..” Violet continues on with conflicted brows furrowing and a hardened gaze. But just like waves washing away at imperfections in grainy sand, the awestruck glimmer in your eyes wipes the fury from her blood.

“You went just for me?” the question comes out almost as a whisper.

Violet swears she can feel her heart Melting from your actions, and the feeling bubbles its way up as words in her throat. “Of course.”

It’s left at that. Of course, a declaration that it was common sense she’d be of service to you even behind the scenes. Neither of you dare to ask or explain why. For a moment, there’s no words. Just the soft sensation of little breaths, beating hearts, and wandering gazes, but only for a moment.

“Cait doesn’t believe us,” you spill.

Vi can only huff gently, shifting in her seat as her spread legs move a bit wider.

“She’s smart, I’ll give her that.” Vi hums in thought. The cogs in her brain get distracted and come to a halt when she sees the glistening worry in your orbs, and without thought, her hand is coming up to hold your chin, guiding it to connect your gazes.

“Hey, we’ll fix it, alright?” She reassures, and a thumb glides over your cheek. The moment is tender, something deep and sweet, but it doesn’t take long for the both of you to pull back as your eyes flicker anywhere else.

“We just need to… to up our game.” At the sight of your confused eyes, she continues. “Give me your phone,” Vi instructs softly, holding her hand out.

You simply obey, placing the device in her hand with a slight squint in your eyes.

All uncertainty is replaced with giggles and content when Vi holds up the camera. Her left hand holds the phone while her right arm lifts into frame next to her face and flexes, revealing the entirety of her sculpted muscles.

Jesus, your mind betrays you.

After the snap of the camera, the pinkette hands the device back to you.

“Make it your lock screen,” she speaks so casually, like the idea behind these actions have no effect on her whatsoever. A black cased phone is then slid into your hands, and big powder-blue eyes are staring at you expectantly.

“Oh, you want..” you internally cringe at the stammer.

“Of course, needa see your face too.” she states with a grin.

You’re nodding at that, as if a swarm of what you think are butterflies aren’t rummaging around in your gut. Raising the camera in your manicured fingers, you snap a photo mocking Vi’s. More kissy face, less muscles. The athlete has the biggest grin as she takes the device back, and with a ‘there’, your face is blessing her lockscreen.

“So, should I book our room at Mt. Sky, or do you want to?” Her eyes are trained on your face as she drapes both swole arms across the back of the couch.

You do nothing to hide the surprise on your face. With crisp frosty air, a winter wonderland of snow, and more unplanned pregnancies and sexual noise complaints than any of the campus’s frat parties, Mt. Sky was the unofficial University of Piltover ski trip of the year. Athletes, hookups of athletes, curious freshmen, and anyone who concerned themselves with campus drama banded together for a few days of thrillingly-messy paradise.

“You wanna share a room?” you ask with raised brows, because ‘wait, we’re going?’ seems out of the question.

The pinkette’s lips curl into a smile, one that flashes the white of her teeth as blue orbs flicker down and up your frame once.

“Yeah, I do.”

The short silence that follows is smothering, and you swear the room just got a hundred degrees hotter—because there’s the same tease you remember fantasizing over as your pink glitter pen graced the paper of her letter.

“It’d be weird if we didn’t,” she explains. “Wouldn’t just be Cait questioning us, it’d be everybody,” she tilts her head, and you’re snapped back to the reality of your situation. Fake.

You’re not looking at the freckled girl as you hum with a nod.

That has the athlete’s suave persona faltering. A rough hand snakes up to gingerly move a piece of hair from your face. She’s barely touching you, as though you’re more fragile than glass in her grasp.

“We don’t have to, if you wanna room with Mel that badly–”

“–No, no I think we should,” you reassure with a smile, because you do want to, more than you probably should, but your brain’s having a very hard time deciphering fantasy from reality.

It’s her turn to hum, and that tender hand doesn’t leave your face, it only stills as you turn your head completely towards her.

“You don’t have to do that when we’re in private,” you refer to her wandering hands with a gentle tone. Vi’s eyes soften into something raw and real as she lulls out a response.

“Doesn’t hurt to get comfortable with each other. Right, sunshine?”

Wrong.

Because it could hurt. It could wound the both of you and cause an ache like never before. Because—admittedly—you don’t know what you’re feeling right now. But more importantly, you don’t know what Violet’s feeling. You had her all figured out at seventeen, but now, you’re unsure of how gentle or reckless she’d be with your heart.

And still, against all the skepticism your brain concocts, you agree.

“Right.”

[REDACTED]: Of course I’m sure. Just do what I ask and we’ll both get what we want.

“Late again?” Finn coos, a teasing expression on the raven’s face.

“Another run in with pinkie,” Sevika smirks, almost seeming proud.

The man shakes his head with a smile before placing a handful of mail on the counter in front of the pair. “You mind?”

A groan falls from Sevika’s lips as her gaze flickers between him and the letters. “But I have—”

“Please?” the man asks, already inching away from the space. “I just have to deal with something.”

Before she can argue further, Finn thanks her and rushes off towards the rink. The woman’s left muttering swears and rolling her eyes as she rummages through the envelopes filling her space.

To: Polar Peaks, To: Polar Peaks, To: Sky Young, To: Pola—

She blinks once and her firm hands come to a pause before her fingers are backtracking to a chestnut brown envelope, covered in hearts and kiss marks.

Sevika’s huffing out a laugh of disbelief. Her eyes trail over every inch of the sickeningly sweet decor. The recipient address is the ice rink, just like the rest of the pile, and the woman’s intrigue only grows as her eyes trail to the top left corner. To the sender. To you.

“My favorite energy drink?” Vi throws out.

“Berrybulls, specifically the yellow and amber ones.” you quip with confidence, smiling when Vi nods in content.

A lightbulb flickers across the pink haired girl’s face, and she stops in her tracks, unintentionally pulling you back. You’re standing still now, and as the frigid air threatens to consume your body, the reminder that your hands are intertwined with one another spreads warmth throughout your core. You let yourself forget that it’s for show, and enjoy it.

“Vi?” you question, stepping a bit closer.

“This one’s important,” her tone is more serious, and her eyes meet yours as she takes a deep breath.

“What’s… my coffee order?”

“Oh my gosh–” a joking scoff falls from your lips, and you’re gently shoving the laughing girl as you pull her to continue walking. The warmth of hand holding can only do so much to combat standing still in the chill of winter air.

“C’mon sunshine, we’ve learned all there is to know. Besides, you really think anyone’s gonna come up and start quizzing us?”

“No,” you admit as Vi holds you closer with a hand around your waist while more pedestrians enter and exit the sidewalks. “But I think it’s good to know just in case. Besides, I like learning about you.”

“Oh yeah?” she coos. You hear a phone buzz once.

“Yeah,” you let out with a giggle. Another buzz, and you’re reaching into your back pocket and tapping on the screen to reveal… nothing.

kiramman: You have until the end of the trip. kiramman: If you don’t tell her, I will.

Is it possible to feel complete peace and soul-shredding anxiety simultaneously?

On one hand, you’re having the most fun you’ve had in a long time. The drive to the resort with Mel—and her newfound friend Elora— was filled with guttural laughter. The three of you screamed songs at such a volume you’re surprised the windows didn’t burst.

When you arrive, you’re trapped by the strong arms of Abby who’s lifting you into the air with her hug. Vi has to be the one to mutter “That’s enough, Abs..”, earning a laugh from the surrounding teammates, who are quick to tug you and your friends into conversation.

There’s arms around your waist and a bulky body encasing yours while you sit around a fireplace, quiet giggles to each other when you’re bored of the group conversation, and a sweet goodbye kiss to your forehead when Vi and her peers leave to ski. The day progresses perfectly.

On the other hand, you can feel as Caitlyn’s eyes follow you. A predator stalking its prey. And even though you’re not afraid of the girl, you wonder what it’s going to take for her to throw in the towel.

“Was the sex that good?” Mel’s golden eyes are both teasing and genuinely questioning you.

“You’re unbelievable,” you throw back with a laugh.

“I’m serious, why is she so persistent? Does your tongue have a built in vibrator?—”

“Mel!”

She’s giggling with you now, face falling into the plush of the king sized bed you’re both sprawled out on.

“By the way, watch out. Your girlfriend’s biggest fan decided to show up this year,” she flips over onto her back, head tilted to look at you with a pitying–but still undeniably smug–expression.

“Sevika?” you whine and she nods. “She never comes to Mt. Sky. She’s just... anti-fun.”

Mel hums. “A refined Kiramman has turned into a borderline stalker, Sevika Grove is coming on ski trips, what’s next? Aliens?”

“Surprised the aliens weren't first.”

Your giggles are cut short as Elora knocks at your already open door, and Mel’s swiftly coming to a stand.

“Talk to you later?” she offers, and you smile with a nod.

The tranquility of an empty room only lasts so long, because within seconds, Vi is bursting into the space and hastily shutting the door. You hear the click of the lock and jolt up with confusion written across your face.

“Vi? What’s—”

“Cait’s on her way up here,” she speaks with haste.

“I could talk to her, if you want. Just say the word,” Vi offers, and there’s no time to overanalyze the tightness in your chest at the idea of the pinkette protecting you.

Thousands of possibilities fly throughout your racing brain. Talking went in her ear and out the other (or, rather, around her head entirely), and going radio silent only amplified her stubbornness. The way you see it, the only thing left to do is play Caitlyn’s petty game, to make it clear that the two of you were done.

Your brain is completely heated and fuzzy at the idea, but you have no time to waste as you hop off of the bed and over to the butch.

“We’re gonna have sex,” you state.

Vi’s completely stopped working. That’s it—she’s died. She’s died and gone to heaven. That’s the only plausible explanation for—

“Fake! Fake sex, I mean.”

Well that makes more sense.

“Fake–what? You’ve gotta explain a little better than that,” she’s trying to suppress the color from showing in her cheeks, and a hand comes up to run through her hair.

“Just—” you stammer, moving the girl by the arm so that you’re both a few feet away from the door, leaned up against the wall with Vi hovering over you. Your hand stays on her arm, which is gently placed on the side of your waist. The room’s air grows thicker by the second, and tension oozes from every movement made.

“This doesn't feel very fake, sweetheart.” Her voice is lower, more sultry, and it sends a shiver straight up your spine.

“We’re gonna…” gonna faint. The sound of footsteps power walking down the hallway throws your brain back into action. “Just follow my lead,” you breathe.

The athlete’s in a state of utter confusion. She’s squinting harder than ever as you bite your lip, seemingly in thought, before you send a wave of pure shock throughout her core.

You moan.

Not a whine, not a whimper, not even a wince, a raw moan that compels something in her to twitch.

“Violet,” you’re singing, eyes closed, and your head thrown to the side. Out of embarrassment or getting into character, she’s not sure. She’s not sure of anything, quite frankly, because how on earth is she expected to think when you’re squealing her name like she owns you?

“Oh yes—please please,” you coo. As if someone flipped a switch, you’re opening your eyes to look up at the athlete.

“Say something,” you snap in a whisper.

There’s no wasted time, because Violet’s thoughts spill at your approval.

“So fuckin’ pretty. Who knew your moans sounded so good, baby?”

You’re about to lose it. All sense of good judgment—or what’s left—is flying out of the window and being replaced by the dirty haze of your mind. You can’t help the way your hand is gently trailing up Vi’s arm and sliding down to rest against her abs. You don’t miss the way her grip around you tightens.

You expect her to be done, but Vi’s kept these thoughts tucked away for way too long. If they’d be of any service to you, she might as well let them out.

“Bet she couldn’t fuck you like this, huh? No angel, she couldn’t.”

A symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans of passion decorate not only the room, but the ears of Caitlyn. Your navy haired ex lingers outside the door, seeing nothing but blood red as she listens to the noises you used to make for her. The noises Vi never made for her. The newfound passion that the pinkette pulled out of you, one that Cait never could.

With clenched, clammy fists and gritted teeth, Caitlyn reluctantly drags herself away from the door and down the hallway.

Like coming down from a high, shallow breaths fill yours and Vi’s ears before all sounds subside. Neither of you dare to move as the clack of Caitlyn’s feet storm down the hall and out of earshot. Colorful orbs stare down at the floor or up at the white ceiling, because they’re suddenly oh so intriguing.

And maybe, just maybe, this is the moment you realize not everything is as imaginary as you thought.

Meanwhile, Vi’s imagining what the hell she’d say in this situation if her brain were computing. Because the sight of you throwing your head back in fake pleasure and spilling noises straight from your core was entirely soul-shifting.

And it’s different, to be seeing you this close. Granted, she’s been closer. Graced the skin of your forehead or cheeks with her soft and scar-decorated lips more than once. But here, hovering over your softened body, her hand connecting to your waist with the gentlest of touches, and her eyes firmly memorizing every angle of your face, it’s different. Everything’s softer, and Violet’s able to relish in your raw loving aura, rather than put on a performance for the skeptical eyes of others.

And then you laugh.

You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. So hard that you don’t notice the way Vi smiles, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

And definitely, oh definitely, this is the moment she realizes she’s undeniably smitten.

“Think we’ll get the first noise complaint?” You joke while coming down from your fit of laughter.

That pulls a laugh from Vi’s throat, one that has her leaning forward with a deep breath after it bubbles out. The soft of her forehead tenderly meets yours, and the room’s heart rate rises exponentially, but neither of you squirm out of your positions. Because this is exactly where you want to be.

You can’t see it as your eyelids flutter shut, but Vi’s left hand wraps around your waist to meet her right, cradling you in a way that’s so natural, so sweet, so real. A cradle that protects and shields you from forces you can’t handle alone. A shelter for disasters from tsunamis to the cold chill of winter. From pretending to be your girlfriend to replacing your wet party clothes, all the way back to being your first standing ovation. Vi is your refuge.

“Thank you,” you whisper, worried you’ll crack the faultless atmosphere. “Can’t believe you’re putting up with this– with me.”

Her grip lightly tightens. “I’d do it over and over again.”

She would, and she will, if you let her.

You feel the truth in her words, and your eyes flutter open to pull back, just enough to look into those perfect blue specks.

The pair of you stay there for what feels like forever, examining the watercolor paintings that you call your eyes. And–although she could stare at you for the rest of her life–Vi physically can’t wait any longer. Like magnets, your lips are tugging her forward. Centimeter by centimeter. Inch by inch. Heads tilting, eyes half lidded, and breaths hitching. Vi can practically taste the plush of your feature when—

“Yo! You guys in there?”

Abby’s fist thumps on the door three times. And as fast as you connected, you’re drifting apart.

you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you. not happening. kiramman: I’ll tell her.

“Would you rather go a month without sex, or a month without candy?”

“What kind of stupid ass question is that?” Vi throws at Abby, who’s snobbishly leaning back in the heated water as if she’d given the ultimatum of the century.

Her newest middle school party game is would you rather, and while Vi couldn’t care less about the event itself, she’s secretly over the moon at the effort her teammates and close friends are making to connect with you.

“A month without candy,” you cooly state as you look down at the water. Making the relationship more believable. That’s all you were doing.

That enables a chain of raised eyebrows and looks to Vi, whereas others let out sly whistles and snickers, throwing out little quips like “you hear that, superstar?”.

“Alright, alright,” she’s calming them with a tug at the corners of her lips and a roll of her eyes. You only snicker to yourself at the odds, as if you didn’t have sex— fake sex with the girl minutes prior.

Leaning closer against Vi’s skin, plush bodies warming each other in the bubbly heat of the hot tub, you’re almost completely relaxed. The outdoors is the perfect flaky winter wonderland you expected, cabins further out from the resort look like the coziest of all shelters, and the milky mountains in the distance tie the atmosphere together.

And while you’re focused on the landscape, Violet’s eyes are completely trained on you.

She examines the way you sit so properly in her lap, the way your legs squirmed as she slid her hands away from your thigh and around the small of your waist (so others could see your contact.. of course), how you get so comical and chattery once you’re finally comfortable in a group, and the angelic resting look on your face when you’re finally at ease.

And neither of you know it, but when the conversation is one that allows you to listen instead of talk, you’re both daydreaming about the endless possibilities of this night. The potential of this moment, as well as that of the countless others you’ve had since this entire ordeal began.

Neither of you know it, but you’re both considering the idea that life could be like this all the time. The two of you snuggled up, surrounded by those cherished, laughing until you just can’t breathe.

A chin comes to rest gently on your right shoulder, and Vi’s breath sends a shiver throughout your body faster than the crisp winter air ever could.

“Do you always sit with your legs crossed in pools?” she teases, voice low, like she’s sharing a secret with you. Only you.

“No,” you simply hum. Your tongue is prodding the inside of your cheek in thought, and you go through with the lightbulb in your head.

“It’s a great reminder of how dangerously close your hands are to my bikini though, isn’t it?”

The pads of her fingers that were once tracing meaningless patterns on your waist come to a stop, and you can hear the smirk in Vi’s voice.

“You want me to move them?” she breathes.

Your response is almost automatic.

“No.”

The conversation of what would’ve happened if Abby hadn’t knocked on your door was yet to come, but the newfound tension and playfulness that spilled from both of your lips was undeniable.

Vi grins at your confidence, but underneath the suave persona, she knows you’ll be the death of her.

“Bold girl,” she hums.

You’re so trapped in your playful banter that you don’t notice the way the rest of your peers are leaving, running off towards a different attraction of the resort, only god knows what.

“You were pretty convincing up there,” your sly lips are curivng up at the corners. “You have fake sex often?”

“Nothing fake about my sex.”

You’re snickering at her confidence, relishing in the way her arm hardens around you as she chuckles.

“Don’t get cocky. I’m sure someone’s had to fake-orgasm with you once.” Maybe the lying’s getting to you, because you know in your heart of hearts that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

“You really believe that?” she speaks in a lower tone, head snaking around to make eye contact with you.

Like a clock rewinding, you’re seventeen again.

Not physically, nor mentally, but your full heart is pounding the same rhythm as when you first fell for the tough, pink haired beauty in your writing class. Your breaths are shallow, gazes locked, and the warmth between you is incomparable to any sensation you’ve ever experienced prior.

“Thought so,” she brazenly states after your lack of words, and you’re smiling in thought before gently splashing water towards the smug girl, Melting her charming essence that has you by the throat.

Vi gasps through a laugh. Soon, she’s threatening to splash you back while you laugh and squeal through your begs for mercy.

And although your vision isn’t flawless through the squinted happiness of your eyes, you can recognize that swinging navy blue hair approaching you.

Fuck.

“She doesn’t give up,” you think out loud, and Vi doesn’t need to waste energy on turning her head to register who you’re talking about.

You don’t see it through your irritated gaze, but Vi feels a jolt of worry crawl up her spine. While you worried about Cait smothering you for the rest of eternity, Vi’s skin shivers at the idea of her place in your heart being twisted from one of love and trust to hatred.

She wants to tell you, wants you to make the conscious decision to love her despite any past affairs.

But she sure as hell wasn’t going to do it now, while you’re warming up on her water-covered body. And she sure as hell couldn’t let Caitlyn poison your mind with it.

So there she sits, staring into your soul with those loyal eyes that silently swear they’d do anything for you. And, understandably, Vi makes all sense of good judgement Melt from your brain until it’s a useless pile of mush.

So when Cait nears, practically striding her way to your uneasy soul, you make a decision.

You kiss Violet.

It’s a quick shift in atmosphere. One moment, your heart is beating out of fear, and the next it’s being thrashed around your chest by the ascended butterflies from your stomach. You turn in her lap to have easier access to her mouth, and the connection of your plush mouths is anything but fragile. It’s messy, hungry, starved even. Your lips dance in unison, and Vi’s sculpted arm wraps around you and gently holds the back of your neck. The way she’s handling you coupled with the burning water is giving your body a fever.

You don’t know when Caitlyn sees you, how long she glares at your wet mouths and pressed bodies in pure anger, or how long it takes for her to storm off in defeat, because every inch of your mind is focused on the pinkette holding you as if you’re all she has.

And it’s this moment that you finally accept the truth that’s kept itself hidden in your gut, you want her. And those sparkly powder-blue eyes are telling you that she wants—needs you too.

But when you slide your hand down to hers and shyly move her calloused fingers to what little fabric’s covering your chest, she’s pulling back. There’s resistance in the movement, but she forces herself to disconnect from your wanting lips nonetheless.

“Can’t,” she whispers, breathless.

You freeze, big dazed eyes blinking in confusion and embarrassment. ”But..” is all you can muster before Vi opens her mouth.

“Angel–it’s not that I don’t want this, I’m just—”

The athlete’s rubbing her temples. Her mind, body, and heart must be at war inside of her, because each is telling her a different path to take, and she looks so conflicted as she speaks.

“You don’t want this,” she finally decides.

“What?” is all you manage to choke out.

“You don’t want this.” she repeats, less convinced than the first time it left her lips.

You can only scoff, attempting to hide the bullet to your heart and ego.

“You don’t know what I want,” you counter, and the ache in your voice sends a crack through Vi’s heart. “Why are you denying this?”

Because this is fake, a scheme to get your ex girlfriend off your back. Because I haven’t been completely honest with you, and for that I don’t deserve a sweet love like this. Not yet.

But instead of that, or even coming clean to you altogether, Vi sighs. And for the first time, her eyes are disloyal, looking anywhere but yours.

You’re huffing, shoving stiff arms off of you. You pull yourself from the hot tub into the freezing air of the night, a replica of your once blazing heart turning ice cold.

“Whatever, Violet.” you spit out, and just like that, you’re gone.

The debate over soul-shredding anxiety and complete peace has come to a halt, because the ache of a pummeled ego and a confused heart that’s afraid to beat outweighs both.

You didn’t sleep in yours and Vi’s shared room that night. Instead, you grabbed a pillow and stormed over to Mel and Elora’s, who were happy to have you. Making up a lie about dying for a girls’ night, you gossiped and giggled, arguably with a stronger poker face than the Kirammans, before a yawn finally slipped from Mel’s mouth and exhaustion spread throughout the air.

At last, in the silence of night, salt ridden tears noiselessly slide down the bridge of your nose and pile onto the cool fluff of your pillow.

As if your lack of adequate sleep and racing mind didn’t have you at your wits end, the next day was twice as cruel on you. Ignoring one athlete was a walk in the park, but avoiding two, while trying not to raise suspicion, is just as hard as it sounds.

Caitlyn’s in the hallway, so you rush to your room. Violet’s in the room, so you venture off to the spa with Mel and Elora. Caitlyn’s entering the spa right before you finish up, so you’re suggesting a lap of skiing to the girls, but Vi’s exiting the room in her snow gear when you near the door.

You just couldn’t win.

So when you hear the soft voice coming from the doorway, you don’t even bother to lift your body from the plush of your blanket.

“Don’t go,” Vi pleads, gently shutting the wooden door and ridding herself of her puffy jacket.

The pinkette’s still, waiting for you to move, to do or say something—anything, but you do nothing of the sort. When she concludes it’s safe she takes small, soft steps towards the edge of your bed and you feel the mattress dip under pure muscle.

With still hands and a timid heart, Vi speaks the first words into the air.

“Well, we broke our little rule set.”

Her playful smile is uneasy, one made when she examines your weary face too hard. And when she notices the lack of expression on your face, it flattens out into worried brows and soft lips.

“I’m sorry,” slips from her lips, prompting you to turn your head towards the pinkette.

“Stop. You don’t have to apologize for your feelings… or lack thereof,” you whisper the last part as if it’s shameful.

With a sigh, you hoist yourself up to sit straight and lean against the decorative headboard. With fidgeting hands laid in your lap and eyes that travel anywhere but the anxious girl before you, you speak.

“I just thought that there was— something,” you start. “And.. and maybe it’s stupid, but I thought that maybe all of this means something. Maybe my letters getting out wasn’t the worst thing, because maybe things between us could be exactly how I wanted when I was writing them.”

Vi feels terrible for giving you emotional whiplash, but she can’t stand to see you beating yourself up over something you want— something the both of you crave: eachother.

Tender fingers snake their way up to your face and hook on your chin, tilting your head towards her alluring orbs.

“You really believe that?” she asks, eyes squinted.

“Believe.. what?”

“That I don’t feel things for you?” she asks like the answer is the most obvious thing in the world.

“I couldn’t tell you all the things you do to me. All the ways you make me feel,” she slides the hand that’s cupping your face to gently tap the side of your pretty little head.

“Here, and.. here,” her finger grazes your skin as it skims down to tap once against your encaptured heart. “And….”

She cuts the sentence short, dropping her hand down to intertwine with one of yours, because you’re supposed to be having a serious conversation, so she needs to focus.

“You do terribly good things to me, sweetheart.”

“Then why did you push me away?” you whisper to combat the rapid speed of your heart as adrenaline rushes through your veins from Vi’s simple and sensual touches.

She contemplates it, ripping the bandage off and telling you the truth, she really does. Would it be that big of a deal? Would you take it with ease and laugh at her anxiety, caressing her like she dreams and letting her finally place a guilt-free kiss upon your soft lips? Or would you crumble at the news, and let the trust you’ve built up shatter with it?

“I didn’t know whether it was real or not,” she decides: a lie. “I know that the way my heart races for you is real, the realest thing there is. But I know it’s easy to get caught up in a fake high, and when you were kissing me I just—” she sighs at the ramble, but the gentle squeeze you give her hand guides her through it.

“I just wanted to let you decide if this is really what you want. Not because of Cait or anyone else. Just you.”

She’ll tell you. Eventually. She silently swears it to herself.

But right now, Vi’s looking at you the same way she did that day, and it’s suffocating.

Big pretty eyes examine every inch of you with that awestruck gaze, a child watching a shooting star pass by. Except this time, she wouldn’t let you leave.

This time, you, that creative girl with clammy palms and shy eyes, watching her bubblegum haired love give her a standing ovation— that shooting star would come crashing down and right into the warm arms in which she belongs.

“The love I have for you.. it never went away, it just transformed,” you confess.

Violet’s once worried expression morphs. She’s still soft, still trapped in the beautiful moment, but there’s a newfound confidence behind her demeanor.

“The love I have for you has stayed the same. Ever since that stupid writing class—” you giggle at her words, and she does the same, “I think I’ve loved you for years. It’s left such an ache in my heart, baby.”

There’s a glitch somewhere in your brain, because the athlete’s words mixed with your newest nickname is causing a system overload.

You’re suddenly very aware of the amber musk filling your nostrils, and Vi’s proximity has you squirming, soft hand gently squeezing at hers which carresses you so gingerly. You’re trapped between the headboard and her oh-so-close body, and it’d be a lie to say any part of you is complaining.

“I can.. I can make that ache go away,” you whisper, shy head tilting as you wait for her approval.

The suave, player-like girl is back in full force. With a notorious smirk in place, she’s leaning closer, tilting her head opposite of yours and lining up her plush lips with yours.

“Yeah, you can.”

That’s all it takes for your lips to come crashing together at full force. It’s messy, loving, and infuriatingly sexy all at once, and you don’t have any brain power left to think about it. All of your energy, every bit of your soul is being put into showing this girl how you really feel.

The atmosphere feels heavier and lighter simultaneously in the best way possible. Vi’s kissing you like you’re the air she needs to breathe, and drinking you in like your mouth is water and the torturous years leading up to this have taken place in the desert.

For the first time, the pair of you silently agree that this is real. Real touches, real passion, real tongues gliding against one another, and real desire for more.

You hum into Vi’s mouth as she ravishes you, and your hands find their way to tangle in her fluffy scalp as she effortlessly switches places with you and lifts you into her lap while she relaxes back against the headboard. You can’t help but chuckle as her hands move to cup the fat of your ass, causing her to grin through kisses until you finally stop, because your lips are practically peppering her teeth.

“What’s so funny?” you ask through a snicker. Vi shakes her head, sneaking kisses down your jaw and the stretch of your neck.

“Nothin’, I just don’t want this to end,” she confesses, ending with a tender kiss to your collarbone.

An uncontrollable smile fights its way onto your face.

“Well I’m not going anywhere,” you assure.

She nods, wrapping strong arms around your torso to pull your body as close to hers as possible.

“Neither am I, sunshine.”

Violet’s learned three new things since you fell asleep in her arms.

One, you’re a cuddler. Every inch of you has touched, skimmed, or wrapped around the butch since you laid upon the soft matter of the bed. Her favorite position is when you curl yourself up against her chest and slide a leg inbetween hers to let them intertwine.

Two, every inch of you still smells like that perfect mixture of cotton candy and strawberry she remembers from years ago.

And three, she’s completely whipped for you. For your brain, your voice, the giggles you make between kisses, the way you give your all to her, and don’t get her started on your body. She’s got it bad.

So, the struggle she faced when she had to snake out of your grasp was ultimately the hardest thing she’s done in her entire life.

The love-hazed girl didn’t bother to do anything but slip on some shoes and run a hand through her hair, because within minutes she’d be right back next to you where she belongs.

At least, that was the plan.

She doesn’t know why the loud cacophony of cackles catches her attention, because she knows how obnoxious her teammates can be, but it does. She lazily turns her head once, letting it lull back before the alarm of confusion goes off in her brain, and she’s turning towards the sound once again.

Sevika, a few members of the basketball team, and some others she doesn’t recognize, all sit against the couches and chairs in the lounging area. But there’s no relaxation in the way they rest against the furniture. Each is laced with anticipation, and their eyes all lay on the buff brownskin girl who’s smirks as if she’s discovered a pot of gold.

“Your voice of honey soothes my soul, and the picture of delicate curls falling to frame your face as you lift me onto my feet will stay forever plastered in my mind,” the woman spits.

The words are so sensual, so raw, so genuine, filled with nothing but passion, but Sevika’s interpretation does it no justice.

And Violet knows exactly who wrote those words of desire.

Her feet move quicker than she’s ever felt the need to before.

When she nears the group, a face of pure determination, she spots it. A brown envelope, decorated with a bow and pretty hearts accompanied by a single kiss mark. So similar to the one you made for Vi all those years ago.

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Sevika taunts loudly, leaning back in her seat. Her fingers tap the letter in her hands against her own thigh, a reminder that your past words of hope and love still lie with her. “Or, would you be the second? No… no, that’d be this uh, Skye, huh?”

Sevika’s smile is poisonous, infecting Violet with a rage she’s never experienced before.

“What are you doing with that?” Vi’s practically seething, eyes trained on the brown paper between Sevika’s fingers.

“Found it on the ground, guess it slipped away from your girl before she could mail it off to her secret lover,” she lies, throwing her hands up in faux innocence.

“I swear to God— fucking give it to me, and I’ll forget this happened.”

“And you’ll forget that she’s dreaming of someone else’s mouth?” The burly woman scoffs, coming to a stand directly infront of Violet. The space between them is thinning, disintegrated by rageful tension.

“Seriously, I don’t see why you’re going through all this trouble for a whore, pinkie.”

Faster than anyone in the room can register, Vi’s fist comes up to smash into Sevika’s jaw. The slam is loud, echoing throughout the room until it creates a stunned silence.

Sevika’s hand comes up to hold her jaw, craning it as the metallic taste of blood sets itself on her tongue.

Within seconds, she’s lunging right at Vi. Their fists look like skin colored blobs in the air from how fast they land punches to one another’s guts. They’re thrashing around in anger, threatening the space they reside in, before four onlookers break them apart.

Some whoop and holler, others laugh and speculate exactly who ‘won’, but neither of the girls care. Through their heavy panting and darkened gazes, they’re only focused on one thing: the brown envelope that now lies between Vi’s fingers.

With a cocky, bruised grin and the satisfying drug of adrenaline, Violet turns on her heels and stumbles out of sight.

[REDACTED]: listen, toots. i have a better plan. … [REDACTED]: I’m listening.

With the way neither of you dare to move, any third party would think the two of you are paralyzed; and you are, by love.

It’s been five minutes since you’ve woken up, and Vi’s sweet gaze keeps you in a warm, butterfly inducing trance. Neither of you move from your position in the bed, savouring deep synced breaths, snuggling under the blankets, and wrapping around one another. You’re sticking together like your feelings are superglue.

Finally, one of the pinkette’s hands rubs at the small of your back, drawing sweet nothings on your dimples and the line that trails up your perfect torso.

“I haven’t slept that long in ages,” you hum, making Violet pull you just a bit closer.

“Maybe you should sleep with me every night,” she concludes, sending you a smile that has you giggling with a little ‘oh sure’.

She sees your sweet bubble of happiness wobble when your eyes squint at the sight of her chin, now decorated with a blossomed bruise. A soft hand comes up to graze the purple mark as you ask, “When did that happen?”

As fast as the pinkette opens her mouth to speak, it shuts. Because she definitely can’t tell you that Sevika’s tried to embarrass you by reading one of your old love letters to a group of your classmates. Why has she become more of a pain now than ever? Vi hasn’t figured that out yet. But she has come to one conclusion: worrying you wouldn’t do any good. What you didn’t have to know, you wouldn’t.

She quickly takes your wandering hand in hers, intertwining fingers and giving them a little squeeze.

“I’m fine, sunshine. Got up all hazy last night to turn the light off since we forgot. Completely ran into the wall, that’s all.” Although Vi isn’t a klutz, it seems like a perfectly plausible story, so you don’t push.

You only chuckle, shaking your head. “Be more careful. I have to get you home in one piece.”

A soft smile spreads across her face, and she’s kissing your knuckles while responding. “Of course, angel.”

While you scolded Vi about her bruises, you were set up to get some of your own.

“Vi I’m not sure if this is a great idea,” you worry, looking down at the girl who gets on her knees to lace up your skates.

The freezing temperature kissed your nose a subtle hint of red, but the beautiful sunlight gently coating the flurry white wonderland that surrounded the city made up for it. All around you, classmates and city locals of all ages glide around the ice rink with glee. Sounds of love, joy, and the squeals or laughter of tripping inexperienced-skaters fill your ears.

“Why not?” she asks, eyes flickering up to yours for just a second before moving on to the other foot. The picture of her is just all too much, and you have to look away to regather your thoughts.

“I know that you’re a hockey player so this may come as a shock to you, but not everyone is good at ice skating,” she grins, rolling her eyes at your sarcasm. “I’m just gonna fall on my ass a bunch,” you whine.

“And I’ll be right there to pick you back up.” Vi’s confidence melts away your worries. Finally, as she finishes with your skates, you playfully roll your eyes and come to a stand (with the help of her strong hands).

The thinning space between you two and your starry eyes which look up at Vi keep her in a trance as her arms mindlessly wrap around your waist, hands dangerously close to your ass.

“Promise not to let me go?” you whisper through a grin.

“Shit. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

And she doesn’t. Through your first steps and little slips on the ice, Vi stands right beside you, holding your hand with tender care.

“This is pretty romantic, right?” she hums in your ear as you attempt to push your feet against the ice like she taught you.

“As long as I don’t completely eat it.” you warn, eyes trained to the ice.

She snickers.

“Well, you look sexy when you’re focused, I’ll give you that.”

Butterflies erupt throughout your stomach, and a warmth is travelling up your body as you look at Violet with a faux sternness.

“Quiet. You’re distracting me,” you tease.

Vi’s tongue pokes at the inside of her cheek in thought before she’s letting go of your hand and coming to stand right infront of you. Sculpted arms snake around your waist, and the lack of space between you two as Vi stares with a hungry gaze is making your body feel weak.

“I’m distracting you, sweetheart?”

You quietly suck in a breath of icy cold air, searching for a response in her pretty powder-blue eyes before she snickers once more, stepping back. At last, you feel like you can breathe.

She takes you around the ice, helping you reach a good foundation to feel comfortable skating on your own, and the ‘good job, baby’ she praises you with sends a sweet sensation throughout your body. As you’re gliding away from her, giggling in surprise as she pretends to chase you with her intimidating hockey stance, a group of her teammates call for her attention.

She pauses, breath kissing your ear as she lets go of your body. “I’ll just be a second, yeah?”

You nod, sending her off to the group with a smile.

And for a moment, everything’s perfect. Until it isn’t.

The call of your name from her mouth freezes your body faster than the chill of the ice ever could. Effortlessly, Caitlyn’s gliding up to you with a calculated and calm expression. She knows you can’t get far in those skates.

First, you’re praying that Vi will look over at you and race back just in time to save you. Then, anger’s bubbling in the pit of your stomach, and you whip around to make eye contact with the navy-haired girl. Finally—

“What, Caitlyn?” you snap without hesitation.

The girl’s expression refuses to waver, and toned arms are crossing with the notorious sly smirk of a Kiramman. “Never thought I’d see you with blades on your feet.”

“Never thought I’d see you begging for attention, but here we are,” you quip, placing your hands on your hips, completely distracted from the ice below you.

Her arms uncross with an amused hum, and for a moment you think that maybe she’s getting off on the negative energy you throw her way. But then she begins to push her skates against the ice, slowly circling you.

“I just thought I’d check in on you, sweetheart. You’ve forgotten to answer my calls and texts–”

“You know damn well I haven’t forgotten, Cait—”

“—And I wanted to applaud you in person for being so understanding about what happened with Violet and I.”

She comes to a stop, and so does your heart. The little red organ skips a beat before continuing, pace matching your weariness.

“What are you talking about?” you question, brows furrowed so innocently that Caitlyn has to stop herself from laughing.

“She hasn’t told you?” The bluenette makes no attempt to act shocked. Your eyes lock, and her skates scrape against the ice until she’s hovering right over you.

“Weren’t you wondering where she slept after you left her at the jacuzzi?” The visible air that blows from her mouth is just as harsh as her words, stabbing your heart with its icicles.

“What are you..” you mutter, but the words die in your throat.

“Vi and I had a… rekindling.” Her head tilts with a cocky smile. “It was bound to happen I suppose. Once a hookup, always a—”

“I don’t believe you.” Your stern words contradict the uncertainty tainting your voice.

Caitlyn doesn’t speak. She simply reaches into her back pocket, pulls out her phone, and scrolls to open her messages with Vi, gently placing the device into your quivering fingers.

Really? My ex girlfriend? You’re a class act. i’ll love her better than you ever could, caitlyn Is this to get back at me? You’re the one who ended our little affair. stop texting my number. Come to think of it, I never told her about us. Does she even know? fucking drop it cait You have until the end of the trip. If you don’t tell her, I will. you don’t care whether she knows or not. you just want her crawling back to you. not happening. I’ll tell her.

“You see it now? How easy it was for her to lie to you? She doesn’t love you, not like I do.”

“Angel?” Vi’s voice calls out. The once sweet melody to your ears now erupts a symphony of confusion and anger inside of you. Did she plan out those nicknames?

Before you know it, Vi’s coming up behind you and placing an arm around your waist. Instead of feeling comfort, you’re suffocated. How can she fake it so easily?

“Can I help you?” the pink haired girl spits to the Kiramman with a voice of pure disgust. How could you have known?

“I was just leaving,” Caitlyn hums. With the fulfilling sight of your aghast eyes and Violet’s hidden panic, she skates off.

The two of you are uncomfortably quiet for a moment. Your body’s still, save for the racing thoughts in your mind, but when Vi’s hand on you tightens you’re breaking from her grasp.

And then she sees it.

The broken gaze in your sorrowful eyes, the one look she desperately wanted to avoid. Her worst nightmare has become her reality.

And you see it.

The way her gaze goes from calm and collected to a deer in headlights. It’s like a switch was flipped in her brain, and Violet’s mask comes off as she speaks.

“I can explain—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your heartbroken voice drowns her out.

“You don’t understand,” she pleas, but you’re pushing your weight into one foot in an attempt to turn yourself around on the ice.

“I understand perfectly fine you backstabbing–”

Your knees come slamming into the icy ground with a thud, and the newly proclaimed backstabber is at your side, attempting to lift you onto your feet. You shove her off with a huff, using one knee to come to a wobbly stand.

“Just..” you start, ignoring the tears of frustration that bubble in the corners of your eyes, accompanied by the prickly curse in your throat. “Just stay away from me, Vi.”

And you’re gone.

Vi obeys your wishes and leaves you alone like you asked.

But only for the next two hours, while she figures out what the hell she’s going to say to make up for the pain she’s caused you. Because she did hook up with Cait, but the last time was was months ago, before either of them had anything with you. Because she knows Cait did something to fuck with your head, and now her baby’s fretting and scared to trust anyone. Because she’s in love with you and only you, and she’s never going to forgive herself if she doesn’t get you back.

So when she slips into your shared room and finds you packing your things, she braces herself for the yelling and cussing she expects to come.

But, it never happens. Instead, you look at her with a woeful expression, and turn back to your open luggage with a scoff.

“I knew Caitlyn was fucked up, but I never imagined you’d have as many screws loose. You’ll be perfect for each other,” you spit, the words acid to Violet. Manicured hands move at a fast pace, roughly tossing in clothes and skin products like they mean nothing to you. “And I know we’re not actually dating, but to fuck the one person we’re trying to lie to? Then come to me the next day acting like you…” you trail off, discarding the sentence like trash, but she knows what you were trying to say: like you love me.

Wait, what?

“Hold on, hold on. I haven’t fucked Kiramman.”

“..So you weren’t with her the night I slept in Mel’s room?” you squint.

“Fuck no. It’s been months since we’ve hooked up, angel. Like, before you and her were even a thing–”

“So you did fuck! Jesus, why didn’t you tell me?” you raise your voice in question, whipping around to face the girl with exhausted body language. When Vi’s mouth hangs open with no clue of a better response than ‘I was scared’, you shake your head, coming to conclusions yourself.

“That’s why you did this, right? I should’ve asked more about why you proposed this whole scheme,” you start, walking towards the nightstand. “Make me look like an idiot? Get back at Cait? Get with Cait? What was it?”

“No– no. I was going to tell you angel, God I swear, I just didn’t know how to tell you without making it hurt. I don’t want anything with Caitlyn, cross my heart, her and I are history. Everything I said about you– everything I felt with you is real.” She’s speaking so tenderly, inching closer to your frame.

And you would’ve turned, would’ve calmed down enough to finish this conversation civilly, maybe believe her.

But instead, you’re staring at the opened drawer of the bedside table, right at the chesnut brown envelope decorated with hearts. The same one you wrote for Skye all those years ago.

You’re completely over this.

Violet’s close enough to see everything now. The envelope and letter, the way your face is morphing through thousands of different expressions, and the tears that finally begin to slide down your cheeks as you lift the paper into the air and choke out words.

“Why the hell do you have this? How much did you plan to humiliate me, huh?” you ask through sweet sobs.

Violet sighs, because everything she’s kept from you is hitting her. All of her mistakes are crashing down upon her at once. All she wants is to fix it for you.

“That’s not– fuck this looks bad.” She’s cursing herself for everything she didn’t tell you, all the chances she had to come clean and never did out of fear.

“Sevika had it and I took it from her. We fought over it and I hid it here because I didn’t want you to be embarrassed. That’s all. I swear.”

She watches your glossy eyes flicker to her bruised jaw that you touched so lovingly that morning, to her eyes that beg you to forgive her, and to your bag as you walk towards it.

“Well you don’t have to worry about me anymore, Violet. This– us, whatever we are is done. ” You knuckle away your tears, sniffing and pulling at the handle of your suitcase.

The pinkette takes no action to hide the dread that fills her face, quickly following your motion around the room.

“So we’re just breaking–” she stops. Her heart is racing at an ungodly speed, and the next words come out as a horrified mumble, “We’re just over? Like that?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and for the last time, you look back at Vi, voice clear.

“We were never together, Violet.”

There’s nothing she can say to rebuttal, or stop you from walking out of that room, because despite both of your desires, it was true.

For the next two days, your bed becomes your safe haven. You put your phone on ‘do not disturb’, wrap yourself in the thickest blanket your apartment has, and hide from the rest of the world. It’s only thanks to Mel, who’s worried to death, that you remember to eat every once in a while.

Safe to say, you’re a wreck.

Three soft knocks on your bedroom door prompt you to roll over, and you’re pulling your head from the covers as the aforementioned beauty enters the room with a plated sandwich in hand.

“I have something for that headache of yours,” she offers, setting the platter on your bedside table and sitting at the edge of the soft mattress.

From your blanket-clad vision, you see her lips press together in thought before she finally decides on her carefully sculpted words.

“I talked to Abby,” she starts. You groan, pulling yourself back under the blankets.

“Listen,” she scolds, and you bite your tongue. Hard. “I talked to Abby and she says Violet slept in her room that night. She was moping about you the entire time.”

“She didn’t tell me about her and Caitlyn,” you seethe.

“No, but she said she was going to, right?” She offers, tilting her head. “In the end, does it really change anything about how you two feel towards each other?”

When you don’t respond, she sighs, patting your blanket and coming to a stand.

“It’s your decision what you do, but I can tell Violet really cares about you. And I think you feel the same.”

With that, she’s stepping out of the room and gently closing your door with a click.

Almost immediately, your head pokes out of the blanket, and your gaze travels to your now black lockscreen lighting up.

One message from Caitlyn.

caitlyn: Are you ready to apologize to me? I’ll still take you back.

You block her number. Something you should’ve done a long time ago.

Then, you check the three messages from Vi.

superstar <3: i know you want me to leave you alone, and i’m trying my hardest to please let me talk to you angel whenever you’re ready to hear me out

You can only sigh.

“I don’t know how else to get this through to both of you.”

Coach Talis’s sharp tongue scolds the winded athletes. Sweat is dripping down every inch of their skin under their heavy gear. While their teammates ended practice an hour ago, they were here running drills for the ‘stunt’ they pulled back at Mt. Sky. If it weren’t for the exhaustion capturing their bodies, they’d be pummeling each other this very second.

“I’m this close to benching both of you, and you know I don’t want to do that.” Both girls rapidly shake their heads.

“This better be the last time I hear of an incident regarding the both of you, do you understand?” The tanned man snaps, and both athletes are throwing out soft “yes coach”’s before he waves them off to the locker room.

Throughout her entire shower, Violet’s brain is focused on two things. One, how much she loathes Sevika (fuck her), and two, how much she fucking misses you.

Throughout her time spent drying herself off, getting redressed, and packing her backpack, she prays for a text, call, something from you. When she hears the buzz of a phone, she’s whipping her head around to face her lockscreen (with her favorite picture of you looking effortlessly beautiful and silly simultaneously).

It’s not until the second buzz goes off that she realizes it’s not her phone that’s being blown up, but Sevika’s.

Despite better judgement, she curiously walks over to the device, reaching down to pick it up with careless hands.

And it almost drops from her calloused fingers in shock.

There’s three notifications from ‘C. Kiramman’.

c. kiramman: That worked better than I thought. You’re not as dumb as you look. c. kiramman: I think our work together is done. C. Kiramman sent you $300!

You’re at war with yourself.

Your brain is clawing at you to block Violet, get yourself together, and move on with your life as if she was never a part of it.

Your heart and every inch of hope that fills you is begging for you to pick up your phone and give her a chance to prove that it was all a case of bad timing, misunderstandings, and that you truly mean something to her. Because you want her, you can finally admit it, but you’re deathly afraid of being made a fool of.

You’d skipped classes for the day, pulled yourself from your sheets, showered, and now sit on your black couch with a little sigh, sinking into the fluffy matter. The silence of the apartment is contrasting the swarm of loud thoughts inside your mind, and before it can drive you utterly insane, the doorbell rings.

“Angel?” That sweet voice calls out.

You rise to your feet embarrassingly fast. Your brain waves a white flag and your heart dances in success.

When you swing the door open, it takes everything in you to keep yourself from jumping into Violet’s arms. She’s worried out of her mind, but the surprise that you even opened the door is giving her a jolt of hope and encouragement. You take in her presence, musk amber scent, oversized jacket that once protected your arms, and all.

“I’m so sorry,” spills from her lips, and you scan her expression before stepping to the side.

“Come in.”

You and Vi sit on opposite ends of your couch. You’re trying to show off your self control, but she’s just glad you’ll sit next to her at all.

“I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you about my past with Caitlyn. I was scared that you’d hate me, and shit it all just caught up with me before I could grow some balls and rip the bandaid off.”

You’ve never seen her look so worried, so vulnerable.

You take one scoot closer.

“But I promise, I ended things with her a long time ago and that was the last time we ever did anything.”

She’s pulling out her phone, opening the photos app, and setting her phone down face up on the cushions for you to take. You do, picking it up with weary fingers, ones that still when you see the material she’s revealing.

“Caitlyn hired Sevika to fuck with us. That time at the party, all those times she got me in shit at practice, taking your letter, even giving Caitlyn the idea of lying that I did something with her. They’ve been trying to get inbetween us for a long time.”

Your mouth is slightly agape as you scroll through monetary payments and texts from your ex. Ones about her getting you back (fuck that), and others about Sevika getting the spotlight once Vi’s burnt out and screwing up at hockey (again, fuck that).

“I get why you’re pissed at me, and I understand if you want me out of your life forever.” It shakes her to even utter those words. “But I…”

She’s biting her lip, and you watch as she pulls a neatly folded piece of loose leaf paper from her pocket. With embarrassment flushing her face, she sets it on the couch for you to take.

“What’s this?” you ask softly, taking it in your hands and gently unfolding.

“Please don’t read it out loud.”

Your heart quickens at the suspense, and your fingers come to a stop as Violet’s handwriting fills your vision.

Dear _____,

Oh my god.

The words fill your mind and apparently show through your eyes, because when you look at Violet once more, she’s looking more sheepish than ever.

With a deep breath, you read.

I’ve been in love with you for so long, longer than I ever realized, and I never knew how much it warmed my heart and brightened my days until I lost you. The way your eyes light up when you laugh, the loud laugh that takes over your body when we’re alone, the quiet moments we shared, where we didn’t need words, just the way our hands fit together so perfectly. How being near you made everything feel like it was right, even when nothing else made sense. All of the little things that make you, you, have become the moments I crave most.

I know I’ve messed up. Been too wrapped up inside my head and covered in fear to tell you the entire truth, but I miss us. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way we would talk about everything and nothing all at once. I wrapping my arm around your waist or kissing your neck cheek nose forehead and feeling like everything was right in the world when we were together. And I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you. I’m not asking for everything to go back to normal right away, because I know things take time. But I want to try again, if you’ll let me.

You’re worth every second, every inch of love that exists throughout my blood, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to show you just how much you mean to me.

-With all my love, yours truly, Violet

In the eleventh grade, you thought you loved Violet more than humanely possible.

Now, you wonder how shocked your younger self would be to hear that amount has grown exponentially.

"I know it's bad. I'm not a genius like you bu-"

Lips smashing into hers silence any worries that the letter didn’t do its job. Your plush mouthes press against one another’s with a passion so deep, so genuine, that it speaks louder than any words you’ve spoken; louder than any love letter either of you have written.

You faintly pull back, giggling breathily as Vi chases your lips with a look sweet enough to give you a heart attack. With touching foreheads and closed, relaxed eyes, you use the same words as when you first fell in love with her. Except this time– you say them out loud.

“From my happily raised eyebrows to my.. gosh however I worded it. Y’know that was so corny now that I think about it,” you begin to whisper, and giggles erupt from both of your mouthes. You hum, placing another chaste kiss on her swollen lips. “I love you, Violet Vanderson. I really, really love you.”

The warmth radiating from your soul and the heat of your intertwined bodies is all too much. It does anything but help when Violet places soft kisses on your cheek, ones that trail down to your jaw and the base of your neck as she gently pulls you into her lap.

“Do you–” she places a kiss, “forgive me?” The suck and lick she gives to your neck sends a shudder down your spine. Wait, what’d she ask again?

“I don’t know,” you hum teasingly, feeling her smirk against your wet skin. “I think you should work for it.”

“Whatever you want. Tell me what you want, baby.”

Fuck. How can words make your eyes roll into the back of your head?

“Want you to—”

You gasp as she slides her tongue down your neck, coming to kiss at your collarbones.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” she whispers sensually.

“Fuck. I want you.”

That’s all she needs, and Violet’s sliding a cold hand up your shirt, inching it up slowly over your bra and refusing to break eye contact. The action has you whimpering into submission, and you huff.

“You’re such a tease.” You complain.

“You’ll take it,” she hums, finally pulling the shirt over your head and going straight for the clasp of your bra.

You take the time to trail a hand under her own shirt, letting your finger tips trail over her abs, and you gasp as your already hard nipples twitch from the newfound cold air when Vi tosses your bra to the side.

“God you’re beautiful,” is the last thing she says before diving head first into your chest. The room is filled with soft kissing sounds, wet licks and pop’s from Vi’s mouth on your nubs, and your moans of pleasure when she twists at whatever nipple isn’t getting her mouth’s attention.

“Vi– babe please. Need you now.”

She groans against your sensitive skin, releasing you from her mouth.

“Need me now, baby?” The girl mocks your neediness with a smirk.

“Yeah, yes please,” you whimper out, and she snickers at how you’re already too dazed to focus.

She decides she’s played with your tits enough (for now), and pulls you right back into a messy, tongue infested kiss as she flips your position. You lean against the couch as she reluctantly separates your lips, sliding kisses down the middle of your torso as her strong hands work at pulling down your pants terribly slowly.

Once they’re off, and you think you’re free as she runs a finger along the middle of your panties, right over your clothed heat. She hums at the way you buck forward. Her just graze along the seam as you speak.

“I’m not– mmm, feeling very forgiving right now…” you scold, eyes so gone that Violet has to stop herself from apologizing.

“Do you want my mouth or fingers to change that?” she asks, and she can’t hold back the laugh any longer when your eyes unknowingly light up.

“Mouth– both– Vi anything, just give me it now.”

She laughs, finally pulling your underwear down at a reasonable pace and scolding you gently.

“We’ll work on fixing your tone another time.”

She leaves the tiny fabric hanging off one of your delicate ankles, mumbling something about how fuckable you look sprawled out for her like this. The girl’s quick to effortlessly spread your legs, and she gulps at how slick and glistening your cunt is all for her.

“Fuck me, baby,” she mutters in awe.

“I’m trying to,” you whine, taking her back to the present where you and your body are completely at her mercy.

Finally, your prayers are answered, and she’s licking a clean line straight up your pussy, taking a river of juices with her pleasure-inducing tongue.

As if the taste enchants her, Vi’s dropping her head down to your needy heat. Her tongue lulls out, swirling against your clit, your hole, anywhere she can make you feel good. It’s not long before two thick fingers plunge into you, and you’re throwing your head back.

“Oh my god, please please– yes.”

“Please? Please what, sweetheart?” she mocks once more. Your moans motivate the muscle-flexing girl to go deeper, go faster, and she has to hold you still when you arch from how sweet her digits hit your g-spot.

The way she’s drinking your cunt sucks away your thoughts as well, and it’s not until she hands a harsh slap to your ass that you’re blinking, babbling something about needing to cum.

“You can do it baby, yeah good girl. Fuck.”

Sweet praises decorated with the perfect mixture of her fingers, tongue, and the lust-laced eye contact send you over the edge, and your loud moans carry throughout the entire space as you finish.

Vi’s tools don’t stop, not until you’ve completely come down from the best high of your life, not until your shaky hand is gently placing itself over hers in silent appreciation.

When your heavy pants are all that’s left to be heard, she kisses your cunt goodbye and says hello to your lips. A strong hand on the back of your head keeps your mouth pressed against hers, and you love it. Because you’re sure you could twist lips with this girl until you pass out from forgetting to breathe.

“Taste yourself?” she whispers once her tongue’s slid out of your mouth. You can only nod, relishing in the way her arms wrap around your body, a silent insinuation that you’re hers to protect.

With a hum, you’re kissing both of her cheeks, then her nose and forehead in thanks as her chin rests against your chest.

“I guess that was a good enough apology.” You fake dissatisfaction, completely ignoring the way your body presses even further into hers while you smooth a hand through her hair.

She snickers in disbelief.

“Think you need another? Just to see how sorry I am, of course.”

You hum, finally shrugging with an inconcealable smile.

“I guess that’d work.”

Vi makes no complaint, because why on earth would she, and she’s kissing a line right back where she started.

“Is this too over the top? The number six was fine but the hand prints? Do I look like a high schooler? Be honest—”

Mel cuts off your babbling with a laugh. “You didn’t want to look like a high schooler?”

You’re whining from your position in the stands, and Mel’s apologizing for her joke as she confirms you look amazing. “Vi’s already seen you, and she seemed to love it,” she coos in your ear, bumping her hip against yours as you laugh.

And the girl’s right. Throughout the game, Vi’s taken glances at you every second she gets. She’s grinning at the pink body paint handprints that travel up your legs, winking when you blow her kisses everytime your gazes lock, chuckling at how loud you get when you cheer ‘go Vi!’, and don’t get her started on how you’re body is clad in her big jersey.

Yeah, she’s completely whipped.

There’s only two minutes left in the game, and the Piltover Knights are winning 2-4. But you’re not entirely focused on the screaming atmosphere or Vi’s upcoming victory, because all you can think about is how hot and aggressive your girlfriend looks in her element.

There’s a jolt of joy that zips up your body, because: yeah, that’s your girlfriend.

The horn chugs to signal the end of the match and the crowd’s roaring with glee, especially you and Mel, who jump up and down while screaming out for your respective players.

Vi throws you a toothy smile from the ice, one that you see again after she exits the locker room and comes to find ‘her girl’ in the loitering crowd.

She embraces and lifts you into the air, spinning you around as if you’re a feather in her grasp. Each giggle that spills from your lips is more joyous than the last, just like every moment you spend together.

“You were so cool out there! Never seen you look so mad and focused,” you praise your pink-haired girl as she sets you down, placing a warm kiss to the top of your head.

“That’s because you bring out the good in me. I’m usually all rude and scary and—”

“With that hair?” you tease, ruffling your hand through her fluff. “You’re not fooling anybody, pinkie.”

Vi’s jaw drops in shock.

“Pinkie?” she repeats with a squinted gaze.

A beat passes, and you’re turning to run away, but it’s too late. The athlete lunges forward, wrapping her arms around your core to trap you as you fake complain in protest, but giggles are soon falling from your mouth and breaking your character.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” her playful words kiss your ear.

“Oh whatever, you love me.” you grin through the claim, turning your head to have her beautiful face in your vision.

Vi’s smile softens into something genuine as she scans over your pretty face. Your astonishing, stunning– fuck there are so many things she could say about your face, about your heart, about your brain, about you.

“Yeah. I really, really do.”

Sparkled blue eyes connect with yours, and they’re sending you into a trance as you’re lured into a tender kiss.

With every kiss, the world around you is drowned out until it’s just you and Violet. Your minds, bodies, and hearts intertwine, and with each connection of your lips, you taste everything she feels.

It’s perfect, even better than you could’ve imagined from that creative writing class, and it gets better everyday that you live the reality.

From the grasp of your passionate kiss, as colors of blue, auburn, chestnut brown and more pass by you, you smile knowing that safe in your arms lies your perfect pink.

©silknspice

#arcane #arcane fanfic #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi fanfic #vi smut #vi league of legends #wlw #sapphic #arcane x reader #fake dating #caitlyn kiramman #arcane vi x reader #vi imagines

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crushribbons · 3 months ago

Text

the hot, flirty resident curse

summary: Dr. Frank Langdon just sustained the luckiest on-the-job injury ever.

cw: 2.8k words, nurse!reader/OC, friends to lovers, i started writing this before 1.10 so we're gonna say it's a "1.10 never happened"AU 😭, single dad frank, i made him probably more respectful than he actually is but nurses deserve the entire world so they're getting that too!!!, go hug a nurse rn, brief injury/knife ment, definite inappropriate behavior for a hospital, fem reader/OC.

a/n: drug theft???? what drug theft????

(gif cred)

The “break room” was busy today. Dozens of nurses hustling in and out of the dimly-lit, stale-smelling, and nowhere near big enough lounge. The microwave never could heat her leftovers to a degree that was actually pleasurable for human consumption, so she picked around her butter chicken with a sigh.

Only three hours left. She could have waited to eat dinner, but the promise of thirty uninterrupted minutes where she would not be yelled at by patients’ families or ordered around by some of the more pompous assholes she worked wi–

Speak of the devil, and he’ll stick his head into the nurse’s lounge, catch sight of you trying to enjoy a moment of peace, and yell, “HEY! Hey, you, Lululemon!” Her eye twitched. The black Define that she was wearing was her favorite. She did not turn to look at what she knew to be one of the new interns that started last week. He scoffed in frustration. “Yoohoo!”

“I have a name,” she said calmly, evenly. The butter chicken now held a lot of interest for her.

“Yeah, well, I don’t know it! How do I get to Imaging from here?” Her knuckles turned white around the plastic fork she was using, and she started to turn and read this greenie the riot act, but someone beat her to the punch.

A hand appeared from behind the intern (she realized with a little chuckle that she didn’t know his name either) and smacked him soundly upside the head. “What the FUCK?!” he cried. Dr. Langdon pushed him out of the lounge and down the hall.

“You will show respect to the nurses of this hospital if you want to continue working here, got it?” Langdon called after him. The kid muttered something snotty, she assumed, and she saw him amble away like a dog with its tail between its legs. “Sorry about him,” Langdon apologized. He hung on the door frame for a minute and chewed his lip. Her hand that wasn’t holding the fork searched for something to do, landing on smoothing down the hair that was already pulled into a perfect bun. “Kid’s an asshat.”

“I’ve known a few of those in my time here,” she joked, and Langdon grinned. She dropped the fork. “There was this one guy…Langdumb, or something like that. He was insufferable.” Langdon gave her an exasperated look that made her laugh and say, “But he’s much better now.” The exasperation was replaced with an angelic beam.

“Well, thanks for saying that. Some days, I wonder,” he said, then rubbed the back of his neck. She pouted in sympathy without realizing she was doing it. Langdon laughed. It was a little gravelly and when he smiled, he showed off each of his straight, white teeth. Her heart hammered at the ribcage prison bars that held it hostage.

Residents had a reputation. Of course they did; they’d toiled away in thankless obscurity for four years as medical students, so it only made sense that at the first opportunity they had to stretch their newly-educated legs, it would go straight to their head. She remembered Langdon being somewhat of a douche himself as a first-year, always correcting nurses and, on one occasion he later apologized profusely for, disregarding an order Dr. Robby had given for a patient to be intubated. Langdon had been correct in his estimation, thank God, but Robby had berated him in that terrifying, humiliating, cool as a cucumber way that he always did. She had been assigned to that patient at the time, and the memory of Robby quietly seething at Langdon in the corner of the hospital room still made her cheeks hot. That had been what finally whipped Langdon into shape.

Some residents also had a reputation for certain, seedier behaviors. There weren’t enough fingers or toes on the planet on which to count how many times some new hotshot had hit on her, usually opting to do so through negging and second-guessing her work, like she would be tripping over herself to go out on a date with the grown man tugging her pigtails on the playground. The kid Langdon had shoved down the hall was no doubt on his way to do something similar to the first nurse distracted enough to walk across his eyeline.

Dr. Langdon had no such reputation for flirtiness, and he had never made any sort of advance to her. Thank goodness. It was nice to have a friend in a slightly higher place than her.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, what’s going on for you, Dr. Frank?”

“Quit calling me Dr. Frank, especially in front of patients.” He rolled his eyes. “That puts a whole ‘Dr. Phil’ image in their heads and I hate it.”

“Oh I’m glad you mentioned that…” She turned in her chair to face him fully and seriously. “My teen has been drinking at parties and my husband is an absent father,” she said, face grave.

Frank adopted a Southern drawl and put his finger above his lip to simulate a moustache. “You have gawt to send that child to military school, it is the only waaay.” They giggled. Frank’s pager went off and he pulled it off his waistband to read it. “Shit, gotta run. Don’t have too much fun without me,” he ordered sternly, a frown creasing his pretty forehead.

Pretty forehead? Fuck is wrong with you? She admonished herself without mercy while she went through the motions of undressing and redressing the various beds in the Pitt for the rest of her shift. It was not a desirable duty to be stuck with. Luckily, it was a slow day in the ED by ED standards, with only two ambulance visits and a quiet trickle of less urgent cases admitted from the waiting room, so she had ample time to think about the piece of hair that was always falling in Frank’s bright blue eyes when he was working, and the way Frank cackled any time he cleaned up on one of his and Mateo’s college basketball bets, and Frank…

God, you’d think I had a thing for this guy, she mused to herself, slipping a pillow into its fresh case. Do not fall for the evil Hot Flirty Resident Curse. It might be a canon event for some nurses, but not for her. No, sir, she had her head on her shoulders more than that.

Didn’t matter if Frank wore a kitschy, clunky little bracelet, beaded with love by one of his daughters, every day. Didn’t matter if Frank spoke with the utmost respect about his ex-wife whenever the topic came up. Didn’t matter if he had once placed his hand on her lower back to steer her towards the patient’s room that he had needed her assistance with, and that she hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. Didn’t matter if Frank–

–was knocking gently on the door of the room she now stood, motionless, in and asking, “Hey, did you see Mrs. Horowitz getting discharged?”

“Mrs. H-Horo–?” Her tongue felt about ten inches thick as she tried to remember which patient he was talking about and how to move her feet like a normal person.

“The low blood sugar.”

“Oh, right.”

Frank raised his eyebrows, making her realize she hadn’t answered the question. She wished a hole would open up in the speckled tile and swallow her. “Yes, I saw her checking out with Dana at central an hour or so ago,” she said. Ok, got it all out without stammering. This was just Frank; why was her brain foggy and making it impossible to speak to a man she’d always just thought of as a coworker? Her favorite coworker, sure. The highlight of her day? Also sure, but it wasn’t…She pulled a face that mirrored her thoughts before she could stop herself.

Frank thanked her, then paused on his way out of the room again.

“Uh..are you done for the day?” he asked, and a glance at her watch told her that yes, she was three minutes past being done.

“I could stick around for a bit,” she shrugged with all the nonchalance in the world. “Need help with something?” Frank shook his head, a tiny smirk she would have missed if she hadn’t been staring too hard at his mouth flickering around his lips.

“No, no worries, head home! I can totally just grab someone–”

“No!” She tried to play it cool with a chuckle and threw the pillow she was still holding down on the bed. “Let me help. What is it?”

Frank sighed and yanked his right sleeve up to show her his shoulder, and all the mortification that had been comfortably fading away in his presence came back in full force. She stared dumbly for a few seconds before he turned a degree to his left and she caught sight of the ugly, crimson gash that ran from the back of his tricep to the top of his shoulder. “Jesus, Frank! Mention this shit first!” she cried, rushing to him. “What happened?”

He grimaced. “Turned my back for one second and a patient grabbed the scalpel off my tray and slashed. I’m angrier about the scrubs, to be honest. FIGS ain’t cheap.” He plopped himself down on the bed and looked up at her. “It’s not bad, really, I just can’t reach it to dress it myself. Would you mind?”

No, Man Who is Colloquially Referred to Around the Hospital as Dr. Dreamboat, no, I would not mind patching you up even a bit. She cleared her throat, trying to muster all her calm and competence, and said, “I’m not sure this hospital accepts your insurance, Mr. Langdon.” Frank grinned while pulling his sleeve up once more and holding it in place so she could access the wound.

“My work,” he groaned. “They got me on the worst plan possible. Acts of God are about the only thing they cover, so if anyone asks, God stabbed me.”

Her laugh surprised her. It wasn’t nervous; it was loud and probably obnoxious and it made Frank beam even more widely. She dashed over to the nurse’s supply station and requisitioned a wound care kit. When she reentered the room, she was horrified to discover that Frank had given up on holding his scrub shirt out of the way and had opted to pull the whole thing off. He was, thank heaven, wearing a white tank undershirt, and sat waiting for her expectantly. She took the second before he realized she had reentered the room to ogle as much as her professionalism and casual friendship would allow.

The sound of the alcohol swab’s packaging tearing echoed through the awkwardly quiet room. “Is it gonna hurt?” Frank whispered, making his eyes huge. She wanted to tell him to shut up.

“Shut up, just stay still,” she said, more thankful than she’d ever been that there was a layer of blue latex between her and the person she was patching’s skin. Using quick, dabbing motions to hide her trembling hands worked better than she had hoped. Frank got bored and started fidgeting after about 20 seconds. She had once told him that he needed four more letters added to his MD title: ADHD. It had been the hardest she’d ever seen him laugh, until, of course, he got distracted by something brightly colored in the distance.

He blew a puff of air from his lips and looked around the room. “Soo. Any plans tonight?”

“I was supposed to give the keynote speech at the Annual Best Nurses in the Universe Banquet, but my friend needed help putting a band-aid on, so I missed it,” she deadpanned absently, while opening the bandage and aligning it over the wound. “Are you worried about infection?”

“Not anymore, ‘cause the best nurse in the universe fixed me up real good,” he simpered. He batted his eyelashes up at her and she snorted to hide the smile that she couldn’t stop from appearing. “Um, well, anyway…” Frank began, but then trailed off. His tone had changed.

She was almost scared to ask, “What?” Her fingers smoothed over the bandage, adhering it flush to his arm, and tried to ignore the way she felt every ridge and groove of him. Or maybe she was memorizing.

Frank coughed and shrugged the shoulder she wasn’t working on. “Just…if you ever do have a free night, I mean, after work. Or not!”

She frowned. Whatever he was rambling about took a backseat while she made quick work of cleaning off the tray of supplies. “Again, what?” Her grocery order would be ready for pickup in ten minutes, and she didn’t want to miss the window by getting stuck in the parking garage with the rest of the mass day-shift exodus.

“Jesus, do you wanna go out with me?” Her eyebrows shot skyward as she whipped around to face him. “I’m sorry!” He immediately jumped up. “I wasn’t snapping at you, I mean, I was snapping, for sure, but at myself because I couldn’t just…cough it up. It’s taken me, what, like three years?”

He had a sheepish look on his face, and couldn’t seem to hold eye contact with her anymore. Three years. Three years? Three years was how long she had known him. Every last drop of nerve, embarrassment, confusion, attraction all threatened to bubble up in her stomach. She slammed the tray down on the counter next to the sink.

The reality of her feelings finally hit her full force, and she decided to acknowledge them for the first time in front of that serial stabber God and Frank and everyone: “I think I really like you, Frank.” It was easier than she could have imagined to say it, at last. Especially now, that he’d gone and taken their flirting to its natural conclusion.

“Well I know I really like you,” he replied, a grin spreading as rapidly as the elation that was filling her chest so tight she thought she might start floating away.

“You fucking doctors, you always have to come out on top, don’t you?”

Frank reached for her hand from the bed and tugged her to him. She stood between his legs, which were dangling off the bed, kicking back and forth like a kid who just got told that school would be ending three hours early on the sunniest afternoon of the year. “That remains to be seen,” he muttered up at her, his blue eyes a lot softer than his tone was suggesting, and she swatted him on the forehead for being so presumptuous before leaning down and kissing the stupid smile straight off his lips. Langdon groaned and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down and onto the bed.

“Shit, we–” It was hard to get words out when Frank chased after her lips every time she pulled them away. And she had never been good at saying no to him. “We really should not be doing this in here.”

He agreed by putting his hand on the back of her head so he could kiss her even more deeply. “Definitely shouldn’t,” he hummed into her mouth. “Could get caught. Could get fired.” Frank pulled away fully and she took the opportunity to gulp down some air into her neglected and giddy lungs. “Wait, will you still go out with me if I’m not a doctor?” “I’d rather you were ortho, but–”

“Don’t piss me off, baby.” But they were both giggling the same, stupid way they did when they exchanged jokes and insults. Only this time, she was kneeling on one leg in front of him on a freshly-made hospital bed, her other leg slung over his, his strong hand resting on the back of her thigh. Her heart was pounding at a wild rhythm she was not familiar with, and when Frank placed his hands on her waist and pulled her even more flush against his chest, she felt his beating similarly. “I’ve already taken off like half my clothes,” he murmured. “Should we just round up and get rid of the rest?”

“Definitely not,” she admonished through a laugh. “At least take me to get some jello or something first.” Suddenly, she was pushed off his lap and back to a standing position, her legs wobbling like a fawn’s after being folded under her so awkwardly. Frank tugged his scrub shirt back over his head and rose from the bed as well.

“Jello sounds really fucking good right now, good call,” he said, eyes already focused out the door and mapping the quickest route to the cafeteria. She wanted to laugh and cry and put blinders on the hyperactive physician so he kept kissing her until one or both of them died, but she opted instead to push that one strand of hair (the 90’s Leo one, she would later refer to it as) out of his eyes and said,

“You are insufferable.”

Frank shrugged. He grabbed her hand in his, loosely locking their fingers together and leading her out of the room. Her grocery order seemed like the least pressing matter in the world. “You love it!”

She kinda did.

masterlist

#when the fic takes so long to write that worlds have shifted since you started 😐#anyway lmk if more of this is wanted or if we’re all still coping JCODNSKSN #the pitt x reader #the pitt hbo fic #frank langdon fic #frank langdon x reader #thepittposting #laneywrites

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neocrias · 4 months ago

Text

Making out with svt

warnings: descriptions; headcanons; gn (mostly) reader self insert; you might find it a little kinky at some point;

pairings: svt x gn reader

gender/aus: fluff; slightly suggestive;

Scoups

The whole night, Seungcheol tried to focus on dinner, the conversation, and the sophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant. But it was impossible. From the moment you appeared in front of him, wearing that outfit that hugged your body in a way that seemed tailor-made to tease him, nothing else mattered. His dark gaze kept falling on you every second, his jaw clenching every time you moved in a way that made it impossible to ignore the effect you had on him.

On the way home, the tension between you was palpable. The city passed unnoticed through the car windows while the only thing that truly mattered to Seungcheol was the sensation of your skin under his palm. His large hand rested firmly on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles, occasionally pressing as if testing your patience as if making it clear what was coming next.

When he finally parked in front of your house, he got out of the car first. The click of the door opening echoed in the stillness of the night as he moved around, his calm, calculated movements with that dominant presence that made your breath hitch before he even touched you.

Seungcheol extended his hand, helping you out of the car, his eyes never leaving yours. As soon as you were standing, he shut the door behind you—and before you could even process the movement, his body was already pressed against yours on the car.

The impact was gentle but definitive. One of his hands found your waist, pulling you against him, while the other cupped the side of your face. And then, without hesitation, he took your lips.

The kiss was fierce, filled with everything he’d been holding back the whole night. Seungcheol wasn’t one for half-measures, and there, against the car, under the dim streetlight, he made that clear. His lips were demanding against yours, his tongue exploring your mouth without rushing, as if savoring every second, as if he’d been waiting for this for far too long.

When he felt you melt under his touch, the need for more took over. Without effort, one of his hands slid down the side of your body until it found your thigh, and in one swift move, he lifted it, pressing it against his waist. The contrast between the cold metal of the car and the heat of his body made a shiver run up your spine.

Dressed entirely in black, Seungcheol looked even more imposing. The dark shirt clung to his body, accentuating every defined muscle, and the strength with which he held you against him made it impossible to ignore how badly he wanted this.

The kiss didn’t slow down. Seungcheol deepened every movement, exploring, dominating, as if his intention was to etch the feeling into every cell of your body. The firm hand holding your leg against him, his chest rising and falling against yours, the muffled sound of heavy breathing between kisses – all contributing to the electricity that hung in the air.

When he finally broke the kiss, just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and gleaming with desire, he smiled crookedly.

— I should’ve brought you home earlier... — He murmured, his voice rough.

But the way he pressed his body against yours afterward made it clear that the night was far from over.

Jeonghan

The smell of your parents' house was familiar, a mix of fresh coffee and old wood that brought back childhood memories. Lunch had been peaceful, and Jeonghan, with his charming ways, had effortlessly won over your parents. He laughed at the stories they told about you as a child, his eyes gleaming with that mischievous interest only he could have.

After eating, you decided to give him a tour of the house. You walked through the rooms, stopping at every detail that was part of your history—the mark on the living room wall where you used to measure your height as a kid, the bookshelf filled with old books, the garden where you used to play. But it was in your bedroom that the tour truly ended.

The space felt smaller now, but it still carried your essence. Jeonghan was immediately distracted by the old photos scattered around, picking one up with an amused smile.

— Look at you here, such a cutie! — He laughed, holding a picture of you as a little kid. — Who would’ve thought that this innocent little face would grow up to be so bossy?

You rolled your eyes, throwing yourself onto the old bed with a sigh. The mattress creaked slightly under your weight, and you closed your eyes for a moment, letting nostalgia wash over you. But before you could fully relax, you felt an added weight on top of you.

You opened your eyes only to find Jeonghan sitting on your lap, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as his fingers pinned your wrists against the mattress.

— Jeonghan… — You murmured, your heart racing.

— Yes? — He tilted his head, feigning innocence, but the playful glint in his eyes betrayed his true intentions.

— My parents are in the next room.

He smiled even more, leaning down until his lips barely brushed against yours, teasing.

— And? — His voice came out low, almost a whisper. — I don’t plan on making any noise.

And then, he kissed you.

The first kiss was slow, teasing, as if he wanted to test the limits of the situation. Jeonghan’s lips were warm and soft against yours, and the way he moved—always in control, always knowing exactly what to do – made your entire body react instantly.

But he didn’t stop there.

Jeonghan was a game of cat and mouse, and he loved playing with you. Every time you tried to catch your breath, he captured your lips again, stealing quick kisses, smiling against your mouth, his fingers lazily tracing your face, then trailing down to your waist, where he held you with deceptive gentleness.

The bed creaked softly beneath the subtle movements, and every time you tried to protest, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his lips molding to yours with more intensity.

Your fingers clenched around his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The way he dominated the moment, the way he whispered something between kisses just to tease you, made every cell in your body vibrate with anticipation.

And when he finally pulled away, just enough to look into your eyes, the satisfied smile on his lips made it clear that he knew exactly what he was doing.

— See? — He whispered, his thumb slowly brushing over your lower lip. — Not a single sound.

But his eyes said something else. He was just getting started.

Joshua

The elevator doors close smoothly, and you lean against the wall, holding Joshua's hand, watching him with a suspicious look. You two had just returned from a date, and throughout the entire night, Joshua had behaved better than expected—no pranks, no teasing comments.

He's been too quiet, which is never a good sign.

Then, before the elevator even ascends a single floor, he presses a hidden button on the panel. The lights flicker, the elevator gives a slight jolt, and… stops.

— Oh, no… — Joshua murmurs, covering his mouth with an exaggerated expression of surprise. — Looks like we’re stuck.

Your eyes widen. — What?!

— Yeah, it happened again… These elevators are a bit unstable, you know?

Suspicion hits immediately.

— Joshua. What did you do?

He tilts his head, eyes gleaming with pure amusement.

— Me? Nothing. — But the mischievous smile gives everything away.

You let out an exasperated sigh and reach for the emergency button, but he moves fast. Before you can even touch the panel, Joshua steps closer and cups your face with both hands, his palms covering your cheeks, his long, warm fingers pressing into your skin.

— Hey, hey, what’s the rush? — He murmurs, his voice low and lazy, his playful gaze shifting into something more intense. — Maybe it’s a sign from fate.

Your heart jumps when he leans in slowly, his warm breath grazing your lips before he finally captures them with his own.

The kiss starts as a tease – just like him. Joshua’s lips move against yours deliberately, savoring, testing, as if he’s relishing your reaction. But as you respond, he deepens it, making it slower, more consuming, his tongue sliding against yours in a heated, intoxicating touch.

He smiles against your lips the moment he feels you melt in his arms, giving in to the kiss, your fingers dragging over the nape of his neck with growing need. One of his hands glides to your waist, circling it and pulling you closer, while the other discreetly moves behind you. His fingers find the right button, and without you even noticing, he presses it.

Suddenly, the elevator starts moving again.

You pull back with a start, blinking in surprise. — Wait…

Joshua lets out a low, satisfied chuckle.

— Oops. Guess it’s working again. — He shrugs as if he hadn’t just tricked you once more.

— You…!

He grins like he’s having way too much fun, his thumb brushing lightly over your swollen lips. — Don’t look at me like that. You liked it.

The worst part? He’s right.

Jun

The muffled sound of the audience echoed through the backstage hallways, and you could hardly believe you were there, accompanying Jun to yet another one of the group’s shows. He seemed calm, but there was something in his eyes—a mischievous glint you couldn’t quite decipher.

— Let’s go grab some water — he said suddenly, his voice casual.

You didn’t find it strange. Jun was the kind of person everyone adored—sweet and attentive to those around him—and he hated being away from you when you had a day to be together, so nothing seemed out of the ordinary. None of the members even glanced in your direction, too busy with their own preparations. So, without questioning, you followed him down the hallways.

It happened too fast. Before you even realized it, Jun pushed open the door of an empty dressing room and, in one swift motion, pulled you inside. The soft click of the door closing sounded louder than it should have.

— Jun-?

Your voice was cut off as he leaned against the wall and pulled you against him, your bodies colliding in the narrow space. He smirked, a malicious glint in his eyes. — I didn’t scare you, did I?

His expression softened into feigned innocence, but his tone betrayed his true intentions.

Your heart skipped a beat. He looked nothing like the adorable Jun everyone knew—here, alone with you, there was something else, something undeniably provocative.

The question lingered in the air, but before you could respond, Jun slid one of his hands down your waist, giving a light squeeze. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and that cocky smile still hadn’t left his lips.

And then, he leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

— We’ve got a few minutes… — he murmured, the tip of his nose grazing your jawline.

— Yeah? — you asked, wrapping your arm around his shoulders and tilting up to capture his lips in a slow, restrained kiss. One that Jun wasted no time deepening as he held you by the waist with one arm, while his other hand tangled into the hair at the nape of your neck.

He used his grip on your hair to position you exactly how he wanted, making the kiss more comfortable for him—and better for you. He pulled you closer by the hips, leaving one leg between yours, your bodies pressed together enough to feel the rise and fall of each breath.

Outside, the show was about to begin. But at that moment, nothing else seemed to matter except the way Jun looked at you—and what he wanted to do with those stolen minutes.

Wonwoo

Wonwoo was off today and decided to spend his free day playing the game he had been waiting for over the past two months. He was sitting comfortably in his gaming chair, the room lit faintly by a soft yellow LED light.

The sound of the keyboard clicks filled the air, and the soft light of the late afternoon illuminated the space. Since the beginning of the afternoon, Wonwoo had been immersed in the game, as if nothing else in the world mattered. You watched him for a moment, respecting the fact that he needed this time for himself after working so much. However, it was already night, and the longing for his touch, for his presence, started to weigh on you.

You quietly approached, leaning against his back. Your hands, soft and delicate, began massaging his shoulders, feeling the tension accumulated there. Wonwoo let out a slight sigh of pleasure but kept his focus on the game, as if trying not to get distracted. But it was impossible not to notice the touch of your presence and the warmth of your proximity.

After a few seconds, he tilted his head back, his eyes meeting yours. His smile was gentle but full of something you recognized well: desire, affection, and a slight complicity.

Without hesitation, you moved closer and, with a quick motion, kissed him in the Spider-Man and Mary Jane style, your lips meeting gently as he was still leaning back. The kiss was soft, gentle, and even a bit playful, but full of undeniable chemistry.

Fortunately, that wasn’t enough for Wonwoo – and even less so for you. He took control, spinning the chair to face you without missing a beat, and with one firm hand, placed it behind your thigh, slowly pulling you onto his lap.

The movement was smooth, but full of intention. You settled there, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, and the world around you seemed to fade away. He was closer now, and the distance between the two of you seemed to vanish completely.

The kiss quickly escalated, going from something gentle and playful to pure need and desire. Wonwoo held your waist, pressing you down against him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, instinctively arching your back.

— Your game... — You murmured between kisses and caresses.

Wonwoo simply hummed, not paying attention to your words – he had better things to focus on: marking the length of your neck and shoulders. The sound of battle filled the space between the two of you's panting breaths. The game long forgotten.

The night was just beginning, but you knew that, beside him, time would just be a word.

Hoshi

The office was finally silent. After hours immersed in the group's new project, you and Hoshi were the last to leave. He stretched, intertwining his fingers above his head before casting a casual glance in your direction.

— Ready to go? — He asked, already walking ahead.

— Always. — you replied, grabbing your bag and following him down the hallway.

Hoshi pressed the elevator button, but when the doors opened, he suddenly made a face as if he had just remembered something important.

— Oh, wait... I think we'd better take the stairs. I heard the elevator has been acting up lately. — He scratched the back of his neck, his expression a mix of concern and amusement.

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical, not buying his excuse but also not protesting as he started heading toward the stairwell. Hoshi smiled innocently and began descending, still leading the way. You kept following him until, two floors down, he suddenly stopped and turned to you, biting back a mischievous smile.

— Already? — You crossed your arms, tilting your head to the side. — Couldn't keep up the lie for too long, huh?

He didn’t answer. Instead, in one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you down a step, making you stumble slightly. Before you could regain your balance, his hands were firm on your waist, pressing your body against his. Hoshi leaned back against the railing, a playful glint in his eyes.

Before you could say anything, Hoshi leaned up, capturing your lips in a deep, yearning kiss. Stealthily, his palms slid along the sides of your waist until his fingers pressed firmly against your skin, keeping you close.

For a moment, the world around you disappeared, leaving only the heat of his body against yours, the intoxicating taste of his kiss. His touch became gentle again, filled with hidden intentions, but the way his fingertips moved was so light that you barely felt them creeping upward.

Not until he reached your chest, teasingly squeezing them.

You pulled away, breathless, your face flushed. Your heart pounded wildly as you opened your eyes again, only to find that satisfied smile on his lips. His scent, mixed with the faint, enclosed air of the stairwell, made your head spin slightly.

— You should know by now that I could never resist an opportunity like this. — He murmured, his voice low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Your heart pounded against your ribs. You could feel his breath far too close to your skin – warm and enticing. The empty stairwell, the silence around you, the way he held your waist as if he had no intention of letting go… everything seemed to conspire against any chance of escape.

But did you really want to escape?

Woozi

You and Woozi had decided to have another one of those afternoons where you both worked on your own projects while enjoying each other's quiet company. His new comeback was approaching, and he still had many songs to work on, while you had to deal with the planning of this new project your boss had made you responsible for.

The room was immersed in a tranquil, almost dreamlike atmosphere. The soft strumming of Woozi’s guitar filled the space with an enchanting melody, blending with the sweet aroma of the warm cookies on the table.

At first, everything felt perfect. Your cup of your favorite drink was still warm between your fingers, and the ambiance seemed to conspire in your favor, helping you focus on the project assigned to you. But as the hours passed, the open pages on your laptop remained nearly untouched, the blinking cursor a cruel reminder that you weren’t even halfway through your planning.

A tired sigh escaped your lips, and Woozi, ever attentive, noticed. He stopped strumming, placing his guitar aside before standing up. His quiet steps didn’t immediately alert you, but soon you felt his firm yet gentle touch as he pulled your chair to turn you towards him.

Before you could question him, Woozi slid his hands around your waist, effortlessly lifting you, making a small laugh slip from your surprised lips. He didn’t say a word, simply carrying you in his arms toward the bed and laying you down gently on the mattress. His eyes met yours for a moment, a silent invitation reflected in the dark shimmer of his gaze.

He lay down beside you, pulling your leg over his hip, bringing your bodies closer. One of his hands traced slow, deliberate paths down your back, making your breath hitch. The kiss that followed was deep and sensual, filled with tenderness and intent. His tongue moved slowly against yours as his fingertips ghosted over your skin, coaxing you into relaxation in his arms.

You let your nails trail lazily down his abdomen, sending shivers across his skin, making him smile against your lips. Every touch was a silent promise that here, in his embrace, you could finally rest. The warmth of his body surrounded yours, and without even realizing it, your eyes began to close.

And just like that, clinging to him, you finally surrendered to sleep.

Dokeyom

You and your boyfriend were having yet another secret rendezvous at your place – just a night to binge-watch some random Netflix series while eating too much pizza and ice cream.

The house was filled with laughter, and footsteps hurried against the floor, as if, instead of a grown-up couple, two mischievous children had taken over the place. Every time you and Dokyeom were together, time seemed to rewind, and each date turned into a collection of questionable decisions and pure fun. The latest one? Play-fighting.

It all started harmlessly – a fierce battle for the TV remote. You grabbed it first, clutching it to your chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Dokyeom, with his usual mischievous grin, tried to snatch it from you, the two of you wrestling as if the fate of humanity depended on who would pick the next show.

What you didn’t realize, however, was that behind your boyfriend’s gentle and smiley nature, there was actual strength. And it was only when, in the blink of an eye, he grabbed your ankle with firm hands and pulled you down onto the couch that you understood how dangerous it had been to challenge him.

— Hey! — you exclaimed, trying to regain your balance, but it was too late.

Dokyeom laughed out loud, triumphant, and before you could turn around or come up with a counterattack, he was already on top of you. He pinned your wrists above your head with humiliating ease, his absurd strength contrasting with the bright, innocent smile he always carried.

— Did you really think you could win against me? — he teased, leaning in a little closer, his eyes sparkling with amusement. — You really shouldn’t underestimate me like that, sweetheart.

Your heart pounded – partly from the fight, partly because the sudden closeness between you made everything feel even more electrifying. Dokyeom held your wrists firmly but not tightly enough to hurt, and the way he hovered over you, his hair falling slightly over his eyes, made the world seem to slow down.

Dokyeom brushed his lips against yours, giving your lower lip a playful bite. You gasped against his mouth, and he finally took your lips in a gentle kiss, his tongue making its way into your mouth.

This kiss would be just like the others you’ve shared, but there was something different about this one – something more intense, something that sent shivers down your spine, that twisted into a familiar knot in the pit of your stomach, and all because of the way he’s manhandling you and pressing you into the couch effortlessly.

— I haven’t given up yet — you breathlessly challenged when he broke the kiss, squirming in an attempt to free yourself, but Dokyeom only laughed, tightening his fingers just a little around your wrists.

— Oh, really? Then convince me.

The challenge was set. And whatever the next bad decision of the night would be, one thing was certain – you two wouldn’t come out of this fight without consequences.

Mingyu

The kitchen was warm, filled with the aroma of spices and the soft sound of the knife slicing ingredients on the cutting board. Mingyu stood beside you, big and imposing, absentmindedly stirring the spoon inside the pan. But no matter how much he tried to focus on the food, he kept watching you – a gaze heavy with something intense, something that made your whole body tingle under his attention.

You tried to ignore it, continuing to chop the vegetables, but his presence was impossible to overlook. The way he moved, how his broad shoulders seemed to take up all the space around you, how the difference in size between you both became even more obvious every time he leaned in slightly to grab something from the counter.

And then, suddenly, you realized. His gaze wasn’t just a gaze. It was a warning.

Before you could react, Mingyu slid closer, his warm body brushing lightly against yours. He didn’t say anything – he simply pushed the scattered utensils and ingredients aside, clearing the counter. Your heart skipped a beat as you slowly turned to face him.

He was already there, too close, too tall, too broad, with those dark eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped when his hand found your waist, long fingers pressing firmly into the curve. But what truly caught you off guard was when he slipped his other hand under your leg, gliding up to the back of your knee before lifting you effortlessly.

A small gasp escaped your lips as your body was lifted as if it weighed nothing, and within seconds, you were seated on the counter, with Mingyu standing between your legs.

His warmth seemed to consume everything around you. Your breath was uneven, and you barely had time to say anything before he leaned in, his hands gripping your waist tighter as his lips met yours.

The kiss started slow, intense, as if he wanted to savor every second, as if he had waited too long for this. His lips were warm, firm against yours, and as the tension between you both grew, the kiss deepened, turning hungrier, more demanding.

Mingyu slid his fingers across your skin, holding you against him as if he didn’t want to let you go. His left hand trailed up to the base of your throat, his long fingers wrapping around it, applying just enough pressure for you to feel him there, but not enough to choke. Your body fit against his almost naturally, and the sensation of contrast – your height against his, his strength against your fragility – made your heart race even faster.

When he finally pulled back, your faces remained close, breaths mingling. Mingyu’s eyes were darker, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips.

— Forget the food. — He murmured, his voice husky. — I have a better idea...

And before you could respond, he kissed you again, stealing any words that might have left your mouth.

Minghao

The deserted beach looked like a scene straight out of a dream – the sky painted in warm hues of orange and pink, the salty breeze caressing your skin, the sound of waves crashing softly against the sand. Minghao had chosen this place carefully, a secret hideaway where the world seemed to exist just for the two of you.

He stood in front of you, his gaze fixed on you with that intensity that always made your heart race. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his light pants, his posture relaxed, but his eyes said something else – he was having fun, and you knew that meant he was in a teasing mood.

— I have your present. — He announced, his velvety voice blending with the night breeze.

Your eyes sparkled with excitement, and you practically bounced in place, clasping your hands together like a child waiting for candy.

— Give it to me! Let me see! — You insisted, a wide smile spreading across your face.

Minghao let out a short, muffled chuckle, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, the corner of his lips curving into an arrogant smirk. His gaze darkened slightly, glinting with veiled mischief as he replied:

— Beg me. — He answered. — Beg me, and maybe I’ll show you.

Your smile faltered for a second, weighing your options. Minghao loved this kind of game, and you knew the only way to win was to play along. So, slowly, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him a little closer.

Your eyes traveled up to his, softer than usual, and you blinked a few times, leaning slightly into him.

— Hao... — Your voice came out lower, almost a whisper.

He laughed, a low, amused sound, and squeezed your waist with one hand before shaking his head.

— I know what you’re doing, but it wont work. — His fingertips brushed along your jaw, tilting your face up slightly. His smirk deepened, a spark of anticipation dancing in his gaze. — I want you to beg for real.

The way he said it, with his voice slow and dripping with provocation, sent a delicious shiver down your spine. Minghao wanted you to truly beg, and judging by the way he looked at you – with that lazy smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes – you knew he wouldn’t give in easily.

So, taking a deep breath, you leaned even closer, your arms still wrapped around his waist, your fingers tracing subtle patterns along the hem of his lightweight shirt. Your gaze lingered on his lips before slowly meeting his eyes again, filled with something deeper, something more genuine.

— Please, Hao… — Your voice was soft, almost a whisper, and your fingers pressed gently against his waist as if urging him closer. — Give it to me…

For a moment, time seemed to slow down. You saw his smirk falter slightly, his eyes darkening as he took in your words and the way you said them. Then, Minghao tilted his head to the side, his lips curling back into that satisfied smile.

He hummed, looking at you with a predatory glint in his eyes, and finally, he leaned in toward you.

The kiss started off slow, a delicious contrast to his earlier teasing. His lips met yours with patience, as if savoring every second, drinking in the taste of your surrender. But it didn’t take long for the softness to shift into something more intense—the rhythm picking up as he gripped your waist tighter, deepening the kiss.

His fingers traveled up your back, the light touches sending shivers through your skin as he pulled you even closer, as if trying to erase any space between you. You felt his breath mix with yours, the warmth of his body radiating through the thin fabric separating you.

When he finally pulled back, that same smirk lingered, but his eyes now held a different shine – less playful, more intense. He kept his hand tangled in your hair at the nape of your neck, keeping you tilted toward him, and rested his forehead against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist firmly.

— Now that’s more like it. — He murmured against your lips, his voice low and satisfied.

You smiled, breathless, your eyes shining with expectation.

— And my present?

Minghao let out a soft chuckle, sliding his hands down to your arms before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

— I’m already giving it to you.

Seungkwan

The court was empty at that hour, illuminated only by the tall lampposts scattered around the space. The scent of dry earth and freshly cut grass mixed with the night breeze, and the only sound besides the rustling of the trees was Seungkwan’s slightly quickened breath – and your quiet, satisfied laughter.

— Stop laughing. — He grumbled, crossing his arms, but the glint in his eyes betrayed that he wasn’t actually mad.

— I’m not laughing. — You lied shamelessly, holding back another chuckle as you watched him huff.

You had made a bet. Seungkwan, always competitive, had sworn he could make ten consecutive shots without missing a single one. Knowing his exaggerated confidence all too well, you had doubted him. What he hadn’t expected was to miss the very last attempt, and now he was standing there, staring at you with feigned indignation while you basked in your victory.

— Come on, admit it. I won. — You teased, tilting your head to the side. — I told you you couldn’t do it.

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, tossing the basketball away before stepping closer with slow, deliberate steps.

— So what? I missed a single shot, that means nothing. — He grumbled, his voice lower now, laced with that same playful provocation he always used to throw you off.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you held his gaze.

— On the contrary, it means you have to do whatever I want for a full minute.

Seungkwan raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms again as if weighing the idea. The problem was, despite his stubborn front, he already knew he was doomed. The way you looked at him, a mix of mischief and that touch of sweetness that always disarmed him, made his pride waver just a little.

— And what do you want? — He asked, wetting his lips before looking at you more challengingly.

You took a step forward, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth of his body despite the cool night breeze. Your fingers trailed slowly up the fabric of his shirt, stopping at the collar.

— You know. — Your voice came out soft, almost a whisper.

Seungkwan let out a short breath through his nose, as if frustrated with himself for giving in so easily, but the way his shoulders relaxed betrayed the truth.

— You’re impossible. — He murmured, and then, before you could respond, he pulled you in by the collar of his own shirt, his lips meeting yours with the perfect mix of urgency and teasing.

The kiss started firm, dominated by his competitive nature, as if he was proving a point. But then, as the seconds passed, the initial tension melted away, giving way to something more genuine. The rhythm slowed, his lips moving against yours more languidly, the heat of his touch consuming every part of you.

Seungkwan cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing over your skin as he deepened the kiss with a satisfied sigh. He had wanted to tease you, but in the end, he was always the one who got lost first.

When he pulled away, his eyes still closed, he took a moment before finally speaking, his voice a little husky:

— I bet you cheated.

— You missed all on your own, babe. I had nothing to do with it. — You laughed, resting your forehead against his.

He opened his eyes, narrowing them slightly before smirking. — Best out of three.

— If I win again, will you kiss me again?

Seungkwan let out a dramatic sigh, but the smile still lingered, hidden at the corner of his lips. — You’re not gonna win.

But judging by the way he was already pulling you toward the ball, you knew he wouldn’t mind losing again.

Vernon

It was only the first month of your relationship with Vernon, and you were already sure he was everything you could ever want: fun, funny, kind, and even a little shy. But there was a problem.

The kiss… or rather, the lack of one.

Vernon always came up with excuses whenever you had the chance to be alone, and it was starting to seem like he preferred anything over kissing you. So when he invited you over for a movie night at his place… you were surprised, to say the least. Was it finally going to happen? Did he want to make it special?

Everything was perfectly set up, the dim lighting in the living room making the atmosphere even cozier – and more romantic. You and Vernon were sitting on the couch, a forgotten bucket of popcorn beside you, while the movie played on the screen. You were the one who picked the film, excited by its premise – TikTok edits – but before you even pressed play, Vernon had already commented:

— I'm pretty sure I saw some bad reviews about this one…

You ignored him, more focused on other things than the movie. But as the minutes passed and nothing you expected happened the slow-paced plot and forced dialogues started to weigh down. Boredom filled the air. You sighed, resting your head against the back of the couch, and without realizing it, you started playing with the soft strands at the nape of his neck, gently twisting them between your fingers.

Vernon, on the other hand, was distracted, his eyes on the screen, but when you started bouncing your leg non-stop, he smirked, recognizing your restlessness. He didn’t say anything, simply enjoying your impatience in silence.

— This movie is so boring — you huffed impatiently after a few more minutes.

Vernon let out a low chuckle and turned to you, murmuring teasingly: — I told you so.

You huffed again, sinking into the soft couch, but Vernon was more cunning than he seemed, and you barely noticed his warm breath approaching your neck in the dimly lit living room. A shiver ran down your spine as he leaned in closer, lightly rubbing his nose along your neck before leaving a soft kiss on your skin. A mischievous smile immediately formed on your lips.

Slowly, you tilted your head to the side, and your eyes locked on his. For a second, everything faded into the background – the forgotten movie, the justified bad reviews, the untouched popcorn. Vernon still had that playful smile on his lips when you leaned in, and he welcomed you eagerly.

It started slow and comfortable, filled with repressed longing. Vernon gripped the back of your neck firmly, deepening the kiss. You gripped the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. Sensing that, Vernon swiftly slid his free hand down to your ass, pulling you onto his lap with a strong, quick motion.

The movie kept playing on the TV, but your attention was on something far more interesting.

Dino

Your boyfriend had to cancel the dinner you were supposed to have because of the rehearsal for his solo launch, but he felt bad about rescheduling with you, knowing how much those moments meant to you – he also didn’t want to be away from you that night. That’s why he invited you to watch the rehearsal.

The muffled sound of the music still reverberated in the air as Dino monitored each step of the choreography in the mirror like a hawk. During the rehearsal, he barely took his eyes off you. Every movement of yours, every reaction, every subtle and hurried touch during the breaks between the clean-up of the choreography seemed to carry something more, an intensity and veiled yearning between the two of you.

And you felt every furtive glance he cast your way, sensing something growing between you, something irresistible.

Now, at the end of the session, the mood was different. The empty room and the sudden silence seemed to make the atmosphere more tense. Dino approached you unexpectedly, his steps firm, almost challenging. He stopped right in front of you, and in a swift movement, he pushed you against the door, trapping you between his body and the cold wood. His gaze was full of intensity, as if he was measuring the moment with precision.

His lips were close to yours, the heat of his body radiating onto you. The pressure of his presence was almost physical, and you could feel your heart racing in your chest, but you also felt a delicious shiver, as if the air around you had changed in temperature.

Time seemed to slow down as he looked into your eyes, trying to gauge if you were ready for the next step, for what had yet to be said. His usual confident smile was now tinged with something more mysterious, something deeper, something between provocation and anticipation.

Dino tilted his head, his eyes locked on yours, and you felt as though the air around you was condensed into a single point of tension. He lowered his voice, almost whispering, and his words were laden with something you could barely understand:

— You know what I want, don’t you?

The question lingered in the air, like a provocation and a promise. He moved closer, his body pressed against yours, and you felt the intensity of his presence like never before. Dino held your chin, tilting your head to the side, and let a couple of kisses and light bites along your neck.

You deeply gasped, feeling the heat of his body against yours. He hid his smile in the crook of your neck, lifted his head up, locking his eyes on yours again, then bit your lower lip, making you whimper softly.

— The others… — you started, but Dino cut your words off before you could continue.

— There’s no one here anymore, beauty — he murmured on your lips, and in the next second, he took your lips in a hungry kiss.

His hands traveled down along your side, lifting you with no effort and pressing your back against the door, his body pressed on yours. After that, he slid his hand right to your butt, squeezing your soft flesh and pulling you against him, pressing your bodies together with fervor and desire.

#'svt x reader #svt scenarios #svt fluff #svt smut #seventeen #svt imagines #svt headcanons #seventeen x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt x you #svt reactions #seventeen reactions #svt angst #slightly suggestive #svt reader #svt x reader

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kaciidubs · 9 months ago

Text

Talk Dirty [Like You Need Love]

This song has me thinking heavily about expanding this into a fuller fic, so if people end up liking it, maybe I'll go ahead and finish it further! ✧ Summary: Chris was a great friend, picking you up from work whenever you had a late shift - so, it was only fair that you wanted to repay him. ✧ ✧ Word Count: 3.5k ✧ Warnings: Biker!AU, friends to ???, smut, slight dom! Chris, open ended ✧ ✧ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ✧ ✧ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as Baby, Good Girl, Pretty, Chris is referred to as Baby, Channie ✧ Stray Kids Masterlist ✧ General Masterlist

The streetlights came and went in intermittent strobes, passing over the two of you as his motorcycle hummed along the sparsely occupied street.

Your arms were wrapped securely around his waist just as he’d taught you, the warmth of your body against his back combating the chill of the crisp night air - he really wished he hadn’t forgotten his hoodie in his rush to pick you up.

“Are you cold?”

As if reading his mind, your voice floated through the comms of his helmet and he shook his head, “I’m alright, baby - don’t worry about me.”

Of course, you weren’t easily swayed - it was a quality he loved about you, no matter how much he preferred to be the one to look out for everyone else, you were always there to double back on him with undeterrable determination; proved by the way you leaned a little more against his back.

He wouldn’t have thought twice about your sweet gesture if it weren’t for the shifting of your arms, your hands slowly splayed against his torso.

“I always worry about you, Chris…” Your voice was soft, dripping with sweet honey as your right hand wandered its way higher, following the soft defined path of his chest underneath his shirt. “It’s hard not to, if I’m honest.”

He took a short breath, unsure if this was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him and twisting your intentions to fit his deep seated desires.

That is, until your left hand carefully danced its way to his thigh, sitting nicely against the cotton of his sweatpants.

“You always do so much for everyone else- do so much for me,” your hand flexed, nails pressing lightly against his thigh, “I just wanna do something for you in return, you know?”

The bike slowed to a roll as you reached a stoplight, Chris keeping the balance with his otherwise unoccupied leg while taking the opportunity to hold onto the outside of your own thigh.

“Be careful with your words, baby - you might give me the wrong idea.”

“Are my actions not enough?” You murmured, inching your hand higher, fingertips brushing along the inseam of his sweats, “Should I do more, Channie?”

His hand left the brake clutch to wrap around your wrist, electricity flowing through your veins like a completed circuit. “You shouldn’t do this. We shouldn’t do this.”

“But I want this, I need this.”

Your hand squeezed, your voice filling his head like the intoxicating lull of a siren’s call.

“I need you.”

Green.

Chris tapped your thigh, ignoring the chill that ran down his spine when you seamlessly went back to holding onto him just like he taught you; arms around his waist, your body against his back.

The ride to his apartment felt like second nature with you - much like other things he did with you, if he were honest with himself - and the moment he pulled into his parking spot, his movements only felt more natural.

Switch engine off. Kickstand down.

Your hands slid up his back, gripping his shoulders as you eased yourself off of his motorcycle, and by the time your touch left him, Chris hopped from his seat with learned grace - his hands unbuckling and taking off his helmet in record time.

By the time your own helmet was off, cradled in your arms, his intense gaze caught your eyes, locking you in a stare off that said more than words could convey, yet their true meaning would be lost to memory with what left his lips.

“Are you sure about this?” He breathed, “Tell me right now and I’ll take you home, and we can pretend none of this happened - just, tell me.”

“Chris,” his name fluttered from your lips like butterfly wings, “I meant every word, I’m sure, I’m so sure-”

Before you knew it, his lips were on yours - the warmth of his palm settling on your cheek in a hold that dared your knees to give out from underneath you - but as fast as they’d appeared, they vanished, leaving you dazedly blinking up at deep brown eyes.

“C’mon.”

The journey up to his apartment was a blur; the melodic chime of the front door’s lock welcoming you to the final stage of your decision as he ushered you through the doorway.

Shoes haphazardly kicked off next to another pile of pairs and helmets stored on a shelf, the empty living room was graced with your presence for what felt like half a second before you were finally where you needed to be.

Chris’s room was a place you’d only been inside of a handful of times, if not to stick your head in to announce your arrival when hanging out with his roommates, then to visit whenever he had a new snippet of a song he wanted to share; there wasn’t a chance for a tour then, and there certainly wouldn’t be a tour now.

With a subtle flick of a switch, the once dark room was suddenly bathed in a dim glow from the led lights lining the ceiling - warm and welcoming, much like the arms that wrapped around you from behind, followed by a soft pair of lips you were quickly getting used to pressing against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

His hold grew tighter as his lips ventured higher - a dotted line of kisses, a brush of his breath against the back of your ear, followed by the ghost of his lips along the shell.

“Are you still sure?”

Your eyelids fluttered, your lips parting to sigh out words evoked from the fantasies of your deepest desires, “I’m yours.”

He turned you around, and for the first time you were able to truly appreciate the feeling of his lips against your own - soft, likely from the myriad of lip care products your friends tease him for, a sensation you could find yourself craving every day and never growing tired of in the end.

You kissed him back with fervor, taking the liberty of cupping the line of his jaw with one hand while the other cradled the back of his neck, the faint curls of his hair tickling your fingertips.

Chris was the first to pull away, gifting you a fleeting peck when you tried in vain to follow him, just to reach overhead and tug his shirt up and off before unceremoniously dropping it to the floor. However, he barely gave you the chance to admire the view as his hands went to help you out of your hoodie while your own hands hastily went to tug up your shirt in the messy, frantic process.

Two articles down, the warmth of his hands were now free to meet your waist and his lips were on yours once more; his hold tightening as he took a step forward, nudging and guiding you backward until the backs of your legs met the edge of his bed. Obliging to his silent request, you sat down, using the strength in your arms to wiggle yourself up enough to lay comfortably on the full sized mattress and welcome the weight of him on top of you until it wasn’t.

Looking up, you were met with his heated stare, all but devouring you with his eyes as he took in the view - though, you figured you fared the same way when your eyes ventured down, following the strong slope of his shoulders before taking in the sight of his chest.

It wasn’t a view you hadn’t seen before thanks to his aversion of shirts in his own home - granted, it was his apartment, so you couldn’t fault him for the times he’d come out of his room to see you happily chatting away with his roommates unbeknownst to him - but you could now appreciate the details you wouldn’t have taken in otherwise such as defined pectorals and the smallest beginnings of abs against his otherwise soft stomach.

Ending the unintentional standoff, Chris lent forward, his fingertips just barely grazing your lower stomach as they went to the button of your jeans, “Can I?”

“Please.”

The corner of his lips ticked up but he ducked his head before you could see the smirk blossom, though you couldn’t find yourself to care once your jeans were undone, lifting your hips to help him shuffle the garment down the length of your legs and watching him give them the same fate as your shirts.

“These too?” He mused with a teasing lilt, eyes flicking from your own to the plain black panties you wore.

A short huff brushed past your lips, an unamused pout pursuing them. “Chris.”

The sound of his delighted giggles bounced off the walls, reducing the heat of arousal to a nice simmer that your nerves greatly appreciated - that is, until his fingers hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled them off; the sensation of his knuckles dragging along your thighs drawing a soft gasp from you.

It wasn’t long until they were down your legs, past your feet, and dropped off the edge of the bed, leaving you entirely bare from the waist down.

“Fuck…” He breathed, propping his knee on the bed as his hands slid up from your calves to the backs of your knees, caressing your skin before gently bringing them up and out - exposing your pussy to his pure delight. “Look at you, pretty girl.”

A wave of heat washed over you followed by an embarrassed whimper, “Chris, don’t say that.”

“Why not?” Looking up, he cocked his head slightly, “You said you were mine, which means I’m allowed to compliment what’s mine, yeah?” He bent down, maintaining eye contact as he kissed your knee softly, “You belong to me, right, baby?”

Your heart jumped to your throat, his words working like a spell against your lust addled mind.

“I belong to you.” You breathed softly, melting into his hypnotizing gaze.

A pleased hum vibrated through him as he dipped his head to kiss the inside of your thigh, his lips brushing against your skin, “Good girl.”

His kisses trailed higher and higher, growing messier and messier as he went - a nip here, a suck there, open mouthed and worshiping until he reached your pussy.

Just as he was about to dive in face first, your hand tugged at his hair, effectively breaking him out of his tunnel vision to give you his undivided attention.

“What’s wrong? Do you wanna stop? I can-”

“No! God, no - it’s just…” You took a deep breath, your bravado escaping you the instant you stopped him, “I want you to eat me out, but I wanna suck your dick too. I wanna make you feel good too, Channie”

“You wanna suck my dick, pretty?” A shiver ran down Chris’s spine at the mere thought, his dick painfully straining underneath his boxer briefs and sweats. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me, you know that? Words like that coming from a mouth like yours - you’re a fucking dream.”

His presence left from between your legs and part of you felt silly for missing it until you saw him reaching for his sweatpants - even through the black fabric you were able to make out the noticeable bulge tenting the front - the waistband of Calvin Klein nudging you in the right direction of what he wore underneath.

Pushing both articles past his hips, your eyes were immediately glued to the dips in his pelvis - the Adonis belt, a fitting alternate description of his v-line until your attention jumped to a scattering of hair beneath his navel leading to seemingly maintained pubic hair.

However, your peep show was obscured by his head as he bent forward to take his clothes off the rest of the way, giving you the chance to mentally prepare for the grand reveal. By the time he stood straight again, you couldn’t help the audible gasp that left you, your eyes widening as you took him in all his glory - all of the jokes his friends would make now having validity behind their digs.

“I hope that’s a good reaction…” Chris spoke sheepishly, his ears as red as a tomato as he averted his eyes to the side, one hand twitching to cover himself while the other anxiously rubbed the back of his neck.

“Chris,” your soft call was enough to bring his eyes back to you, just in time to see you undoing your bra and tossing it to the floor, “I really want you in my mouth, baby.”

The air of shyness quickly left him as he smirked, making his way back onto the bed, “Say please.”

Reaching forward, your fingers danced along the underside of his jaw before you whispered, “Please?”

It was almost instantaneous in the way you found yourself straddled over his face, his hands massaging the plush of your thighs as if he couldn’t get enough of the way they squished and jiggled under his hold.

You leaned forward, eyes eagerly taking in his dick from the new angle; he was thick, probably an inch over average if you had to guess, with the prettiest veins that begged for your tongue to trace them.

“Don’t force yourself to take me, okay?” He called from the other end, the feeling of his breath against your cunt sending chills down your spine. “I know I’m… y’know, big, so I don’t want you to hurt yourself to make me feel good - you letting me do this is more than enough, baby.”

“I can do it Channie,” spitting into your palm, you graciously took him into your hand with a slow stroke, “I’ll be okay.”

A low groan escaped him, your sudden touch sending him into the stratosphere, “Just- Be careful for me, alright?”

Humming in agreement, you wasted no time in littering his tip in butterfly kisses and kitten licks, slowly getting yourself used to the bittersweet taste of his precum.

“Shit…” Not holding himself back any longer, Chris slid his hands up to your hips before pulling you back onto his mouth, his tongue eagerly diving between your folds as if it were an ice cream cone on a hot summer’s day.

The action made you jolt forward, though you barely moved an inch thanks to his hold on you, your lips parting to let a moan float through.

“Mm, not too loud, baby,” he spoke against your pussy, kissing the hood of your clit, “don’t wanna wake up my roommates, yeah?”

As much as the idea called to something daring within you, you shook your head, using this as an opportunity to take the first few inches of his cock into your mouth; just enough to have the weight settle on your tongue while your hand stroked what you hadn’t gotten to yet.

“There you go.”

With that, he went back to exploring your pussy with his tongue, dipping past your walls every now and then before going back to dancing around your clit - his hands enjoying their new home on the curve of your ass.

To say the feeling of his mouth on you was mind numbing would’ve been the understatement of a lifetime - it was as if he was eating you out in the most respectfully disrespectful way, the sounds of his lips sucking your clit paired with low, breathless moans before he went back to lapping up your arousal was pure debauchery.

You tried your best to be diligent, bobbing your head in time with the curls of his tongue against your slit while your fist used whatever drool that dripped from your lips as lubricant to keep each stroke smooth and slick - your efforts not going in vain by the way his thigh would flex, or the twitch of his hips - but you were quickly falling victim to the pleasure.

“Taste so fucking good, baby,” he mouthed against your pussy, as if moving even an inch away would be detrimental to his psyche, “could stay here forever.”

The thought had you moaning around his cock, pulling away to give your lungs the reprieve of a full breath, only for a whined exhale to follow suit. “C-Chris, please.”

“Please, what?” Flattening his tongue, he licked a fat stripe up before giving your clit the lightest kiss imaginable, “Gonna come for me, pretty? Is that what you want?”

“N-No,” dropping your face to his thigh, you focused all of your energy into keeping your hand moving, “w-wanna make you come first, just- shit, just slow down a little!”

Chris hummed, feigning deep consideration, “But what if I want you to come for me?” His right hand slid further between your legs, his index finger stroking your fluttering walls with the promise of something more, “You said you wanted to repay me - so, let me make you come.”

Your hips bucked, muscles yearning to press back against the pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering over. “But-”

“Baby,” the velvet drawl of the pet name earned a pitiful hum in response, “you wanna make me feel good, don’t you?” He felt your head nod against his thigh, huffing out a short chuckle before continuing, “You wanna ‘repay’ me for everything I do for you, right?”

“Yes.” You sighed out, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his thumb replacing his finger in favor of toying with your clit.

“Well, guess what?” Dragging his thumb up, he pressed it against your slit, “Watching you come for me- Feeling you come for me is all I could ever want from you,” slowly pushing his thumb past your walls, he ghosted his lips against your inner thigh, “show me how good I’m making you feel, baby - do it for me, please.”

He punctuated his plea by swirling his tongue around your clit once more, thrusting his thumb in time with each flick while his left hand held your hip tightly.

Your mouth fell open, a moan fighting its way through your vocal chords only to come out as choked gasps, “Ch-ah- Channie- Fuck- Channie p-please-”

Pressing his thumb in to the knuckle, Chris wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, humming out a low moan that proved to be the final straw to push you over the edge.

“Chris- C-Chris-!” Lifting your head, you put your mouth over your arm in hopes of muffling the airy moans escaping you, your vision blurring behind pleasure-fueled tears as he worked you through your orgasm.

His thumb slipped from your entrance to make room for his tongue to lap up your cum, drinking you up like a tall glass of water after a day in the sun.

It didn’t take long for you to catch your bearings, going to move away from his face until his hands tightened on your hips in silent challenge, a disgruntled grunt rising from your pure audacity of interrupting him.

“Channie, ‘s too much,” you whined breathlessly, wrenching your hand away from his - still hard - dick in favor of pushing yourself up onto your arms, “c-can’t take it, baby, please.”

Pulling away with a lewd slurp, Chris heaved a heavy breath, combating the lightheadedness of his tunnel vision while you carefully maneuvered yourself away from him - shuffling around to hover your head over a pillow before collapsing in the empty space, your body gratefully welcoming the cool sheets against your skin.

Bated breaths danced in the otherwise quiet atmosphere, Chris’s gaze locked on the ceiling as his lust-fogged brain tried to make sense of what just happened between the two of you.

“Channie?”

His heart fluttered at your soft call of his name, turning his head just to come across a sight that made his breath catch; you, his friend, laying beside him looking beautifully ruined with the golden afterglow of your orgasm that he gave you emanating from your body.

He tentatively licked his lips, goosebumps rising as your taste still lingered in his mouth, “Yeah, baby?”

“I still wanna make you come.” You murmured softly, eyes blinking at him so innocently it almost felt wrong that it made his dick twitch at the sight. “I still owe you, after all.”

Chris huffed out a chuckle, lifting himself onto his forearm before hoisting himself above you, settling his hips between your legs as he caged you in with his arms - this was a sight he could get used to.

“Instead of making this out to be you repaying a debt, how about we turn it into a ‘thank you’ gift, hm?” Leaning his head down, he brushed his nose against yours, “You thank me for the ride and the orgasm,” his lips ghosted against your own, “then I thank you for thanking me.”

“Chris, that won’t make any sense,” your voice was barely a whisper, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, “if you thank me, I’ll just thank you back - we’ll be in a loop.”

“We’ll work out the details later, then.” He murmured before leaning forward, catching your lips with his and sharing your taste off of his tongue.

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @maximumkillshot, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @specialstay, @s00buwu, @tinyelfperson, @jj-stay, @katsukis1wife, @inlovewithmusician, @keen-li, @armystay89, @main-character0, @vampcharxter, @ddyskz, @prettymiye0n, @bbgnyx, @bahng-chrizz, @milknhoneyracha, @hann1bee, @palindrome969, @newhope8, @kpopsstuffs, @starquokka, @wolfs-howling, @laylasbunbunny, @4-chan-inpadella, @butterflydemons, @kimahreummm, @ta3baee, @snowy-violet @bethanysnow

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#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #Biker!AU

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sixeyesonathiel · 2 months ago

Text

love comes in small sizes

chapter two : sugar, spice and sass

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, satoru is trying his best, reader is petty for a valid reason

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friday dawned peacefully.

the morning sun spills into the small of your apartment, draping the kitchen in soft gold. the air is thick with the scent of buttered toast and freshly brewed coffee, warm and familiar, settling into the quiet rhythm of your mornings. the television hums in the background, some children's show playing on low volume, but neither of you are paying much attention. it’s the kind of peaceful, ordinary morning that feels like a moment suspended in time, familiar enough to feel safe.

shia sits at the table, legs swinging beneath her in that carefree way only children manage. her kindergarten uniform is a soft baby pink, the fabric catching the light as she kicks her feet back and forth. a pair of blue barrettes hold back her bangs, the color popping against her pale hair like small accents on a delicate painting. her blue eyes, so much like his, sparkle with a mischievous gleam that only someone who’s learned how to play innocent can pull off. it’s so subtle, the way she glances up at you through her lashes, but you don’t notice it—how could you? your baby girl, with her soft cheeks and messy hair, is nothing but sweetness to you.

"mommy, you're so pretty today.” she announces, voice syrupy sweet, gaze wide and unblinking, like she’s telling the truth of the universe itself.

you snort, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “you say that every day.”

“because it’s true,” shia insists, taking another bite, her small fingers gripping the toast with the certainty of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. she doesn’t even look like she’s lying—she looks like your baby girl, all soft curls, round cheeks, and the sparkle of innocence that only you could see.

you don’t think too hard about it. spoiling someone with white hair and blue eyes has always come too easily. your hands move automatically, slicing fruit and arranging it carefully on her plate, the rhythm so familiar it’s almost second nature now. the motion tugs at something deep inside, a memory buried under years of routines and time, something warm that aches without making a sound.

the plate clinks against the table, just a little harder than usual. shia blinks up at you, a few crumbs clinging to her cheek. you gently brush them away with your thumb, smiling softly even as your jaw tightens. it’s a smile you force, though she would never know that—she’s too busy, too wrapped up in being your perfect little girl.

because you’ve been thinking about him again.

not in the way you used to—not with the longing that used to drown you when you were alone, or the ache that sat heavy in your chest. no, now it’s irritation, a sharp, gnawing feeling that rises up every time his stupid face pops into your head, uninvited. that ridiculous white hair. those infuriating blue eyes. how could he still have the nerve to take up space in your mind?

"mommy," shia says, her mouth full of jam as she takes another bite, "you're making your angry face."

you exhale slowly, the soft sound escaping through your nose. six years. six whole years of peace, and now one accidental run-in at the mall had him taking up residence in your head again, like he still had the right. like he mattered.

“i’m not angry,” you lie, smoothing a hand over her neatly combed hair, the soft strands slipping through your fingers. you force the smile a little wider, hoping she doesn’t notice the tightness in your chest. “just thinking about how some people are allergic to common sense.”

shia nods solemnly, as if this is the most logical statement she’s ever heard, and goes back to demolishing her breakfast. her small hands press down on the toast like she’s preparing for battle, eyes focused and intent on the task. and as you watch her, you see nothing but your baby girl—the sweet, innocent little girl you’ve raised. your heart swells as she smiles at you, completely unaware that she might be the most dangerous little angel you’ve ever met.

you sip your coffee, feeling the heat seep through your hands, a comforting presence that contrasts the strange unease creeping into your chest. the hum of the television is still there, but it fades into the background, swallowed up by the soft clinking of dishes and the quiet rhythm of shia’s movements as she munches away at her toast.

it’s when you think of the calendar, of the fact that today is father's day, that the words slip out almost without thinking. “hey, baby,” you begin casually, voice light and carefree, “there’s no event at school today, right?”

shia freezes for just a fraction of a second, a brief flash of hesitation that you almost miss. then, as if nothing at all happened, she shakes her head with an exaggerated innocence. “nope! not at all! school is so boring today, mommy. just… learning! normal school things!”

you narrow your eyes slightly, just a hint of doubt bubbling up. there’s something in the way she said it, too quick, too eager. you lean forward a little, your gaze sharpening. “…you sure?”

shia’s response is immediate and overzealous, her voice practically bouncing with unearned certainty. “super sure!” she says, nodding rapidly as if her enthusiasm could make her words more believable. “sooooo sure! if there was something fun, i would totally tell you, mommy! pinky promise!” she stretches her little pinky toward you, her eyes wide and sparkling with the kind of sincerity she’s mastered.

you can’t help but smile, a soft chuckle escaping you as you hook your own pinky around hers. it’s so easy to fall for it, her childlike innocence radiating from her like sunshine. you don’t even hesitate as you link your fingers together, feeling that familiar warmth of trust flood you.

but then, a strange feeling stirs inside you, a small shift, like a pebble tossed into calm water. it’s not quite suspicion, more like a tiny, nagging doubt. a whisper at the back of your mind, one you push aside with a half-hearted shrug.

why would you doubt her?

shia had always been so honest with you, always so bright and open. there was never a reason to question her, never a reason to believe anything other than the truth she showed you with every smile. she was your sweet girl, after all. an unfiltered ray of light in your life.

but even as you smile down at her, that tiny flicker of doubt remains, like a shadow in the corner of your mind. you shake it off, focusing instead on the soft warmth of her hand in yours, the trust in her small, bright eyes. everything is fine. you’ve raised her right, after all.

the conversation lingers in the air like the faint hum of the television, but the doubt that still clings to you refuses to dissipate. you try to push it away, focusing on the moment, on your daughter’s wide, sparkling eyes, but something doesn’t sit right. your fingers trace the rim of your coffee mug absently, the warmth from the cup a small comfort that doesn’t quite reach the tight knot in your chest.

“hm,” you hum softly, still feeling like something is off. the words slip from your lips almost without thinking, your gaze still lingering on her small form as she picks at her toast. “it’s just weird. didn’t you always want to go to father’s day events before?”

shia, still as bright as ever, doesn’t seem phased. she tilts her head to the side, her eyes momentarily shifting toward the plate in front of her as she stuffs another piece of toast into her mouth. a classic distraction tactic. “hmmm?” she asks, her voice muffled by the food.

“i mean, i used to take you, right?” you continue, a slight furrow appearing on your brow as the pieces of the conversation begin to not quite fit together. “in nursery, in pre-kindergarten, even those little parties or circus for father’s day.”

shia hums, as though in deep thought, her small shoulders shrugging nonchalantly as if she’s far too mature to be caught up in those things anymore. “mommy,” she says seriously, her voice the perfect mix of innocence and childish gravitas, “that was baby me. i am grown-up now. very mature.”

you bite back a smile, amused despite the gnawing confusion. “oh, yeah? very mature?” you tease, your tone light, trying to keep the conversation playful, even as your mind churns with unanswered questions.

“yep!” shia nods vigorously, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “besides, i only liked those events ‘cause you came. i don’t need to go anymore!”

the memory of those events stirs within you, a clear image of shia so eager, so excited, even when she was too young to fully understand what father’s day was about. she used to love those events, always wanting to be a part of them, her little face lighting up with the thought of celebrating the day with you.

your thumb continues to circle the smooth rim of your coffee mug, your gaze drifting to your daughter once more. there’s a small shift in her posture, her usual bounce replaced with something a little more... still, as if she’s suddenly grown much older than she looks.

the nagging doubt presses on you again, that small whisper of unease that refuses to fade. but shia is too bright, too sweet, her every movement so convincing, so full of the carefree energy that used to make her unstoppable. her eyes shimmer with feigned sincerity, her little fingers gripping the edges of the table with an earnestness that makes you want to believe her.

maybe you're just overthinking it. after all, she’s your baby girl. she’s always been so open, so honest, so real with you. and in the end, you dismiss the doubt, telling yourself there's no reason to question her—she's just growing up, that's all.

with a soft sigh, you finish your coffee and stand up, stretching your arms as you watch shia finish her toast, her small hands gripping the edges of the plate with exaggerated care.

“alright, let’s go. i’ll drop you off.” you say, your voice gentle, as you reach for your keys.

shia freezes, her body stiffening for just a moment before she quickly forces a smile. “oh! no! you don’t have to, mommy! i can go by myself!” her words come out a little too fast, a little too rehearsed.

you raise an eyebrow, a silent question passing between you and her. "you never want to go alone."

she squirms in her seat, her legs swinging beneath her as she looks away, almost nervously. “i-it’s good to be independent! i am a responsible young lady!” shia puffs her chest out proudly, trying to look as grown-up as she can.

kneeling down in front of her, you fix her bangs and smooth out the uniform she’s wearing, the pink fabric soft under your fingers. “you’re acting weird today, baby.” you murmur, eyes narrowing as you study her.

shia bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly, her lips curling into an innocent smile. “i am always a delight.”

you squint at her, something in your gut telling you there's more to this than she's letting on. but with a small sigh, you shrug it off, deciding that maybe it's just one of those mornings.

the moment hangs in the air, and you wonder if you’ve been overthinking things all along. just as you start to let the doubt fade, shia suddenly wraps her little arms around you in a move so sweet it almost knocks the breath out of you.

”mommy,” she says, her voice dripping with sugary innocence.

you blink, caught off guard by the sudden affection. "what’s this for?"

“just 'cause!” she giggles, her charm cranked up to a level you’ve only seen in the movies, like she’s auditioning for a role in the most dramatic, heart-melting scene.

you feel your heart soften, that maternal instinct rising to the surface as you smile. “aw, my sweet girl.”

“the sweetest!” she agrees, voice as innocent as ever. but behind that sweetness, there’s a flicker of mischief, a glimmer of a plan you still can’t see.

before you can even respond, shia grabs her little bag, her tiny feet barely touching the floor as she runs toward the door. “bye, mommy! love you! have a great day!” she calls over her shoulder, her voice high-pitched with excitement.

you blink, watching her dash away, the sound of her footsteps growing fainter. you stand there for a moment, unsure of what just happened. “...okay, that was weird.”

with a sigh, you shake your head as if trying to clear the strange feeling building in your chest. you turn back to the apartment, the calm stillness of the morning settling around you again. but little do you know, the quiet peace you just experienced will be short-lived. you have no idea that your daughter, with her sweet smile and perfect little act, is currently plotting something far more devious—something involving the strongest sorcerer alive. and before you know it, your peaceful days will be a distant memory.

the sound of shia’s footsteps slowly fades into the distance, and you’re left standing in the quiet hallway, staring at the door as if it might open again any moment. the silence is heavier now, filling the space around you in a way it didn’t used to. it’s strange—once, you craved this quiet, the absence of noise, the stillness of being alone. now, it feels suffocating, like something you never really wanted to begin with.

you close your eyes for a moment and breathe out, trying to shake off the sudden weight that presses down on your chest. slowly, you turn away from the door and step back into the apartment. the air feels colder, the emptiness sharper. you’ve grown accustomed to this kind of solitude, but it doesn’t make it easier to bear. it never has.

time has a way of softening things, of eroding the edges of painful memories, making them easier to live with. you’ve learned to let go of the sharpest parts, the parts that cut the deepest. the past, now, feels distant—a faded scar, no longer throbbing, but still there, a reminder of everything you once had and everything you lost. it doesn’t sting like it did before, but the reminder of it lingers, just beneath the surface.

but there are some things time can’t dull. there are moments—fleeting, sharp—that still come crashing in like they did all those years ago. the memory of him, the way he was, the way you both were together, comes back with a sting, a lingering ache deep in your chest. it’s so stupid, how something so simple—something as unlabeled as your relationship with him back in high school—still has such a powerful hold on you.

you wonder, sometimes, if he ever thinks about those days too. or if he’s completely moved on, leaving everything behind like it was nothing more than a phase in his life. you wonder if he still remembers you the way you remember him—like a dream that once felt real, but is now so distant, so impossible to reach. you thought time might erase the hurt, that it would get easier to forget, but it never has.

six years. six long years of figuring things out on your own. it wasn’t like you had a plan—no blueprint, no clear direction. you didn’t land a high-paying corporate job like nanami or anything that gave you a sense of stability. instead, you found yourself working odd jobs, like convenience store shifts at night. sometimes you’d look at yourself in the mirror and wonder how you got here, how this was your life now. how, after everything, the only thing you could rely on was yourself.

and yet, despite all the hardship, despite the loneliness that crept in at night when you were most vulnerable, you kept moving forward. leaving him, leaving everything behind, had been a decision you made to protect your child. you had to do it—there was no other choice. you had to be strong for shiyana, even when your own heart felt so heavy. you couldn’t afford to be weak, not when she needed you more than anyone ever had.

it wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t. there were nights you cried until you couldn’t breathe, nights when the weight of everything threatened to crush you. but you built something, somehow. you found a way to survive in a world that wasn’t made for people like you—people who had been caught between two worlds, two lives. you built a life that was yours, even when everything felt like it was falling apart.

and standing in this apartment now, with the silence closing in around you, you realize something—something you didn’t understand back then. you did it without him. you made it without him, and you survived. and for the first time in a long time, it feels like peace—real peace, not just a fleeting moment, but something solid, something you earned.

it was impossible to forget him. not when you could see pieces of him every day in your daughter—his eyes, his bright, striking blue eyes. it was as if shiyana wore them as a reminder of him, and every time she looked at you with that innocent gaze, your heart would lurch. the resemblance was undeniable, and it hit you like a wave, drowning you in memories of a past you tried so hard to forget.

those moments were the hardest, when she was sleeping, her tiny hands curled into the blanket, her soft breaths rising and falling peacefully. in those quiet, still moments, when everything was calm and perfect, you would feel a tightness in your chest. it was like something was clawing up your throat, threatening to break free, and you'd have to swallow it back down, fighting against the sharp sting of it all.

but then, just as quickly, she would stir, her little voice calling out in that sweet, familiar way: ‘mommy... cuddle...’ and all the ache, all the sharpness, would melt away. you’d pull her close, grounding yourself in the warmth of her small, soft body, and remind yourself that it didn’t matter. satoru was the past, his memory tied to old scars. this, here and now, was your present—your daughter, your life.

god, shia was such a good kid. she had her moments, of course, the occasional tantrum or the stubborn little streak that would flare up, but those were fleeting. the way she would always snuggle up to you at night, curling into your side, asking for bedtime stories, reaching for your hand in crowded places—it all made your heart swell. even now, at five years old, she still had those babyish tendencies that made you feel like time hadn’t passed at all, like she was still your baby.

your heart squeezes at the thought, that overwhelming tenderness you always feel when you look at her, because, in so many ways, she still was just a baby. and yet… she was becoming so independent. so determined. you smile softly, remembering how confidently she ran off this morning, insisting on going to school alone, like she was all grown up.

“she’s growing up,” you murmur to yourself, shaking your head fondly. “still my baby, though.” the words come out a little wistful, a little bittersweet, because even though you knew this day would come, it still stung to watch her step further away from you, inch by inch.

but what you don’t know—what you couldn’t possibly know—is that your sweet, innocent daughter just blackmailed a certain white-haired sorcerer. she had no idea what she was setting in motion, but gojo satoru was now unknowingly walking straight into a trap, one meticulously crafted by the very person who should have been his innocent joy.

your peaceful morning, the one you thought was just another quiet moment in your routine, was the calm before the storm. and you had no idea that, just around the corner, a category five disaster was waiting to unfold—one that would change everything.

satoru was not prepared for this.

sure, he’d spent the past few days trying to convince himself this wasn’t a big deal. just one day, he repeated to himself, trying to brush off the fact that he was about to spend it pretending to be a father to a little girl who had somehow blackmailed him into this ridiculous role. just one day. that’s what he told himself, yet it wasn’t working. not when this little girl just happened to be his child. not when his mind kept circling back to sunday, to seeing you again—standing there after so many years, a ghost of everything he had lost. not when this little girl just happened to be his child.

he had made no effort to cross the distance between the two of you, built his walls, convinced himself that he didn’t need to feel the weight of your absence. but now, he couldn’t escape it. the guilt, the regret. he’d been miserable, he knew that much. but it was his fault. the way he’d acted when suguru defected, when you’d told him you were leaving the jujutsu society. all the pride, the childishness—he hadn’t even tried to stop you. he let you go. no, scratch that. it was worse. he had pushed you away when you needed him the most.

now? now he had a daughter—his daughter—standing in front of him, and the weight of that truth left him reeling. he didn’t know her favorite color. didn’t know if she feared thunderstorms or begged for bedtime stories. hell, he didn’t even know her name. how was he supposed to bridge six years of absence in a single day? how can he even apologize for missing first steps, lost teeth, every scraped knee he never kissed better?

sure, he had experience with megumi—had taken legal guardianship of the reserved, utterly disinterested six-year-old barely a month after you left. back then, it had been simple: keep the zenin away, teach the kid to throw a punch, and ignore how they both flinched at raised voices. megumi had been all quiet glares and stubborn silence, a shadow satoru learned to navigate through trial and error.

but his daughter?

she was sunlight and chaos, all his worst traits polished into something terrifyingly vibrant. where megumi had been stoic, she was loud; where he’d been cautious, she charged ahead with the confidence of someone who’d never been told no. and satoru—the man who’d faced curses and gods without breaking a sweat—had no damn clue what to do with a five-year-old who looked at him like he was the one who needed parenting.

at least megumi never blackmailed him. probably because the kid had the emotional range of a brick at that age.

the irony burned. he’d raised a child who hated him (temporarily), but the one who should’ve been his from the start? he’d failed her and he can’t even defend himself by saying he did not know about your pregnancy because he brought this to himself.

his footsteps were slow as he neared the school gate. his palms felt clammy despite the summer heat, and the cool breeze barely brushed against his skin. he wasn’t sure if it was nerves, guilt, or something else entirely—probably all of it. but as the gate drew closer, he caught sight of her.

he spotted her right away. it was impossible to miss. even in a crowd of parents and children, she stood out. her posture—confident, like she owned the damn place—was unmistakable. little hands on her hips, chin lifted just enough to say, I’m in charge here. her uniform looked like it had been pressed to perfection, not a wrinkle in sight. her bangs barely moved with the wind. she looked like a tiny dictator, and it was both terrifying and incredibly endearing.

satoru stopped, watching her for a moment. she was waiting for him. of course she was. she planned this. the way she stood there, eyes narrowed slightly, her expression one of quiet authority—it was like she knew exactly how this was going to play out. it was the same look he’d seen reflected from people’s eyes each time they’re facing him, a thousand times.

his chest tightened a little at the thought. she really is mine, isn’t she?

the familiar tug of his heartstrings made him pause. she was small, but so sure of herself—so much like him. every movement she made, every little gesture, seemed to demand attention, to command the world around her. and yet, beneath it all, he knew—just from the way her small shoulders were set, the way her hands rested on her hips—that she wasn’t pretending to be something she wasn’t. she wasn’t just playing a role. she was real, and she was his.

he was about to play pretend father for a day, sure. but what really scared him was how much he wanted to do this right. how much he needed to get it right, even if he had no clue how.

satoru slows to a stop in front of her.

he doesn’t say anything at first—just stares. just looks. because, really, what the hell is he supposed to do with the tiny little person standing in front of him, hands on her hips, her small foot tapping against the pavement like she’s waiting for him to mess up? the sharp white of her hair catches in the light, silky and unruly all at once, just like his own, but softer—fluffier. her eyes, impossibly blue, lock onto him with something eerily familiar, assessing him with the same sharpness he’s seen in the mirror a thousand times before.

his chest aches. tightens. because her little shoe—tapping, tapping, tapping—follows the exact same rhythm his did every time yaga scolded him about responsibility.

“…yo,” he says. like an idiot.

she exhales through her nose, unimpressed. “took you long enough.”

her voice is sweet, but there’s a bite to it, her little foot picking up its rhythm again. impatient. confident. like she’s allowing him to be here but isn’t particularly impressed with his performance so far. she has my audacity, satoru thinks, almost dizzy at the realization.

he kneels down in front of her, resting his forearms against his thighs. he tries to match her energy, keep this light, keep himself from losing his mind over how much she looks like him. “geez, is this how you always treat your pretend daddy?” he teases, tilting his head with a grin. it’s weak, though—he knows it, and judging by the unimpressed look on her face, she does too.

but then—she blinks at him, tilting her head, studying him in a way that makes his throat dry. there’s something almost playful in her stare, like she’s already figured something out that he hasn’t. then, without hesitation—she smiles.

and it’s sweet. sickeningly so. soft and innocent, like she’s got no idea what she’s doing to him. “hi, daddy.”

satoru chokes on air.

oh. oh, that was evil.

it’s a miracle he doesn’t keel over right then and there. his lungs seize up, and he has to physically stop himself from reacting any further because damn, she just threw that out there with no warning, no hesitation, no mercy. it’s a simple greeting, a child’s word, but his body betrays him—his fingers twitch, his heart stumbles over itself, and something warm and terrifying blooms in his chest.

he clears his throat, scrambling for composure, pretending his entire worldview hasn’t just tilted off its axis. “well, uh,” he manages, voice cracking slightly, “what’s my dear daughter’s name?”

her expression shifts instantly. eyes narrowing, lips pursing just slightly. suspicious.

“you don’t know?” she repeats, her tone edging on scandalized. her tiny arms cross over her chest, her little nose scrunching up. “i thought you were friends with mommy.”

satoru swears he can hear his brain short-circuiting.

“she never told me!” he blurts, holding his hands up in defense. he’s not lying, technically, but his kid doesn’t look convinced. she only squints harder, as if searching his face for the truth.

the dramatics continue. she sighs, heavy and exaggerated, like she’s already exasperated with him, and it’s so damn familiar that his stomach twists itself into knots. her little shoulders lift as she takes a deep breath, and then, with the most princess-like tilt of her chin—

“shiyana.”

it hits him like a truck.

the name rolls around his mind, gets stuck somewhere in his throat, then echoes back tenfold. shiyana. it fits. it fits so well he almost wants to say it out loud just to make it real. his lips part, and without meaning to, he’s already testing how it would sound with his last name. shiyana gojo.

…oh. oh, it really fits.

his chest swells with something dangerous, something warm and insistent. something that tells him this is his kid, even if she doesn’t know it. even if she’s just playing pretend.

“huh,” he muses, tilting his head, “your mommy’s got good taste.”

shiyana preens.

her hands find her hips again, and she tips her chin up even higher, practically glowing with the compliment—not for herself, but for her mom. mommy’s girl through and through.

“she does.” shiyana says, nodding matter-of-factly.

satoru lets out a soft huff, watching her. she’s a diva, a miniature force of nature, all attitude and presence, but still so obviously a kid. still so small. and she looks like him—god, she looks so much like him, but her features are softer, more childlike, her face still round with baby fat.

she’s a perfect reflection of him, even at five years old. her confidence, her audacity, her entire existence—it’s all his.

and that’s terrifying.

satoru doesn’t get much time to process the weight of her name in his mouth, nor the way it tugs at something deep in his chest, because shiyana is already moving. her tiny fingers curl around his wrist, and before he can react, she’s dragging him forward with the unshakable confidence of a queen leading her knight into battle.

“come on, daddy,.” she huffs, as if she’s already tired of waiting on him.

he stumbles slightly, caught off guard, before falling into step behind her. her grip is firm, determined, and despite the fact that she barely reaches his thigh, she marches ahead like she owns the place. he lets her lead, lets her set the pace, and the moment they step past the school gates, the scene that greets them is… well.

it’s a mess.

the kindergarten courtyard is swarming with middle-aged dads, most of them stuffed into polos that are just a little too tight, their bellies straining against tucked-in waistbands. the air hums with the chaotic energy of children shrieking, laughing, weaving between slow-moving adults. someone’s dad is already sweating through his shirt. another one is awkwardly trying to corral a kid who has decided now is the perfect time to practice cartwheels.

satoru, in his casual outfit, his stupidly sharp jawline, and his stupidly tall frame, might as well be a supermodel dropped into a discount dads convention. he stands out immediately, a beacon of effortless cool against a sea of tired men.

and shia knows it.

“this is my daddy!” she announces, loud and proud, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

three nearby moms flinch so hard they spill their tea. a few other parents turn to stare. satoru barely gets a second to enjoy the attention before the swarm arrives.

five-year-olds close in like tiny, curious vultures.

“he’s so tall...” whispers a boy with a stubborn cowlick, staring up at satoru like he’s seeing a giant for the first time.

“he has white hair like shia-chan!” gasps a girl, clutching a glittery unicorn plush.

“i bet he’s really strong.” mutters a kid with ketchup on his shirt, squinting like he’s assessing a worthy opponent.

satoru preens, tilting his chin, adjusting his sunglasses just enough to flash a bit of his baby blues. he can already feel his ego inflating, already hear the perfect response forming—

“obviously i’m strong—”

"daddy," shia interrupts, voice flat, tiny fingers pinching his wrist with just enough force to make him wince. “stop bragging. it’s tacky.”

satoru gapes. for the first time in possibly his entire life, he is momentarily stunned into silence.

the other kids watch with wide eyes. the moms are pretending not to eavesdrop. satoru, a man who has faced death countless times, finds himself standing in the middle of a kindergarten courtyard, held in check by a five-year-old with his own eyes and an absurd amount of attitude.

and worst of all?

she’s right.

the teacher’s approach is precise, clipboard in hand, her polite smile just a little too sharp. she navigates through the sea of children and fathers in strained polos with the air of someone used to keeping chaos in check. when she stops in front of them, her gaze flicks from shia to satoru, assessing.

“ah, you must be shia’s father! her mother never mentioned you.”

satoru’s fingers twitch. he should’ve expected that, really. six years ago, he would’ve met a line like that with a grin and an obnoxious joke, something ridiculous enough to make the moment less heavy. now, he just scratches his cheek, the motion uncomfortably hesitant, like he’s standing in front of yaga again, about to be scolded. because of course you never mentioned him. “uh, yeah. i, uh—”

“mommy’s really busy,” shia interrupts, her voice light, her expression so open and guileless that it could convince even the most skeptical. she tilts her head just slightly, lashes fluttering as she continues, “she doesn’t talk about daddy a lot!”

the teacher’s gaze flickers between his guilty expression and shia’s wide-eyed innocence. satoru sees the exact moment she accepts it, the way her shoulders loosen, the way her polite smile shifts into something softer.

“…i see.” she says, nodding, no longer suspicious. she then excuses herself with a nod to greet other parents, leaving the two.

satoru almost laughs as soon as she left, his ego flaring up instantly. damn, she’s good. he opens his mouth, already gearing up to say something about how she definitely got that from him, but the second his hand reaches out to ruffle her hair—

slap.

shia bats his hand away like an annoying fly. she doesn’t even look at him when she does it, like she knows he’s about to embarrass himself. “daddy.” she says, with the same tone one might use to scold a misbehaving dog.

he blinks, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “what? i can’t be proud of you?”

shia sighs, clearly long-suffering at the ripe age of five. “yeah, well, you’re tacky when you’re proud.”

he wants to argue, but honestly? fair. she really just saved his ass. and she knows it. he grins. that’s my kid, alright.

the game booths line the edge of the courtyard, each one promising cheap plastic prizes that gleam under the afternoon sun. children weave through the crowd with determined faces, clutching plushies and keychains like war trophies, their victories hard-earned and well-fought. but shia? shia stands with her hands on her hips, surveying the battlefield with the sharp eye of a commander assessing the worth of her troops.

her gaze locks onto her target—the grand prize of the ring toss booth, a massive stuffed panda hanging triumphantly from the display rack, half her size and twice as important. she doesn’t just want it. she needs it.

“daddy, i want that one,” she declares, chin tilted up, her voice carrying the confidence of someone who has never considered the possibility of failure.

satoru follows her gaze, then grins. “easy.”

she watches as he steps up to the booth, a picture of effortless ease. the ring toss is simple, at least in theory—a wooden post stands a few feet away, waiting for a ring to land around it. the other dads have tried and failed, their rings clattering uselessly onto the floor. some have hit the post, some have gone embarrassingly wide, and one unfortunate man in a ‘#1 papa’ shirt is still rubbing his temples in frustration.

satoru doesn’t bother aiming. he just flicks his wrist lazily, like it’s not even worth his full effort.

the first ring lands perfectly, sliding onto the post without a sound.

the second bounces once—twice—then ricochets off the head of the salty dad from earlier, hitting him with an almost insulting level of precision.

the third? it loops around the post twice before settling in place, as if even gravity itself has decided to play along with his nonsense.

silence falls over the booth.

then—

“that’s not physically possible!” someone yells, voice cracking under the weight of pure disbelief.

children wail. a mother gasps. the dad satoru hit glares daggers at him, rubbing the sore spot on his scalp like he’s about to file a case against satoru.

satoru adjusts his sunglasses with an infuriating amount of ease, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “skill issue.”

shia exhales through her nose, unimpressed but begrudgingly satisfied. she steps forward as the booth attendant hesitates, looking between satoru and the rings as if debating whether he just witnessed sorcery. finally, the man sighs, reaches up, and unhooks the stuffed panda from the display.

shia takes it with the air of a queen accepting tribute, hugging it against her chest. her fingers sink into the plush fabric, and for the first time today, she allows herself to be pleased.

“good job, daddy.” she says, and this time, it doesn’t sound patronizing.

satoru practically beams. progress.

next up is the three-legged race.

shia eyes the competition as they line up—other father-child pairs, all tied together at the ankles, shifting anxiously as they brace for disaster. it’s a game of coordination, teamwork, and—above all—trust. none of which she and satoru particularly excel at.

except, satoru is a cheater.

shia doesn’t even bother pretending to run. she just folds her arms, lets her legs dangle, and resigns herself to the inevitable as satoru takes four long strides across the finish line, dragging her along effortlessly. behind them, chaos erupts—dads and kids trip over each other, some collapse in tangled heaps, and one particularly determined father tries to crawl across the dirt, his child clutching his back like a desperate jockey.

“cheater!” yells a red-faced man clutching his son like a fallen soldier.

shia, upside down and completely unbothered, blows him a raspberry.

satoru snickers, lifting his sunglasses just enough to wink. “cope.”

by the time they reach the final game, the dads are seething, the kids are in awe, and shia? shia is looking at him like he might actually be worth keeping around.

the pin the tail on the donkey booth looms ahead, the last test in his trial of fatherhood. the teacher hands him a blindfold, smiling sweetly, unaware of just how unfair this is about to be.

“no peeking,” she warns, her voice laced with gentle authority.

satoru ties the blindfold securely, the fabric pressing against his closed lids—but it doesn’t matter. six eyes, spatial awareness—he doesn’t need to see. he spins once, for dramatic effect, then steps forward with precise confidence and pins the tail dead center.

perfect placement. exact alignment. even the donkey looks smug.

a pregnant pause.

“that’s it.” snaps a dad with a dad-bod and a vengeance. “i’m getting the principal.”

shia’s eyes shine with something sharp, something victorious. she clutches her panda tighter, watching as her so-called pretend dad obliterates the competition without breaking a sweat.

she chose well.

shia glows with satisfaction as she collects her prizes, her little arms struggling to hold onto her spoils of war. the massive stuffed panda is already secured in a vice grip, but now she has an assortment of keychains, a plastic tiara, and—because satoru is an absolute menace—one of the losing dads’ dignity. she stands triumphant in the middle of the courtyard, chin lifted, basking in the aftermath of her ruthless campaign. the other children watch her with a mix of awe and terror, their fathers still nursing their wounded pride.

“we’re the best team,” she declares, her smirk nothing short of victorious.

satoru grins down at her, pushing his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “obviously.”

shia beams up at him, and something warm curls in his chest—something that has nothing to do with his usual self-satisfaction. for once, the praise isn’t coming from himself, isn’t coming from the blind adoration of others who only see his power. it’s coming from her, from the sharp little girl who had blackmailed him into this, and for some reason, that makes it feel like the most genuine victory he’s ever had.

(he has never felt this kind of pride in his entire life.)

as the event wraps up, shia tugs on his sleeve, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric. he looks down, still caught in the lingering glow of their success, and the weight of the word that comes next nearly knocks him off balance.

“daddy.”

he still isn’t used to it. it’s just pretend, just a game, but it sinks into his ribs like something real. he doesn’t know if he ever will be used to it.

“yeah?”

she pauses, eyes flicking up to his like she’s measuring him, weighing something in her mind. then, with all the gravitas of a seasoned judge passing a verdict, she nods.

“you’re kinda cool.”

satoru feels his ego inflate to dangerous levels. “kinda?” he echoes, hand over his chest like she’s mortally wounded him. “excuse me, princess, but i just single-handedly dominated every single game here. you mean ‘ridiculously, impossibly cool,’ right?”

shia sniffs, unimpressed. “eh. i might hire you again next year.”

he chokes on a laugh. “hire?”

she gives him a knowing look, tilting her head just slightly. “you work for me, don’t you?”

he squints down at her, expression torn between amusement and genuine concern for her future enemies. “you mean you might blackmail me again?”

“tomato, tomahto.”

he throws his head back, cackling. god, he adores this kid. he’s so down for this. “sounds like a deal to me, kiddo.”

except his amusement flickers slightly, because while he’s completely on board for round two of this chaos, there’s one tiny, insignificant problem.

the love of his life.

her mom.

aka, you.

aka, the person who might actually skin him alive if you found out he’s discovered shia’s existence and is associating with her behind your back.

satoru clears his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he has, in fact, not informed you about any of this yet. “uh, small thing though—your mom won’t, like, murder me, right?”

shia tilts her head, considering. then she shrugs. “hmm. you should probably start running now.”

his grin is a little nervous now. “i’ll take my chances.”

(he will absolutely take his chances. she’s worth it.)

victory suits his daughter so well he forgot about the guillotine hanging over his head.

she stands proudly, a perfect little diva surrounded by her hard-won prizes. the stuffed panda, the keychains, the plastic toys—they’re all hers now, each item a trophy of her unexpected conquest. she beams at each one, spinning them in her hands with a joy that’s almost infectious, and satoru can’t help but smile as he watches her.

there’s something that hits him deep, though. for the first time, he really sees her—the smallness of her, the way she holds herself with such confidence. he’s missed five years. five whole years. and he’s spent them wondering about her, wanting to know her, wanting to be a part of her life, and now, she’s here, standing in front of him with a pride that matches his own. he can’t shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.

the event’s over, but that doesn’t mean his ‘dad’ duties are done. satoru would have been fine with it—happy, even—but the problem is, shia can’t go home yet. why? because you, her mom, still think it’s just another school day, completely unaware of what’s transpired. so here he is, strong and unflappable satoru gojo, now officially on babysitting duty.

he tries to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside him, unsure whether he should be jumping for joy or preparing for the inevitable wrath you’ll unleash when you find out. the only thing certain? this is going to be one interesting situation to explain later.

“alright, squirt,” satoru says, leaning back slightly with his hands tucked into his pockets. “what do ya wanna do?”

shia doesn’t look up immediately, too busy rearranging her prizes, but her voice cuts through the air like a knife.

“squirt?” she repeats, her tone laced with a judgment that only someone who’s spent years perfecting sass could manage.

“what? you’re tiny.” he says with a grin, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

“you’re abnormally tall.” she shoots back, her gaze still narrowed as she sizes him up. her response is a punchline in itself, and satoru can’t help but chuckle.

tch. the sass. it’s so familiar. she totally got that from him.

he watches her for a moment longer, his chest full of a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. she’s not just some random kid to him anymore. she’s his daughter, and even if she only blackmailed him into being here, there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s not going anywhere. but the looming thought of what might happen when you find out... well, he’ll cross that bridge when it comes. for now, he’s just glad to have this moment with her.

after all, things are about to get a whole lot more complicated when you find out what he’s been up to.

a/n : i felt like writing this chapter was boring probably because there is a minimum amount of crack and i just cant not write bullshit. just had to establish some stuff this chapter, it'll get asinine and silly again next chapters 🥰 this would've released much earlier but i kept dozing off while writing omg

tag list: @funicidals @coffeeluvr96 @wolywolymoley @ineednanami @luv3nti @nikilig @linaaeatsfamilies @nariminsstuff @cherryredkissez @lolightrealm @myahfig4 @kaged-kitty @s4ikooo1 @buni-bunnydoll @ssetsuka @mintcheery @starsyoongi @sorilyae @mashtura @enhasrii @kunisnaomi @susususukanana @seikamuzu @asahinasstuff @venusss-ss @satoruxsc @emochosoluvr @sleepykittyenergy @moncher-ire @byakuya61085 @ayumilk @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron-blog @balsalmic-vinegar @altgojo @esotericsorrow @44ina @jkslvsnella @reihimbo @flowerpot113 @kxgumi @emryb @yukinemaroop @nonamebbsblog @1uv4jiya @bibisaur @juujujs @kanekisheart @katsukiseyebrows @alygator77

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#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x female reader #reader insert #cross posted on ao3 #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n

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bunnyhugs77 · 1 year ago

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High Demand

ꕤ- Pairing: Dealer! Jungkook x Reader

ꕤ- WC: 2.6k

ꕤ- A modern day Romeo and Juliet

Content: college student! reader, grumpy jk, brief texting! au, jk is lowkey whipped, drug use (marijuana), reader is his special customer, vaping, opposites attract, suggestive themes, minor jealousy, idiots in love (but they won't admit it), shot gunning, grinding, fwb?

Other Content: thigh riding, high sex, jk titty appreciation, unprotected sex (no.), hand job, soft dom kook, reader is a little needy, brief switch! koo, hickeys, pet names, spit, biting.

Shaking your head with a small giggle as you looked at your phone before tossing it aside. You're totally his favourite. You know he's stubborn and he would never admit it but deep down he loves delivering to you the most.

Looking around your sad and dimly lit dorm, all the lights were off and your roommate was gone for the weekend doing god knows what with her weird ass biology major boyfriend who would collect rabbit tails in jars for 'science'.

You were looking at one right now actually, it seems they left one behind, on the coffee table. It was just fermenting in... you actually weren't sure and didn't want to know.

Your eyes felt like they were on fire the longer you looked at the stupid philosophy paper you were writing. The bright light from your laptop was beginning to drill into your head. Your head lolled to the side glancing at the time on your phone.

It was almost 11:30, and time for a break. Abandoning the device on the couch for a quick wake-up shower; by the time you'd gotten changed and returned to the living room, you could expect Jungkook any minute now.

Except, this is Jungkook we're talking about. He's always late.

That's why when you heard the familiar rattling of the rusty fire escape you were startled. It was a little past midnight. Climbing through the window in nothing but your basketball shorts and a white tee.

Pleasantly surprised to see Jungkook scaling the platform with a bag of takeout pinned in between his teeth. The sight of you looking down at him from where he climbed made his eyebrows raise but of course he couldn't say anything.

Not until he was finally close enough for you to grab the bag from his mouth and he stands up. You climb back inside first with him following behind with a pained sigh. "I'm so sick of coming here. Got me climbing walls like its fucking subway surfers." He curses while you place the food down on the table.

Completely ignoring him, practically drooling as you slowly peeled open the bag. "And I thought you said you weren't gonna bring me anything." He snatches the bag.

"I didn't."

You let yourself fall onto the couch, arms crossed and unbelieving. "Oh yeah? So you just coincidentally craved Wendy's and decided to haul it up three flights up a ladder from your mouth when you could've just eaten it in the car?"

"Yeah exactly." He shrugs, obviously lying.

"Give me the bag, Jungkook."

"Fine. But I'm charging you extra for the delivery and the labour of bringing it up here." He hands it to you and you roll your eyes knowing it was nothing more than a bluff.

"It's not my fault you're out of shape," you mumble unwrapping the burger. "Oh yeah? Is this what out of shape looks like to you?" He says it almost offended but challenged.

Choking briefly on your food as he lifts up his shirt, revealing the defined abs that you have such lewd memories of. "Yeah, that's what I thought. You try climbing 3 flights up a ladder and tell me it's easy." You shrug,

"Not my fault you're banned from the campus." He drops himself down beside you, reaching for the bag of fries and taking some for himself. "But it is, if you hadn't called me to drop off a stash for Angelica's dorm party maybe I could still take the stairs."

You drop your half-eaten burger with apologetic eyes, "How was I supposed to know they were doing random security checks in the lobby? At least you didn't get arrested." You pout and he scoffs.

"Bare minimum." He says via grumpy mutter under his breath so you offered up the rest of your food to him as a peace offering. A little sad that he actually took it but you were getting full anyway.

As he finished up the rest of your food you couldn't stop yourself from asking, "So do you still do drops with Angelica?" He nods with his mouth full of the last bite, stuffing the wrappers back in the bag.

"How often does she call you?-- for deliveries I mean." He chuckles, licking his lips, "Jealous?" You take the trash off the coffee table and bring it to the kitchen to toss it in the garbage. "You're delusional."

"I can't help it if I'm in high demand." He manspreads, his arms stretched over the back of the couch. "Just shut up. Do you have my pen?" He reaches for the pocket inside his leather jacket, pulling out the slim box.

Already knowing that you were going to use it now, he began to unbox it while you collected the cash you needed. "40 right?" You say handing him the small spread of bills, "Yeah, but for you, I guess I could make it 30." He shrugs conceitedly.

"Because I'm your favourite." You say and he shakes his head, "No. Because I ate your food." Which he paid for but you didn't dare to say that out loud, you were getting cheap weed.

"So who's your favourite then Jungkook?" He hands you the pen, "Listen. I don't climb up the fire escape when I do deliveries for Angelica, I make her come to me. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Trying to tug the pen out of his grasp but he holds it firm until you respond, "I guess I can work with that." He smiles softly, letting you take the first hit as his arm wraps around your shoulder.

The two of you passed the pen back and forth, with little giggles here and there and wide eyes on the episode of SpongeBob that was playing.

By now the dark living room is illuminated by nothing more than your roommate's lava lamp and a strip of purple LEDs' taped behind the TV. You could see the smoke as it floated past the few sources of light.

"Open." He directs, taking a particularly long hit, leaning into you and blowing the pungent smoke into your mouth, sucking it in from his lips.

The pen is now forgotten as it rolls between the cracks of the couch. Straddling Jungkook's muscular thigh as he flexed it every now and then, taking hits from his blueberry Ice vape and blowing it to the ceiling, giving you a prime view of his sharp jaw under the soft purple lighting.

The sight made you shake, gyrating your hips almost desperately as you chased the feeling of friction on his denim-clad thigh. "You like that? You feel good fucking yourself on my thigh?" The question was rhetorical, you were too dazed to answer him anyway.

Your heavy-lidded gaze slowly rolls up to his pretty face once you feel his hand move from your hips to gently wrap around your neck, not applying any pressure, just there to let you feel the weight of his hand. "Answer me," He says, and you fall forward "Yess, feels so good." You moan, and Jungkook has danced this dance with you enough to see you were close.

But of course, he couldn't let you cum so soon, not yet. His hands flew to your hips and pinned you down on his thigh, restricting your range of motion. "Please," You beg and he wishes he had a little more willpower but he couldn't say no to you, not when you looked so fucked out when he's barely touched you.

"Fuck. Take your shirt off." Leaning back and crossing your arms over the base of the shirt, you pried it off your body desperately. Leaving you in your black lacy bra and it pulled out a guttural groan from Jungkook's chest.

"You little whore." he grits through his clenched teeth, grip tightening on the arm of the couch nearly ripping the fabric.

This position was no longer giving him what he so desperately craved. Shrugging the jacket from off his shoulders and taking off the tank top underneath letting your eyes roam over his built upper body, oh how you wanted to just...

Without thinking your tongue striped up the expanse of his bulky pecs. This was new, but Jungkook was so high out of his mind anything and everything you did felt like he was on cloud 9.

Your mouth dropped down to wrap around his rosy nipples and you could've never anticipated the worked-up reaction you got from him. "Oh shit, shit shit." He gasps, hands gripping your waist tight enough that you're sure there will be bruises by the morning.

Letting your tongue lap around his nipples with pure hunger, an inexplicable flame burning in your core as you were finally the one who got to watch the other be reduced to a moaning mess.

His once soft moans turned a little breathy and high-pitched, His hips bucked causing you to jolt in his lap, he was getting close.

"Didn't think you'd like having your tits played with so much?" You tease him but he didn't find the humour in it. He holds you by the throat once more, this time applying a generous amount of pressure, pushing you off him.

Unbuckling his belt and you knew what that meant. He slides out of his pants, followed by the boxers that were the last barrier between your moistened lips and his throbbing cock. "Let's put that smart mouth of yours to good use, yeah?" He hums, watching as you sink to your knees, hand carefully wrapped around his base, starting with slow pumps.

"Spit on it." Doing as told, you let a wad of spit fall from your pretty, plush lips and coat the shaft of his dick, you worked your palm up his length. Already satisfied with the way his head was thrown back.

"Just like that," Reaching for the vape, he takes a few good hits, the head rush mixed with the pleasure had him seeing stars-- the object falling from his hands immediately the moment he felt the warm heat of your mouth wrap around his sensitive tip.

"Y/n-" He breathes out, almost scared, he was so close, too soon. He's never struggled to hold himself back this badly before. What were you doing to him?

The obscene sounds of you choking as you struggled to take all of him in your mouth, letting your nose touch the soft, trimmed hairs near his base. Focusing on breathing through your nose before you felt a heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing you lower.

You were quite literally slobbering on his dick, gagging with every buck of his hips. "That's it, princess. You're doing so well--Shit. Mouth feels like fucking heaven." His praise rushes to your core and has your left hand trailing down to rub yourself through your lace underwear.

The rough friction being more than enough to get you there, "I'm gonna cum, baby. Where-- Shit!-- Where do you want it?" He gasps, his hips snapping, pushing his length down your throat almost erratically. You don't answer, only hollowing your cheeks to take him deeper, making your desires clear.

Your own fingers quickening their pace, your own sounds travelling through his dick in vibrations and pushing him right over the edge with you, filling your mouth with his warm cum.

Swallowing as if it were second nature. "Stick out your tongue," He says softly. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he tries to regain his composure from his overwhelming climax. Your tongue was out and cleared of any of his cum and it made him crazy.

He remembers the first time he'd brought an order to you over 6 months ago. He thought you were nothing more than a cute little philosophy major, never did he think he'd have you beneath him like he does right now.

Looking up at him, daring to give you an almost angelic gaze while the two of you ruined each other. Tainting each other with your own touches. "Kiss me?" You ask it so cutely, tempting him with the pout on your lips. You weren't being fair.

His body didn't give him a choice before his lips were on yours, his hips grinding into yours. The feeling of his solid dick rolling against your skin making the butterflies go ramped in your stomach.

The way you licked over his bottom lip with your own made Jungkook weak, stumbling on his elbows as he held himself up over you. Soft groans could be heard the deeper the kiss became.

Messy and intimate. Your hand crept up the back of his neck to tug at the dark locks of hair on his head. There was a loud pop and the two of you paused.

With Jungkook between your legs and with you under him, your heads turned slowly towards the coffee table where the jar was, dedicated to the fermenting rabbit tail. "What the fuck is that?" Jungkook slowly sits up, "My roommate's boyfriend's weird biology shit. I dunno, it freaks me out too." You sit up, now remembering what the two of you were in the middle of doing.

"That shit's not gonna blow up or anything right." You gently peck him on the lips but his brain seems preoccupied by the jar, "who knows," you say, kissing right under his ear and that seemed to get him to zone in on you.

Catching his bottom lip under his teeth as your kisses became more eager, suckling on a certain spot on his neck, his head falling back against his will. "Fuck, Y/n-- Don't you dare." You pull off his soft skin with a soft pop, admiring the burgundy bruise left behind.

"Oops." Your apology was ingenuine and bratty, and Jungkook hated brats.

Tearing you out of your final pieces of clothing before manhandling you into his lap. "Sit on it." He demands and you follow without question. Moaning out loud as his dick spread your lips apart like butter.

Sliding down with ease and a stretch of your velvety walls that were currently squeezing Jungkook for everything he's got and he's got nothing left, everything was yours.

"I-Shit! You feel so good, Kook!" He couldn't bother to correct you on the annoying nickname you were incessant on using. "Yeah? You like that- fuck, you feel so good." He curses, bucking his hips up into you as you raise your hips trying to match his thrusts.

He was fucking you so good, so ruthlessly, your head falls onto his shoulder and you needed more than just the couch to hold on to, your teeth sank into the muscular meat of his shoulder and his pace faltered.

"Shit shit shit! Do that again." He groans, picking up an inhumane pace that had you bouncing all over the place until he stilled you in his arms. His grunts and breathy moans came out right beside your ear only pushing you to your orgasm faster.

"J-jungkook-!" You pant, unable to speak, feeling like your insides are being rearranged, "Me too, baby. Cum with me." You finish first, and with a few more unsynchronized snaps of his hips, you were being filled to the brim with his cum.

The room is filled with nothing but the sound of muffled music playing from your neighbour's next door and laboured breaths. Jungkook gently lays you down on the couch beside him, staring into your eyes.

This felt so intimate. You felt his gaze deeper than just behind your eyes, it was as if he was looking into your soul. His eyes were tinted red as he looked at you with an adoring gaze. "You're cute." He says it casually as though he hadn't just fucked you.

Your eyes roll before they close, feeling the sleepiness begin to kick in. "Bet you say that to all your customers." Mumbling the words into his chest while he began to grin a little.

"Nope. Only to my favourite." Your eyes shoot open.

"I knew it."

#jungkook #bts #jungkook fic recs #jungkook ff #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #bts one shot #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook

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alygator77 · 10 months ago

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.ೃ࿐motherhood and matrimony I ch 3 𓆩ᥫ᭡𓆪

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies (annoyances) to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, marriage of convenience, slow burn, smut, fluff, some angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, triggers of prior domestic abuse (physical intimidation, emotional manipulation, from naoya) » 【note, this chapter contains explicit sexual content (m masturbation)】

ꨄ words: 13.3k

ꨄ a/n. oh wowie, here it is. i hope ya'll enjoy this chapter and thanks for reading ♡

ꨄ taglist: open (ao3)

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series masterlist ꨄ︎ previous chapter ꨄ︎ next chapter →

ch 3 // fractured realities

Streams of light filter in through the drapes of your bedroom, casting a soft glow across the room.

A groan escapes your lips as you feel a dull throb on your temple—a reminder of the countless glasses of wine and champagne you indulged in at the gala. But as fragmented images of the evening flood your mind, your headache doesn’t end there.

You kissed Satoru Gojo.

Correction—you kissed the hell out of Satoru Gojo.

Each detail is more vivid than the last—the warmth of his breath, the firmness of his hold, the taste of him, and his soft groan that you swallowed against your lips.

God, it felt too real, too intense.

You sit up in your bed, rubbing your temples as you try to shake off the lingering effects of last night’s revelry, but you can’t ignore the fluttering sensation that stirs within—your cheeks growing hot from the memory.

Ugh. Being hungover and flushed is not a combination you enjoy.

When did Satoru start having such an intense effect on you?

You want to blame it on a lapse of judgement—perhaps the alcohol lowered your inhibitions? Sure, let’s go with that. That feels better than admitting that maybe you secretly wanted to kiss Satoru Gojo.

He’s insufferable after all—you can’t stand him…right?

Fuck, this is confusing.

Why does it feel like there has been a subtle tension between you and Satoru that has been simmering beneath the surface for a while now, each interaction, each glance, adding fuel to the fire?

Every shared look carries an unspoken promise, every touch lingers a fraction too long, leaving your skin tingling and your heart racing. It’s as if you’re both walking a tightrope, balancing on the edge of something profoundly transformative.

Are you imagining things?

Silently cursing yourself, you know these thoughts you’re having will only make things more complicated. This is simply a contract—nothing more.

Transactional. Business.

With a deep sigh, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, hoping to shake off these intrusive throughs with a stretch of your muscles.

If only it were that simple.

Perhaps a shower will help clear your mind—a chance to cleanse yourself from the remnants of last night’s indulgences.

Shuffling towards the bathroom, a yawn escapes your mouth as you rub your eyes tiredly, reaching for the door. But the moment you open it, you freeze in your tracks.

With nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, Satoru stands outside the shower, droplets of water glistening on his bare chest, each bead tracing the defined lines of his muscles. You can’t help but notice the way the water trails down his torso, accentuating every ridge and curve. It’s as if he’s been sculpted from marble, each detail painstakingly crafted to perfection.

For a moment, neither of you move—a stunned silence filling the room as your eyes lock.

His damp hair sticks to his forehead in an almost boyish manner, contrasting sharply with his otherwise commanding presence, and your eyes trail downwards…

Oh.

The smooth contours of his abs carve a path down towards the towel hanging precariously low on his hips, leaving little to the imagination.

Your heart races, and you feel a blush rushing to your cheeks. Your eyes flicker back up to Satoru’s and fuck, he caught you—eyes twinkling with amusement as his lips slowly curl into a self-satisfied grin.

“Good morning to you too. Enjoying the view?”

The heat in your cheeks intensifies as your eyes widen, blinking rapidly, trying to snap yourself out of your daze.

“I... I didn’t realize you were in here,” you stammer, voice higher than usual.

Satoru’s smirk widens as he reaches for an extra towel, rubbing it against his head to dry his hair. He then drapes the towel across his shoulders and meets your gaze with an alluring glint.

“Well, if you wanted to see more, you only had to ask.”

Pressing your lips together in protest, you try to regain some semblance of composure. Satoru had always teased you—don’t take it too seriously, you tell yourself.

Clearing your throat, you advert your gaze, though the crimson hue still remains on your cheeks.

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was an accident—besides, you’re the one who forgot to lock the door.”

Satoru lets out a contemplative hum, feigning innocence as he walks towards the sink.

“Guess I’m not used to sharing a bathroom,” he leans against the counter and crosses his arms, eyes surveying you with a mischievous glint, “You’re to blame too though, could’ve at least knocked. Unless, you were hoping to join me?” he grins.

Your eyes widen, and you can feel the blush creeping up your neck.

“In your dreams, Satoru.”

A low chuckle escapes him as his stare bores into you—oh how he lives for this. Satoru’s always loved seeing you flustered, but this? This is something else entirely, a new level of satisfaction he hadn’t anticipated.

“Sure, sure,” he pauses, then tilts his head to the side. “But you’re still standing there, aren’t you?”

You swallow hard, eyes flickering between his face and his chest, unable to decide where to look. His satisfaction grows with every falter in your gaze, his knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Each glance is a step deeper into a trap of your own making, an unspoken admission that he holds more sway over you than you care to admit.

“Just... put some clothes on, please. And yes, I’m standing here because I’d like to take a shower. Aren’t you done? Why are you still here.”

“Oh sure, I’m done. You can shower, but aren’t you gonna return the favor? Do I get a show too?”

Your breath catches in your throat at his boldness, the heat in your cheeks spreading down your neck. The intensity of his gaze pins you in place, a silent challenge that sends a shiver through your body.

“Not a chance,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. “This isn’t some kind of peep show.”

Satoru gives you an annoyingly innocent pout, rubbing his neck with a sly grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Tch. Too bad. Would’ve been a great way to start the morning.”

You roll your eyes, pushing past him to get to the shower.

“Out,” you command, pointing towards the door.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling as he walks out.

“Alright, alright. Enjoy your shower, princess.”

You lock the door firmly behind him—heart pounding and your thoughts in disarray. As you step into the shower and the warm water cascades over you, you can’t help but replay the scene in your mind, each word and gesture etched vividly in your memory.

He’s just teasing—you remind yourself as you try to push away the fluttering feeling in your chest. Don’t take his words seriously, your relationship is a charade.

You close your eyes, letting the water wash over you, but the confusion remains.

Fuck. This is getting complicated.

ꨄ︎

The moment you close the door firmly behind him, Satoru leans against it for a moment, his smirk fading into a more contemplative expression.

He runs a hand through his hair—the sight of you, wide-eyed and blushing, had done more to him than he cared to admit. Exhaling slowly, he realizes that he’s in deeper than he thought.

As his thoughts drift back to the kiss you had shared at the gala, a familiar heat pools in his lower abdomen. The way your lips had felt against his—soft and inviting—the memory of your taste, the way you fit so perfectly against him…fuck. It stirs something primal within him.

He can’t deny the growing attraction he feels. After seeing you there with your cheeks flushed and your eyes surveying him, he had wanted to pull you closer, to see if your lips were as warm and inviting as he remembered.

Satoru groans as he adjusts his towel, feeling the fabric brush against his growing erection, trying to focus on anything other than the way you looked at him—the way the framework of your sleepwear accentuated your curves, the indent of your nipples peeking through the thin satin of your tank top. God, his desire only intensifies.

The contract was clear—no emotional entanglements. Yet here he was, aroused as his mind is consumed by you. He can’t help but wonder…what would it be like to explore this connection further, to let go, to give in to his curiosity completely.

Would it be so bad to just…fantasize?

He hears the shower turn on from behind the closed door—God, he can just imagine what it would be like to slide his hands all over your bare body.

Reaching down, he unwraps the towel from his waist, his cock slamming against his abdomen as it springs free from confinement. He curses under his breath; this wasn’t supposed to happen. He shouldn’t be thinking of you like this, but he can’t help but reach down and grip the base of his girth—he needs this, he wants this.

He needs you.

A soft groan escapes his lips as he begins to stroke himself, his hand moving slowly as he traces a familiar path over his length. There's a dull thud as Satoru's head hits the door, his eyes fluttering shut as he gives in to his imagination.

He can picture it vividly in his mind, the way the water would slide over your body, the way you'd respond to his touch... fuck, he can practically hear the little gasps and moans that would escape your lips as he touches you, the sounds that would drive him wild.

He bites his bottom lip, his hand moving slowly, trying to be as silent as possible. The thought of you, just on the other side of the door, excites him even more.

His breath comes out in short gasps as he imagines you, wet and wanting under the spray of the shower. The way your body would arch beneath his touch as he slides his digits between your warm walls. The water would run in rivulets down your body and you’d shiver under his touch, whispering his name, begging for more.

His breathing grows heavier as he speeds up his pace, envisioning you on your knees before him, your head bowed in submission, wet and flushed, looking up at him with a half-lidded desire in your eyes.

He wants you so desperately it's painfully evident in every movement—it’s almost too much to bear.

Your name slips from his lips – a desperate plea rather than a simple invocation. Fuck, it feels so good to have your name rolling off his tongue as he does something so indecent.

He can almost feel your hot, wet tongue swirling around his sensitive head, tasting him, savoring him. His free hand trails down to cup his balls, rolling them gently between his fingers as he pumps faster, just as you would while you take every inch of him in your pretty little mouth.

“Fuck…” he hisses through clenched teeth, his pace quickening as he chases the release he so desperately craves.

He shouldn’t be doing this, especially not right outside the bathroom door. But in this moment, he can't bring himself to care. Nothing else matters but you.

He pictures himself taking you right there, pushing you against the tiled wall, claiming your mouth in a fierce kiss as he thrusts himself deep inside you. The image of you quivering in pleasure drives Satoru further into madness. His strokes become erratic, desperate.

Satoru's entire body tenses, muscles coiling tight as he throws his head back. A desperate whine slips past his clenched teeth “Fuck…I’m gonna…”

His hips jerk erratically, pumping his cock in time with the spasms wracking his body. He whimpers as spurt after spurt of hot cum coats his stomach and chest, the sticky fluid painting his skin with evidence of his forbidden desires. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, each syllable punctuated by another forceful stroke as his hand continues to move, milking every last drop.

Panting heavily, he slumps against the door, his heart pounding in his chest while his spent cock twitches with residual pleasure. As he slowly comes back to reality, he realizes what he's done.

This wasn't supposed to happen—he was meant to tease you, not end up teasing himself. But there was no denying the effect you had on him anymore.

Fuck.

What the fuck is he thinking? This can’t happen again.

He needs to take another shower.

ꨄ︎

Stepping out of the shower, you wrap a fluffy towel around your body as the warm steam curls around you. You begin to head back to your room, but the moment you open the bathroom door, you are caught off guard, immediately met by one of the house staff, holding out a freshly laundered robe.

“Good morning, ma’am. Your robe.”

“Thank you,” you hesitate slightly, trying to offer a polite smile.

Taking the robe, you begin to make your way to the walk-in closet, yet another staff member is waiting with a selection of outfits.

"I've picked out a few choices for today's events, Mrs. Gojo."

You take a deep breath, "Thanks, I'll take a look."

It’s barely morning and you already have staff at your beck and call—sure, they mean well, but it’s suffocating. You’re not one for a lot of attention.

As the staff member steps aside, you examine the array of outfits.

Your eyes scan the elegant dresses, tailored suits, and chic ensembles neatly arranged on hangers. It’s not quite as elegant as the gala, but it’s clear that Satoru must have something important planned for the day. Each outfit exudes sophistication and class, far more extravagant than your usual attire.

As you run your fingers over the fabric of a particularly stunning dress, a ball of nerves settles within you. The thrill of wondering what Satoru has in store is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. You select the dress, hoping it aligns with whatever he has planned.

After slipping into the elegant dress, you make your way to your vanity. But just as your fingers curl around the handle of your hairbrush, a maid materializes at your side, yet again.

"Good morning, ma'am. Can I assist you with your hair today?"

Is a moment to yourself too much to ask?

Your headache from last night’s wine lingers, and the incessant stream of people is beginning to fray your nerves—it’s really too much.

Offering another polite smile, you try to mask the mild irritation simmering beneath.

"No, thank you. I can manage.”

The maid nods and steps back, only for another staff member to glide in right behind her, almost as if choreographed.

This one carries a gleaming silver tray adorned with an array of high-end skincare products, each bottle and jar meticulously arranged, their labels promising luxury and perfection.

"Your skincare routine, ma'am."

You close your eyes momentarily, trying to remain patient, your voice as calm as you can manage.

"I appreciate it, really, but I have my own products."

The staff member hesitates, her expression a mix of confusion and professionalism.

"Of course, ma'am," she replies, inclining her head respectfully before retreating.

As the door closes behind her, you release a long, weary sigh. The constant attention is smothering, and you long for the simplicity of your old life.

Those quiet mornings, the sweet solitary moments where you could just… be – without the pressure of performing or living up to impossible standards.

But like it or not, this is your reality now. Guess you’ll just need to find a way to navigate it without losing yourself in the process.

ꨄ︎

By the time you make it downstairs, Haru is already seated at the elegant dining table, her small hands fiddling with her silverware. Satoru sits at the head of the table, reading through some documents.

The table is laden with a lavish breakfast spread—perfectly arranged fruits, pastries, and an assortment of gourmet dishes. The scent threatens to overwhelm you as the lingering effects of last night’s indulgence in wine and champagne churn in your stomach.

"Good morning," Satoru says, glancing up with a grin, looking annoyingly refreshed.

Rubbing the temple of your head, you attempt a tired smile.

“Morning.”

Satoru watches you with amusement as you slide into your seat. The rich aroma of the elaborate breakfast instantly greets your nostrils, prompting a groan to escape your lips.

"How are you feeling?" he quirks a brow.

"Like I drank half the wine cellar," you grimace.

Satoru leans back in his chair, his grin widening, and Haru giggles, watching you with wide curious eyes as you bury your face in your hands.

“Mama sleepy,” she declares with the wisdom of a two-year-old.

“Yes, Haru…Mama is very sleepy,” you mutter, peaking at her through your fingers. Despite the hangover, that innocent laugh brings a small smile to your face.

Satoru chuckles, setting his documents aside as he reaches for his mug.

"You should’ve stuck to the champagne, lightweight," he teases, bringing his coffee up to his lips.

You shoot him a half-hearted glare.

"Not helping."

A chef sets down a plate of perfectly arranged eggs benedict directly in front of you with a flourish, each element meticulously placed. The aroma wafts up and you instinctively push the plate away.

"Actually, do you have any toast? With jelly?" your voice tinged with a mix of disgust and desperation.

The chef looks momentarily puzzled, a slight furrow forming on his brow, but he nods politely.

"Of course, ma'am."

You abruptly get up, deciding to find it yourself. Making your way to the nearby pantry, you move with purpose as you begin rummaging through the neatly organized shelves. You feel Satoru’s amused gaze following your every move. Turning, you see him leaning back in his chair, a bemused smile playing on his lips as he watches you with evident curiosity.

“You're like a college student after a party. All this gourmet food and you want toast?"

Your fingers brush past jars of exotic spices and imported oils until you finally find what you’re looking for—a simple loaf of bread and a jar of ruby-red jelly. The familiar, comforting sight of them brings a small, satisfied smile to your lips. You turn to Satoru, holding up the items triumphantly.

“I just want something simple.”

As you set the bread and jelly down on the counter, Haru, perched nearby with wide and curious eyes, giggles at the sight.

"Mama wants toast!" she announces gleefully, her little voice echoing through the kitchen like a bell.

A grin curls up your lips as you unclasp the bread bag.

"Yes, mama wants toast," you say, popping a slice into the toaster. Leaning casually against the marble countertop, you shift your gaze to Satoru. “Anyways Mr. Gourmet, what’s the plan for today?”

Satoru leans back, his eyes narrowing playfully as he studies you.

"Well, I was thinking we could go over some things regarding Gojo Corporation. There are a few upcoming projects I’ve been meaning to discuss with you and I’d like your insight."

You arch an eyebrow, mildly caught off guard by the suggestion.

"Really? You usually handle all that on your own."

He nods, the movement slow and deliberate.

"True," he concedes, "but as my wife, I think it’s time you start coming back to the office with me. I want you to be more involved, and it’s important for everyone to see us working together as a team."

Your eyes widen in surprise.

"You want me to be more involved? I’m just a secretary."

Satoru shrugs with a casual air, but there’s a determined edge to his voice that tells you he’s thought this through.

"I’ve taken on a lot more responsibilities lately, and I could use your help. Besides, your insights have always been valuable to me.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the sudden pop of the toaster pulls your attention away. Turning your focus to the toast, you carefully spread jelly across the warm slice, but the task does little to settle the fluttering sensation in your chest.

This is a big ask.

You've always been behind the scenes, a secretary who knew the inner workings but never sat at the table where decisions were made. And now, here he is, trusting you with responsibilities that feel like they belong to someone else—someone more experienced, more confident.

It’s strange, surreal even, that Satoru would entrust you with such a significant role. Even if this is just a charade, this role requires more than just understanding the business. It requires being a partner in the truest sense.

“So…you’re serious about this? Gojo Corporation, we’re doing this together now?” you ask, returning to your seat, your voice carrying a hint of uncertainty as you search his eyes for reassurance.

Satoru nods.

“Absolutely. I think it’s time we show everyone what a true power couple looks like,” he replies, punctuating his words with a wink.

Leaning forward, he rests his chin in the cradle of his hand as he props his elbow casually on the table. His gaze locks onto yours, a glint of something more behind his deep blue eyes.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice softening slightly, “the office just isn’t the same without you.”

You take a slow bite of your toast, savoring the buttery warmth as it spreads across your tongue, but it’s nothing compared to the unexpected warmth blossoming in your chest at his words.

“Yeah, right,” you murmur, “You just want to make me do all the paperwork."

His grin broadens, the corners of his mouth lifting into that familiar, dangerously charming smile that always seems to disarm you.

"Guilty as charged."

Haru reaches out eagerly, her tiny fingers wiggling with impatience.

“Toast!” she demands with all the confidence and adorable assertiveness of a two-year-old.

You tear off a small piece and place it into her eagerly awaiting hand. She takes it with a giggle, her eyes lighting up as she munches happily.

As you lift your toast back up to your lips, you catch Satoru’s gaze lingering on you. There is a subtle shift in his expression—a depth of emotion, a certain tenderness that makes you wonder what he could be thinking.

"What?" you ask, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone, though you’re not entirely sure why.

He doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch as a grin tugs at the corners of his lips. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he finally speaks.

"Nothing," he eventually says with a playful yet genuine edge. “It’s just... interesting to see you choose something so ordinary.”

“Sometimes less is more.” you counter, a hint of challenge in your voice. “Besides, not everyone grew up with chefs and staff at their beck and call. It’s a bit much sometimes.”

Satoru leans back in his chair, the smirk widening as he crosses his arms over his chest.

“Oh? Are you saying my lifestyle is too much for you?”

You gesture broadly around the lavish room.

"Look at all this,” you exclaim, your voice tinged with a mix of awe and exasperation. “The staff, the gourmet meals, the constant attention. It's like I'm living in a palace. I can't breathe without someone trying to do something for me, and I can’t even cook for Haru without feeling like I'm stepping on someone's toes."

The words spill out before you can catch them, each one landing with a weight you hadn’t fully anticipated. There’s an undercurrent of something deeper in your tone, a tension that has been simmering just below the surface—an unease that you’ve been trying to push aside, but now, in this moment, it bubbles over, impossible to ignore.

Satoru’s gaze sharpens and he arches an eyebrow as he catches the subtle shift in your demeanor.

"You miss cooking?" his voice softening with genuine interest.

“Yeah, I do,” you confess, your voice tinged with a mix of longing and resignation. “It’s one of the few things that makes me feel grounded, like I’m in control of something. Plus, Haru loves my cooking.”

He regards you with an intensity that catches you off guard.

“I didn’t realize you felt that way. You know… you’re welcome to cook whenever you want. This is your home too, after all.”

There’s a brief pause as he seems to mull something over, his eyes distant before snapping back to yours with a newfound determination. He leans forward slightly, his eyes locked onto yours.

“How about this—you cook dinner tonight? I’ll tell the chef to take the night off.”

You blink, momentarily taken aback by the offer.

“You’d really do that?”

"Why not?" he says with a shrug. "This is your home now, for the next year at least. Besides, it’ll be nice to see you in your element, and I’m curious to taste your cooking."

A spark of excitement flickers within you at the idea, the thought of returning to something familiar and comforting lifting your spirits.

“Alright then,” you agree, a playful challenge in your tone. “But don’t complain if it doesn’t meet your gourmet standards.”

“I’m sure it will be perfect,” he responds, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that sends a ripple of anticipation through you.

He leans in closer, his elbow resting on the table as he tilts his head, his intense gaze locking onto yours. The proximity makes your heart skip a beat, the air between you charged with an unspoken connection.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he adds, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.

You hold his gaze, trying to maintain your composure, though you can feel a flutter in your chest.

“Just promise me you won’t hover in the kitchen,” you quip, lifting an eyebrow as you lean back slightly, creating a bit of space to steady your racing heart.

Satoru’s grin only widens, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes as he mirrors your movement, leaning back as well.

“No promises. I might want to learn a thing or two."

You cross your arms, challenging him with a smirk and a pointed look.

“You? Help out in the kitchen?”

The disbelief in your voice is clear, though a small smile tugs at your lips. The idea of him, the polished and ever-confident Satoru, navigating the chaos of a kitchen is almost too absurd to imagine.

He laughs, a rich sound that fills the room, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Hey, I can follow directions,” he protests, his grin broadening. “Just tell me what to do.”

You roll your eyes playfully, shaking your head in mock exasperation.

“We’ll see about that,” you quip, though there’s a part of you that’s curious—maybe even hopeful—that he might actually surprise you.

Before you can say more, Haru claps her hands together excitedly, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Mama cooking! Yay!” she exclaims, bouncing in her highchair.

You laugh softly, ruffling her hair with affection.

“Yes, mama’s cooking tonight,” you confirm, the warmth in your voice mirroring the smile on your face.

Satoru watches the exchange with a softening gaze, a rare moment of quiet sincerity passing over his features. But then, with a stretch that seems to shake off the sentiment, he stands up, rolling his shoulders back.

“In the meantime,” he says, tone shifting back to business, “we should probably get ready to head to the office. There’s a lot we need to cover.”

ꨄ︎

As the car pulls up to the grand entrance of Gojo Corporation, you take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you.

It feels as though an eternity has passed since you last walked through those imposing doors, yet as you gaze up at the sleek, formidable building, a wave of familiarity washes over you, making it seem as if nothing has changed.

The towering glass structure looms above, its mirrored surface catching the early morning sun and casting a dazzling array of shimmering light that dances across the pavement. The reflections create an almost ethereal glow around the building.

As the sleek glass doors of Gojo Corporation glide open with a quiet whoosh, you and Satoru step through together, hand in hand.

The lobby unfolds before you, just as you remembered—spacious, modern, and a testament to impeccable design.

Polished marble floors stretch out beneath your feet, gleaming like a mirror under the bright, strategically placed lights. The air is filled with a soft, steady hum of conversation, punctuated by the occasional click of heels against the floor.

Familiar faces turn towards you, their polite smiles masking the flickers of curiosity and speculation that dance in their eyes. You can feel the weight of their gazes, each glance a blend of respect tinged with a subtle undercurrent of skepticism.

The whispers are almost tangible, a low murmur that follows you as you move further into the lobby, their eyes tracking your every step.

Your hand instinctively tightens around Satoru’s, seeking reassurance in his steady presence. Satoru’s grip is firm yet comforting, his thumb brushing gently against the back of your hand in a silent gesture of support.

He leads you further into the lobby, his posture exuding confidence and ease, as if he’s entirely unbothered by the attention.

Each of your footsteps against the polished floor brings a flood of memories to you. There’s a palpable sense of nostalgia, a bittersweet longing for the simplicity and familiarity of your old workspace.

But everything has changed, hasn’t it?

Now, you’re his wife—at least, that’s the role you must play.

The weight of that title hangs heavy on your shoulders, transforming the once-familiar surroundings into a stage where every glance, every whisper carries a different meaning.

And Satoru—he has changed too.

The carefree son of the CEO you once knew has evolved into a leader in his own right. The transformation is subtle yet profound, etched in the way he carries himself, the way he interacts with the staff, and the way he commands respect without demanding it.

You can see the weight of responsibility resting on his shoulders, a mantle he has taken up with a quiet determination.

As you approach the elevators, Satoru’s hand slips from yours, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin as he reaches out to press the button.

The elevator doors slide open with a quiet, mechanical whisper, revealing the sleek, mirrored interior. You both step inside, the soft hum of the elevator filling the space with a steady, soothing rhythm.

Satoru glances at you, his eyes catching the soft light reflecting off the polished walls. There’s a small, reassuring smile on his lips, one that carries a hint of warmth and something deeper—perhaps a silent promise that everything will be alright.

“So,” he begins, his voice casual, though you can sense the underlying focus in his tone, “today we have a meeting regarding a potential corporate merger with Mei-Mei's company.”

“Mei-Mei… I remember her,” you say, your brow furrowing slightly as you search your memory. “Isn't she from that high-end tech company?”

Satoru nods and leans casually against the elevator wall, his posture relaxed but his mind clearly working.

“That’s right,” he confirms, his voice steady and assured. “She’s quite influential in her field, a key player in the tech industry. This merger could be a significant step for us, opening doors to new technologies and markets.”

As his words sink in, you feel a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. You swallow hard, trying to push down the unease that’s bubbling up inside you.

“Alright. What’s our approach for the meeting?”

Satoru’s eyes meet yours, his gaze steady and reassuring. There’s a quiet confidence in his expression, a belief in your abilities that helps to steady your nerves.

“We’ll present our strengths,” he explains. “We’ll show them what we can bring to the table, the value we offer. Your insights will be invaluable, so don’t hesitate to speak up. Just be yourself. That’s more than enough.”

You nod, drawing in a deep breath to calm the flutter of nerves in your chest.

“Got it,” you reply, your voice more resolute now, bolstered by his confidence in you.

The elevator dings softly, and the doors glide open to reveal the executive floor, a space imbued with quiet power and understated elegance.

Satoru walks ahead, his stride confident and purposeful, and you follow closely, drawing strength from his unwavering presence.

As you enter the conference room, your eyes immediately land on Mei-Mei, already seated at the expansive table. She’s impeccably dressed, exuding an air of effortless elegance and control.

The moment she spots Satoru, her eyes light up with a warmth that feels just a bit too personal. A slow, sultry smile spreads across her lips as she rises gracefully from her chair.

“Satoru, darling,” she purrs, her voice smooth and honeyed as she glides toward him with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she wants. “It’s been far too long.”

Seeing her in person brings a rush of memories, sharp and unbidden—the sound of her voice, the way she says his name...

Mei-Mei isn’t just any business associate— she’s the woman who was once poised to step into the very role you now occupy.

Satoru’s father had been persistent he consider her for marriage, a match that had been pushed on him relentlessly.

The realization sharpens your senses, and as Mei-Mei continues to hold Satoru’s gaze with practiced ease, you steel yourself, determined not to let old rivalries or lingering doubts shake your confidence.

Satoru smiles politely, his expression composed and unreadable as he extends a hand to her.

“Mei-Mei,” he greets her, his tone smooth and diplomatic. “Always a pleasure.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes flicker with satisfaction as she accepts his hand, her touch light and fleeting, like a whisper of silk.

Her gaze shifts to you as she releases his hand, a spark of curiosity mingling with something more calculated behind her eyes.

“And who might this be?” she inquires, her voice carrying a subtle edge, as if she’s already assessing your worth.

“This is my wife, y/n” Satoru says smoothly, his hand finding yours. “She’ll be joining us for the meeting.”

Mei-Mei’s smile curves at the edges, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which narrow slightly as she studies you more closely.

“Of course,” she says, her tone dripping with courtesy that feels just a shade too polished. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

She pauses, her gaze sharpening with a hint of challenge.

“I must say, I haven’t heard of you before. What family do you come from?”

A twinge of discomfort ripples through you, a reminder of the stark difference in backgrounds. You swallow slightly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I... I don’t come from a well-known family,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than they should. “I’ve worked with Satoru at Gojo Corporation for the past year.”

Mei-Mei’s smile shifts, the corners of her lips lifting just a fraction, but there’s a condescending glint in her eyes now.

“Oh, I see,” she replies, her voice laced with a faint, dismissive amusement. “How quaint.”

You force a smile, though it feels tight on your lips, refusing to let her patronizing attitude get under your skin.

As you move to take your seat at the table, you watch as she leans in closer to Satoru, her fingers grazing his arm in a gesture that seems almost too casual, too familiar.

“I must say, Satoru,” Mei-Mei purrs, her voice smooth and saccharine, like honey with a hint of venom, “you’ve been doing an impressive job with the company. Your father would be proud.”

Satoru nods, keeping his tone professional.

“Thank you, Mei-Mei. We’ve made some significant strides, and I’m optimistic about the potential this merger holds for both of our companies.”

“Of course, Satoru. I’m sure we can work out something that benefits both parties. After all,” she adds, her gaze lingering on him with a knowing smile, “we’ve always made a great team, haven’t we?”

Determined to assert your own presence, you clear your throat softly and lean forward, your gaze steady and unyielding.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how our strengths can complement each other,” you interject smoothly. “There’s a lot we can achieve together.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes flicker to you. She offers a tight smile, the warmth in her expression barely masking the sharpness beneath.

“Indeed,” she concedes, her tone now laced with a hint of challenge. “Let’s make this a success, shall we?”

The meeting begins, and you do your best to focus on the discussion, but Mei-Mei’s constant flirtation with Satoru gnaws at your nerves like a persistent thorn.

You can feel the tension building within you, your hands clenched tightly in your lap as you force yourself to remain composed, every muscle in your body taut with restraint.

Mei-Mei finds every opportunity to brush her fingers against Satoru’s arm, her touch lingering just a second too long. Her laughter rings out, a bit too loud and a touch too sweet, echoing off the walls of the conference room.

Every compliment she directs at Satoru is overly effusive, dripping with a familiarity that sets your teeth on edge.

Satoru, to his credit, remains the picture of professionalism.

His responses are polite but distant, a carefully maintained detachment that you admire even as it does little to quell the irritation bubbling inside you. He’s skilled at sidestepping her advances with an almost practiced ease, deflecting her attempts to draw him into her web of flirtation.

But despite his composed demeanor, each of Mei-Mei’s calculated gestures feels like a test—a deliberate provocation meant to unsettle you, to remind you of the history that lingers between them.

The subtle, unspoken challenge in her eyes whenever she glances your way only fuels the fire simmering within you.

“So, Satoru,” Mei-Mei says, leaning closer to him, “about the merger terms, I believe we should consider revising the profit-sharing ratio. It would be beneficial for both parties.”

Her tone is persuasive, almost coaxing, as she tilts her head slightly, letting her hair fall in a way that draws attention to the graceful curve of her neck.

But before Satoru can respond, you lean forward, your voice calm yet firm, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Actually, if you look at the numbers, the current ratio is fair and balanced, ensuring both companies benefit equally from this partnership.”

For a split second, annoyance flashes in Mei-Mei’s eyes, a subtle tightening at the corners of her mouth betraying her irritation. But she quickly masks it with a polished smile, her expression smoothing over as if the moment of discord never happened.

“I see,” she replies, her voice still honeyed but with a slight edge. “Well, perhaps we can discuss this further in detail later.”

Satoru, ever the diplomat, nods in agreement, his tone steady and measured.

“We can certainly revisit that point,” he says, his gaze shifting between you and Mei-Mei, acknowledging both perspectives. “But for now, let’s proceed with the agenda.”

As the conversation continues, Mei-Mei’s relentless flirtations with Satoru are becoming more and more unbearable.

Each coy glance she throws Satoru’s way chips away at your composure, and you find it harder and harder to maintain the calm facade you’ve been desperately clinging to.

Just when you think you can’t endure it any longer, Satoru glances at his watch and suggests,

“Let’s take a short break. We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes.”

The words are like a lifeline tossed to a drowning person.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” you mutter, barely managing to keep the tremor out of your voice as you slip out of the room.

The moment you’re out of sight, you quicken your pace, your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you make a beeline for the supply room. The small, confined space offers a momentary refuge from the oppressive atmosphere of the conference room.

As you close the door behind you, the faint scent of paper and office supplies envelops you, oddly comforting in its familiarity, like a reminder of simpler times.

You start to rummage through the supplies, your hands moving automatically as you try to distract yourself from the image of Mei-Mei’s hands brushing against Satoru’s arm, her laughter echoing in your ears.

The memory plays on a loop in your mind, fueling the frustration that bubbles just beneath the surface.

You grab a few items—a stack of sticky notes, a box of paperclips—and begin organizing them on the shelf, your movements precise, almost mechanical.

Moments later, the door creaks open, and you look up to see Satoru standing in the doorway, a nostalgic smile on his face.

“Doesn’t look like you’re taking much of a break.”

“I guess old habits die hard,” your voice clipped, betraying the frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“Seeing you in here brings back memories,” he continues, stepping further into the room, his gaze sweeping over the shelves as if he, too, is remembering the countless times you’d both found yourselves in this very spot, buried in work and conversation.

The familiarity of it should be comforting, but today, it only amplifies the growing disarray you feel inside. You huff, shaking your head in exasperation.

“Since I’ve been gone, it’s obvious someone isn’t doing the supply order right,” you gesture sharply to the cluttered shelves. “Everything’s out of place.”

He chuckles softly, closing the distance between you with a few steps.

“You always were meticulous about these things. Guess no one can do it quite like you.”

Letting out a frustrated sigh, you turn back to the shelves.

“This whole day has been a mess,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him, the words escaping in a rush of pent-up emotion.

Each item you straighten feels like an attempt to impose order on something far more chaotic than these shelves—a futile effort to regain control in a situation that seems increasingly out of your grasp.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against a shelf, his posture relaxed but his eyes attentive.

“Really? I thought things were going well,” he remarks, a hint of confusion in his voice.

You turn to face him, your frustration bubbling over, no longer containable.

“Well, they’re not,” you snap, the sharpness in your voice surprising even yourself. “This merger? It’s a terrible idea. It’s obvious Mei-Mei is just trying to squeeze as much revenue out of this deal as possible, and you’re letting her.”

Satoru’s teasing expression falters, replaced by one of seriousness. He uncrosses his arms, his posture shifting as he takes a step closer, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

“What makes you say that?”

You cross your arms defensively, glaring at him.

“The terms she’s proposing are ridiculous. She’s pushing for more than her company deserves.”

“Why didn’t you say something during the meeting?” he counters, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion.

You throw your hands up in exasperation, your emotions spilling over.

“How could I?” you quip, the words escaping in a rush. “Mei-Mei was too busy batting her eyelashes and finding any excuse to touch you. Every time I tried to speak, she’d cut me off or distract you with some flirtatious nonsense.”

Satoru’s eyebrow arches, and for a moment, a smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Are you jealous?”

Your cheeks flush involuntarily, and you turn back to the shelves, grabbing a stack of papers and slamming them down with more force than necessary.

“Of course not,” you retort, your voice tinged with frustration. “It’s just... unprofessional.”

He doesn’t back down, the smirk still playing on his lips as he steps closer, closing the distance between you until he’s right in front of you.

“You’re cute when you’re jealous, you know that?” he murmurs, his tone playful, almost affectionate.

That’s the last straw.

Your patience, already worn thin, finally snaps.

“You know what? It's hard enough trying to fit into this world without someone like her treating me like I don’t belong!”

You shove the papers aside, the sound of them scattering across the table punctuating your words, and start to walk past him, needing to escape the confined space.

Satoru’s smirk vanishes as he realizes the depth of your frustration. He grabs your wrist, stopping you in your tracks, and pulls you back to him. His grip is firm but gentle, his eyes searching yours for understanding.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice sincere. “I didn’t realize how much this was bothering you.”

You look up at him, your vision blurring slightly as tears threaten to spill over. The vulnerability you’ve been trying to hold back finally breaks through, and the words tumble out before you can stop them.

“It’s just... it’s not easy being here, Satoru,” you confess, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I feel out of place, like I don’t belong and I’m constantly being judged. It’s like everyone’s waiting for me to fail.”

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze softening as he studies your face, reading the depth of your distress.

“This isn’t just about Mei-Mei, is it?” he asks gently. “Does this have anything to do with that guy at the gala last night? The one that was overly familiar with you at the bar?”

You blink in surprise, taken aback by his perceptiveness.

“What? No, this is different,” you stammer, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“Is it?” he presses gently, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your back of your hand. “Because I saw how he looked at you. And how uncomfortable you seemed.”

You shake your head, a mixture of frustration and exasperation bubbling to the surface.

“Naoya was just being his usual self, trying to provoke me,” you say dismissively.

“Naoya, huh?” Satoru’s voice hardens slightly, his expression darkening at the mention of the name. “He didn’t just try to provoke you. He was trying to undermine you in front of everyone. Who is that guy to you?”

The intensity in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat, and you can see that Satoru isn’t just curious—he’s genuinely concerned, and more than a little angry.

The protective edge in his voice tells you that he’s not going to let this go easily, and you realize that he’s picking up on more than you’d like to admit.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as you weigh your words carefully.

“He’s... he’s Haru’s father,” you finally admit, the words leaving your lips in a hesitant whisper.

Satoru’s eyes widen in shock, the sudden revelation hitting him like a physical blow.

“What? Haru’s father? Why didn’t you tell me?” There’s a sharpness in his tone now, not out of anger, but out of the raw emotion of being blindsided by something so significant.

You drop your gaze, unable to meet his eyes, the weight of your past suddenly feeling like too much to bear.

“I didn’t want to burden you with my past,” you say quietly, your voice thick with regret.

For a moment, there’s silence, thick and heavy between you, and you can feel the tension radiating off him.

But then, gently, he lifts your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch is tender, his expression softening as he looks into your eyes, searching for the truth in them.

“You’re not a burden,” he says firmly, his voice steady, leaving no room for doubt. “And Haru is part of your life. That means she’s part of mine now too.”

You hesitate, the weight of his words settling over you as you struggle to find the right response.

“Satoru, I... I just didn’t know how to bring it up,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly with the vulnerability of the confession. “I didn’t want to complicate things. It’s just… I feel like I’m constantly being tested, like I have to prove myself over and over again.”

The words spill out in a rush, the pent-up emotions you’ve been holding back finally breaking free.

He sighs softly, his expression softening as he reaches out, his fingers brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he says, his voice gentle, but there’s an underlying seriousness in his tone. “But we can’t have any more secrets between us during this arrangement. If we’re going to make this work, we need to be honest with each other.”

The sincerity in his eyes, the warmth in his touch—it all combines to create a sense of safety, a reassurance that you’re not alone in this, even if this is just a charade, it’s the comfort you desperately need.

Tears well up in your eyes again, threatening to spill out as your emotions overwhelm you. You nod, swallowing hard to keep your voice steady.

“I understand,” you whisper, “no more secrets.”

Without a word, Satoru pulls you into a gentle embrace, his arms encircling you with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.

He holds you close, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice soft but firm against your ear. “You do belong, y/n. And I’m not going to let anyone—Mei-Mei, Naoya, or anyone else—make you feel otherwise.”

As he speaks, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, and for a moment, you simply melt into his embrace, letting the warmth and security he provides wash over you.

Your heart races as his hand slowly moves up, fingers gently threading through your hair, his touch so tender it makes your breath hitch. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, his breath warm against your ear, grounding you in this shared moment of vulnerability.

But then, you pull back slightly, looking up at him, and it’s only then that you truly realize how close you are.

Your faces are mere inches apart, and the intensity in his gaze is almost overwhelming, drawing your attention to the way his eyes flicker down to your lips.

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening as you feel the magnetic pull between you, the tension thick in the air.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, anticipation building as his lips draw nearer.

But just before they brush against yours, a sliver of doubt crosses your mind—the reality of the situation, reminding you of where you are, and what you are to each other.

You pull back slightly, your voice barely a whisper.

“We should probably head back to the meeting.”

Though you say the words, your voice lacks conviction, betraying your true feelings.

Satoru’s eyes search yours for a moment longer, his forehead resting gently against yours as he takes a deep breath, the sound filled with a mix of reluctance and understanding.

He slowly pulls back, his hand lingering on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin with a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“Yeah, we should,” he agrees softly, though his tone carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

His hand slips from your cheek, the absence of his touch leaving you feeling a bit colder.

“Let’s get back to it.”

ꨄ︎

As you re-enter the conference room, Mei-Mei is already seated, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently on the table.

She looks up as you and Satoru take your seats, a sly, knowing smile playing on her lips.

“Ah, there you are,” she says, her tone dripping with faux sweetness, the honeyed edge barely masking the underlying condescension. “Shall we continue?”

Satoru clears his throat, his expression carefully neutral as he regains his composure. There’s a subtle shift in his demeanor, a steely resolve that wasn’t there before.

“Right, let’s continue where we left off.”

Mei-Mei’s smile deepens, saccharine sweet and just as poisonous, as she resumes her position with an air of unshakable confidence.

She leans forward slightly, her fingers stilling as she clasps her hands together, a picture of poised professionalism.

“Of course,” she purrs. “Now, as I was saying, the merger terms we’re proposing are quite favorable, especially considering the current market conditions. I’m confident that with a little cooperation, we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement. Perhaps we can revisit the profit-sharing ratio?”

Her words are delivered with the precision of someone who’s used to getting her way, but you can feel the subtle shift in her gaze as it flickers toward you, her eyes cold and calculating.

You glance at Satoru, seeking the silent reassurance that only he can offer in this moment.

He meets your gaze and gives you a subtle nod, the unspoken signal you’ve been waiting for. Your heart pounds in your chest, the adrenaline surging as you realize that this is your moment.

It’s now or never.

Summoning every ounce of courage within you, you rise from your seat, your voice steady and clear as it cuts through the tension in the room.

“Actually, we’ve reconsidered,” you begin, each word carefully measured. “After reviewing the terms, we’ve decided that moving forward with this merger is not in the best interest of Gojo Corporation.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes widen in surprise, her carefully crafted facade slipping for just a fraction of a second. The shock in her expression is almost imperceptible, but you catch it, the brief crack in her confidence before she quickly regains her composure.

“Excuse me?” she demands, her voice sharp with incredulity. “Are you saying you’re rejecting our proposal?”

You meet her gaze unflinchingly, standing firm with a resolve that surprises even you.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” you reply, your voice steady and unyielding. “The terms you’re proposing are not equitable, and it’s clear that your company stands to gain disproportionately from this deal. We’re not interested in a partnership that doesn’t offer balanced benefits.”

Mei-Mei’s smile tightens, the corners of her lips pulling into a strained curve as she processes your words. Her composure is slipping, the veneer of control cracking as she realizes she’s losing her grip on the situation.

Desperation flickers in her eyes as she glances toward Satoru, clearly hoping to find an ally in him.

“Satoru,” her tone laced with forced sweetness, “surely we can discuss this further—”

“I trust my wife’s judgment completely,” Satoru leans back in his chair with a calm confidence, a proud smile playing on his lips as he watches you take control of the situation. “If she says the deal isn’t right for us, then we won’t proceed.”

The finality in his tone leaves no room for negotiation and the impact of his words is immediate.

Mei-Mei’s expression falters, the last traces of her confident facade slipping away as frustration and disbelief flicker in her eyes. She forces a tight smile, nodding curtly, her eyes hardening.

“I see. Well, it’s your loss. Our offer was quite generous.”

You hold her gaze, unflinching.

“We’ll find another opportunity that aligns better with our goals. Thank you for your time.”

Mei-Mei’s eyes narrow slightly, but she says nothing more. Instead, she gathers her things with an icy precision, each movement deliberate as she rises from her seat.

The tension in the room is palpable as she turns on her heel and strides toward the door, her demeanor frosty, the sting of defeat evident in her rigid posture. The door closes behind her with a soft click, the sound echoing in the suddenly quiet room.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the tension slowly melting away as a surge of relief and empowerment floods through you.

The adrenaline rush of standing your ground leaves you feeling both exhilarated and slightly shaky, but there’s also a newfound confidence simmering beneath the surface—a realization that you’re more than capable of handling whatever comes your way.

Satoru turns to you, his smile widening with pride as he meets your gaze.

“You handled that perfectly,” the warmth in his voice is like a reassuring embrace.

You return his smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment wash over you.

“Thanks. I guess I just needed to find my voice.”

And find it you did.

ꨄ︎

As the sun begins to set, it casts a warm, golden glow through the expansive windows of the Gojo residence kitchen.

The light dances across the sleek, modern space, highlighting the clean lines of stainless-steel appliances and the smooth, cool surface of marble countertops.

You stand at the kitchen island, surrounded by a colorful array of ingredients—vibrant tomatoes, fragrant basil, and glistening cuts of meat, each carefully selected for the evening’s meal.

Satoru walks in, rolling up his sleeves with a playful grin lighting up his face.

“So, Chef,” he says with a teasing lilt in his voice, leaning casually against the counter as he takes in the scene before him. His blue eyes sparkle with excitement, “What’s on the menu tonight?”

You glance up from the cutting board, catching his gaze.

There’s a lightness in his demeanor, a boyish enthusiasm that makes you smile in return. The way he looks at you—like you’re the most interesting part of his day—sends a flutter of warmth through your chest.

“Nothing fancy. Just some homemade pasta and a simple salad. I hope that’s okay with you, Mr. Gourmet.”

“Sounds perfect,” he grins, moving to your side, ready to help. “What can I do?”

You hand him a cutting board and a knife, pointing to a colorful pile of vegetables waiting to be prepped.

“You can start by chopping these for the salad.”

He takes the knife, looking at it a bit awkwardly and glances at you with a sheepish grin.

“Alright, let’s see if I remember how to do this without losing a finger.”

You can’t help but watch with amusement as he makes a few tentative cuts, each slice uneven and clumsy. It’s clear he’s out of practice—or perhaps he never had much to begin with.

The sight of him, usually so confident, struggling with something so simple brings a smile to your face.

“Here, let me show you,” you say, moving to stand beside him.

Sliding closer, you place your hand over his on the knife handle, your touch gentle yet firm.

“You want to keep your fingers tucked in like this,” you instruct, demonstrating with your own hand, ensuring his fingers are safely out of the knife’s path. “And use a rocking motion with the knife, letting the blade do the work.”

You move his hand with yours, the rhythm of the knife creating a soothing pattern.

Satoru watches you intently, the proximity making your heart race. The warmth of his hand beneath yours sends a shiver up your spine.

As you continue to guide him, your hands move together in sync, and you can’t help but notice the way his focus shifts from the vegetables to you, his blue eyes flickering with something deeper than just concentration.

“Got it,” he murmurs softly.

You continue to guide his hand, feeling the rhythm of the chopping become smoother.

“Like this?”

“Exactly,” you reply, meeting his gaze, your heart fluttering at the intensity in his eyes. “See? It’s not so hard once you get the hang of it.”

He chuckles, and his eyes remain locked on yours, a playful spark mingling with the more serious undercurrent in his expression.

“Not hard at all, especially with such a good teacher.”

The moment lingers, the air between you charged with a newfound intimacy. Reluctantly, you step back, breaking the spell as you release your hold on the knife.

“I think you’ve got it from here.”

Satoru nods, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he returns to the vegetables with a newfound determination.

There is a new awareness in the way he handles the knife, as if he’s carrying forward the memory of your touch.

The two of you work in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the rhythmic chopping of vegetables and the sizzle of garlic in the pan.

It feels oddly domestic, a far cry from the high-stakes world of corporate mergers and charity galas.

The simplicity of this moment, shared in the soft light of the kitchen, is a refreshing contrast to the complexities of your usual lives.

“You know, I never imagined I’d be doing something like this,” Satoru admits after a while, his voice breaking the silence. “But I’m glad I am.”

You glance over at him, catching the sincerity in his eyes, and you can’t help but smile.

“Cooking is kind of therapeutic for me, you know,” you say, your voice thoughtful as you turn your attention back to the task at hand. “It helps me clear my mind, and it’s something I can control, unlike so many other things in life.”

Satoru watches you for a moment, his expression softening as he absorbs your words. There’s a quiet admiration in his gaze, one that you can feel even without looking at him.

“You know, I gotta say, you’re really good at this.”

“Hm? Cooking?” you ask, glancing up at him with a curious tilt of your head.

“No,” his voice softens. “Balancing everything. Being a mother, dealing with me, and now standing up in that meeting. You’re incredible.”

His words catch you off guard, the sincerity in his tone wrapping around your heart like a warm embrace.

Your cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the heat of the stove.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words, the gravity of his praise settling in. You turn your attention back to the stove, stirring the sauce with a renewed focus, using the task to steady yourself.

“Thanks, Satoru,” you finally manage. “That means a lot.”

As you continue to cook, the tension of the day begins to melt away, replaced by a sense of calm that settles over you like a warm blanket.

The kitchen fills with the rich, mouthwatering aroma of simmering tomatoes, fresh basil, and garlic, the scents mingling together to create an atmosphere that feels both comforting and intimate.

Satoru moves beside you with surprising grace, each motion purposeful and smooth, belying his earlier claims of inexperience.

You find yourself stealing glances at him, admiring the way his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the toned muscles of his forearms as he works.

There’s a quiet concentration in his expression, a focus that draws you in, making it impossible not to notice the way he’s completely absorbed in the task at hand.

“Looks like you’re a natural.”

Your words earn you a grin, his usual playfulness shining through.

“Don’t jinx it,” he warns, making a particularly precise cut with the knife, his movements confident and sure.

You laugh, the sound light and carefree as you turn back to the sauce simmering on the stove.

“I think it’s time to taste this,” you say, stirring the rich, fragrant mixture with a wooden spoon. “Want to give it a try?”

Satoru nods, stepping closer, the space between you narrowing as he joins you at the stove.

You scoop a bit of the sauce onto a spoon, blowing on it gently to cool it down before lifting it to your lips for a taste. The rich, tangy flavors explode on your tongue, the perfect balance of sweetness and acidity.

“Mmm, I think it’s almost perfect,” you murmur, savoring the taste, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment as you let the flavors linger.

“Almost?” he asks, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of challenge.

You smile, opening your eyes to find his gaze fixed on you, the intensity in his blue eyes sending a shiver down your spine.

“Here, taste,” you say, holding the spoon up to his lips, your hand steady.

He leans in, his movements slow and deliberate, every inch closer making your heart beat a little faster. His eyes remain locked on yours with an unspoken intensity, and as his lips close around the spoon, you find yourself holding your breath, waiting for his reaction.

There’s a brief pause as he savors the sauce, his expression thoughtful.

“Wow, that’s delicious,” his voice low and sincere.

Just as you’re about to smile in response, you feel a light touch on your lip. Before you can react, Satoru reaches out, his thumb gently swiping at the corner of your mouth where a bit of sauce had lingered.

The unexpected contact sends a jolt of electricity through you, your breath catching in your throat.

Without breaking eye contact, he brings his thumb to his own lips, tasting the sauce with a playful smirk that leaves you momentarily speechless.

“Now that’s perfect.”

The simple gesture, so intimate and unassuming, leaves you flustered, warmth spreading through your cheeks.

The kitchen seemed to grow smaller and the air thicker.

You quickly turn your attention back to stirring the pasta, desperately trying to steady your racing heart and regain your composure as you move the spoon in slow, deliberate circles.

“You always know how to make things interesting,” you manage to say, your voice betraying the flutter of nerves that Satoru has stirred up.

He chuckles softly, a sound that vibrates through the small space between you, and you feel him step closer until his chest is nearly brushing against your back.

The warmth of his presence wraps around you, cocooning you in a sense of comfort and something more—something electric.

“I could say the same about you,” his breath warm against your ear.

You turn slightly, your breath catching as you realize just how close he is. His blue eyes, so focused and intense, lock onto yours, and the world seems to narrow to just the two of you.

Satoru leans in, his voice dropping to a soft murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You have a way of making everything more exciting, y/n.”

You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry as your eyes flicker to his lips and then back to his eyes.

The pull between you is magnetic, undeniable, and you struggle to maintain your composure.

“Maybe it’s just because you’re so easily entertained,” you tease, your voice barely above a whisper, trying to diffuse the intensity of the moment with a hint of playfulness.

He grins, the expression sending your heart into a wild flutter.

Slowly, his hand moves to rest on the counter beside you, effectively trapping you in place. The gesture is subtle yet commanding, his body language exuding a quiet confidence that leaves you feeling both exhilarated and breathless.

“Or maybe it’s because you’re just that captivating,” he counters, his voice a hushed rumble that sends another wave of warmth through you.

“Okaaay, Mr. Smooth Talker,” you manage to say, your voice tinged with nervous laughter as you attempt to regain some semblance of control. “How about you help me with the garlic bread?”

The suggestion is your lifeline, a way to shift the focus and calm your racing heart before you’re completely lost in the moment.

Satoru’s grin widens, clearly enjoying your flustered state.

“Whatever you need, Chef,” he replies, his tone lightening as he pushes away from the counter and moves to the other side of the kitchen.

The distance between you offers a brief reprieve, allowing you to steady your breathing and refocus on the task at hand.

Get it together—this isn’t real.

ꨄ︎

The table is set with a simple elegance that mirrors the meal you’ve prepared—fresh pasta topped with a rich, fragrant tomato sauce, golden garlic bread still warm from the oven, and a crisp, colorful salad that adds a splash of vibrancy to the setting.

Haru, already seated with her eyes wide in anticipation, swings her little legs under the table, her excitement palpable.

“Mama, pasta!” she exclaims, her voice filled with childlike wonder.

Her gaze flickers from the steaming plates to the basket of garlic bread, her small hands already reaching for a slice as if she can hardly wait another moment.

Satoru chuckles as he takes his seat beside her, his smile widening at the sight of her enthusiasm.

“Patience, Haru,” he teases, ruffling her hair affectionately. “Let’s wait for your mama to sit down.”

You join them at the table, a soft smile playing on your lips as you take in the scene.

Carefully, you begin to serve the plates, starting with Haru. You scoop a generous portion of pasta onto her plate, the rich tomato sauce clinging perfectly to the tender strands.

“There you go, sweetie,” you say with a smile, placing the plate in front of her. “But remember, eat slowly, okay? We have all the time in the world.”

Haru nods eagerly, though you can tell she’s barely restraining herself. Her little fingers curl around her fork, her eyes never leaving the plate as she prepares to dive in.

Next, you turn to Satoru, serving him a plate with equal care.

The pasta glistens under the soft light, the aroma of garlic and herbs wafting up as you set it before him.

As you place the plate down, his eyes meet yours, and in that brief moment, there’s a silent exchange—one of gratitude, warmth, and something deeper, something unspoken but understood.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You nod in response, your heart warming at the connection between you, simple yet profound.

Meanwhile, Haru’s eyes widen even further as she finally takes her first bite.

The flavors burst in her mouth, her little face lighting up with pure delight. She chews enthusiastically, her expression one of sheer happiness, and you can’t help but smile at her reaction.

“Yummy!” she declares, her mouth full as she grins up at you.

Her words are filled with such genuine enthusiasm and innocence that it makes your heart swell with pride.

Satoru watches Haru with a fond smile before he too takes a bite of the meal you’ve lovingly prepared.

His expression shifts almost immediately to one of pleasant surprise, his eyes widening slightly as the flavors settle on his palate. He chews thoughtfully, savoring the blend of fresh ingredients and the care that went into the preparation.

“She’s right. This is amazing, you really outdid yourself.”

A smile spreads across your face, a warmth blooming in your chest at their praise.

It’s a simple meal, nothing extravagant, but the way they’re enjoying it makes it feel like the most special dinner in the world.

“I’m glad you both like it. It’s nice to be able to cook for you.”

As you begin to eat, the room fills with the sounds of contentment—Haru’s happy chatter as she dives into her meal, Satoru’s occasional hum of approval as he tastes each dish, and the gentle clinking of cutlery against plates.

The meal continues and the three of you fall into an easy rhythm, the conversation flowing naturally.

Haru tells stories about her day, her voice animated as she shares every little detail. Satoru listens attentively, his focus on her unwavering, his smile growing with each of her excited exclamations.

At one point, Haru insists on feeding Satoru a bite of her pasta, her giggles bubbling up like a stream as she carefully maneuvers the fork towards his mouth.

Satoru, ever the playful one, exaggerates the motion, opening his mouth wide and making a show of how delicious the bite is. He rolls his eyes in mock ecstasy, his exaggerated reaction sending Haru into a fit of laughter that rings out like the purest music.

The way Satoru looks at Haru, with such genuine affection and warmth, causes a tightness in your chest—a beautiful, almost overwhelming sensation that swells within you.

His eyes are soft, his smile unguarded, and in that moment, you can see just how much he cherishes these little interactions with her.

It’s a sight that tugs at your heartstrings, making you realize just how deeply he’s become entwined in both your lives.

Taking in this moment, you feel a deep sense of contentment, a quiet happiness that fills your heart to the brim.

This scene, so ordinary yet so special, feels like a moment you want to hold onto forever.

It is a culmination of everything you’ve been striving for—a sense of belonging, of family, of home.

Ah, but this isn’t real—just a charade.

Just as this warmth settles in your heart, a pang of bittersweetness follows.

Yet, despite knowing the truth, you can’t help but wish, just for a moment, that it could be.

Haru, now tired from all the excitement, leans against Satoru, her small head resting on his arm. Her eyelids grow heavy, her earlier energy now spent, and she begins to drift off, her breaths becoming slow and rhythmic.

Satoru glances at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

“You know,” he begins, his voice low and sincere, “I could get used to this. We should cook more often. Sharing meals like this... it’s nice.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a second, the line between reality and pretense blurs. You nod, but your mind races.

This is just a charade… right?

Yet, as you look into Satoru’s eyes, the warmth there makes you question everything. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a part of him that feels the same way you do—a longing for this to be more than just an act.

ꨄ︎

The late afternoon sunlight filters through the curtains of the Gojo mansion, casting a warm golden grown across the living room.

You sit on the couch as Haru plays on the floor, completely absorbed in her toys, her little hands guiding her dolls through an imagined world of adventure and make-believe.

Her soft giggles and murmured conversations with her toys bring a smile to your face, filling the room with a sense of peace and contentment.

Satoru had business to attend to, and before leaving, he made sure you had the rest of the day to spend with Haru.

It’s a rare and treasured opportunity, these quiet hours spent together, free from the demands of the outside world.

As you watch Haru, you feel a deep sense of gratitude for this time—this simple, unhurried togetherness that feels so rare in your often chaotic lives.

But then, the doorbell rings, cutting through the tranquility like a sharp knife.

You glance toward the door, your heart giving a slight, uneasy flutter.

Pushing aside the apprehension creeping into your chest, you rise from the couch, taking a steadying breath as you approach the door.

When you open it, you’re met with the sight of a stern-looking man in a crisp suit, his expression as unyielding as his posture.

There’s something about his demeanor that instantly puts you on edge. He’s holding an envelope in one hand, his grip firm, almost as if the paper holds some kind of weight beyond its physical presence.

“Mrs. Gojo?” he asks, his voice flat, businesslike.

The formal tone sends a shiver down your spine, and you nod cautiously, a sense of dread unfurling in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes, that’s me,” you reply, your voice a little more tentative than you’d like.

Without another word, he thrusts the envelope into your hands, his gaze unwavering as he says,

“You’ve been served.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and ominous. Your fingers tighten around the envelope as confusion and alarm spike within you.

“Served? For what?” you ask, your voice betraying the anxiety that’s quickly rising.

The man’s expression remains unchanged, impassive.

“Custody of Haru. Mr. Naoya Zenin is filing for full custody,” he states matter-of-factly, as if it’s just another routine task for him, another case on a long list.

The shock of his words hits you like a physical blow, your breath catching in your throat.

For a moment, you stand there frozen, the reality of the situation slowly sinking in as he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you standing in the doorway, the envelope clutched tightly in your hand.

This can’t be happening.

With trembling hands, you tear open the envelope, your eyes darting across the densely packed lines of legal jargon. Each word seems to blur into the next as your heart pounds furiously in your chest.

This is happening.

A cold wave of dread washes over you, settling deep in your bones as the reality of the situation begins to take hold.

Just a few feet away, Haru is still playing in the living room, her laughter and cheerful babble a stark contrast to the turmoil that’s unraveling in your mind.

She’s completely oblivious to the storm that’s brewing, her innocence a painful reminder of what’s at stake.

As you stand there, frozen in place, your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your daze.

You glance down at the screen, your stomach knotting as you see Naoya’s name flash across it. With a sense of dread, you unlock the phone and read the message.

Naoya Zenin: There, hopefully I finally have your attention. I suggest giving me a call if you want to avoid this all.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, a toxic mix of fear and anger bubbling up inside you.

Your hands shake uncontrollably as you stare at the message, the smugness practically oozing from each word.

You force yourself to take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to consume you.

With shaky fingers, you dial Naoya’s number. Each ring feels like an eternity, and when he finally answers, his voice is dripping with satisfaction.

“Y/n, I was wondering when you’d call,” he purrs, his tone as smooth as ever, but laced with an unmistakable undercurrent of smugness.

“What the hell is this, Naoya?” you demand, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and fear. “You’re filing for full custody of Haru?”

There’s a pause, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he finally responds. He chuckles softly, the sound sending chills down your spine.

“I see you got my notice. Good. It’s time we discussed Haru’s future.”

The casual tone in his voice, as if this is just another business deal, ignites a fire within you. But before you can respond, he continues, his voice turning colder.

“I’m sending you an address. Meet me here tomorrow. Oh, and y/n.” his voice drops, becoming even more sinister, “I strongly suggest you don’t involve Satoru—unless you want this to become a nasty custody battle.”

His words hang in the air, a thinly veiled threat that tightens around your chest like a vice.

You stand there, phone in hand, the weight of his ultimatum pressing down on you.

The line goes dead.

a/n. strap in guys we are approaching some angst 🥺 oh if only reader knew how down bad satoru is for her 🥲 i actually really struggled with how i wanted this chapter to be structured, there are a lot of scenes i ended up writing that i opted to move to a later chapter because i just felt it was too rushed. the slow burn of this relationship is really important to me, so ultimately, i think it was for the best. would love to hear your thoughts! thanks for reading my fic 🫶🏻 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

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jungkoode · 5 months ago

Text

I tag my related asks/posts for visibility and won’t be changing this. If this bothers you, I encourage you to block or filter my content. I promise you I don’t care. Messages about tagging will be ignored.

Don’t want to see my posts? Here’s my tags.

Still looking for an explanation? It’s right here.

I avoid Y/N mentions in my works. Nicknames are the norm.

Read author intros/tw before engaging with any of my stories.

My stories are very slow burn. Know what you’re getting into.

Updates explained on faq.

UNLESS MENTIONED, ALL OF MY WORKS ARE EXPLICIT, 18+.

✧ ( fuck me up ) - ongoing

✧ aka FMU ✧ jungkook x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

Author intros/tw.

this one's not for the faint of heart. it's messy, it's raw, and it's complicated. you'll meet jungkook at his most difficult—emotionally distant, a little bit broken, and hiding behind the physical connection he has with y/n. a one-night stand turns into something neither of them can define, and their journey is as emotionally charged as it is physically intense as they navigate their roommate situation.

✿ heavy on the angst ✿ lots of psychological depth ✿ fuck-buddies-to-something-more ✿ trauma, healing, and everything in between

if you're into stories where the characters push and pull until they collapse into each other—this one's for you.

₊˚✧ ( kkangpae ) ₊˚✧ - ongoing

₊˚✧ aka KGP, KK ₊˚✧ jeon x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

Author intros/tw.

welcome to the dark side of seoul, where attachment means death and rules are written in blood. you'll meet jeon at his most lethal—cold, precise, and carrying the weight of a past painted in red. when you join kkangpae's seduction division, you know the rules. no relationships. no exceptions. but there's something about the way the chief assassin looks at you that makes you wonder if some rules are worth dying for.

✿ heavy on violence and gore ✿ complex power dynamics ✿ enemies-to-lovers-fuck-buddies with dire stakes ✿ psychological trauma and moral ambiguity ✿ 500k EMOTIONAL slow burn gang au

if you're into stories where love and death dance too close for comfort—where every kiss could be a bullet and trust is a luxury no one can afford—this one's going to break you in all the right ways.

₊˚✧ ( the 25th hour ) ₊˚✧ - ongoing

✧ aka 25H ✧ yoongi x f!reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

Author intros/tw.

in a world where time is strictly regulated, some people called Outliers still experience the forbidden 25th hour. when they do, they're erased—rewritten into obedient citizens with no memory of who they were.

you've always been normal, until the night you wake at 1:59 AM and meet min yoongi, a mysterious agent who seems to already know you. now, hunted by the authorities, you must uncover the truth: about the 25th hour, about yoongi, and about the versions of yourself you don't remember.

✦ dystopian psychological thriller ✦ time-bending romance ✦ mystery, conspiracy, forbidden love ✦ angst with a side of existential dread

if you like plot twists, reality-questioning narratives, and achingly star-crossed romance, this story is your next obsession.

₊˚✧ ( unmanageable ) ₊˚✧ - TBD

✧ aka UM ✧ jungkook x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

Author intros/tw.

welcome to the gladiator pit of seoul's entertainment industry, where you'll meet jungkook at his most lethal—korea's ice prince with dead eyes and a talent for verbal execution. aloof, sarcastic, trust issues deeper than his bank account, and a coldness that makes winter feel like a beach vacation. when HALYX dumps his impossible ass on your desk, it's clear why every handler before you quit: the man's never heard the word "no" until you showed up with your clipboard and zero tolerance for celebrity bullshit. he thinks your efficiency is a personal attack; you think his designer tantrums are beneath someone with his talent. what neither of you expected? the sick satisfaction of finding the one person who won't back down; of having someone see your worst and stay anyway, even if it's just to prove they can break you first.

✧ 2 professionals 1 wrong word from career homicide ✧ spite/hatred so electric it could power seoul ✧ emotional warfare disguised as management ✧ enemies to lovers but the enemies part is probably 300k words long bc i’m tired of enemies not enemying

if you need stories where contempt feels like foreplay and professional distance becomes the biggest lie two people ever told themselves—this one's going to live in your head rent-free long after you finish

₊˚✧ ( code : epitaph ) ₊˚✧ - TBD

✧ aka C:E ✧ namjoon x female reader

ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [[tumblr]]

Author intros/tw.

veyrah is a dying planet where survival means sacrifice and hatred runs deeper than blood. namjoon—the cold engineer of a system designed to decide who lives and who dies—gets paired to you as a 100% genetic match, and thus you're both sentenced to 60 days of forced proximity before the final transference. one of you will survive the blood ritual. one of you will die. no one knows which until the moment arrives.

as the daughter of executed traitors and a rebel hacker with too much blood on your hands, you hate everything he stands for. as the warden who built the system that keeps the last fragments of humanity alive, he despises your chaos. but as you're forced to navigate the broken sectors together—completing missions, dodging assassins, and fighting the clock—your mutual loathing becomes the only constant in a world determined to break you both.

✧ open-world dystopian AU ✧ raw hatred ✧ death sentence ticking in the background ✧ blood bonds and brutal choices ✧ 60 days until one must die

if you're drawn to stories where hatred and understanding are two sides of the same knife—where every shared breath is a countdown and trust is the most dangerous weapon—this one's going to leave scars in all the places you can't heal.

✧ ( 5 seconds to freedom ) - TBD

✧ aka 5STF ✧ latino!jimin x female reader | street racing Tokyo au ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [[tumblr]]

Author intros/tw.

in tokyo's underground racing scene, respect isn't given—it's earned at 200km/h with your life on the line. for years, you've been untouchable as "hachiroku," the drift queen whose AE86 has humiliated men with cars worth ten times yours. then he arrives. jimin—"jaque"—with his midnight purple skyline and spanish curses when he's pissed. cocky. reckless. the bastard who handed you your first and only defeat. now he's everywhere—leaning against your car, watching you with those eyes that see too much, calling you "princesa" just to watch you scowl. by day, you're trapped in a life of obligation—the perfect heiress engaged to the perfect son of the perfect family. by night, you're free. but freedom has a new price when jimin starts blurring lines you've carefully drawn, making you question which version of yourself is real.

✧ high-octane street racing culture ✧ heiress with a dangerous secret identity ✧ rivals-to-lovers with explosive chemistry ✧ forbidden attraction across social divides ✧ complex family legacies and responsibilities

if you crave stories where every rev of an engine feels like a heartbeat and every race is a confession—where two people from opposite worlds find freedom in the five seconds after the light turns green—this one will leave you breathless.

✧ ( in the presence of you ) - TBD

✧ aka IPY ✧ prince!seokjin x princess!reader | royalty, 1700/1800s

ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

Author intros/tw.

when two kingdoms collide, the casualties are counted in pride. yours being the most devastating. aurenne's spoiled crown princess shipped off to daeryndor like a pretty peace offering—married to a man who treats you like an inconvenient ghost in his own palace. seokjin may have the demeanor of carved marble, but you've never met a statue you couldn't crack. too bad he seems immune to your charms, because he doesn't look at you during dinner. doesn't acknowledge your existence beyond what duty requires. and somehow that hurts worse than if he'd shown outright disdain. it wasn't supposed to be like this—you, the girl who's been adored your entire life, now sleeping ten feet from a husband who'd rather read diplomatic scrolls than touch you.

two kingdoms, two heirs, one marriage bed you're both too proud to share—until you're not.

✧ pride and prejudice but make it royal ✧ slow burn to rival an ice age ✧ bratty heiress meets stoic prince ✧ the most lavish emotional edging you'll ever read ✧ arranged marriage with actual character development

if you're drawn to stories where dignity crumbles one forbidden touch at a time... this tale will consume you completely.

✧ ( we grew up somewhere along the way ) - TBD

✧ aka WGU ✧ hoseok x female reader

ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: [tumblr]

Author intros/tw.

five years in osaka turned hoseok into someone you barely recognize—a hentai manga artist with stained fingers and a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. you were supposed to get a coffee, catch up, and move on with your lives. instead, you keep finding excuses to show up at his tiny apartment, pretending it's not the only place in this foreign city that feels like it could be home. he still calls you "capy" like you're twelve, still sprawls across every inch of space like it belongs to him. you still call him "ott" with that eye roll that says you're above this, above him. but neither of you can explain why the air feels different when your knees touch under his drawing table, or why you keep volunteering to model for his stupid cat-girl character even though you'd rather die than admit it feels good when he tells you you're doing it right.

❀ childhood friends to strangers to something terrifying ❀ osaka, 2003—vending machines and konbini dinners ❀ GRUMPY (yn) x SUNSHINEEEE (hobi) ❀ two people avoiding adulthood at all costs ❀ "it's just for the manga" (it's not)

if you're into messy reconnections where the stupid nickname he gave you at nine still makes your stomach flip at twenty-five—where being known is both the most comforting and most terrifying feeling in the world—then you'll find yourself in every silence between their words.

✧ ( strings attached (to my heart) )

updates: when goal in part 2 is reached.

✧ aka SA(TMH), strings attached ✧ jungkook x female reader ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: part 1 | part 2

Author intros/tw.

when your local friendly neighborhood spider-man can't stop bringing you snacks at your favorite cafe, and a certain clumsy freshman keeps showing up at the most suspicious times, something's gotta give. featuring: a supply closet, some very interesting revelations, and jungkook absolutely losing it when you touch him.

✿ spiderman au ✿ college setting ✿ sexual tension ✿ virgin!jungkook ✿ 25k words of pure self-indulgence

if you're into flustered jungkook, secret identities, and things getting spicy in inappropriate places—this one might be your new favorite.

✧ ( off-labels ) — mini series | completed

✧ aka OL ✧ hoseok x female reader tumblr link 𝟘𝟙 | 𝟘𝟚 | 𝟘𝟛 | 𝟘𝟜 | 𝟘𝟝 | 𝟘𝟞 | 𝟘𝟟 | 𝟘𝟠 | 𝟘𝟡 | 𝟙𝟘 | 𝟙𝟙 AO3 link: [archive of our own] | wattpad: [wattpad]

Author intros/tw.

when your brother’s best friend is the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program, and you’re just trying to survive your first year of med school without combusting every time he offers to “help you study.” between his perfectly pressed white coat, those steady hands that have probably held hearts, and the way he keeps finding excuses to explain anatomy in that low voice—you’re starting to think your chronic overthinking might be the least of your problems.

✿ medical school au ✿ brother’s best friend trope ✿ gentle!dom hoseok acting innocent ✿ plausible deniability king hoseok ✿ competency kink ✿ mini series

if you’re into smart men who pretend not to know what they’re doing, forbidden attraction, and things getting inappropriately educational in study rooms—this one’s for you.

✧ ( altars in shallow waters ) - ongoing

✧ aka ASW ✧ stalker!taehyung x ballerina!reader

ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Author intros/tw.

MOODBOARD.

in the forgotten corners of paris, where mold creeps up studio walls and mirrors collect the ghosts of movement, there's a ritual forming. he watches from the shadows as you dance—counting your breaths, cataloging your mistakes, collecting the ribbons you discard. his devotion isn't love. it's something older. something that reeks of salt water and rust. when your eyes finally meet his through smudged glass, something inside you recognizes the worship in his stare. you shouldn't want it. you shouldn't test how far his fixation goes. but there's something about being the center of someone's universe that makes even the most controlled people come undone.

✧ psychological fixation that blurs into reverence ✧ mirror-worship and the horror of being truly seen ✧ obsessive rituals disguised as coincidence ✧ rotting beauty in decaying urban spaces ✧ sea-salt imagery and drowning metaphors

if you crave stories where devotion becomes disease—where every accidental touch feels like baptism and every shared glance is confession—this will pull you under until you forget how to breathe. this isn't romance. it's what happens when two broken people turn each other into gods.

✧ ( margins ) - TBD

✧ aka MG ✧ jungkook x female reader

ao3 link: [archive of our own] wattpad link: [wattpad] tumblr link: 01

ko-fi

early access: 01

snippets

Author intros/tw.

london's literary golden boy meets his professional nightmare. he thinks bestseller status means rules don't apply. you think his ego deserves a restraining order. he submits manuscripts titled fuckyoufuckYOUFINAL.pdf at 3AM. you reply with perfectly formatted emails titled "Are You Serious Right Now." he leaves coffee rings on your desk. you've considered murder via papercut. the entire publishing house has evacuation protocols for when you're both in the same room. your coworkers have started a support group.

when his contract lands on the chopping block, you're both chained to an impossible deadline: 180 days, one book, one publicity tour, minimal bloodshed. then you find it—not his manuscript, but transcripts of every fight you've ever had. he's been studying you. using you. turning you into words on a page.

"she alphabetizes her bookshelf. i leave my manuscripts in the bathtub. we were never going to work."

✧ chaos gremlin vs. order overlord ✧ professional oil and water ✧ cat and dog vibes ✧ "did you seriously wear PJs to a BOARD MEETING" ✧ mutual screaming that produces bestsellers ✧ that exasperating workplace romcom energy where HR needs therapy

if you're trash for those dynamics where she's all structure and he's all impulse—where they fight like cats and dogs but somehow make the perfect disaster together—this one will have you bookmarking every delicious page.

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haniette · 4 months ago

Text

familiar stranger. // ln4

pairing | lando norris x fem!reader

genre | fluff, lots of angst, situationship au, suggestive !! (but no real smut scenes), hurt-comfort

word count | 9.7k

warnings | no use of y/n, suggestive in some moments, hot making-out scene, no description of smut scene, body shaming, toxic relationship, manipulative behaviour, crying, cursing, heartbreak, pet names (angel), lots of tension, pinning.

inspired by: kenya grace — strangers, chappel roan — casual

summary: once, they were caught in a messy situationship—passion without promises, love without labels—until life turned them into strangers. when their paths cross again, old sparks reignite, and buried emotions rush back. but it isn't as perfect as one can imagine.

a/n: hii how are youuuuu <3 hope you're all doing alright :) dropping off this real quick before getting back to finishing one long work for you guys hehe~

The wedding was full of people, sparkling dresses, clinking glasses, and soft laughter. But even in the sea of guests, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider here.

This was supposed to be a celebration. A chance to enjoy the happy moments of other people’s lives. But there you were, half-heartedly smiling and nodding through conversations, just going through the motions, your mind not quite here. Your fingers absently traced the engagement ring on your finger as your eyes scanned the room.

Eric, your fiancé, had insisted you come, mostly to help him fill out the social circles and be his shoulder candy, but your heart wasn’t in it. The familiar comfort of your daily routine felt like a faraway dream as the buzz of the wedding slowly settled into a heavy weight on your chest.

You hadn’t wanted to attend it, but you’d gone anyway, playing the part of the dutiful fiancée. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were running from something. Or maybe, someone.

You stepped outside for a moment of fresh air, hoping to clear your head. The cool night air wrapped around you like a quiet blanket, and you leaned against the stone wall, taking a deep breath, trying to steady the storm inside.

For a moment, the quiet felt good. But then, you heard it—the familiar laughter, playful and carefree. It wrapped around you like a warm, but painful memory. You didn’t need to look to know whom it belonged to, but you did anyway.

Lando. He stood there, leaning casually against a pillar, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips. The curls that you once loved to run your fingers through now framed his face like they were meant to be there, a bit longer than they used to be. His jaw was sharper, more defined, the boyish softness you remembered now replaced with the quiet intensity of a man who had seen more of the world, who had grown into himself.

But his eyes—those beautiful aquamarine eyes—were the same. And in that moment, it felt like nothing had changed. It felt like no time had passed at all like you were back to being that girl who had laughed with him, who had shared late-night kisses in his car, whose heart had once been his. And for a moment, you wondered if he could still feel the pull of the past like you did.

You stood frozen, just staring at him, trying to process what was happening. You hadn’t prepared for this. You didn’t even know if you wanted to see him, but there he was—Lando, in the flesh, as if he’d never left.

The moment stretched out, as though the world around you had stilled, your heartbeat louder than any sound in the room. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his gaze met yours.

His lips parted in recognition, the faintest flicker of surprise in his expression, followed by something darker, something deeper. There was a hint of disbelief in his eyes as he excused himself from the group he was talking to, and took a step toward you. His movements were slow and deliberate, as if unsure if he should approach if the moment was real.

You swallowed, trying to find your voice. The words were tangled in your chest, caught between a thousand emotions—anger, longing, regret.

“Lando…” You said, your voice quiet, a little hoarse, as if saying his name alone carried more weight than you could bear.

His smile was hesitant at first, but it quickly softened, and there it was—that familiar tenderness, that same boyish warmth that had once made you feel like the only person in the world.

“Hey,” He said softly, his voice a quiet murmur that made your pulse quicken. “It’s really good to see you.” His gaze lingered on you for a heartbeat too long, and you felt yourself drowning in that look, in everything that had been and could never be again.

You swallowed hard, trying to hold your composure, but it was hard—so hard. “It’s been a while.” You managed, your words coming out shakier than you’d intended.

“Yeah,” He said, his voice low, almost regretful, “A while.”

The air between you was thick, charged with years of unspoken things. The questions you never asked, the things you never got the chance to say. The tension hung there, like a fragile thread ready to snap, and neither of you seemed ready to pull on it.

And then, as if the universe were reminding you of the life you’d built since then, you heard the soft call of Eric’s voice. “Darling?”

You turned your head, your heart dropping just a little as you saw him—your fiancé, his hand reaching for your waist, pulling you toward him effortlessly. His touch was steady, but in that moment, it felt like a stark contrast to the warmth Lando had once given you. You pulled yourself together, even though every part of you wanted to stay in that moment forever.

Eric’s arm slipped around your waist. “Everything okay out here?” He asked, his voice light like the situation was nothing more than a casual break from the festivities.

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just needed some air.” You turned back toward Lando, not sure how to handle the sudden intrusion of your present with the ghost of your past standing in front of you.

Lando’s gaze shifted toward Eric, his expression hardening for a brief moment before he composed himself, offering a polite but distant smile. You could tell it wasn’t easy for him, even though he tried to hide it. His eyes never quite left you, though.

Eric glanced at Lando, clearly sizing him up. “This is Eric, my fiancé.” You said softly, biting the inner of your cheek nervously. Eric extended a hand, still with that easygoing grin. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Lando hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took Eric’s hand, his grip firm but distant, his eyes flicking to you before quickly returning to Eric. “Likewise.” He said, his voice neutral, yet you could feel the undertones beneath it. It wasn’t nice for him to meet Eric.

An uncomfortable silence stretched for a beat before you felt the weight of the moment. You cleared your throat, trying to smooth over the awkwardness. You hadn’t thought about what to say next, but the words that came out felt strange, a little too forced.

“This is Lando,” You began, your voice faltering slightly as you introduced him. “An old... friend.”

The words tasted foreign like they didn’t belong in your mouth. Old friend. It felt like a betrayal, a lie as if you were reducing everything that had once been between you—so real and vivid to nothing more than a passing acquaintance.

Lando’s stomach twisted at the nickname, a small flicker of something dark crossing his face. An old friend. It stung more than he expected, cutting deeper than he cared to admit. You had made him a stranger in your life. A ghost. And now, standing there, he realized how much he regretted letting that happen. His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile, nodding at the label you had assigned him.

“Yeah,” Lando replied quietly, looking down for just a second, a small breath escaping him. “Old friend.”

There was something in the way he said it—soft, almost too soft—that made your heart ache. It was like hearing the echo of something that used to matter, something that had once been everything to both of you, now reduced to a polite formality.

Eric didn’t seem to notice the undercurrent of discomfort. He laughed lightly, giving Lando a friendly clap on the back. “It’s good to meet you, Lando. Big fan of yours.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.” Lando sent him a weak smile, trying to be polite but knowing him well, you immediately noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes.

You could see the tension in Lando’s shoulders, the subtle way his eyes flickered back toward you—like he wanted to say something, anything, to break the uncomfortable silence that had settled between the three of you. But instead, he took a small step back.

“Uh… yeah— You know, I think I should probably head back inside,” Lando said, his voice strained, though he tried to mask it with casualness. “Good to see you again.”

You nodded, but it felt like your whole body was screaming for him to stay, for him to not disappear, again.

“I’ll see you around.” You said, but your voice didn’t quite match the words.

Lando gave a small smile, though his eyes were distant. “Take care.” He said softly before turning to walk away.

His movements were slow, as though each step toward the door was one he didn’t want to take. But he did it anyway, vanishing into the crowd with that same quiet intensity that had always surrounded him.

You stood there, rooted in place, as Eric wrapped his arm around you, leading you back into the reception. The words felt hollow in your ears. You could feel Lando’s absence once again, like a physical ache. You wanted to look back, but you didn’t.

You didn’t want to watch him walk away for the second time in your life.

The weight of it all—the years, the distance, the things both of you hadn’t said, the way he’d slipped from your grasp—hung heavy between your ribs. And when you glanced down at the engagement ring on your finger, it suddenly felt colder and heavier than it ever had before.

And in that moment, you realized that maybe you were still waiting for him to come back and say it wasn’t over. That you two weren’t complete strangers, after all.

────୨ৎ────

The soft buzz of conversation and laughter filtered through the ballroom doors, the music pulsing in the background, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go back in. The cool night air was a balm to your racing nerves, but you still felt the weight of everything that had happened earlier. Everything that had been said without being said.

You stepped out onto the balcony, the chill of the evening air brushing against your skin as you leaned on the stone railing, gazing out at the dimly lit garden below.

Your thoughts were a tangled mess, but there was one memory that stood out more than the others, one that seemed to pull you in with magnetic force.

The night when everything had shifted.

The office lights flickered faintly in the early evening haze, a reflection of the weariness that clung to your every step. The hum of your boss’s voice, sharp and unrelenting, still echoed in your mind as you descended the stairs, your bag heavy on your shoulder. Outside, the cool air was a slight reprieve, but it did little to lighten the weight you felt.

Then, you saw it—his car, sleek and familiar, waiting at the curb, just as always.

Lando stood leaning against the driver's door, one hand casually in his pocket, the other scrolling through his phone. The sight of him alone was a breath of fresh air. He had his cap put backwards as he had it in his liking.

When he noticed you, his expression softened into a smile—a warm, genuine gesture that made the corners of your frustration ease ever so slightly.

You approached, trying to push aside the tension of the day. “Hi Lan.” You greeted, giving him a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Hi Angel, I missed you.” Lando replied, his voice low and calm, as if his only goal was to soothe you. Then he opened the door for you, and helped you get into the passenger's seat. In a second, he was already sitting in the car next to you, fastening his seatbelt.

Then he looked at you and tilted his head, studying you. “Rough day?” Lando asked, glancing at you as he started the car. His voice was soft, unhurried, but there was a note of concern in it.

“More like a nightmare,” You muttered, rubbing your temples. “My boss was insufferable. I’m starting to think she gets a bonus every time she ruins someone’s day.”

Lando chuckled, but his eyes flicked toward you briefly, his brows knitting together as he took in your slumped posture. “Should I have a word with her?” He teased, but the warmth in his tone and the second meaning of his offer softened the edge.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t think you’re her type.” You replied, meeting his eyes.

“Her loss.” He shrugged, his voice light, and you couldn’t help but laugh out and shake your head. But his gaze lingered on you a moment longer as he drove to your apartment.

When he parked by your building, it was already late, the moon shining brightly in the sky. Lando looked at you for a second, and then he reached over to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch was impossibly soft, his fingers lingering against your cheek for just a beat too long.

That was when it started—when the space between you seemed to shrink.

You could feel your heart pounding, the air between you charged with something unspoken. And when you looked at him, you didn’t mean to lean closer, but before you could second-guess yourself, his lips were already on yours.

The kiss was soft at first—gentle, tentative, as if testing the waters. But then something broke loose between you, a flood of suppressed longing that had been building for far too long. His hand cupped the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as his lips moved against yours, deeper now, hungrier.

The world outside the car ceased to exist. There were no cars passing, no city sounds—just the heat between you both, the soft sounds of your breaths mingling.

His kiss was intoxicating, his lips moving with a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart. When his teeth grazed your bottom lip, you gasped, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss further, his tongue brushing against yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You let out a small, involuntary whimper, and he groaned in response, the sound low and guttural.

“Come here, Angel.” He murmured against your lips, his voice husky and low.

His hands were on your waist now, guiding you as you shifted, moving closer to him. Before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your knees pressing into the leather seat as your arms wrapped around his neck. The new position brought a fresh wave of intensity, the closeness making every touch, every kiss, more electrifying.

His hands roamed your body, his touch firm yet reverent, as if he was memorizing every curve of your body. His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, brushing against your hot, bare skin, and the sensation sent a jolt of heat through you. His lips left yours to trail wet kisses along your jawline, then down to your neck. Each kiss was deliberate, slow, and full of intention, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

“Lan…” You breathed, your voice barely audible, but the way his name left your lips made his grip on you tighten.

“Tell me to stop if you want me to,” He murmured against your skin, his breath warm and ragged. His lips hovered near your collarbone, his hands trembling slightly as they rested on your hips. “Or do you want me to continue, Angel?”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his. There was vulnerability there, a question lingering in the depths of his aquamarine eyes. You didn’t answer with words; instead, you cupped his face in your hands and kissed him with everything you had into that one moment.

That was all the confirmation he needed. His hands slid lower, gripping your ass as he shifted, adjusting the angle so he could kiss you even deeper.

The hunger between you grew, the kiss turning into a frantic clash of lips and teeth and tongues. His hands explored your body, and you reveled in the way he touched you, the way he made you feel seen, desired, cherished.

The cramped space of the car only heightened the intensity, the intimacy of it all. When his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pushing it up slowly, you shivered at the sensation of his fingers on your bare skin. He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation. But you didn’t stop him. You wanted this—you wanted him.

His lips returned to yours, and the kiss turned heated, passionate, as if the world were about to end and this was the only moment that mattered.

His hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of you, and you responded in kind, your fingers slipping under his shirt to feel the warmth of his skin.

“Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.” He muttered against your lips, his voice rough with need.

“Then show me, Lan.” You whispered, your fingers threading through his curls.

He groaned again, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he ground you against him, the friction sending sparks shooting through your veins. “Fucking hell, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His lips trailed down your neck, his teeth grazing your skin before sucking lightly, just enough to leave a mark. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine, your head falling back as a soft moan escaped you. Your nails dug into his shoulders as his hands slid beneath your skirt, his touch scorching against the bare skin of your thighs.

“You’re perfect,” He murmured, his lips trailing down your collarbone. “So fucking perfect.”

You were trembling now, the tension building with every touch, every whispered word. When his fingers dipped lower, you gasped. Uncontrollably, your head fell against his shoulder as the sensations overwhelmed you.

“Lan, please.” You whimpered, your voice desperate now and he didn’t make you wait.

His fingers worked their magic, and you felt yourself unraveling, your body arching against him as waves of pleasure washed over you. He watched you the whole time, his eyes dark and hooded, his lips curled into a satisfied smirk.

The air in the car grew thick, the windows fogging up as the two of you moved together, the heat building until it was almost unbearable. You lost track of time, of place, of everything except him—his touch, his breath, the way he made you feel.

Finally, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you, and the world outside the car felt like a distant memory. The rain had started to fall, pattering softly against the windows, but inside, everything was warm and electric.

As you still sat together in the front seat—your head resting in the crook of his neck with his hands drawing small, soothing circles on your back—you felt a strange sense of calm wash over you. The rhythmic sound of his breathing was a strange comfort, grounding you in a moment that felt entirely surreal. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was filled with the weight of what had just transpired.

For the first time in a long time, it felt like everything was exactly as it should be.

But as the stillness settled, reality began to creep back in. The bubble you had created in that car couldn’t last forever.

When morning came, everything was different. Lando had to leave for another Grand Prix weekend, and you kissed him goodbye with the promise of staying in touch like you always did. But then the texts from him stopped coming. Days passed without a word. The silence between you stretched further until it became a canyon between you both.

You waited for him to call, to text, to say something, anything. But the silence remained.

A few days later, the pictures surfaced—him with another woman, smiling as she was clinging to him, kissing his neck. Your heart shattered, being left with nothing else than the feeling of unfairness, confusion, but also pain and frustration.

When you decided to reach out, trying to make sense of everything, his reply came too late—cold and distant, almost as if he had never cared. It was then that you realized: he was gone. Just like that. Lando had slipped away like a shadow, leaving behind only the ache of unspoken words, the regret of never having said what you truly felt.

You hadn’t realized how much you’d let yourself hope, how much you’d wanted him to be different.

Blocking his number felt like cutting off a limb, but it was the only way to protect yourself. Even now, as the memory played in your mind like a film on repeat, you couldn’t shake the ache that lingered. The way you had been reduced to nothing more than a forgotten memory, just another girl in the blur of his life.

Now, sitting on that balcony at the wedding, the memory hit you with full force, each detail as vivid as the day it happened. You closed your eyes for a moment, the sounds of the wedding celebration muffling in the distance.

The cool air felt too warm now like it was holding all the memories you couldn’t shake. The warmth of his touch, the depth of his kisses, the weight of his body against yours. And the pain of losing him—of watching him walk away like you meant nothing.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay hidden. But it was useless. Lando had been more than a fling, and it was nothing new. He had been a part of you, and that part was still aching.

After taking a deep breath and fixing your hair, you decided to go back into the ballroom, putting the mask of indifference back on your face. After all, it was just a party with your fiancé and lots of strangers. And one, familiar stranger.

────୨ৎ────

Lando stood by the wall, watching you from across the ballroom, your laughter cutting through the noise. It was like the space between the two of you had become something physical, something he could touch—a barrier he couldn’t cross no matter how badly he wanted to. His hands clenched at his sides as he tried to compose himself, to make sense of everything that was swirling inside him.

The weight of the moment crushed him from all angles. Seeing you with Eric, with that easy smile and the way his hand rested on your waist, it felt like a punch to the gut. He wasn’t jealous. Not exactly. He just… he couldn’t help but think of what he’d thrown away, what he could’ve had. What he should’ve had.

Lando’s eyes traced the engagement ring on your finger, gleaming in the light. A symbol of a future you had built—one that didn’t involve him, not anymore. His stomach twisted in a knot, the sight of it suddenly suffocating him. The feeling was like he was choking on his own guilt, the weight of every wrong decision he had made crashing down on him.

He remembered the night he had been with you, so vividly, so painfully. The way you had kissed him, pulled him in like you had always wanted this, like you had always wanted him. It had been reckless, wild, and hot, but it had felt right. And then… then he had been the one to ruin it.

He had never meant to hurt you. He never wanted to walk away from you, but somewhere in that whirlwind of emotions, of confusion, he had let his ego get in the way.

The night you had spent together, the way you had laughed in each other’s arms, felt like it had been stolen from him. It should’ve been something that he held onto, something that pulled him back to you, but instead, he let his pride get the best of him.

That night after the Grand Prix, when he had seen the pictures, when the headlines screamed about him with another girl, it hit him harder than anything ever had. He had been drunk, so out of it, he hadn’t even realized the way the world would spin it. Some nosy people in the club had snapped pictures before either of them knew what was going on, and in that moment of complete foolishness, Lando had let it all slip away. He had been too embarrassed to even reach out to you, to try and fix the mess he had made. He had been too much of a coward.

The regret wasn’t immediate. At first, he tried to brush it off, convincing himself that it was just a mistake and that he could just forget it. He had to keep up appearances. But the more the days went by, the more he replayed that night in his mind, the more he felt the weight of what he had lost.

The truth was, the second he saw you looking at him with that painful distance, the second you pulled away without a word, he knew. He knew he had ruined everything. And the worst part was that he didn’t even dare to try and fix it. He didn’t text you. He didn’t try to explain. He just let you slip away like you were another girl in the blur of his life.

Now, seeing you here, seeing you with Eric—the man who was there for you, who had held you when you cried, who had shared your joys and your pain—it felt like salt on an open wound. He had taken that for granted, assumed that you would always be there, that he could always come back to you. But he had been wrong, so wrong. And the pain of realizing that now was almost too much to bear.

What made it worse was the quiet ache in his chest when he thought of what could’ve been. He could’ve been the one to hold your hand on this night. He could’ve been the one to put that engagement ring on your finger. He could’ve been the one you trusted, the one who stayed beside you. He could’ve been the one you looked at with that adoring, soft smile, the one who promised you forever.

Instead, he had let his selfishness win, and now he was nothing.

He hated himself for it. He hated himself for every second he didn’t try harder, for every moment he could’ve reached out and didn’t. He was standing here, watching you, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to be the one to claim you, the one to fight for you. But he wasn’t. Eric was.

And now it was too late, wasn’t it?

The truth of it crushed him, and he felt like an absolute fool. “How could I have been so stupid?” He thought, raking a hand through his hair, unable to shake the feeling of shame that flooded through him. He had watched you move on without him, and all he could do was stand in the corner, a mere spectator of the life he had so carelessly let go.

He remembered everything about you. The way you laughed, the way your eyes would light up when you were excited, the way your body felt pressed against his in the quiet moments, the soft whispers you’d share in the dark. It was like his heart couldn’t stop mourning the loss, mourning the future that had been so easily tossed aside.

His fists clenched as his eyes flicked back to you. You looked so beautiful, so radiant. The years hadn’t taken that from you. You had grown and blossomed into someone even more incredible than he remembered. But the realization hit him harder than anything else—you didn’t need him anymore. You had moved on. You had found someone who could give you everything he never could. And now, he was just a stranger in your world, a shadow of the man he used to be in your eyes.

The tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision for a moment. The weight of his mistakes threatened to drown him, and for the first time, he allowed himself to feel it all—the regret, the longing, the ache of knowing he had let you slip away. It was like watching the best part of his life walk out of his reach, and all he could do was stand there, powerless, as the person he loved disappeared forever.

The pain of knowing it was too late was unbearable. He had let you go when he should have held you close, should have fought for you with everything he had. But now… now, you were with Eric. And Lando knew, with a sickening finality, that he would never get the chance to be the one who made you his.

And that thought alone broke him.

Lando stood frozen near the edge of the ballroom, his drink long forgotten in his hand, as he watched you from across the room. You were laughing at something someone from the group you talked to had said, your head tilted back. It was the smile that used to belong to him. A smile he hadn’t realized how much he loved until it was too late.

The ache in his chest grew sharper with every passing second. He wanted to move, to say something, anything, but his feet felt like they were rooted to the ground. All he could do was watch you, knowing he didn’t belong in your world anymore.

You turned toward Eric, your hand brushing against his arm as you said something softly, something Lando couldn’t hear. Eric looked at you, his hand sliding to the small of your back in a gesture so intimate, so natural, that it sent a dagger straight through Lando’s heart.

It could have been him. It should have been him.

Eric leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple, and Lando had to look away, the pain too much to bear. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly as the sharp sting of tears burned his eyes again. He didn’t cry. Not ever. But tonight, standing here, watching you with someone else, he felt like he might break.

The music changed, a slower song filling the room, and couples began to drift toward the dance floor. Lando’s eyes flicked back to you just as Eric took your hand, leading you toward the center of the room. You followed him with ease, your laughter spilling over as he twirled you playfully before pulling you into his arms. The two of you moved together, swaying in perfect rhythm, and Lando couldn’t look away.

He imagined himself in Eric’s place—holding you close, feeling your warmth against him, whispering secrets only the two of you could share. He imagined the life you could’ve had together, the nights spent tangled in each other’s arms, the mornings filled with quiet kisses and sleepy smiles. He imagined being the one to give you everything you deserved.

But that was all it was now—imagination. A dream that would never come true.

As the song ended and the crowd applauded, you turned toward Eric, your face glowing with happiness. And that’s when Lando knew—knew in a way that hit him like a freight train—that he had lost you. Not just for tonight, not just for a moment, but for good.

He stood there, rooted in place, as you and Eric made your way toward the exit, hand in hand. The sight of you walking away was almost too much to bear. He wanted to call out to you, to say something, to tell you everything he should have said years ago. But the words caught in his throat, and he could only watch as the distance between you grew.

As you reached the door, you glanced back for a brief second. Your eyes met his, and in that moment, he saw it—the flicker of something different, something that felt like a quiet goodbye, but also... fear? And then you turned away, disappearing through the doorway with Eric by your side.

Lando stayed where he was, staring at the space where you had been. The weight of his regret was suffocating, crushing him with the force of everything he had lost. The sound of the party faded into the background, the laughter and music drowned out by the echo of his thoughts.

It was over. He had let you go, and now there was no getting you back.

He stepped out onto the balcony, the cool night air biting at his skin as he leaned against the railing. The stars above were impossibly bright, mocking him with their beauty. He let out a shaky breath, his hands gripping the cold stone as he tried to steady himself. But the ache in his chest refused to go away.

Lando closed his eyes, letting the pain wash over him. He had made his choice, and now he had to live with it. But as he stood there, alone under the stars, he couldn’t help but wish—just for a moment—that he could go back. That he could rewrite the story, change the ending, and be the man you deserved.

But life didn’t work that way. And as the night stretched on, Lando knew he would carry this regret with him forever.

────୨ৎ────

The drive home was thick with tension, the air between you and Eric heavy with unspoken words. Rain poured relentlessly against the car, the sound filling the silence that Eric refused to break.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands resting in your lap as you stared at the blurry city lights outside the window. You tried to ignore the knot in your stomach, the lingering warmth of Lando’s presence a stark contrast to the icy atmosphere now suffocating you.

The wedding replayed in your mind—the glowing bride and groom, the joyous laughter, the dance floor alive with celebration. It should’ve been a night of happiness, a night that made you feel excited for your upcoming wedding. But instead, it had left you hollow, drowning in doubts you could no longer ignore.

Eric’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white as he navigated the slick roads. His jaw was set, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his body screamed louder than any words.

“I think it was a beautiful ceremony.” You said softly, trying to break the silence, but Eric didn’t respond. You hesitated, then tried again. “The food was amazing too. The cake—”

“You didn’t need any more cake.” He said abruptly, his voice cold and cutting.

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. You blinked, stunned, your mind scrambling to process what he’d just said. “What?” You whispered, your voice barely audible.

He finally glanced at you, his expression hard. “You heard me,” He said flatly. “You were already piling your plate up. Did you really need another slice? You’ll get fat if you eat this much.”

Your heart sank, the hurt flooding through you like a tidal wave. You hadn’t even eaten much—you’d been too nervous, too distracted by the night’s events and your own swirling thoughts. But his words cut deeper than the surface, touching on insecurities you’d tried so hard to bury.

“I wasn’t...” You trailed off, your voice trembling. “I wasn’t overeating. I just—”

“Don’t make excuses,” He snapped, his tone dismissive. “It’s not a good look.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you turned your head toward the window, unwilling to let him see you break. The rain outside mirrored the storm inside you, the sound of it hitting the car drowning out the sharp ache in your chest.

When Eric pulled into the parking lot of your building, he didn’t wait for you. He just turned off the car, grabbed the umbrella, and stepped out without a word.

The rain was still coming down in sheets, soaking through your dress the moment you stepped outside. You struggled with your heels on the slippery pavement, nearly losing your footing as you hurried after him. He didn’t bother to slow down or offer a hand.

The final insult came when you saw him standing under the building’s awning, perfectly dry under the umbrella. He glanced at you once, his expression blank, then turned and walked inside without waiting for you.

You stumbled as you reached the door, the heel of your shoe catching on the wet ground. Your heart clenched as you caught yourself on the handle, the pain of his indifference sharper than the physical discomfort.

By the time you reached the apartment, your dress clung to your skin, your hair was plastered to your face, and your makeup smudged. Eric didn’t say a word as you closed the door behind you, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

“I’m going to change.” You murmured, your voice small.

Eric didn’t look at you. “Do whatever you want,” He muttered, kicking his shoes off before heading toward the kitchen. “I don’t care.”

You paused, your heart pounding as you watched him pour himself a glass of water. His movements were precise and controlled, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within you.

“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, Eric,” You said, your voice trembling. “What did I do wrong?”

Eric set the glass down with more force than necessary, the sound making you flinch. He turned to you, his eyes narrowing. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?” You asked, frustration and hurt bubbling to the surface.

“I can’t believe you embarrassed me like that!” He snapped, his voice sharp and cutting. You stood by the counter, your fingers clutching its edge as if it were the only thing keeping you grounded.

“What? I didn’t embarrass you, Eric,” You said, your voice shaking but firm. “I was just… talking to someone.”

“Talking to someone,” He repeated with a harsh laugh, turning on his heel to glare at you. “You mean Lando fucking Norris. The same guy you couldn’t take your eyes off all night. Do you even realize how pathetic that looked? My fiancée, giggling like a schoolgirl with some ex-flame in front of everyone we know.”

Your heart twisted at his words, the venom in his tone striking a nerve. “It wasn’t like that,” You said, your voice trembling. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“You don’t think it’s wrong to make me look like an idiot?” He shot back. “To stand there, laughing and smiling with him like I don’t even exist?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Eric, this isn’t about Lando,” You said carefully. “This is about us. About how you’ve been treating me.”

“Treating you?” His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Are you serious right now? After everything I’ve done for you—everything I’ve sacrificed—you’re going to sit there and act like I’m the bad guy?”

“I’m not trying to make you the bad guy,” You said, your voice rising with frustration. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel. But you never listen, Eric. You don’t even care how your words affect me.”

“Oh, here we go,” He sneered, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Poor you. Always the victim. Always so sensitive.”

The words hit you like a slap, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. “This isn’t about being sensitive,” You said, your voice breaking. “It’s about respect. And you stopped respecting me a long time ago.”

Eric scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable. Do you think this is easy for me? You think I don’t feel anything when we fight like this? I’m trying my best, but apparently, that’s never good enough for you.”

You stared at him, his words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. “Eric, this isn’t about effort. It’s about how you make me feel. And right now, I feel small. I feel worthless.”

His expression darkened, and he took a step closer. “Oh, so now I’m the reason you’re unhappy?” He said, his voice low and dangerous. “That’s rich. You were a mess when I met you. A complete wreck. I’m the one who fixed you, who gave you a life worth living. And this is how you repay me?”

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sinking in like a dagger to your chest. The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, hot and relentless.

“Fixed me?” You echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You think I’d be nothing without you?” Your voice rose, trembling with emotion. “You think you’re the reason I’m standing here right now?”

His silence was deafening. He didn’t deny it. That was the moment it clicked—the realization that shattered whatever was left of your resolve. He didn’t see you as an equal, as someone to love and cherish. He saw you as a project, something he could control and shape into his own version of perfection.

“I’m done,” You said, your voice trembling but resolute. “I’m done letting you talk to me like this. I’m done letting you make me feel like I’m not enough.”

Eric’s expression shifted, panic flickering in his eyes. “Wait,” He said, his tone softening. “You don’t mean that. You’re upset, that’s all. Just—just calm down, okay? We can work this out.”

You shook your head, your tears falling freely now. “No, Eric. We can’t. Because I’ve been trying to ‘work this out’ for months, and all it’s done is break me.”

“Don’t do this,” He said, his voice pleading as he rushed over to you, gripping your wrists tightly. “Please. We’re supposed to get married. We’re supposed to spend our lives together. What about the plans we’ve already made? You can’t just throw that away!”

“Let go of me, Eric,” You hissed, trying to free your hands, “It hurts.”

“No! First you need to answer me.” He shouted, fastening his grip even more, your face twisting in a painful grimace.

“I’m not throwing it away,” You said, “You did that the moment you stopped treating me like someone you loved.” Then you shook your hands abruptly, his hands flying away from your wrists.

Then, you slipped the engagement ring off your finger and placed it on the counter, gently rubbing your wrists, where his hands were gripping on not so long ago.

His face twisted with anger and desperation as you turned and went to the front door. “If you walk out that door, don’t come crawling back to me when you realize no one else is going to put up with you!”

The words stopped you in your tracks, the cruelty of them stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all. But then, a quiet voice inside you spoke up—a voice that had been buried for far too long. You deserved better.

Without another word, you turned around and walked to the door, each step feeling like a small victory. The rain hit your skin like ice as you stepped outside, but the storm couldn’t touch the fire burning inside you now.

You didn’t know where you were going or what the future held. But as you walked away from the life you once thought you wanted, you felt something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Freedom.

────୨ৎ────

The rain was merciless, soaking through your clothes, and clinging to your skin. You didn’t know where you were going at first, your mind spinning, your body on autopilot. The fight with Eric replayed in a relentless loop in your head—his cruel words, the venom in his voice, his tight grip, the way he’d dismissed you as though you were nothing.

For the first time, it felt like the truth had been laid bare: there was nothing left to fight for. The engagement was over. The fantasy you’d tried to sell yourself had crumbled. And yet, even knowing you had made the right choice, fear lingered in every step you took.

You had nowhere to go. No one to call.

Except him.

The thought stopped you in your tracks, rain dripping from your hair as you stared blankly at the empty street. Lando. His name echoed in your mind like a whispered confession, both a comfort and a torment.

Was it even a good idea? You hadn’t properly spoken in years, and the when you saw him today, all you’d shared were strained smiles and awkward pleasantries.

But who else could you turn to? You weren’t ready to explain this to anyone—not your family, not your friends. You needed… warmth. Safety. And despite everything that had happened between you and Lando, he was the only person you trusted with your broken pieces.

With shaky breaths, you forced yourself to move, the address to his apartment burned into your memory.

When you reached his door, your heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the sound of the rain. You hesitated, your fist hovering just inches away from the wood. What if he didn’t want to see you? What if this was a mistake? But as you stood there, shivering and drenched, you realized you had no other place to go.

Your knock was weak, barely audible over the downpour, but it was all you could muster. When the door opened, Lando froze, speechless. His eyes widened as he looked at you, but the concern that quickly followed melted the knot in your stomach. You must’ve looked like a mess—drenched, shivering, your face pale and streaked with rain and tears.

“Fucking hell, Angel,” He said softly, his voice warm despite the shock in his eyes. The nickname he used to address you slipped uncontrollably from his lips, bringing back that warm feeling in your stomach. “What happened?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, a sob escaped, and the tears you had tried so hard to hold back began streaming down your face.

“Come in.” Lando murmured, stepping aside to let you in.

The warmth and coziness of his apartment were a stark contrast to the cold rain outside. The soft glow of the lights wrapped around you, but it wasn’t enough to stop the trembling in your body. Lando took one look at you and made a quick decision.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” He said gently. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

He led you down the hallway to the bathroom, the soft hum of the heating vent the only sound as he turned on the shower. Steam began to fill the room, fogging the mirror.

“There’s some towels here, and I’ll get you some clothes you can change into,” He said, placing a fresh stack of towels on the counter. “Take as long as you need.”

You nodded, your voice still caught in your throat.

“I’ll be right outside if you need anything.” He added, his gaze steady but filled with worry.

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let yourself crumble. The hot water cascaded over you, washing away the cold and the rain but not the ache in your chest. Your sobs echoed in the small bathroom, raw and unrestrained.

Lando never left his place. He sat outside, his back against the door, listening. Every muffled sob that reached his ears made his heart clench. He hated hearing you like this, hated that you were in so much pain. He wanted to fix it, to fix everything, but he knew better than to rush you.

He couldn’t shake off the feeling that this might also be what you had sounded like when he left.

Minutes passed, maybe longer, before the sound of the water stopped. Lando stood up, his hands fidgeting nervously as he waited. When you finally opened the door, wrapped in the towel, he handed you his clothes and you hid in the bathroom again. Once you were done dressing up, you came out in one of his hoodies and a pair of sweats he’d left for you. Your eyes were red and swollen, but there was a faint glimmer of calm.

“Feeling a bit better?” He asked softly, his voice tentative.

You nodded, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. “Thanks.” You whispered, your voice barely audible.

He gestured with his head toward the couch, and you followed him silently. The room felt heavy with unspoken words as you sat down, tucking your legs beneath you. Lando sat beside you, leaving enough space to give you room but close enough that you could feel his presence.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lando asked, his voice low and careful and you nodded. His eyes scanned your face, searching for answers. “Are you okay?”

The concern in his voice nearly broke you. You nodded quickly, playing with the sleeves of his hoodie that was too big for you.

“I’m fine now. I just— …” You paused, the words sticking in your throat. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “What’s going on? What happened?” his voice was soft and tender.

“It’s complicated.” You whispered, avoiding his gaze.

Lando exhaled, standing up and running a hand through his curls. “Of course it is,” He muttered under his nose, his tone tinged with sarcasm. “It always is with you, isn’t it?”

You flinched, and he immediately softened, his frustration melting into guilt. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Lando said quickly. “That was uncalled for. I just—” He cut himself off, pacing for a moment before turning back to you. “You, showing up here out of nowhere… it’s a lot to process.”

“I didn’t mean to put this on you,” You said quietly, your voice barely audible. “I just didn’t have anyone else.”

His expression shifted, guilt flickering in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain, Angel.” He replied, sitting down across from you, the unexpected nickname he used only for you made your stomach do a flip. But there was something guarded in his posture, like he was holding back.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. Finally, he broke it. “So, what’s the deal? Did the perfect fiancé finally show his true colors?”

Your stomach twisted, and you looked away. “Actually… yeah.”

Lando’s brow furrowed, the sarcasm dropping from his face. “What do you mean?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But there was no point in hiding it anymore. “I broke the engagement,” You admitted, your voice trembling. “I left him, Lando.”

For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just stared at you, his expression unreadable. “You… broke it off?”

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes again. “He wasn’t who I thought he was,” You said, your voice shaking. “He… he hurt me. In ways I didn’t even realize until it was too late.”

Lando’s jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists. “Hurt you how?” He asked, his voice low, dangerous.

You didn’t answer, but his eyes drifted to the faint bruise on your wrists, and you saw the moment he pieced it together. His face darkened, his chest rising and falling as he fought to keep his composure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, his voice breaking slightly.

“Why would I?” You shot back, the bitterness in your tone surprising both of you. “You left. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Lando flinched, his guilt written all over his face. “I know,” He said softly. “I know I fucked up. But if I had known…” He trailed off, his voice thick with regret. “I would’ve done something. I would’ve—”

“You didn’t,” You interrupted, your voice cracking. “You didn’t do anything, Lando. You just disappeared.”

The silence that followed was deafening. He looked at you, his eyes filled with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to untangle them. “You’re right,” He uttered finally. “I was a coward. I thought I was protecting you by staying away, but I was only protecting myself.”

You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling in your lap. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” You admitted. “I just… I needed to feel safe. And for some reason, you’re the only person who makes me feel that way.”

Lando’s gaze softened, and the silence between you stretched like a chasm. You looked down at your hands, still trembling despite the warmth of Lando’s hoodie wrapped around you. The storm outside mirrored the one brewing inside—chaotic, relentless, and impossible to ignore.

“You’re safe here, Angel.” Lando had said. His voice was steady, but the tension in his body betrayed his emotions. You wanted to believe him. But after everything… could you?

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the room, filling the space between you.

Finally, you broke the silence. “Why did you leave?” Your voice was quiet but laced with a sharp edge. “I know we weren’t together, but.. we did you leave?”

Lando’s shoulders stiffened. “I thought we have already covered this…” He said, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone.

“No, we haven’t.” You shook your head, your gaze locking onto his. “You just gave me excuses. You said you were a coward, that you thought staying away was better for me. But why, Lando? Why did you leave without saying anything? Why did you let me think I was just… disposable?”

His face twisted with guilt, and he ran a hand through his curls. “I didn’t think you’d understand,” He admitted, his voice rough. “I was scared. I was so damn scared of what I was feeling, of how much you meant to me. And then I saw those photos—”

“Those photos,” You interrupted, bitterness seeping into your voice. “The ones with that girl? The ones that made me feel like I never meant anything to you?”

He flinched, his jaw tightening. “It wasn’t what it looked like.”

“Then what was it?” You snapped, the anger you’d buried for years bubbling to the surface. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you moved on in a heartbeat. Like I was just another girl to you.”

“You weren’t!” His voice rose, his frustration spilling over. “You were never just another girl. Don’t you get that?”

“Then why?” Your voice cracked, tears stinging your eyes. “Why did you leave me like that? Why didn’t you fight for me? Fight for us?”

He stared at you, his eyes filled with anguish. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you,” He said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I’d only screw things up more if I stayed. And when those photos came out… I was ashamed. I thought if I called, if I tried to explain, it would only make things worse.”

“And you think disappearing was the best option?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” He admitted. “I was young, stupid, and scared. And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”

The sincerity in his voice cut through your anger like a knife, leaving you raw and exposed. You turned away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if to shield against the vulnerability threatening to consume you.

“I needed you,” You whispered. “I needed you, Lando, and you weren’t there.”

“I know.” His voice was soft, filled with regret. “And I’m sorry. I’ll never be able to say it enough—I’m sorry.”

The room fell silent again, save for the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. “I don’t know if I can trust you again.” You said honestly, your voice trembling.

“I don’t expect you to,” He replied. “Not right away. But I’m here now. And I want to earn it, even if it takes the rest of my life.”

You turned to look at him, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. But all you saw was raw, unfiltered honesty. “Do you mean that?”

“I do.” His voice was firm, resolute. “I’m not going anywhere this time. I promise.”

You nodded slowly, the tension in your chest easing just slightly. “But.. I don’t know if I’m ready for anything more than this—just talking, figuring things out.”

“That’s okay,” He said quickly. “We can take it slow. As slow as you need.”

A small, tentative smile tugged at the corner of your lips. For the first time in years, it felt like the walls you've built around your heart were beginning to crack.

Lando hesitated before speaking again. “What about Eric?”

You exhaled shakily, your fingers brushing against the faint bruise on your wrist. “It’s over. I broke the engagement. There’s nothing left to say.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—relief, anger, protectiveness, all tangled together. “Good,” He said quietly. “You deserve better anyway.”

You looked at him, your chest tightening. “I don’t even know what I deserve anymore.”

“You deserve everything, Angel,” He said without hesitation. “And if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it to you.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The sincerity in his voice, the way his eyes held yours—it was almost too much.

But then you nodded, a single tear slipping down your cheek. “Okay,” You said softly. “But I need time.”

“You’ll have it.” He promised, and you nodded, letting his words settle over you. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but it was something. A tentative step forward.

As the storm outside began to ease, you found yourself studying him—his longer curls, the shadow of stubble along his jaw, the quiet determination in his eyes. He was still Lando, the boy who’d once made your heart race, but he was different now. Older, wearier.

A familiar stranger who somehow made you feel seen again, even after all the pain.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start again.

reuploads and likes are highly appreciated ♡

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prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue · 1 month ago

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I need an au where joker torture reader (his daughter) without him remembering shit but reader know it's him so she tries to reasons with him, begged for him to snap out of it but nothing happens. Batman tries to save the reader but it was already too late, she was already dead.. Body torn, dismembered, skin peeled, bones broken, blood everywhere, eyes gauge out, teeth pulled out like her finger nails.. She was beyond recognition. In a fit of anger, Batman beat up joker and somehow made him(joker) snap back and memories of the reader as a kid flashing through his mind. Joker remembers why he was joker in the first place.. Remember why he sent her away and left her as a child(to protect her from himself because he knew that he'd lose himself one day). He starts blaming Batman for making her a Robin, for bringing her to the life of vigilantes when all he (joker) wanted was for his little treasure to live a normal and peaceful life. (Do your magic, I suck at writing)

-👻

waited for life to hit me hard so I can make this angsty

OH FATHER DAREST PLEASE SAVE ME

What defines evil? What defines the line between betrayal and trust ? What defines the line between justice and superiority ? TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME TELL ME PLEASE !!

Name grew up to be a good child - a child that Jack Naiper and Harleen Quinzel felt pride in . Name was their saving grace , their redemption from the filthy fangs of Gotham's slum and criminal underground. Name was their heaven in a place of hell.

They were never Joker or Harley Quin for her - no they'd never dawn such a monstrous mask for their sweet child no - for her they'd be normal - for her they'd love her .

Joker always smiled around her - not the smile he dawns at night no - it was a soft fatherly smile when he watched you color away in your book . He always took pride that he was your safe place that you would always come running to him when you injured yourself or wanted to excitedly show off your drawings.

Harley loves her child - her precious daughter always takes pride in dressing her and making her lunch before the school bus picks her up . She revels in the sweet way her daughter calls her " mommy " and makes her feel so proud and happy.

You may not be biologically Joker or her child but God did you feel like you were made for them - this small little angel that just likes holding her mommy's hand and coloring in her daddy's tattoos while babbling on about her day.

It feels surreal for them both every day when they wake up to your happy giggles every morning . It's a routine so soft- Harley makes herself and Joker coffee while you get a glass of apple juice . Joker always finds himself getting your book bag and lunch bag ready before helping Harley with breakfast.

You're in the living room watching Dora, the explorer on the t.v, your little legs rocking back and forth . Joker sits you on his lap and feeds you while Harley gets your bath and uniform ready. " Daddy, can I be like you and have green hair ?" You asked him once oh so innocent .

Joker giggles at your antics , " Now why would my princess want green hair ?" . " I wanna look like you !" You exclaimed as you snuggled into him. Joker laughs and kisses you on the forehead . " My princess is too pretty to look like me."

Before they know it, they're standing at the front door waving you off as you enter the school bus. They both sigh, but their face melts as they peak ,Balck Mask lackies further down the road.

" I thought we agreed not to bring home work," Harley asks , practically boring a hole into one of them. " I thought so too," Joker mumbles as he clenches his fists. There was an agreement - an agreement generally acknowledged by all criminals of gotham's slums and underground world that under no circumstances that you were to interfere with one another as civilians.

Guess black mask wants to play a dangerous game. Harley watches in silence as she watches them offload boxes from an unmarked truck into a house.

Joker pursues his lips - he knew he was no one to talk since he does his own dirty business, but he hates it that Black Mask chose to do his near his home - your home. " I swear if name gets hurt because if this I am going to kill everyone," he swears . Harley nods in agreement.

The evening dawns upon the Gotham , the sun sets under the tall distant sky rise like a collapsing star - its beams of light breaking apart upon the floor as a last abode. Name happily skips to the Wayne Manor , her barbie back pack in tow.

The manor so dark - so looming in the distant had once scared her so much, but now she's grown so accustomed to it. Name carefully yanks the door black , iron gate open , her small feet push her towards the big mahogany halls of the manor.

Name gets on her tip toes and carefully presses her small finger on the doorbell. Moments pass, and Alfred opens the door , " Miss name, you know you don't have to ring to the doorbell every time you visit " Alfred greets her. Name smiles , " papa told me it's rude to enter someone's home without asking for permission first" .

Alfred shakes his head but still motions her to come inside - Name was a newly addition to the Wayne Manor- a good one at that. Name giggles as she bumbles in , running inside , " Jasonnnnnnn~" Name calls out in a sing song tone.

Said boy was sitting on the sofa watching cartoons when his head perks up at the mention of name's voice , "Name !! You're actually here !" , he exclaims as he runs over to embrace her . Jason has always wanted a little sister - selfishly he know this dream of his would never had happen with the type of parents he had - a drug addicted mother and a father who worked as Black Mask's lackey wasn't they environment for a child like name so safe to say when he met her at school - his blood just took to her.

Jason was simply walking home from school - his mood sour since Bruce had insisted he attend a gala tonight . God knows Jason Todd hates galas with everything in him - it's just a bunch of preppy rich fucks that gather around to brag to one another about how rich they were.

Jason feels his jaw clench at he damned thought - he would gladly sell off his soul if it meant that he didn't have to stand hours on end in some scratchy suit and plaster on some stupid smile. Another sigh leaves his lips as he stops at a cross road.

a " Excuse me mister can you please cross me across the road ? My papa can't do it because he has to work late and mama has to run the salon" a little voice calls out to him followed by a soft tug on his uniform's shirt. Jason looks down to see this small little girl looking right at him with big old eyes.

'Sure kid why not", he answers . The kid smiles at him all wide and Jason swears it took everything within him not to squish the kid's cheeks together. Jason holds her hand and walks her across , ' Thank you Mister !" Name thanks him as she hugs him. Jason pats her head , " Anytime kid also just call me Jason" . Name smiles up at him , " My name is name !!" she exclaims as if it's the best thing in the world - probably is.

Jason's afternoon evening continued like this - he'd always wait at that cross road and cross name right over until one day rain began pouring . Jason sat in the limbo , Alfred seated at front , idly tapping away at the steering wheel , " Master Jason are you sure the young miss would arrive ?" Alfred questions Jason . Jason anxiously picks at his fingernails , " I'm not sure Alfie.." .

A long moment passes before name's small figure emerges through the heavy down pour of the rain and Jason immediately shove's the limbo's door open, " Name ! Get in !" . Name looks confused for a moment but when she realizes it's Jason she immediately crawls in the car , soaking wet. " Uhh sorry for the mess ..." she trails off nervous and embarrassed . " Not a thing to worry about dear - here would you like the heater to be turned on ?" , Alfred reassures her .

Name hesitantly nods before seating herself next to Jason. " Alright , we are going to Wayne mansion okay ? Once the rain calms down I'm sure to drop you off home alright ?"Alfred offers her with a gentle smile . Name meekly nods but snuggles into Jason and he allows her to steal his warmth.

Ever since then - Wayne Manor's residence treats name like their family - it's own blood - only difference is that the little thing does not live with them . Jason let's out a cough as Name sits across from him , Alfred enters the living space , snacks in hand and warm tea for Jason.

" I big brother okay ?" Name asks as she nimble away at a Oreo cookie. Jason let's out another cough before Alfred answers her , " I'm afraid Master Jason's flu keeps on getting worse as each day progresses - maybe if he actually rested and took his medicine he'd feel better " Alfred complains as he side eyes Jason. Jason weakly coughs, " Name don't worry about Alfred , I'm fine -" he counters but is interrupted by another cough.

Name giggles at his antics, " You need to take your medicine - my mama would take away my Ipad if I don't " she giggles away. Alfred laughs , " Maybe I should do that to Master Jason - maybe he'd actually learn to take care of himself for once " . Jason side eyes Jason before coughing out his lungs.

" Ya'll just overreacting" he murmurs weakly. The evening is spent with Jason coughing his life out while Name watches henry danger on the big television. The door of the foyer opens and there emerges Bruce Wayne in all his glory . Name perks up at him and gives him a wave , " Good Evening Uncle !!" she greets him. Bruce smiles and waves back at her , " Evening Name I see you came to visit your big brother ?" he questions with a knowing stare at Jason. Jason rolls his eyes,

"I'm not sick" he defended while another cough exits his mouth. Everyone immediately erupts in laughter at his pathetic lie. " Sureeee" Bruce teases as he puts away his briefcase before excepting a glass of water from Alfred. Just as everyone was starting to unwind - an alarm sounds off - the television immediately switches to a live feed of Joker and Harley Quin in jester masks smuggling cargo.

Bruce feels his jaw clench at the sight and immediately begins gearing himself. Jason begins to weakly stand up only to fall flat on his face , "Owww" he groans , name immediately rushes up to him , helping back onto the sofa , " Uncle I don't think Jay can join you" you murmur helpless. Bruce eyes you and Jason's growing red face . "It's alright I will handle them myself" he declares before he walks off. Jason's eyes widen , " You can't go by yourself -" he calls out stubbornly .

"You aren't going and that's final" Bruce says with finality as he slips on his batman mask. Jason stares at him defiantly while Alfred quietly presses a damp rag to his forehead. Name hesitantly raises her hand , " what if I go in his place uncle ?" she asks a bit shaken. Bruce opens his mouth - ready to deny her suggestion when Jason looks back at him defiantly , " If you can so call handle it yourself - I'm sure Name being there won't make a difference" he says defiantly.

Bruce pursues his lips , " Fine but Name you stand behind me " he says before walking off. Name eagerly runs behind him as she quietly slips on the robin suit, " I promise to do you good jay !" she calls off before disappearing down the hall.

Jason smiles before he coughs , " Sure kid !" he calls back.

Harley and Joker , in the dead of the sinking sun , hurriedly offload Black Masks' cargo into one of their own trucks , " I am gonna resell this shit back to him for this shit" Joker curses as he puts the last of the load in the back , Harley shutting the door with a loud 'tud'. " I feel like thats too vanilla honey we should straight up maim him for breaking code' she says with a grit in her tone.

Both were about to enter the vehicle when Batman and Robin landed on top the vehicle. " Stop right there Joker" Batman declares , already glaring down at them. " Go fuck off Bats this has nothing to do with you" Harley shouts at him. " Ma'am cursing is bad !" robin calls out behind batman , her small figure practically hidden by his massive cape.

Joker lets off a mask , " Aww Bats I didn't know you parent stray kids now " he laughs manically . Batman grimaces , ' What do you think you two are doing smuggling drugs " he accuses . Joker laughs again before reaching into his purple coat and began shooting towards them , " Come find out for yourself batsy ~" he teases.

Batman picks up Robin and jumps into the air , dodging the stray bullets when Harley took the opportunity to throw smoke bombs right at them. " Such damn pests !" she calls out as the bombs exploded - masking their vision. Their view is immediately shrouded and Batman grabs Robin and crouches behind a dustbin.

As the smoke disintegrates , Harley comes swinging at them with her spiky bat , " Hello Batsyyyy !!" she calls out as she swings at them - batman narrowly escapes but robin unfortunately hadn't and their stomach is immediately makes impact with it and is sent flying backwards into a wall. Joker takes his chance to stand atop the van nd starts raining down bullets before Batman has the chance to react.

" This is pathetic even for you Bats !!" he calls out as he refloads back in a magazine. Robin gets onto her feet and immediately throws batarangs his way - attempting to divert him. Joker curses and Batman takes the opportunity to land hard kick into Harley's jaw and he immediately jumps after Joker.

Harley goes colliding into the floor - her nose bleeding but before she even gets a chance , robin immediately jumps onto her back and begins restraining her in handcuffs.

Meanwhile Batman And Joker standoff - each trading dangerous blows to one another , both eagerly waiting for a weak spot to open to permanently take down their opponent. Joker wipes the blood of his lips as he stares down Batman , gun aimed at him , "Fun time's over Bats - time to end this " he declares , fingers trained on the trigger.

Batman grimaces as he lunges at him but it was too late - it all happens in slow down , joker changes his aim and aims his gun right at Robin and 'swoosh'. The bullet slices through the air at rapid speed and collides into robin's spine. Robin let out an ear piercing scream - a scream that practically shook the earth as robin lays face front onto the ground , crimson blood pouring out rapidly.

Batman screams as he lands on top of Joker -, " NAME !!" he calls out as he threw Joker's laughing body away somewhere like it was garbage. Joker in the amidst his maniac laughter stopped - it can't be , that name is too familiar - it , no that couldn't be his daughter. Harley laid there frozen - the reality of the situation dawns upon her when she watches Batman turns robin around onto their back and removed their mask to reveal name - her name - their name.

Harley feels her insides twists -, " NAME ?" she calls out confused . Batman frantically wipes the grime off name's face to reveal her pale face , her eyes slowly closing. Joker immediately comes barreling towards them , his mask long removed as he pushes away Batman.

"Name , honey - honey what - why " he stammers as he holds her in his hands. Harley is full on crying , no wailing her lungs out to the point it hurts - she cant believe her sweet girl was robin no- it can't be her sweet girl was always home on time - Batman must have forced her ! yes - he force her to be robin - she tries to convince herself - her mind to far gone to accept the cruel reality she's living in.

" Papa /" Name murmurs as she watches him through her drowsy eyes . " It hurts..." she murmurs as she shivers in his hold. Joker holds her close , "It's okay daddy's here - he's here baby - he's here to save you promise" he whispers as he tries pressing down on her wound.

" Papa please ...save me -it's too dark ...too painful" she pleads with him but it was too late , her eyes shut for the last time and her pulse stops. Joker lets out an agonizing scream before Batman tackles him to the ground. " You leave Name alone " he barks - his tone furious - he knew joker was cruel but to be so cruel to kill his own was a wicked he thinks not even the devil could achieve.

" YOU DON'T GET TO TELL ME SHIT BATS NOT WHEN YOU'RE THE REASON SHE'S DEAD" Joker screams as he violently trashes in his hold . Harley can only cry - her eyes were bloodshot red as it stared at your discarded corpse - she refuses to believe that her baby's corpse - not thats someone else baby her's is home building a pillow fort waiting for her to come home .

" DON'T BLAME ME FOR YOUR SICK SHIT - YOU'RE THE ONE THAT FUCKING SHOT HER" Batman curses as he sucker punches Joker's face , practically sending it pummeling into the floor. " YOU'RE A FUCKING HYPOCRITE BATS - YOU'RE THE BLOODY ASS THAT BROUGHT HER IN THIS DAMN LIFE - A LIFE THAT SHE WASN'T MEANT TO BE IN " Joker curses as he lays there helplessly on the floor .

His body feels too weak to get up - it feels like lead was poured into his veins and is keeping him chained to the floor. Batman kicks Joker to the side of the van , in the distance ,wailing sirens rang through the empty streets as they slowly approach them . " I hope when you both are rotting in the darkest pits of hell - that you both realize that you never deserve Name in the first place , that tonight , her death is on your heads , that you both are so vile that karma paid you a visit and that costed a pure soul like name's - that name is never fucking coming back " Batman declares.

Rain immediately begins to pour down like heavy bullets, Batman scoops up your cold corpse , practically tucking you into the safety and warmth of his corpse before he grapples away.

Blue and red lights flashes about as the smell of burnt tires filled their noses. Harley lets out a scream before a police officer drags her away into the confides of an armored truck. Joker stares into nothingness as an army of police officers drag him into a separate armored van , he glares at the spot batman stood in before the door closes on him permanently. " We'll see how you react when I take away something precious from you bats " he swears before his maniac laughter echoes off the empty streets.

also sorry if requests/ asks are late I'm currently in exams week (╥﹏╥)

thank you for the ask anon and thank you for reading !!

I also realized I missed a crucial part of all the gore assuming Joker killed her like Jason but I think I can tweak that in part 2 I think ૮(˶╥︿╥)ა

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readerforexiao · 7 months ago

Text

𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃𝐒 | 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

⌗ Sylus x Fem!Reader | married + parent au, romance, fluff, light angst | tw: pregnancy, childbirth trauma, post partum, first time parents, mental health struggles, insecurites, anxiety, underlined depression, panic attack, reference to trauma and loss, implied violence + death, somewhat lore compliant | wc: 4k

⌗ A/n: this is only the beginning. The groundwork has been laid and now i can focus on the family dynamic </3. To my dearest friend who helped me whenever I got stuck, I'm immensely grateful🌹

⌗ “I would do it all again. Choose the wait of a century…” he said between kisses, each peck a declaration that you understood the meaning behind every tender touch and every whispered promise sealed in the air. “Take my last breath as if it were my greatest honour. Because I am yours. All of me…"

On the day you appeared as real as the nightmares that haunted him, your fingers felt smaller than his and rougher than he remembered. Your gaze had lost its affection and stretched before him like a frayed horizon— becoming an unravelled boundary between the warmth he knew and the unknown beyond.

Where there had been a luminous depth like the pale glow of moonlight brushing over still midnight waters— lay a turbulent sea withdrawn and untouchable that even the sense of belonging he once felt had slipped away in the last light of dusk fading into the distance.

It shook him from his thoughts and back into a reality he could not escape.

A reunion, he’d called it when the bullet pierced his chest the blood stained his shirt. A test, a reawakening, he led himself to believe when the tendrils of his evol began their slow work of regeneration. Sylus knew desperation had driven him and not mere calculation.

In all selfishness, he wanted to lay his darkness bare before you because he could not stand the idea of your ignorance while he remembered it all, those empty memories in place of where he once resided.

Sylus was but a child broken by betrayals, a man defined by those scars, and shaped by the ominous hands of fate. His aggression and impatience were the results of more than mere habits; they became ingrained parts of his nature.

Cold and unyielding became of his features; red eyes marked by the devil’s touch, a name both feared and revered. But then you crossed the chasm of his fractured soul, pressing your hands into open wounds and putting your nose where it did not belong with a promise of forever. And he could still hear the manic laughter that echoed at your naivety.

Was it a challenge or a taunt in the way you pushed his buttons? Or had he simply lost his mind, finding himself helplessly drawn under your influence?

It was maddening how in every life you drove him from a man who’d never known love to a fool at your feet. And so, seeing you wander into the N109 zone like a lost kitten searching for its owner, the familiarity broke him.

In a moment of reckless clarity, his heart made the decision that handed you a weapon and certainly his demand was a cruel form of intimacy, it wasn’t the love he wanted to show, but it was the only way he thought would reach across the gulf between you.

The echo of the shot dissolved into silence, and he searched your face, his sanity splintered, the tether fraying and refusing to connect. It hadn’t worked. Of course not. How foolish, how desperately pathetic to hope otherwise.

Yet he tried again… for his heart ached for you. But each time he reached for the past he was met with resistance, caught in a relentless cycle.

He chased the memory of you to his end, time and time again, watching as you flashed those bright eyes at another, laughter and tender touches shared with someone warmer. You were cared for and shown how to live in this life by someone who knew how to protect you beneath the stars. Much like another had monitored your heart and anticipated your needs, just as he had done.

It made his attempts feel insignificant.

But Sylus did not relinquish you even then, nor did he dare to ruin your happiest moments for he knew he would always be yours, and with patience, you would be his.

You saved him, after all.

It was that single resolve to keep wanting you that brought him to this moment, cradling his new-born daughter close to his chest, marvelling at how impossibly light she was in his hands, how easily they could break her.

He couldn’t believe it— after all the mistakes he made and the things he ruined, this was his life now, even though he hardly felt worthy of it.

She was a miracle, blessed with eyes parallel to his own, deeply doused in red— a colour he once loathed for its synergy with blood, but here it was soft and untainted in her eyes as they fluttered open and peered up at him.

His feet were spellbound and lodged between the crevices of the earth by her existence, that alone granted him all he thought beyond his reach.

Merely days that she’d been in this world and already had she turned his life upside down.

“Awake already, little one?” He whispered, it had barely fifteen minutes since she drifted off.

A smile crept onto his face as he fell back into the rhythm of soothing her fussing. Sylus glanced at the untouched cot in front him, cold and empty, as he held the infant it was intended for. He mused, knowing that it would remain that way for many more nights.

He pivoted on his heels and walked around the room with her. She was entirely dependant on him, he realized, as he adjusted her over his shoulder, being careful with her neck and the amount of movement he made. Though it wasn’t in the way others before her had been; not in the way you were.

As he strolled around the room, his consciousness meandered through the landscape of this existence, a world steeped in complex relationships where dependence often came with strings attached.

He considered the people who worked under him at Onychinus, each cloaked in their own shadows, driven by desperation of sorts.

Most had sold their souls and traded their humanity for survival or power, engaging in incomprehensible acts to prove their worth.

To each their own, their choice to wallow in the filth beneath him. But even as they cowered in fear at his feet, there still lingered a pride and expectation— a desire for something in return.

Their loyalty was a currency exchanged for blood-stained bills and the hollow promise of protection. And even someone as powerful as him needed their willing hands, for he could not accomplish everything by himself.

He recalled a meeting with an operative, a sharp-witted woman who approached him with a proposal, eyes gleaming with ambition. “I need your backing on this, Sylus. In return, I can secure a major supply route,” she had said, her tone confident.

Despite his annoyance, he complied, aware her loyalty hinged on the favours he could grant her, a waltz of give and take that left no room for trust. For now, he needed her; she had yet to prove her worth in his plans.

Then there was Orion, a man large and sturdy in appearance, though his bulging stomach gave him a rounded look. Greedy at heart, he was nonetheless useful for his keen eye for anything of value, which meant Sylus would keep him around until he no longer served that purpose.

Perhaps these relationships weren’t the best examples to use as they only highlighted his dependence on them rather than theirs on him. But that was far from the truth.

He knew these people leached off him; they would be nowhere without his support. They depended on his money, power, and influence. If he chose to assert himself then they would be quickly reminded of who held their leashes.

It was different when it came to you. Your need of him was honest, not just a need for survival or security but something deeper. His presence grounded you and his strength fortified you.

In a time of unrelenting chaos, his support was a solace. It was a reliance that transcended mere necessity; it was built on trust and intimacy, a bond that flourished in the shadows of his empire.

What he gave, he received in kind. The love he showered, returned tenfold.

Still, you were able to stand on your own two feet without him. It wasn’t the same for his daughter who stared up at him seemingly captivated by his presence just as he was by hers.

With her, it was nothing of the kind. There were no ulterior motives, no agendas, no expectations— she just needed him. Not as Sylus, the leader of Onychinus— a cold-blooded monster— or as a sacrifice, but simply as her father. It was a stark contrast to the world outside, a world where trust was a rare commodity and relationships were transactional.

He welcomed the feeling of being needed by someone like her.

“What?” He grinned with a brow raised in playful questioning as he laid her in the center of his bed, watching her tiny form melt into the blankets.

Her features wrinkled in response to the shift in surroundings and it was a strange sensation to see her there in the middle, occupying the space where he would lay with you entangled.

She drew him in the same way you did. Suddenly, his heart pounded against the confines of its cage, swelling with a mix of pride and protectiveness, but it also raced with an emotion he found hard to perceive.

“You are everything I am not” The words coursed between them in secrecy, barely more than a whisper in a tone absent of the conviction and poise it usually had, softened alone by the rise and fall of her chest.

She was beautiful, held in the arms of a father who loved her.

He let his fingers trace her small hand, so delicate compared to his own scarred knuckles— hands hardened by the demands of survival, by years of a life he hadn’t chosen but had been thrust into, one of cold stares and distant voices, where warmth was something fought for, not given freely.

“But that doesn’t matter, because I will show you a world that won’t bruise you for breathing” he said, bringing his lips upon the dainty swell of her cheeks.

She would know laughter that wasn’t tainted with bitterness and shelter that didn’t feel like a cage. In his arms, she would know what it was like to be wanted, protected, and cherished in a way he had once only dreamed of.

“And you will be loved for simply existing.” He promised, prodding at the balance of existence.

For tonight and forever on, he made that vow to be her protector and her greatest source of strength. A promise made in sincerity on his life; on the heart given to you— the one he would use to love this child.

She would never find herself in the same situation as her mother, clinging to him amid the storm on the eve of a failed battle. Your head buried against his neck, your hands drenched in his blood and hooked onto his shirt, your beautiful face twisted in pain. The red receding from his one remaining eye, taking with it a promise unkept.

No, that was his tragedy, and never will it be hers. He would shield her from it all, lay the world in her hands if she so desired, and tear it apart all the same if it ever dared to harm her.

She stirred at his words as if she was answering him and Sylus didn’t know it was possible to fall in love all over again with someone other than you.

He let his gaze linger on her a moment longer, then looked up toward the door waiting for you to return.

It had taken some convincing, but he’d finally insisted you step out just for a brief reprieve after the whirlwind of the past few days. You agreed but reluctantly so, though he knew you hadn’t wandered far and you most likely were in a hurry to return.

Already, motherhood had taken root within you.

By the time you returned, showered and fed, you found yourself missing your husband and daughter even more.

You crossed the threshold, the soft orange glow of the lamps welcomed you and immediately you found Sylus standing over the bed with his back to you, the baby fussing in his arms.

Your whole world in one scene.

“I can feel your eyes on us, sweetie,” He announced, not even needing to turn around to sense your presence.

You wrapped your arms around his midsection and rested your head against his back, letting the rhythm of his breathing soothe you.

Out of nowhere, a knot tightened in your throat and Sylus as if sensing it, turned to envelop you tighter.

A whiff of black musk breached your nose, his signature scent evoked memories of late nights spent in each other’s company, of whispered confessions and last goodbyes.

Your body did not move in his hold, but your hands gripped his shirt for dear life.

You felt yourself begin to float, the ground beneath your feet dissolving. Then the memories of labour crept in from the edges, stirring the same deep unshakable pain. It clawed its way to the surface, latching onto your mind, the sensations as vivid and overwhelming as if it were happening all over again.

You shuddered at the recollection of your screams when you were urged to push, the buzzing they left behind still droning in your ears.

Beads of sweat formed on your skin and smeared, leaving behind faint marks on Sylus’ chest.

“Look at me,” he urged, guiding you to sit on the bed.

He sank onto his knees. A man who never lowered himself to anyone now knelt before you, his worry palpable in the way his thumb hurried in pursuit of your endless stream of tears.

You were in so much pain he could see it reflected in the quaking of your pupils and the tremor of your fingertips, he was reduced to nothing but an onlooker and his touch hesitant.

“That’s right, keep your eyes on me”

You followed his voice as he counted down your breaths.

“Sylus…” you whispered.

“I’m here,” he kissed your knuckles, the touch of his lips like a hot ember on your skin.

“I hoped that once she was here, everything would… piece together. But it’s not like that at all” You sucked in a breath, “Instead, I feel overwhelmed. Every time I see her little face, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not enough— that somehow, I’ve already failed, just like I have with everything else”

“I understand, but—”

“Her life depends on me,” you shook your head as you continued, urgency creeping into your tone. “She’s the one person I don’t want to let down”

“You’re not failing her. You’re here, and you’re trying. It’s—”

“It’s hard to see that when I feel like I’m drowning,” you interrupted, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if I can’t give her the life she deserves? What if I mess this up? What if my lack of understanding hurts her in the future, and she grows up feeling unloved or unsupported?”

Sylus stopped you, firm yet gentle in his approach. “Why do you punish yourself with such careless thoughts?”

He held your gaze, filled with admiration for your strength— so different from his own, as he often ran and hid from his battles.

“Let me remind you we’ve faced challenges before, you and I alone, long before we found each other, isn’t that right, Sweetie?” You nodded reluctantly, and he went on, “In all you’ve done so far, it hasn’t come naturally; it’s taken your time, blood, sweat, and tears, but didn’t the results yield something good? All things worth doing are hard, and you’ve done something incredible by bringing life into this world. It’s something that inevitably reshapes all you know into something unknown, so isn’t it okay to feel a little overwhelmed? We’re here, we’re present, and we’re willing to learn and that’s what matters most”

His sincerity cut through the rapid thudding in your head, quieting your tears to faint breaths.

There was validation in his words, even though you struggled to pinpoint your emotions or the kind of solace you sought because sometimes words just felt insufficient, especially when you knew they couldn’t bring about instant relief.

But even in the moments where nothing was said, Sylus was there—always there through it all, and perhaps that was why you believed everything he said despite the perturbation prancing inside you.

You inhaled shakily, closing your eyes to find a semblance of calm but the tears kept flowing and Sylus wiped them away each time. His hand came to rest on your stomach, the warmth from his palm seeping into your skin.

“You have me right here” The weight in his voice thicker than you’d ever heard before. A tremor slipped through, like he was holding back a flood with every syllable.

This was Sylus— your Sylus— who never allowed a tear to fall… until now.

A lone tear traced his cheek in defiance, his eyes tinged with red veins surrounding the crimson of his irises, as if daring him to show his vulnerability, and his head fell gently into your lap.

He pressed a kiss to your clothed thigh, lips lingering as if that one touch could steady him

He couldn’t let you see how affected he really was; couldn’t reveal that the weight of worry had been pressing on him just as heavily. For all his certainty, his strength, his fear wasn’t for himself.

"However you need me… because my love for you is all I have left to offer, as a man with nothing else to give" Sylus’s gaze flickered to yours, and you felt his breath catch as your fingers ran over the damp line on his cheek.

He raised himself, his nose brushing against yours as he tilted his head to connect his lips with yours. The subtle flavour of salt mingled on your tongues. Sylus felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for being alive. After everything that had happened, the stillness around you revealed that all you desired was his closeness more than ever.

Sylus pushed up onto his knees to deepen the kiss, tender and sweet with an undercurrent of urgency in his movement.

“I would do it all again. Choose the wait of a century… ” he said between kisses, each peck a declaration that you understood the meaning behind every tender touch and very whispered promise sealed in the air. “Take my last breath as if it were my greatest honour. Because I am yours. All of me…"

The rush of tears had now passed and you let the cradle song of contentment bathe you. Though fatigue tugged at your bones, hope flickered like a candle in the darkness. Your hearts pulsed in harmony, the burdens of worry lingering in the air, but never alone, he reminded you.

If Sylus was yours to love and hold, then you were his in sickness and in health. You belonged to each other, and if your souls were forever intertwined, then your daughter would be the embodiment of that shared love.

“She will be ours” you said breathlessly against his mouth and Sylus’ eyes, once the vivid red of fresh blood deepened to a dark almost infinite crimson, his eyelids heavy, pupils dilating.

“Ours…” He repeated, tasting the word as though it were new, something he wanted to savour.

He said it again, quieter this time, and the walls he so carefully constructed around himself, crumbled under the pressure of his emotions.

The sentiment set the mood thick, the way the flecks of gold marble enriched the lustreless grey walls; four corners that became the keeper of all your intimacy and your secrets, a witness to every unspoken thought and keen desire.

Now, they would also stand witness to the joy of your child as she grew, recording the moments of wonder, each giggle, every first step, and the murmur of her first words.

It would become her safety, her home, in the arms of those who loved her most.

You and Sylus found yourselves immersed in the soothing of your conscious when the sudden wail broke the tranquillity, causing him to pull back, his eyes wide with surprise.

The unexpected interruption jerked a laugh from your throat and in an instant, Sylus left your side and had the infant in his arms, a grin spread across his face while he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

He grabbed the nursing pillow from the cot on his way to you just as you settled against the pillows and pulled down your shirt to feed her.

“You know, I think she gets her appetite from you.” you giggled when she hungrily latched onto your nipple.

Sylus chuckled, watching his girls. “I’d like to think I’m a bit more civilized about it.”

You gaped at him before punching his leg, which caused a stir from the child who clearly disapproved.

“Sorry, sorry,” you quickly apologized, repositioning her to latch back on.

“A bit demanding too, aren’t you little one” he remarked, poking her cheek.

You glared at him. “You have something to say to me, honey?”

“Put the claws away, kitten. I only meant it as an observation” he said, his voice still low, though there was amusement in his tone.

“Careful, Sylus, or I might just take preference of your daughter over you" You quipped.

He scoffed as he climbed into bed beside you, “That’s a rather cruel thing to say. Shouldn’t you be happy she has one of your... traits?”

“Oh god…” You opened your mouth to retort, words catching on your lips, and whatever you meant to say dissolved in an instant as a thought took hold: what if she did inherit everything from her father and not just his beautiful eyes?

Your expression shifted, giving way to a contemplative silence.

“What is it?” He asked.

“She can have your looks, that’s fine, but as for your personality…”

He looked up from his daughter, breaking away from the sight of their adorably clashing eyes to fix you with an incredulous look. “What’s wrong with my personality?”

Did he really need to ask that?

“You’re difficult..”

Sylus clicked his tongue, “I’d prefer the term ‘tenacious and efficient,”

“Well I’d prefer the term ‘handful’”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

It wasn’t. Not particularly… you think?

With an all-too-familiar quirk of his lips hinting at amusement, you began to feel slightly annoyed— especially when your daughter’s insistent latch brought a sudden twinge of discomfort.

“It’s all fun and games until she turns out exactly like you” you muttered, half-jokingly.

He raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “What did you expect, sweetie?”

“Right, because I was fully aware of the implications of breeding with a handful,” you teased.

“You know what I hear? Jealousy” He drawled.

“Jealousy? Really?” You narrowed your eyes.

His grin widened, “If she does turn out to be a little me, I wouldn’t mind adding another to balance things out… maybe one who takes after you.”

“Jeez, Sylus! It’s way too early for that.” You pushed his face away, laughter escaping your lips as your daughter, now full, drifted off with her tiny tongue still out, sleepily suckling at the air.

Both of you awe-struck at the sight before Sylus gathered her up and settled her across his chest while you nestled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder as your hand slipped over his, covering the one he kept protectively on her back.

After a moment, he spoke, “You know, no matter what she inherits from me, I’m grateful it’s you who brought her into this world. You’re the heart of our little family, and no matter what our future holds, I’ll always be here to support you”

By this point you were barely able to keep your eyes open, exhaustion pulling you toward sleep, but you heard him loud and clear.

“I’m lucky to have you,” you whispered back.

The last thing you remembered as Sylus’ kissing your forehead and pulling the blankets up to your chin.

“Sleep well, beloved"

Do not copy, steal, or repost to any other platform 🥀

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bingbongsupremacy · 2 months ago

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The Soldier's Baby Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized fem!reader

Series Warning: Y/N use, swearing, mentions of sexual assault (Not graphic just mentioned a few times) & the word rape (No one raped reader, there was just confusion on what happened), fatphobia, trauma, abuse, insecurities, guy being creepy.

Pt. 3 Summary: Things are slowly starting to develop between you and Bucky. Will you get to live happily ever after? Or is this crush all in your head?

After Captain America TWS, Not cannon to movies just some things from the movies mentioned.

*Not Proof Read*

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

□□□□□□□

The golden light filters through the trees, warming the bench beneath you and Bucky as Daisy runs circles nearby, her laughter ringing like wind chimes through the gentle hush of the park. A park brake is definitely what she needed after being in a store for hours.

Bucky sits close—his arm draped across the back of the bench, not touching you, but close enough that his presence is like a pulse at your back. You can feel the tension in the space between you, warm and steady, but unspoken. Not uncomfortable. Just... present.

“She’s a good kid,” he murmurs, watching Daisy fondly, something wistful shadowing his expression.

You smile at your daughter, who is currently making her stuffed bunny "hop" across the grass. “She’s everything,” you whisper. “and so much more.”

He hums softly in agreement.

His voice is warm, but your heart skips at the softness in it—the way it feels like he sees you, really sees you. You glance over, and he’s already looking at you.

“She's just like Rebecca, it's scary.” he adds, quieter now.

You blink, turning to face him more fully. “Your sister, right?”

“Yeah. Brooklyn, 30s. She was the toughest out of all of us. Always called me out on my crap,” he says with a small chuckle. “I miss her.”

Your heart tightens at the weight in his voice. You don’t know everything about his past, but you know enough. And he’s starting to open that door now. You've heard bits and pieces. Rumors and stories. But only he can tell you the truth.

“What was it like?” you ask gently. “Growing up back then?”

He leans back, eyes focused somewhere far away. “Busy. Loud. People looked out for each other. You could hear the radio through every window. There were corner stores, stoops, neighborhood kids always out. It was home. A lot simpler in some ways. We didn’t have much money, but we made it work. I ran errands, fixed up bikes, helped out the neighbors. And Steve—well, he was always in trouble. Too many opinions and too few pounds to back 'em up.” He chuckles slightly.

“I used to think I had to look out for him,” he adds, eyes crinkling fondly. “But honestly, Steve didn’t need anyone to fight his battles for him. He just needed someone to drag him out of them after.”

You both smile, the memory settling into a companionable quiet. But the silence doesn’t last long. There’s a shift in his breathing, a heaviness to the pause that follows. You glance over at him. His eyes are distant again, but this time, there’s something harder behind them.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you give him that silence, letting him settle into the memory.

“I enlisted,” he says, voice lower. “Got sent out before Steve did. I was captured in enemy territory. Hydra got ahold of me.” His jaw clenches slightly. “Experimented on me. Brainwashed me. Made me their weapon.”

You go still, your hand curling in your lap. “Bucky...”

His eyes are distant. “Every time I’d start to remember who I was, they’d wipe it. Like scrubbing out a chalkboard. Over and over again.”

You don’t speak. You just reach out slowly and place your hand on top of his where it rests on his knee. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away.

“You’re not there anymore,” you say, your voice soft but certain. “They don’t get to define you.”

He looks at you then, like he’s been underwater and your voice just pulled him up. His eyes meet yours—stormy blue, filled with something aching and real—and it’s like something settles in him.

“I’ve been free for a while,” he murmurs. “But I didn’t feel it… not really… until recently.”

“Until Daisy?” you ask with a soft smile, memories of his love for the little girl flashing in your mind.

His lips tug up, but his gaze is still locked on yours. “Until you.”

Your breath stutters. His words hit you low in the belly, heat blooming behind your ribs.

Neither of you says anything for a beat. The tension pulls tight, a magnetic thread stretched between you.

Your heart is pounding. You’re aware of the way his thigh is brushing yours, the way his fingers curl slightly where yours still rest on top of his.

Bucky’s eyes drop to your mouth for just a second. When he looks back at you, there’s no hiding what’s in them.

Desire. Fear. Hope.

He leans in slightly. Just enough that you feel his breath, warm and shallow. His eyes flick between your lips and your eyes, gauging—waiting.

Your lips part instinctively, and your heart hammers so hard you’re sure he must hear it. The world fades. There’s only him. The way he smells. The soft flutter in your belly. The need you try not to admit.

His other hand presses tenderly against your cheek. His finger hooks under your chin, slightly pulling it towards him.

Then...

“Mommy!”

You both jolt slightly, the spell snapping but not quite shattering. Bucky drops his hand from your cheek. You immediately miss the warmth.

Daisy is bounding toward you, stuffed bunny under one arm, little legs stomping through the grass.

You lean back just a little, cheeks warming. Bucky’s eyes are still on you, his lips parted like he’s caught between a breath and a moment. But his gaze doesn’t fall. Doesn’t waver.

Instead, his hand brushes yours again—deliberate. His fingers squeeze, gently. And though he doesn’t speak, his eyes tell you everything.

Later, they promise.

Not yet.

But soon.

And when Daisy launches herself into your lap, giggling and asking if bunny can have dinner too, you laugh—but your heart is still thudding from everything you didn’t say.

And everything you know, you will.

-----

Daisy’s little fingers hold out a dandelion proudly. “Mama, look! It’s a the flower!”

You blink, exhaling shakily as you pull back slightly from Bucky. Your lips are still tingling from how close he was—how much you wanted that kiss.

“Wow,” you breathe, voice wobbling just a little as you smile down at her. “That’s a beautiful flower, baby.”

She climbs up onto the bench and wriggles into your side, her hair bouncing as she makes herself comfortable between you and Bucky. It breaks the moment—pulls your bodies apart—but not your connection. Bucky’s eyes don’t leave you, not even when Daisy leans against his arm.

There’s something in his gaze that is steady and full of tension.

You feel it.

The air between you is thick, charged. And even as Daisy starts talking about butterflies and cookies and the toys she got today, your heart is still thudding with what almost happened. Bucky listens to her—nods, smiles, hums along—but you can tell he’s not entirely hearing her either. His eyes flick to you again. Just a glance. Then another.

Your knees brush together. You don't move away. Neither does he.

When Daisy scrambles down a few minutes later to pick clovers at the edge of the path, Bucky finally exhales. You hear it. Feel it.

“That was close,” he murmurs, his voice dipping into something deeper.

Your head turns toward him, slowly. “Yeah. It was.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s full. Warm. And buzzing.

“I wanted to kiss you,” he says again, like he just needs to say it out loud. “I still do.”

You nod, barely breathing. “Me too.” This feels like a dream.

He looks down, his metal fingers lightly drumming against the bench. “I don’t wanna rush you. I know things are still… fragile. With everything. With you and Daisy. But I need you to know—this isn’t just a moment to me.”

Your throat is tight. “It’s not just a moment to me either.”

He reaches for your hand then—your left one—his metal fingers curling over your knuckles so gently it makes your eyes sting. It’s such a strange contrast: soft affection from something that was built for war. But it feels like him. Steady. Sure.

“She’s the most important thing in your world,” he says, nodding toward Daisy. “I know that. And I don’t ever want to come into your life unless I can make it better. Safer. Happier.”

“You already have,” you whisper.

Bucky lifts his eyes again, and they’re so full of warmth it knocks the air from your lungs. He leans in—slow again, careful—and this time, nothing stops him.

His lips brush yours softly.

It’s not rushed. Not hard or desperate. Just gentle. Steady. Like a promise with a hint of passion.

Your hand finds his shoulder as your eyes flutter closed. His other hand rises to your cheek, holding you like you’re something precious.

And you kiss him back.

When you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours. You’re both smiling—quietly, shyly—but you’re still so close, you could kiss again if you wanted. And you do.

But this time, he doesn’t rush. He brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, and you breathe him in like he’s something sacred.

At your feet, Daisy hums to herself as she plucks wildflowers, completely unaware of how her world just shifted.

And maybe yours too.

---Later in the Future (All of these next parts are from the future)---

You wake up to tiny feet pattering across the floor and the sound of an excited voice squealing, “It’s my birthday!”

You barely have time to sit up before Daisy launches herself onto the bed, her hair wild from sleep and her grin practically taking up her whole face. She crawls into your lap, bouncing with barely contained energy, and you laugh as you wrap your arms around her.

“Happy birthday, peanut,” Bucky says from beside you, still sleep-rough, but smiling in that soft, melted way he always does when he looks at her.

The two of you moved to Bucky's room a few months after officially beginning dating, leaving Daisy your old room. She loved it, all the space and free range to decorate it however she wanted. Right now, that means lots of fairies and unicorns.

She throws her arms around him next, squishing her face into his chest. “I’m four now!” she declares proudly.

“Four?” Bucky pulls back like he’s shocked. “No way. You were three just yesterday.”

Daisy gasps. “That’s ‘cause I grew last night.”

“Ohhh,” he says seriously, nodding. “That explains it.”

The morning starts with pancakes — heart-shaped, a little messy, made with too much whipped cream and sprinkles because Daisy insisted. You sit at the kitchen counter, watching as Bucky flips the batter with one arm while balancing Daisy on his hip. She’s humming the happy birthday song to herself, completely off-key and adorable.

After breakfast, there are presents. Bucky lets Daisy rip open the colorful paper as dramatically as possible, and you swear you’ve never seen her eyes light up like they do when she sees the little red tricycle you picked out together.

She gasps and hugs Bucky first, then turns to hug you. “Best birthday ever!”

Later, you head outside to the shared yard behind the compound. Natasha and Sam show up, bringing extra balloons and snacks, and a little cake that looks suspiciously homemade. Steve swings by with a wrapped book that he claims is “age appropriate,” though it turns out to be about heroic raccoons saving a forest.

There’s laughter. Games. Daisy runs around with cake on her face, chasing bubbles with a group of kids from the compound. You catch Bucky watching her with that same soft look he always gets now — the one that says he still can’t believe this is his life. That she’s his daughter.

That you are his everything.

When the sun starts to dip low in the sky, painting the yard in golden hues, you’re sitting on a picnic blanket with Bucky. Daisy is curled up between the two of you, tired and sugar-crashed, but still glowing.

“She had a good day,” you say softly, brushing her curls from her face.

“She always has good days,” Bucky replies, just as quiet. “But today was special.”

Your hand finds his. It’s instinct now — familiar and easy, the way your lives have become stitched together.

He leans over and kisses your temple. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “For giving me this.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, watching as Daisy snores softly between you. “We gave it to each other.”

And as the stars begin to blink above you, your little girl safe in your arms, Bucky’s hand warm in yours, you realize this—this exact moment—is what forever looks like.

-----

The sun is beginning to set, casting long golden rays over the quiet garden tucked behind the little restaurant Bucky took you to. It’s the kind of light that makes everything feel softer — glowing petals, fireflies just starting to flicker, the warmth of early summer clinging to your skin like a memory you won’t want to let go of.

The evening’s been perfect so far — slow, full of laughter and familiar touches, the kind of rhythm only two people who know each other’s hearts inside and out can fall into.

Bucky’s hand has been in yours most of the night.

Things have changed a lot since the day you two met nearly 2 years ago. You've become a family. You trust Bucky. You feel safe. And Daisy's grown so much.

Bucky hasn’t been able to stop looking at you — not during dinner, not during dessert, and definitely not now, as the two of you walk together through the garden path just behind the little cottage-style bistro. You pause at a wooden archway wrapped in ivy and flowers, stopping to admire the way the lanterns hanging from the trees flicker gently like stars.

You turn to say something. Something soft, something grateful. That’s when you notice he’s not beside you anymore.

He’s a few steps back.

And he’s kneeling.

Your breath catches.

He looks up at you with that steady, quiet expression of his — full of emotion but never loud about it. His eyes shimmer a little in the golden light, and you can already feel tears forming in your own.

“Hey,” he says gently, like this is just another one of your conversations, even though your heart is pounding in your ears.

You can’t speak. You cover your mouth with your hand, just staring down at him.

“I’ve had this ring for a while,” he admits, his voice low and a little rough. “Kept waitin’ for the perfect time. But I realized…” He smiles, small and sure. “Every moment with you is perfect. So I figured now’s just as good as any.”

You laugh wetly, heart flipping over and over in your chest. You can't believe what's going on. You've dreamed of this. Life forever with Bucky, with your kid. Now it's going to happen.

He opens the little velvet box — inside is a ring that’s so clearly you. Elegant, simple, beautiful. Thoughtful. Like everything he’s ever done.

“I love you,” he says. “I’ve loved you every day, even before I knew what it meant to build a life again. You gave me a home when I didn’t think I deserved one. You gave me your trust. You gave me Daisy.”

Your heart crumbles at that.

He looks up at you like there’s no one else in the world. “And I wanna keep doing life with you. Every messy, wonderful second of it. So…” He takes a breath, his thumb brushing over the ring. “Will you marry me?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes,” you whisper, and then again, louder, your voice thick with emotion. “Yes. Yes, Bucky.”

He stands, slipping the ring onto your finger, his hands a little shaky with nerves and joy. And then his arms are around you and you’re laughing, crying, kissing him like you’ll never stop.

The applause from somewhere off to the side surprises you — you look over and see Daisy clapping wildly, standing beside the waiter who helped Bucky pull this off.

You giggle as Bucky kisses your forehead. “You had her in on it?”

He grins. “She helped me pick the ring.”

Of course she did.

You look down at your hand, at the way the ring catches the golden light — and at the man who put it there. The man who chose you, and never stopped choosing you.

And for the first time, your forever doesn’t feel scary.

It feels like home.

-----

The day starts soft.

Sunlight filters through the curtains in your shared bedroom, the golden kind that only shows up when everything feels right. There’s a breeze in the air, birdsong somewhere distant, and the smell of fresh coffee drifting in from the kitchen.

But none of that compares to the butterflies in your stomach.

Today, you’re marrying Bucky Barnes.

You’re marrying the man who held your daughter like she was a miracle the first time she called him daddy.

You’re marrying the man who sat beside you during sleepless nights and sweet mornings and all the quiet in between.

You're marrying the man who protected you.

You’re marrying your best friend.

The compound’s courtyard has been transformed — soft white lights strung across the trees, delicate flowers blooming in clusters. Sam and Steve helped put the chairs together. Natasha, impossibly smug, got her hands on the perfect champagne and managed the whole event like she was born to. She knew this was going to happen.

You’re tucked away in one of the side rooms, dress carefully laid out, makeup soft and understated. Daisy sits at your feet, giggling as she twirls in her own little white dress, clutching her basket of flower petals.

“Mama,” she whispers excitedly, “You look like a princess.”

Your breath catches in your throat. “And you, baby? You’re the most magical part of this day.”

When it’s time, you walk down the aisle with Daisy just ahead of you, petals fluttering behind her like fairy wings. Every eye is on you, but you only see one face.

Bucky stands at the end, heart in his eyes, wearing a dark suit that somehow makes him look even more breathtaking than usual. His hands are clasped in front of him, but you can tell — he’s nervous. Not about marrying you, no. Just... overwhelmed. Like he can’t believe this is real.

Like he can’t believe you’re real.

You take his hand when you reach him. It’s warm. Solid. The tremble in it mirrors your own.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you breathe, and he grins — boyish and bright, like he’s back in Brooklyn in 1942 and everything is possible again.

The vows are simple. Honest. Yours speak of healing, of trust, of building a future from pieces of the past. His speak of second chances and the family he never dreamed he’d have, but found in you and Daisy.

When the officiant says, You may kiss the bride, Bucky leans in slowly, reverently, like you’re something holy. His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin as his lips press against yours — soft and deep

Applause breaks out. Daisy throws the rest of her petals in the air and shouts, “Mommy and daddy are married!”

You both laugh, breaking the kiss, forehead resting against his. “We did it,” you whisper.

“We did,” Bucky replies. “God, I love you.”

And later, under fairy lights and soft music, with Daisy fast asleep in a little flower-strewn chair nearby, Bucky pulls you close for your first dance.

You’re wrapped in his arms. The world fades. It’s just the two of you. The girl who gave him hope, the man who gave you safety, and a future that stretches endlessly ahead — built on late-night stories, morning pancakes, and the kind of love that can weather anything.

You're his wife.

He's your husband.

You wouldn't change anything.

--------

It happens on a quiet morning.

The kind of quiet that only settles over the Avengers compound after a week of missions and long nights, when everyone is finally getting a moment to breathe. You’re in the bathroom with the door cracked open as Daisy hums from the living room, playing with her puzzles.

You’re not expecting anything. Not really. You and Bucky have been trying for a baby — quietly, gently, like you’ve done everything else in this relationship — but the months have passed, and with each negative test, you’d slowly lowered your expectations.

But this one… this one is different.

You stare at the test in your hand, heart racing so hard you can barely hear anything over the pounding in your ears. Two lines.

Two lines.

You blink, once, twice, gripping the edge of the bathroom sink. It feels surreal. Like your mind hasn’t caught up with your body yet. You sink onto the edge of the tub, the test still in your hand, and let out a quiet, shaky laugh.

You’re pregnant.

You press a hand over your mouth to stifle the sound, not wanting Daisy to hear yet. She’s still so small, still waking up each morning with bedhead and her favorite stuffed duck in tow — but she’s also the best thing that’s ever happened to you. And now… now, you’re going to have another child. A baby that you and Bucky made together. On purpose. With love.

It takes a few more minutes to gather yourself. You hide the test in your sweater sleeve, calling softly for Daisy and pulling her into your lap on the couch while you try to think of how to tell Bucky. He’s due back soon — he went on a short recon mission with Sam and Steve the night before. Should be home before lunch.

You spend the next hour pacing the living space, heart fluttering, fingers fiddling with a tiny onesie you'd secretly bought months ago. Just in case. It’s soft and simple, with little moons printed on the front — and it’s perfect.

You hear the hum of the quinjet before you see it. Daisy rushes to the window, squealing, “Daddy’s home!”

You can barely breathe.

He walks in wearing that worn navy long-sleeve shirt you love, his metal arm catching the light, hair pulled back loosely. As soon as he sees you, something softens in his expression.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, stepping close and pressing a kiss to your temple. “Miss me?”

You nod, eyes wide, and then grab the onesie from where you’d tucked it behind a pillow. You hand it to him without a word, your hands shaking just a little.

Bucky frowns at first, confused, until he looks down and sees the little moons. Then his eyes dart to yours, searching, cautious — like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up unless you confirm it out loud.

You nod, barely whispering, “I took a test. It’s positive.”

He stares at you for a moment, completely still. And then he breathes out your name like it’s the only word he’s ever known. His eyes begin to shine.

“You’re serious?” he asks quietly.

You nod again, a little teary, a little stunned. “I… I didn’t think it would actually happen. I thought maybe it just wasn’t in the cards after everything… after everything we’ve been through. But—Bucky, we’re gonna have a baby.”

And that’s all it takes. He’s got his arms around you in a second, one hand in your hair, the other on the small of your back. His chest is warm, solid, and grounding. You melt into it, tears slipping out freely now. Happy tears, full of disbelief and joy and hope.

Bucky leans back just enough to look into your eyes. “You’re giving me another chance to be a dad,” he says softly, reverently. “You already gave me the best gift in the world with Daisy, and now this…”

Your heart thuds hard. “You’re the best dad. Daisy adores you. And this baby’s going to be so lucky.”

He cups your cheeks, brushing away a tear with his thumb. “They’ve already got the best mom.”

Later that night, once Daisy is tucked into bed and you’re curled up together on the couch, Bucky rests his head against your belly, even though you're not far along enough to show. He gently places his metal hand over your stomach, eyes closing as he speaks in the softest voice you’ve ever heard from him.

“Hey, little one,” he whispers. “It’s your dad. I know you’re still growing, but… we already love you so much. You’ve got a big sister who’s gonna teach you everything — like how to sneak cookies, and what blanket is the coziest, and how to draw superheroes that look like stick bugs.”

You giggle quietly, your fingers brushing through his hair.

“I’m not perfect,” he murmurs, “but I’m gonna try my best. I promise I’ll protect you. And your mama. Always.”

Tears slip down your cheeks again — how does he always know just what to say?

You rest your hand over his, soaking in the moment, the quiet, the warmth of this little family you’ve built together.

You never thought life would lead you here, to a home filled with love and second chances.

But now that you’re here, you can’t imagine anything better.

------

The months pass in a blur of belly rubs, baby kicks, and so many bowls of fruit that Bucky jokingly starts calling you his “peach.”

He’s attentive in a way that sometimes makes you want to cry — not from hormones, but from love.

When your back starts hurting in the second trimester, he figures out how to adjust the couch cushions just right to support you. When you start struggling to sleep, he stays up with you, even at 3 a.m., holding your hand and rubbing circles on your stomach until you both finally doze off. He never misses a doctor’s appointment, always holding your hand during ultrasounds like he’s watching a miracle unfold.

And he is. Because to him, this is a miracle — you are the miracle. He doesn’t say it every day, but he shows it. In the way he makes your tea just the way you like it, how he quietly learns all the ingredients in your prenatal vitamins, how he memorizes breathing techniques from the birthing classes and practices them with you without ever making a joke.

Daisy is glued to your side too — always talking to your belly, always saying “Hi, baby!” in her sweet little voice. She even draws pictures of what she thinks the baby will look like: usually a stick figure with wild hair and hearts for eyes.

But Bucky — he’s your constant. Your center. He kisses your stomach every night before bed, whispering little things to the baby about how much they’re loved. And when your feet swell, he gently massages them with his strong hands and a tenderness that makes you fall in love with him all over again.

Then the day comes.

It’s early, the sun barely rising over the horizon, when the contractions wake you. This time, there’s no panic. No fear. You wake Bucky with a soft nudge and a shaky whisper.

“It’s time.”

He’s on his feet immediately, but not frantic. Just ready. His voice is steady, his hands gentle as he helps you dress, grabs the hospital bag, and alerts the medical team on-site at the compound.

You kiss Daisy’s forehead while she sleeps, knowing Steve and Nat will take good care of her.

And then you’re off.

The hospital is bright and clean, nothing like the chaos of your last birth. This time, you have monitors, nurses, soft lighting. You have a bed, a room with a view, a team ready to help — and Bucky, right there, holding your hand through every single moment.

He never leaves your side. Not once. He coaches your breathing, rubs your back, kisses your temple when the contractions hit hard. At one point, when the pain sharpens, he cups your face and whispers, “You’re not alone this time. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.”

And you believe him.

Hours later, when your baby finally enters the world with a cry that makes your chest break open, Bucky is crying too. You’re both crying. Because it’s not just a baby — it’s a second chance. It’s proof that healing is real, that love can grow out of pain and become something beautiful.

The nurse gently places the baby on your chest, and you let out a sob as you cradle your child — small, warm, perfect.

Bucky is leaning over you, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers, his hand cupping the baby’s back like they’re the most fragile treasure he’s ever held.

You look up at him, eyes glassy, heart full.

“We did it,” you whisper.

He smiles through his tears and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You did it. You’re amazing.”

Later, when the baby is swaddled and sleeping, and the room is dim and quiet, Bucky leans over and kisses your lips softly. Then he presses another kiss to the top of your head.

“You should’ve had this the first time,” he murmurs. “Safe and peacefuk. You deserved it.”

You nod, your voice catching. “I have it now. With you.”

He sits beside you on the bed, one hand holding yours, the other resting on your newborn’s chest.

And in that quiet, sacred space-with your baby breathing softly, with love surrounding you, you know that this time, everything is exactly as it should be.

This time you're not scared your baby will be taken from you. You know Bucky would never let that happen.

Bucky's here, and he's never letting you go.

-----

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 AU Version (What if you told Bucky while you were both in HYDRA)

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