#ten percent left au

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (9)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. profanity, usage of alcohol, mentions of cheating, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationship, explicit smut

series masterlist -> episode ten

Satoru had a major problem. 

And it was his self-control. His lack of self-control was the reason he had engaged himself in an adulterous relationship back when he was married. His lack of self-control was the reason why you had become the recipient of his unreasonable anger in the early stages of your marriage. His lack of self-control was the reason why, out of all the women in the world, he was now sleeping with a friend of yours. For God’s sake, his lack of self-control was probably the reason why you were also pushed to your limits, choosing to cut your marital ties with him and leaving only the scraps of his role as a parent to Sachiro.

Back when he was attending his weekly therapy sessions, his therapist told him that part of what he needed to learn was to control his impulses, resist temptations, and actively exercise his willpower. They were easier to achieve then than now, since he was the loneliest man at the time with no friends, no wife, no son, and no bustling company to run. His decisions remained untainted, his temptations unchallenged, his emotions uninfluenced—a solitary journey at its finest. He was all by himself. How come? It was because he was sent by his mom to Osaka to temporarily seclude him from his harrowing memories in Tokyo, compelling him to sever ties with the outside world and immerse solely in personal convalescence. Reflecting now, it felt no different than being sent to a psychiatric hospital.

He could say it worked at the time. He learned how to keep his emotions at bay. He learned how to control his thoughts, throwing away the bad and keeping only the good. He was a new man by the time he returned to Tokyo, prepared as ever to take on his role as the Chairman of the Gojou Group, ready to once again try and live a normal life. But the moment news had spread about his ex-wife's marriage to his business rival, all the self-control he had painstakingly cultivated seemed to have evaporated in an instant.

Everything also went downhill after that. 

He wasn’t going to list down all of the things that happened nor the impact it had on him since you yourself were a witness to them. But if he was going to look at the way your return has changed the trajectory of his life 3 years after you first left, he would still at a hundred percent put all the blame on his shoulders. None of this domino effect would end up like this if he had been a faithful and loving husband in the first place. The pressure from his father was not the only root of all this, the branches also extended to his corporate greed which ultimately ruined his chance at a fruitful marriage with you. 

But at least, the chaos should have settled by now. You chose to move forward and he decided to respect your decision by finding his way to another. This should free you both from the emotional torture that had you imprisoned in each other's cage for the longest time. He would still be there for you as the father of your child, but otherwise, he was happy that you had Toji Zen’in by your side to fill in the marital gaps that he had failed to complete. 

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. The warm water fell on his body in rivulets, soaking him completely so early in the morning as he decided to take a long shower. For how long? He couldn’t tell. He could stay there for hours if need be. He had to let his mind wander on its own, with a hand pressed against the wall, and another stroking his white hair back. Despite accepting the fact that Toji now owned your love and affection… well, wasn’t that son of a gun too lucky? Did he even realize that the woman he would marry was once Satoru’s entire universe? 

Ah, but who cares? Satoru scoffed inwardly, leaning his head back to let the water hit his face. He had Akemi, so why did it matter if you had Toji? He wasn’t bitter. He was just trying to reason with himself that you deserved to be with someone you really, truthfully loved. And he deserved that, too. Maybe not now, but at the perfect time, he could relive the life of a married man after learning from his mistakes the hard way. A much better one. A married man who would never in his life betray, hurt, or ruin his partner. A doting husband who would offer his whole life just to make her happy. He promised to himself that Akemi should have that kind of man from him. 

Though, he could ask himself, how far was he from achieving that? He did practice his self-control last night when joined you in the pool—his face, inches away from you. Hand gripping your hip. Eye-to-eye. Skin-to-skin. Your warm breath fanning his cheek. Just another step forward and your lips would touch. But he didn’t let that happen. He mustered all of his power to pull back from the gravity that was drawing him closer to you. Still, he couldn’t deny that you looked absolutely gorgeous last night. As the moonlight illuminated your face, he could swear that the stars also sparkled on your eyes. They must be from the tears you were desperately holding back, but either way, you were still so goddamn beautiful. He almost couldn’t keep his eyes off you last night and had to distract himself from looking at your lips, your collarbone, your chest, your curves…

“Fuck.” 

Talk about self-control. 

Satoru had none of that right now. His body reacted involuntarily to the thought of you last night. The sensual thought of you. The what-ifs.

What if he had wrapped your legs around his waist and enveloped your lips into a passionate kiss? 

He took a deep breath, still holding onto the wall as his other hand traveled to his growing member. 

What if he had carried you all the way into the living room and laid you naked on the couch? 

Closing his eyes, his hand started moving on its own, stroking his hardened cock and feeling every ridge as he pleasured himself. 

What if you had let him devour you? Let him roll his tongue on your entrance and taste your sweet, sweet flesh? 

Gojou let out a moan. A quiet yet desperate moan when he continued to jerk himself off faster and rougher. Damn it. He had to keep it low and he better not be heard committing such a sin in the bathroom. Although, he was confident that you were still sound asleep next to Sachiro in your bedroom, so he didn't think you would hear the noise he was making.

After all, it was shameless to know what was driving his feral thoughts right now. Thoughts of you letting him slide his tip along your entrance. Thoughts of him ramming his cock inside your tight cunt, being squeezed by your soft, velvet walls. Thoughts of your breasts bouncing wildly as he continued to hit your most sensitive spot. Fuck. Faster. He would have taken you on all fours, too. He would have let you ride his hardened shaft. He would have pressed you against the sofa and put your legs above his shoulders, letting you milk his cock with the tightness of your cunt. Satoru would release his warm seed into you in every position. He would shoot every drop of his cum straight to your womb, no doubt impregnating you for the second time around. He would absolutely love that. He would love seeing the residues of his wanton desire for you seeping out of your pussy. He would be at bliss watching your belly grow a few months after that, knowing that he had created yet another beautiful life inside of you. 

“Y/N…” 

Awakened by his senses, Satoru opened his eyes and saw the sticky white mess on his hand and on the wall. What the hell did he just do? More importantly, what the hell was he thinking of? 

No one should know about that. Not you, not even Akemi. He didn’t cheat on her, no. He didn’t do anything with you. That shouldn’t be counted as cheating. He didn’t even touch you. And he wasn't even officially dating Akemi.

No, no… 

Absolutely not.

Drowning into a pool of guilt, the first thing he did after that sinful shower session was to contact his supposed girlfriend not-girlfiend. And to make things even more awkward, you entered the kitchen in silence at the right time, carrying a sleepy Sachiro in your arms, unaware of the dilemma that was sending your ex-lover into a spiral.

“Morning,” he greeted almost inaudibly, clearing his throat and taking a sip of coffee afterwards. He had to think straight. 

“Morning,” was your simple and oblivious reply as you went about your daily morning routine. 

Gojou, on the other hand, was typing on his phone because Akemi wasn’t answering his FaceTime calls. He had completely forgotten to update her all day because he had been a little bit too occupied the moment he landed in America. She must be overthinking why he hadn’t reached out to her until now, and he felt extremely awful and responsible for that, but she couldn’t be fast asleep that early, right? It was 7:00 a.m. in New York, so that meant it was only 9:00 p.m. back home. 

He nervously rang her number once more, mumbling a ‘please answer’ as he watched her caller ID appear on the screen. 

“Dada,” called Sachiro, looking at him as his mother sat him on the high chair to prepare his breakfast. 

Still holding his phone, Satoru walked to his son and placed a gentle kiss on his tiny forehead. “Morning, Sachi. Did you sleep well?” 

The toddler nodded at him, drinking milk from the baby bottle that he was holding with both hands. His eyes were wide and blue—quite the same hues of blue that would remind you of a clear sky. Satoru couldn’t help but pinch his adorable son’s cheeks. 

And while you were busy picking out food from the pantry, Akemi finally answered his call after the fourth attempt and showed her beautiful, soft features on the screen. His eyes immediately lit up at the sight of her. “Hey, how are you?” 

He could tell she was still a bit distant and upset because of what happened two weeks ago, when she claimed to have heard him say your name during his sleep. He already made an excuse for it as he also didn’t know why he even did it in the first place, but Akemi was still understandably hurt. He couldn’t blame her. 

“I’m fine, how are you?” she tiredly asked, seemingly heading towards her bed. “I just got home from work, that's why I wasn’t answering.” 

He could see, in the corner of his eyes, that you were glancing at him but he didn’t return it. All of his focus was on Akemi, feeling bad that he hadn’t exactly been a good partner for her lately. Especially after the shit he just did in the shower this morning, but that was a secret that was meant to be buried. “Alright, did you have dinner already? It’s morning here so I’m having breakfast.”

She offered a small smile albeit the visible exhaustion on her eyes. “I did. How’s Sachiro doing?” 

“You wanna see him?” He walked closer to his son, showing him on the screen as his big blue eyes stared at the woman on the other end of the line. “Sachi, say hi to Auntie ‘Kemi.” 

“Hiii~” Sachiro happily greeted Akemi, while the latter cooed at the sight of his son. She spoke to him with a gentle and motherly tone, weaving warmth and love into her words. It made his heart full knowing that Akemi would wholeheartedly treat his child as her own, because if there was a slight possibility that she wouldn’t, she knew that Satoru would rather let her go. His child was still more important than any other woman. And so if his future partner couldn’t accept the fact that he had a child with his ex-wife, then they shouldn’t be in his life after all. The case was different with Akemi because she was already your friend and she had the chance to see Sachiro grow up before Gojou even knew his son existed at all. It was a bit complicated, but things turned out to be easier on the part of acceptance. 

The only problem was you. 

Because by the time the call ended, Satoru could tell that you weren’t in the best mood as you ate breakfast next to Sachiro in complete silence. Your eyebrows were curled into annoyance, and yet your eyes held sadness in them, an expression that had become difficult for him to fathom. Were you jealous of Akemi? He assumed you would say no, but your expressions showed otherwise. 

“Y/N,” he called for your attention, hoping that you would look into his eyes for a little bit. Yet, not a chance did you do. “What’s our agenda for today?” 

You seemed irritated, if anything. You refused to look at him as you gave a curt reply. “I communicated everything you needed to know via email. You should have checked it instead of letting Miwa do everything for you.”

Jeez. You were definitely angry. “Okay.” He cleared his throat once more. “I just asked in case there was a last minute change.” 

“There isn’t. I would have said so if there is.” 

“Right.”

Satoru didn’t know how to act in front of his ex-wife anymore. Now that he had seemed to ignite your pique, he chose not to say anything else further as you two finished your meals and cleaned up after yourselves. The only time he spoke again was when he offered to bathe Sachiro so that you could focus on yourself. 

You agreed. 

And he did his part. 

It was simple give-and-take. A transactional relationship, if you must. Nothing else would blossom from that except your responsibilities as parents for Sachiro. 

——

The New York trip was already as awkward as it was. And it only just started. 

To be fair, it wouldn’t have been as uncomfortable if only Gojou had not decided to make it so. He was the one that made the atmosphere unpleasant by trying to savor every inch of closeness he could get to your skin, only to pull away as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t care about how it made you feel. He even had the audacity to lecture you on how to go about being good parents and setting a good example to Sachiro. Then suddenly, the next morning, he would act like such a loyal and caring partner to Akemi. 

The thought of his loyalty made you scoff on the inside. He should be the absolute last one to be saying that. He should be the last one to profess how much of a loyal man he was trying to be to his new girl. 

Besides, even before this trip was arranged, you had already made it clear on your mind that the sole purpose of going to New York was for Sachiro's sake. Any interaction outside the need to be there for your son would be unnecessary. He wasn’t someone you still needed in your own personal life nor did he need you in his. Your past relationship no longer mattered in this situation and all that was left was for it to be forgotten. But even with your resistance to be anything more than a parent to your son, Satoru still respected you. He still showed, even in little ways, that he cared about your comfort throughout the trip. 

Five days had gone by, and everything you did in New York had been smooth sailing, all thanks to his grand number of connections across the USA. In a short amount of time, Sachiro’s surname had been legally changed, and everything else concerning his birth certificate had been corrected. The only issue left to address was your son’s nationality since Japan doesn’t permit dual citizenship and Sachiro would have to carry a Japanese citizenship and the Gojou name to be able to inherit his father’s assets and multinational conglomerate. You would leave that one up for Satoru to deal with, but everything else had been settled on your end. 

Although this trip wasn’t exactly a vacation, Gojou insisted that you two still take Sachiro out to explore the city he grew up in. And you did so by going to Central Park, telling your ex-husband stories of how you used to bring Sachiro there in a stroller when he was still a little baby and that plenty of strangers, both locals or tourists, would coo at him the minute they took a peek at his adorable face. You also took him to the Empire State Building to get the best view of the entire New York City, and Satoru being Satoru couldn’t leave without taking a family photo with you and your son, capturing the beautiful urban cityscape behind you. You could see it in his eyes that even though he was happy to be there, he was also melancholic at the same time. Almost three years of his son’s life were spent in this famous city, without him, and it was as though the bitter memories of those three years for him were haunting him back. Sadness was reflecting off of his crystal blue eyes as he took a minute staring at the view of the city, reminding you that you were the reason why he had missed out on his baby’s first memories. 

If guilt could literally eat you alive, you would have been devoured. 

“Ready to go, Sachi?” Satoru asked your son, tucking his phone away after having (seemingly) sent Akemi a text message, probably updating her of where he was and what he was doing. In fact, he had been texting and calling her every now and then, as if he was doing his best to reassure her that he wasn’t doing any funny business with you. Has Akemi always been a possessive partner? Even with your years of friendship with her, she had never acted that way in her past relationship. So, was she only like that to Satoru specifically? You wondered if she would go nuts had she heard Satoru tell you how badly he wanted to make more babies with you on your first night here. 

Sachiro nodded, clinging to your hand while reaching for his father’s. “Dada, hand pwease!” 

Satoru did offer his hand, but mirrored the surprise on your face when your son tried to link your fingers together, urging you to hold each other's hands like a couple. You didn’t want to get too offended by it, but your ex-husband was the first one to pull away. “I, uh, made a reservation for us in Carbone,” he said, unable to exchange eye-contact, “Yuuta will meet us there.” 

“Oh, he’s in New York?” you asked, pretending you didn’t notice how he acted allergic to your touch and redirected your attention to your son. “Did you hear that, Sachi? Uncle Yuuta will come and see you.” 

Your little one was oblivious to the world, too distracted by the throng of people surrounding the place that he didn’t even notice how his parents were uneasy with each other. To say that you didn’t feel bad for your son was a lie, because it actually broke your heart. Even if you and Satoru were working on co-parenting and making sure Sachiro wouldn’t feel the gravity of a broken household, you knew that when he reached the right age, all of this would still have an effect on him. One day, he would still be asking questions about his parents. Questions about why you separated, why your marriage failed, and why you had to move to New York while his father stayed behind. It hurt. Deep inside, it hurt so much to know that your only son wasn’t given the chance to have a complete family and it felt like a failure on your part as his parent. 

You were sure that was what Yuuta thought, too. As you met with him at a fancy restaurant in the city, you could see how his face lightened up seeing his nephew bonding with his parents as if it were a family vacation. He must have known what it was like to have a broken household. In fact, he had lived in a toxic one before, but he still grew up to be a mature and dignified young man who never let the horrors of his family’s actions affect his rational thinking. So if there was anyone in the world who would sympathize the most with Sachiro, it would be Yuuta.

“Sachi,” he spoke to your son fondly, wiping the sauce on the toddler’s chin. Yuuta chuckled as he watched the little boy's grimace after being given a small piece of broccoli. “You don’t like vegetables?” 

You fixed the bib on your son’s neck. “He does, but he’s very picky with it,” you tell Yuuta, glancing at Satoru who was busy speaking on the phone with Nanami about what appeared to be matters concerning the company. “Wonder where he got it from.” 

“Right.” Yuuta’s eyes turned into moon crescents as he smiled. “I remember nii-san being a little picky.” 

“You hear that Sachi?” you teased your son, who looked at you with his cute puppy eyes. You knew that if you had the ability to peak through his toddler mind, it would actually be full of fried chicken. The thought made you laugh. “Don’t be like daddy, okay? Sachi needs to have his veggies so he’ll be strong when he grows up.” 

“But…” Sachiro pointed to his father. “Dada is stwong.” 

Satoru chimed in at the conversation after having finished the call, “That’s right, Dada’s strong. Mommy could barely even handle me.” 

“Do you even know what we’re talking about?” You rolled your eyes, while Yuuta wanted to giggle, but chose to hold it back seeing the awkwardness of the situation.

Satoru shrugged and sat on his chair, eyeing the scrumptious dishes that were served to your table. He was acting like he hadn't been served more expensive meals before. “Have you tried the spicy rigatoni before? I heard it’s famous here.” 

You casually answered. “Yes. Toji used to bring me here every time he visited.” 

Look, you didn’t mean to overshare nor did you mean to make things even more awkward. You also didn’t mean to slap it in his face about how you were spending your years in New York with Toji. But Satoru, with his pride, took it resentfully. 

“Oh, really?” His words were the opposite of his voice. He was mirthless and full of unenthusiasm before changing the topic, redirecting his attention to his step-brother instead. “How’s Harvard?”

Yuuta eased the tension by making small talk, sharing details about his university life, and making sure he didn’t contribute to the growing tension. “I’m really just trying to survive this semester so I can go back home as soon as I graduate.” After taking a sip of his Cabernet Blend, he continued, “Like I promised, I’ll help you with the company.” 

You were happy, at least, to know that Satoru and Yuuta had fixed their relationship as step-brothers even after the whole incident with Nana, Eula, and their father. What used to be a relationship full of envy and competition finally became one that was full of mutual trust and support. Yuuta deserved that since he never once wished for his brother’s downfall, while Satoru also deserved to have a family member that had his back and helped him with the business without constantly fighting about inheritance. Because technically, Satoru was the sole heir of the Gojou family, and his dad only made it seem as though he would give it to Yuuta to make his own son comply with his orders. Satoru’s dad was controlling in that sense, and that was what led to all of this. 

But the present was more important. Things have changed and mistakes have been learned. It was all up to you on how you were going to manage your new life moving forward. 

Only, if only things were a little bit different on his side.

——

You had raised your son all by yourself for the last 3 years, so the presence of his father wasn’t really something you were used to for the longest time. How Sachiro acted around other people was solely a reflection of your teachings, discipline, and guidance as his mother. He didn’t really have a paternal figure up until now, and even if Toji was there to support your journey to motherhood, he never fully meddled with your mother-son relationship nor did he act like a replacement to Sachiro’s biological father. He loved him like his own, but respected the fact that the spot was reserved for Satoru. He knew that. He understood that, because he himself experienced raising a child alone without the presence of a mother. And if you asked him, he, too, would not want Megumi to replace the very love that he was supposed to have for his biological mom. Sure, Megumi could love and respect you, but Toji would still want him to save an unnegotiable spot for his mother in his heart. After all, she had birthed him. And in that same way, you had birthed Sachiro and created him with Satoru during your marriage. If there was anyone Sachiro should look up to, it had to be his father. 

And quite frankly, the father himself was doing an excellent job. 

But then again, remembering how hands-on Satoru was to you during your pregnancy, you never doubted that he would be a good parent. He may not be a perfect husband, but he loved his child with all of his heart and soul, and he would risk it all just to keep him happy. 

It was new to you how, throughout the trip, you didn’t have to take care of Sachiro alone. You and Satoru helped each other harmoniously, attending to your toddler’s needs and making sure he was being prioritized. You were glad. Truly. You were grateful to see that he wasn’t an absent father and that his words weren’t empty when he promised you that he would be a responsible dad to him. 

Though, at the back of your mind, you couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he welcomed another child in this world? A child that didn’t come from you? Deep inside, it hurt you to imagine him neglecting Sachiro on the side the minute he welcomed a new baby with Akemi. The reality was, the father would always prioritize the child of the current wife, not the child of the ex-wife. He would still support him, sure. But would he still pay the same level of attention that he was giving Sachiro now? You would probably break in half if Sachiro was thrown to the agonizing realm of feeling like an outsider in his own family because no child deserved that. If Satoru had that experience first-hand, he should not subject his own son to that same feeling.

You would be selfish to say this, but you wanted to seize the opportunity while Sachiro was still his only son. Hiding him from his father was your fault—you had gone through that a million times and you weren’t shy at holding yourself accountable through that mistake. However, you were already doing your best to make amends and make up for the years Sachiro had missed around his father. He was Satoru’s first and only child, and therefore he should never fight for his father’s affection. You weren’t sure what Satoru’s long term plans with Akemi were, but if they were considering having their own children someday, you would never allow your son to be pushed back at the bottom of the family tree.

Sachiro was the true first-born son of Satoru. He should never have to fight for his position in his father's eyes.

And so on the night of your flight back to Japan, when Satoru asked if he could take Sachiro with him for the rest of the week, you had no problems in saying yes. Your only wish right now was for them to spend as much time together as possible.

“Where are you taking him?” you did ask in spite of your leniency to send your son away, waiting inside the car as the pilot and crew prepared the private jet. “Please send me the full address. I need to know where he’s gonna stay and—”

“You’ll get the details from Miwa,” he casually said, rubbing Sachiro’s back as the little boy slept on his chest. He didn’t bother meeting your eyes as he talked. “I’m just taking him to my vacation home in Osaka.”

Osaka…

That was where his mother isolated him from the rest of the world when he was having terrible episodes. Episodes that worsened after he had found out that you ‘terminated’ his child and abandoned him for good. Shoko once said that they felt like Gojou disappeared from their lives while he was there, because nobody else could reach out to him. They couldn’t visit him nor could they contact him for a year or so until he was mentally ready to come back to Tokyo. 

You didn’t want to pry on matters that were sensitive to him, so you chose not to say anything concerning his decision to take Sachiro to Osaka. He must have wanted to reflect on his past experiences, allowing him to heal from them as it brought him to the incommutable life he had now—life knowing that Sachiro actually existed after everything that he was made to believe. 

“Please take good care of him, okay?” It was only a reminder, nothing else.

Satoru kept a straight face, nodding before he planted a kiss on his son’s forehead. “I got it from here.” 

After a minute of silence, you both got out of the car and you watched him carry the peaceful Sachiro in his arms. You left the sleeping toddler a tender kiss on the cheek before parting ways. “I love you, my baby.” Stroking his hair, you kissed his tiny nose. “Mommy will see you soon.” 

Satoru knew that you were staying behind. You had informed him of your plans before you even came here to the airport with him, explaining that Toji would be in Miami and that you had made arrangements to meet with your fiancé there. Satoru didn’t say anything much about it either, simply nodding his head at your decision and telling you to ‘do whatever’ because he was no longer a husband you should report your plans to. There was no hint of jealousy in his stance, but you couldn't miss the flicker of bitterness that did appear on his eyes for a millisecond. 

You didn’t even say goodbye to each other as you watched them board the plane. And he didn’t even bother looking back at you to tell you to take care of yourself. Not that you expected anything from him, but a quick goodbye would have been nice since you did spend the last couple of days together. Or perhaps, he was upset about the fact that you were staying behind to meet Toji? 

Either way, you were on your own now. 

It took some time for you to reach Toji in Miami. He had insisted on meeting you at the airport, but because he had to meet with a foreign investor, you headed straight to the hotel he was staying at. Funny enough, you couldn’t help but compare how different it was to stay in the same accommodation as your fiancé vs with your ex-husband and son. With Toji, nothing felt uncomfortable and sharing a room as a couple was as normal as it should be, but things did feel too formal and too forced. With Satoru, it felt awkward to share the same space with him, but since your son was there, it felt like home. It felt strangely close to home, like it was only right. That staying together as a family was what your heart wanted. 

Ever since Satoru went back to Japan with Sachiro, you had been feeling a wave of separation anxiety. Your mind was always left wandering towards them; how they were doing, where they were, what they had for dinner. You wondered if Sachiro was giving his father a headache. Smiling at the thought, perhaps he was giving Satoru a hard time changing his diapers. 

“Everything okay?” Toji, noticing your trance, put an arm around you as you two sat at the VIP lounge of the Miami Grand Prix. This was Toji’s scene. If Satoru was a fan of horseback riding and polo, Toji preferred big time F1 races. He even personally knew the racers, the type of cars they were driving, and everything a huge fan had to know. You weren’t all that familiar with these things, so it was a little hard to keep up with his lifestyle. 

“Y-Yeah, sorry,” you stammered, realizing how distracted you had been all this time. “What were you saying?” 

He drank from his glass of 30 year-old Macallan, downing the liquor like it was mere water. A cloud of disappointment settled over his features. “Not interesting to you, huh?” 

“No, I…” You made an effort to place a hand on his nape, giving him an apologetic peck on the lips. “I’m really sorry for zoning out. I was just… I guess I was just a little tired from New York.”

Toji placed a hand on your knee, sighing. “It’s fine. I was just trying to introduce the guys to you,” he said, scooting closer as he pointed to the racers. “You know that guy? Lewis Hamilton. He’s quite popular with the ladies,” then he moved his finger towards the other drivers, “And we got here for Ferrari, Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc, also fan favorites.” 

Your eyes suddenly caught sight of Gojou’s favorite car brand. “Um, how about McLaren? Who drives for them?” 

Unsure if Toji caught on or not, he did take a minute before feeding into your curiosity. “Norris and Piastri.” 

You wished you had any idea about F1 so that you could be as enthusiastic as Toji was at this event. He was at his happiest right now and you didn’t want to ruin it by being a boring, uncultured fiancé, because frankly, all these women around would have done a better job at entertaining him. Toji was very eye-candy and you couldn’t blame these models from glancing up at him, especially with how manly and suave he was, dressed like a picture perfect example of an old money businessman. The likes of him were the prey of these desperate influencers, willing to sell their bodies in exchange for a night with him. But truth be told, that was their way of living and you could never find it in yourself to insult them. You didn’t want to shame them for attempting to climb the social ladder because that was how they view money and success, or at least a faster ticket to it. 

As long as they didn’t try to make moves on your fiancé while you were around, you wouldn’t be so bothered by a few stares here and there. 

Neither was Toji. He must have experienced being stared at during these events plenty of times before, and he probably even sent women home crying because of rejection or worse, humiliation. Now that you think of it, how did Megumi feel when his father was being hit on while watching the Grand Prix? Most importantly, why was the teenage son absent at this current event? 

“Love, why didn’t you bring Megumi with you?” you inquired out of a sudden curiosity, knowing that Megumi was always present next to his father during F1 events. 

Toji took a sip of the hard liquor once more. “He didn’t wanna go. He was giving me the silent treatment before I left for the US.” 

Confusion further blanketed your eyes. “Did something happen back home?” 

He let out a deep breath, his face signaling that he was deep in dilemma. “The Zen’in elders want to set him up for an arranged marriage,” he revealed, much to your surprise, “They wanna make sure he’s not gonna end up like me, married to someone who wasn’t ‘qualified’ to be my wife.” 

At first you were confused if he was referring to you, but you realized that he was describing his late wife. Megumi’s own mother, the only woman Toji had ever loved by a mile. He fought everyone for her, even turned his back on his own family for her, but claimed that he also ultimately led her to her demise because the elders of his family harassed her until the day she died. It was a tragic love, perhaps even more tragic than yours, so you somehow understood why Toji was conflicted about Megumi’s personal life.

But you? You were strongly against it. “I don’t support arranged marriages, you know that,” you told him with conviction, sympathizing for the poor boy, “It’s not gonna end well. You know what happened to me…”

“I know.” Toji’s eyes were filled with regret. “I know, but there’s nothing I can do about it unless Megumi himself tells me he has someone he loves.” 

“Did you ask?” 

“He’s tight-lipped about it.” 

You sighed. “Well, he’s a teenager. They get pretty shy about these things.”

Forcing a marriage was never a good thing. You couldn’t understand why the concept even existed because it didn’t benefit anyone aside from the people around the married couple. That was why they called it a marriage of convenience. They were married for everyone’s sake but themselves; family name, status, business… You have had enough of it. If only you realized it from the very beginning, you never would have subjected yourself to a loveless marriage with Satoru. Even if your love did grow eventually, things still didn’t work out for the best, and now your life was a mess. A divorced couple co-parenting their only son? There was obviously no convenience gained in that false marriage.

Megumi would just be wasting years of his life tied to a person he didn’t love and so you were hoping that Toji would fight for his son’s right. Because if he truly understood you, he would not subject his son to the same suffering you went through. 

“I wish my wife was here,” mumbled Toji, forlornly, “She’d know how to handle these things better than I do.” 

Were you not there for him? You swallowed your pride, hiding the pain in your voice. “Right…” A smile was all that you could offer. “I’m sure she would.” 

——

Something was different about Toji and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

It wasn’t his appearance, and neither was it the way he spoke to you. He was all the same except for one thing; the look in his eyes. 

He had told you this before. He said that the eyes carry the most truthful and raw emotion that you can see on someone. The presence of love would be visible in someone’s eyes just as you would see stars on a clear, night sky. The lack, however, would mean that the eyes are blank and empty like the dark void in the expanse of the universe. You didn’t have to be poetic to be able to discern the way his eyes communicated his most solemn feelings in spite of trying to show otherwise. 

He must have been tired. Being caught up in your back-and-forths with your ex-husband, having to put up with your pretentious co-parenting situation, and the never ending need to keep an open mind about your situation with the same man who had ruined you. When your heart was in pieces, wasn’t he the one who tried to fix it? Wasn’t he the one who remained by your side during your darkest times? 

Whether that may be true, whether he truly ever loved you, you could recognize the stark difference of the Toji that genuinely cared for you to the Toji that was only actively trying to be there for you. What had changed him all of a sudden? 

“Toji, you drank a little too much.” A weary sigh escaped your lips, pulling all your might to drag your fiancé to lie comfortably in your shared bed later that night. At least, on the way to the hotel room, you had his bodyguards to thank for. They were there to haul him while he was in his drunken stupor, letting you lead the way, and dumping him carefully to his bed because there was no way you would be able to carry such a muscular man all by yourself. Now that you were alone with him, you decided to care for him the same way you used to do when Gojou was coming home drunk at night. Starting with his shoes that you took off, his shirt that you unbuttoned, his pants that you unzipped. “Come on, love. I’ll get you changed.”

The verdant hues of his eyes weren’t present. They were hiding behind his lids, refusing to meet your gaze. But if anything, he did open his mouth to speak, “...You. You wanna know a secret?” 

Drunken words are sober thoughts, you reminded yourself. Of the numerous times Satoru had gotten drunk during the early stages of your marriage, it was how you found out that deep inside him, he did care for you. That in spite of his ill-tempered exterior, he was a man deprived of parental love and support. What would be the case for Toji, then? 

“Yeah?” You waited for his answer, slipping his shirt off and revealing his toned body. 

The scar on his mouth moved when he displayed a mirthless smile. He was as drunk as an alcoholic would be. “I don’t… think… I can love you the same way I loved my first wife.” 

Your heart paused. In fact, every heartbeat became heavy. You knew how he felt, but didn’t expect him to say that out loud. “I-Is that so…?”

“Absolutely,” he mumbled, chuckling inaudibly. He was at a point where he was too far gone to realize the magnitude of the words he was saying to you. “Even if you try your best, she was everything I wanted in life and the only woman I could ever offer my heart to. She’s irreplaceable, and I don’t feel guilty about it... because I know you’re still into Satoru, too.”

“That’s…” You held your breath, holding back the sudden tears that formed in your eyes. “That’s not true.” 

Toji wasn’t done yet, however. He still went on with his drunken speech like he was finally pouring out raw, yet hurtful words out of the bottle. “Who knows? You would’ve had him touch you back in New York if you didn’t have me. You would’ve had him impregnate you, have his second child with you, and guess what? He still won’t be loyal to you.”

The pain in your heart increased tenfold. Everything went still and every minute felt like a stab to your soul. Should you say something? Should you get angry at him? No, no you couldn’t. Your chest was tightening and you knew it was smart not to let such negative emotions overpower you. His words were just a little difficult to grasp because Toji never in his life had been callous with his words to you. The tears that fell from your eyes were from the betrayal that you felt after hearing the cruel words he had uttered. And yet, you tried to hold on to that thin string of hope that Toji’s words didn’t come from a place of truth. 

“That’s enough, Toji. Go to sleep.” You pulled away, swallowing the bitter taste of weakness in your voice. 

He hummed, unaware of the pain he had put you through. “The more I look at you, the more I realize how much I actually don’t want to spend my whole life with you,” he admitted, with little to no regard for your current feelings, “I can’t fill this emptiness by being with another empty soul. And if there’s one thing I’m most grateful for, it’s that I let you run away that day before I fulfilled my vows with you—”

“Enough!” You shot up from bed and wiped the flood of tears on your eyes. “Enough! I’ve heard everything you wanted me to hear, okay?! Enough!” you raised your voice in despair, almost begging for him to stop tearing your heart asunder. “I get it! I fucking get it… so enough. Please, Toji.” 

Drunken words are sober thoughts.

A drunk mind speaks a sober heart.

Alcohol is a truth serum. 

The revelation of Toji’s true feelings that night was a reminder to you that he was just like any other man. That you should have never put him in such a high regard, thinking that he would be the prince charming that would save the poor damsel in distress. Why? What would he benefit from someone like you? You only deluded yourself into thinking that a man like him would take a single mother so seriously. You were only meant to be a placeholder for his dead wife after all. 

A placeholder, certainly. Not even deserving to have the title of a wife.

——

There was a huge contrast between being with you and Sachiro in New York vs being with Akemi and Sachiro in Osaka. The difference? There was no awkward air between Akemi and him. They were free to do things as they will—no restrictions, no certain do’s and don’ts. They were happy to have each other’s company, minus the guilt nor the unease of being by each other’s side. If anything, Satoru bitterly assumed that you were having the time of your life in Miami with Toji. You were so keen to see the man back there before parting ways with your ex-husband and son like you were simply discarding them to the side. 

If so be it, then fine. Satoru had all the right to have his son all to himself while you were gone. Besides, Akemi was just one call away and she was everything he could ever ask for. She cared for Sachiro as if she was his own mother and Satoru couldn’t be more grateful that he didn’t need to work on building a bond between her and his son. 

In fact, Akemi very much knew how to win Sachiro’s heart. As they took his adorable son to Universal Studios that day, she was nothing short of a caring mother. She had acted as a guardian to his son throughout the rides, letting the toddler enjoy his time at all the wonderful attractions that the theme park had to offer. Not once did his son cry too, so that only meant that they were doing a great job at taking care of him. 

Of course, it was a different story in the afternoon. After having spent all of his energy during the day, Sachiro had become tired and hungry by dinner time. But he wasn’t such a difficult kid to tend to, so Satoru was proud that his son still wasn’t throwing a tantrum even after a whole day of not having you around. 

“We’re gonna get Sachi fried chicken,” he enticed the pouting toddler, kissing his forehead while Akemi carried him in her arms. “Is that what you want?” 

Sachiro nodded and wrapped his little arms around his auntie’s neck. “Chicken, dada.”

Akemi smiled at the child’s gesture, tempting her to also place a kiss on his cheek. “You’re so cute and well-behaved, Sachi.” 

“—Satoru?” 

At the familiar voice, all three of them turned to the woman standing behind like a deer caught in the headlines. She was tall for a woman, slender, and had long, auburn hair, rosy cheeks, and ivory skin. Next to her was a tattooed man with salmon pink hair, a piercing on his ear, and a very defensive stance. Ah… How timely. 

Sera and Sukuna. 

Satoru wasn’t sure if he should openly greet them, after all, they weren’t acquaintances. And it was only recent that he got his memories back, triggered by Sera's presence at the expo. Other than that, he had no business with the two of them. Sukuna wasn’t a business partner of his, so him and Satoru had no formal connection towards each other. As for Sera, she might be his ex-girlfriend, but they didn’t exactly have the healthiest relationship to begin with, so…

“Of all the places,” she mumbled, almost gaping at the sight of him. Her eyes then trailed off to Akemi and Sachiro, with which her expressions shifted to guilt. Did she recognize his son? Did she remember the horrible attempt she did to harm his child during his ex-wife’s pregnancy? The memory was flooding Satoru’s brain like a tsunami. Yeah, in that case, Sera should definitely be filled with guilt. She tried to kill this harmless child. 

He cleared his throat, now becoming protective over his son at the presence of his ex. “We gotta go—”

“I guess it’s true,” Sera spoke again, this time redirecting her attention to Akemi. “The rumors, I mean. It’s all just surprising to me considering how obsessive Satoru was to Y/N.” She paused, seemingly wanting to comment at her ex-boyfriend’s current relationship in a mocking way. She kept her eyes on Akemi only, while Satoru was left wondering why Sera was acting hostile towards her. What was her deal now? She wasn't in the position to be acting all entitled to Gojou anymore, but here she was, talking to Akemi like she had met her before. “Did you know? He sacrificed everything for her. No one else made him beg on his knees the same way Y/N did.”

He couldn’t even tell how Akemi felt while Sera was clearly taunting her with her words, but she still managed to smile and excuse herself, keeping Sachiro away from an environment that should only be between adults. It was ridiculous, surely. What was Sera thinking trying to subject his son around that kind of hostility? Balling his fists, Satoru turned to Sukuna and spoke to him man-to-man. “You’d better keep your woman entertained so she’ll stop meddling into other people’s business.” 

Sukuna, however, found the situation equally humorous. “Don’t worry. We both are entertained.” 

Making a spectacle of Satoru’s personal life? No wonder they ended up together. They were both pieces of shit. 

Before Satoru turned on his heels to follow Akemi, Sera still had one last thing to say to him. This time, she was more calm and less malicious—her eyes following Akemi’s trail before looking back at him, “Satoru, if you have truly grown as a man, you won’t do this to Y/N.”

——

Sachiro was fast asleep when they returned to the Gojou clan's vacation home. 

Meanwhile, since the night was young for the two adults in that house, Akemi and Satoru shared a passionate session in the living room downstairs, letting her ride him as he placed soft kisses on her collarbone. They tried to keep quiet, obviously, and all the lights were turned off, leaving only the moonlight illuminating their view. After a few more minutes into their lovemaking, they eventually met their climax and tried to catch each other’s breath, embracing her in his arms as she fell limp against him. 

“Satoru, I missed you a lot while you were gone.” 

“...Same.” 

Silence engulfed them for some time until she let out an exasperated sigh. It was clear in her facial expressions alone that she was pondering about the whole scene with Sera earlier. “That girl earlier, Sera, she—”

“Don’t mind her.” Gojou closed his eyes and leaned his head against the backrest. He knew he had to clear things up straightforwardly, leaving no room for any misunderstandings. “She just loves riling people up. It’s ironic she’s coming at Y/N’s defense now like she didn’t torment her back then. She’s not worth paying attention to.” 

“Okay.” Akemi pulled away, cupping his face and stroking his cheek. She also offered him an angelic smile while doing so. “But you don’t feel that way anymore, right? For Y/N?”

Satoru took a deep breath, but steadied the movements of his chest. He felt defensive all of a sudden. “No.” 

Her smile grew more relaxed as she pressed a light peck on his lips. “Right.” And for a while, they both stayed silent. His thoughts ran straight to you, while hers was quite on a different route. “Earlier when I put Sachiro to bed, he called me his mama.” 

His eyes widened. “Oh… he did?”

She answered with a nod. “I don’t know if he’s just half asleep calling for his real mommy, but… At that moment, it made me realize how much I want to have my own,” she hinted at him, wistfully staring at his blue eyes with her shining ones, “with you.”

——

You didn’t take the flight back to Tokyo. 

What you took was an immediate flight straight to Osaka where you knew your son and your ex-husband would be. You weren’t sure if it was due to the height of your emotions, but you surely let your impulse win the best of you this time. 

You just wanted to escape. It was for the first time in your life where you were dying to set yourself free from Toji’s presence, the very same person who you once likened to a buoy in an open sea. Now he was no longer that. He was far from that. He was an anchor pulling you down at the deepest part of the ocean. Needless to say, the pain was still fresh from your heart when you took the earliest flight back home after his drunken confession to you. 

Despite the many missed calls and texts and emails he had sent you, none of them were returned. None of them were seen, or read, or had been replied to. 

All you wanted to do was get to your son. Your son. Your only comfort from all the painful things that the world has thrown at you. If not for Sachiro, you would have long ended yourself. But because he was born in this world, because he relied on his mother for love and guidance, you had to be strong and you had to seek the comfort in your heart from him. 

They could all turn their backs on you, but never will your son do. 

And so, after a few back-and-forth emails with Miwa to confirm the address of Satoru’s residence in Osaka, you ignored the jetlag that was hitting your body and traveled straight to his place without a wink of decent sleep. Sachiro. Sachiro was all you ever thought of when you asked your driver to drop you off the park nearby the Gojou clan's residence as soon as you spotted your son's mop of white hair, him running across the small bridge and pointing towards a fish in the pond. Your son was happily calling all the fishes, gushing about them to Satoru who stood next to him. 

You didn’t even care at how you looked during that moment. You just wanted to get to your son and embrace him in your arms. He had been away from you for way too long and you had already grown pale and sick from the separation anxiety that engulfed your heart and mind. 

You had to have your son. You had to hold him.

“Sachi!” you called out, a smile present on your face as you made your desperate way towards the bridge. Your son looked at you the moment he had heard your voice, and was already skipping towards you with a bright smile on his face. “My baby!” 

Satoru’s face, on the other hand, turned pallid. His eyes were full of surprise, unable to believe that you were actually right in front of him. It was like he had seen a ghost. No, worse than a ghost. Why? Did he not expect you to come when he had let Miwa send the address to you? Were you not welcome to visit your own son? 

“Mamaaa!” Sachiro hugged you tightly, allowing you to attack his cute face with kisses all over.  

“Mommy missed you so much, my baby.” You could almost cry. As young as he was, he had no idea how much comfort he was bringing into your heart. Just to be able to see him, hold him, kiss him was enough for you to feel complete again. It was at your brokenness did you realize how much Sachiro could fix you whole.

“Y/N, I thought you…” Satoru paused, confusion seemed to be settling on his features as you looked up at him. “You’re supposed to be back by Monday.” 

For a moment, you were reminded of the reason you came home earlier than intended and it stung your heart to think about. “Change of plans.” 

A small scoff left his lips. “Don’t tell me you left Toji back there.”

I did, you wanted to say. Satoru had no single idea how true his words were, but that was none of his business and you had no plans of confiding in him about what had happened. You may be angry with Toji now, but you still respected him enough not to do terrible things behind his back. 

“I had to see my son,” you lied, although it wasn’t exactly one, and got up while holding your toddler’s hand. “Are you ready to go home with mommy, Sachi?” 

Reluctance clouded your son’s face, and he became more resolute at shaking his head the moment a woman’s voice called for him from afar. A woman, a very, painfully familiar woman came into view a few meters away from you. Standing there was your best friend, Akemi Hirai, looking at you with wide, mortified eyes as soon as she saw your presence. 

And in a snap, Sachiro ran to her. Your son ran straight to her, joyfully and excitedly as if she was his real mother. 

How many more heartbreaks do you have to go through? 

How many more tears do you have to hold back? 

“I…” Your hands were shaking. Your entire body was on the verge of breaking down. All this time, your son had been in this vacation home living like a happy little family with your ex-husband and best friend. 

Now, he even refused to go home with you. 

Gojou scanned through the look on your eyes as though he was reading your emotions, but you showed none of it. Not a single emotion could be seen on your face. Not an ounce of pain shown, despite seeing how your son immediately forgot about you and headed straight to another woman. How excited he was to spend more time with his dad and his new girlfriend. How, much to your discomfort, he refused to go back to Tokyo with you. You saw the future family Sachiro was about to have without you in the picture, and damn did it hit you like a truck. 

Why, why did everyone in your life choose others before you? 

“I’m sorry. I’ll bring him to your house Monday morning,” said your ex-husband in a soft, delicate voice, almost as if he was being careful with you. “We’ll take care of him.” 

You could simply nod, avoiding eye-contact with anyone in the vicinity except for Satoru. “Okay...” you struggled with words. Your entire body was shaking. The last thing you wanted was to sound like a selfish mother, but frankly, you were about to self-destruct. “Just keep him happy… that's all I ask.” 

Behind your mask of indifference, Satoru knew what right words had to be said. You needed reassurance, and that was exactly what he gave you. “I won’t ever take him away from you, Y/N. I promise.” 

You watched them walk away, leaving you alone with a look of sympathy that you didn’t need. Sympathy that you despised having received. This should serve as a wake up call to you that no one in this world would ever love you. That even your own child would, one day, abandon you. 

As tears fell from your eyes, you felt a certain pang on your chest that hurt worse than every other pain combined. “You know you’re not so good with promises, Satoru.” 

[antsday]

in the palm of your hand

[i was re-reading @habken's incredible scammers to lovers au and wrote this short fic. I really love their work and couldn't help myself lmaoo. anyways i hope you all enjoy!!!]

-

“Hi! Can I help you with- oh,” says the angel from the IT department, spinny chair swiveling to a stop. “It’s you again.”

The first week Katsuki had come in, Deku had been relatively understanding and chipper- bright and sunny and shit. More personal than the strained smile and forced cheer that most customer service workers spoke with- of course I’ll fix your laptop, no problem, just leave it to me. 

Now, about three weeks later he looks at Katsuki like he’s just bitten into a lemon. As in, like Katsuki had come into the IT department, looked Deku in the eye, bit into a lemon, and then made a puckered up face and writhed in discomfort and then showed up with another lemon the next day, rinse and repeat for nearly a month. A complicated mix of intrigue and confusion and mild horror at this endless display of masochism.

Which is fair; there really is no other way to look at a top ten Pro Hero who repeatedly comes in to have his laptop fixed and won’t admit under penalty of death that it was because he clicked a pop-up in hopes of having a proper conversation with a dreamy IT guy. Not that Dreamy IT guy in question knows about all of that, but whatever. If Katsuki was in Deku’s position, he would also be worried about the fact that the safety and integrity of the public was left in the hands of guys who can’t stop getting scammed by obvious pop-up ads. 

“Your laptop’s broken again?” Deku says incredulously, as if reading Katsuki’s mind. His voice is really nice, even when he sounds confused as shit. Smooth and soft like- like a satin pillowcase. Or something. Whatever. It’s not like they pay him to be good with words. 

Then again, it’s not like they pay him to (unsuccessfully) flirt with the guy he’s normally supposed to see once a month max, but here he was. 

“Yeah,” says Katsuki, like he said two days ago, and then three days before that, and for the past month. It’s easier to say than I got a pop-up ad for a BL manga and I am ninety percent sure the twink on the cover was just a recolor of Sasuke Uchiha and I clicked it because I’m a fucking dumbass and I needed an excuse to keep coming in here and gazing into your dreamy-ass eyes. If you even care. 

He’s surprised Deku’s even asking. He’s been consistently coming in here for exactly the same reason: his laptop ‘mysteriously’ got a virus and now he needs it fixed. He’ll be back to pick it up soon, no, he’s not getting a new laptop, no, he’s not sure what happened, no, he’s not going to install some fancy-ass ad-blocker because he doesn’t want to (and it would get rid of his excuse), and Deku’s never asked this but yes, he would love to go get dinner sometime, he’s free today and tomorrow and the day after that and the rest of his life, forever, actually- 

“...Did you,” Deku begins, like he’s searching for the right words. “Uh. Do you have any idea what could have happened? Any idea at all?” 

I gazed into the dead-eyed stare of poorly-recolored Sasuke’s green eyes and thought of you because your eyes are also green, and less unnerving to look at, and the more I thought about that the more my mouse moved away from the ‘x’ button and the next thing I know, I have a virus and my desire to carnally hold your hand has overpowered any other logical thought. That’s what happened. 

“No,” Katsuki says belatedly. “Fuck. Look, can you fix it or not?” 

“Of course,” says Deku. He’s still got that little furrow in his brow. Katsuki wants to bite at it like taffy- which, is a weird fucking thing to think, scratch that- “Just- give it over, and I’ll be sure to have it ready for you in a little while.”

“Cool.” He holds out his laptop. It’s reminiscent of when he was four and showing off the cool rhinoceros beetle he caught to his mom. He’s internally beaming with pride at his success so far, and Deku’s got that same baffled, borderline horrified expression that his mom did. 

Although, that particular interaction ended with the thing flying out of his hands and into his mom’s cardigan and with him getting yelled at, so, maybe it’s not the ideal scenario to compare this to.

 But this encounter will end differently. He’s got a grip on the rhinoceros beetle, now. He just has to play his cards right. 

“So,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks so Deku won’t see how fucking sweaty they are. “You’ll have it ready by lunch tomorrow?” 

Deku takes the laptop and tilts his head. “Uh. Yeah, I will. In fact, I can get it to you earlier than that-”

“I’ll be busy for the rest of the day,” Katsuki lies. All his incident reports are done, and he’s got the night shift on patrol tomorrow. “You’re done by 2 tomorrow, right?”

“...Yes?”

“Great. Look, I have to stop at that fucking- crepe place, down the street, right,” he says, praying to every God there is that he looks cool and casual and not like a ‘Deranged Goblin Man’, as the Hero Times described him a few months ago. “So. When you get off work you should meet me there. At the crepe place. Tomorrow. At two pm.”

He doesn’t know what’s worse- the fact that he’s really doing this, being reduced to the same sort of emotional sap he would have made fun of only five years ago; or the fact that Present Mic’s lessons on subtlety and hidden meanings in text were actually good for something. 

Look at him, effortlessly weaving together words to create sentences with underlying motives. He’s like a modern-day Shakespeare. He’s golden. He’s killing it. Bakugou Katsuki, master of words. He’s on cloud-fucking-nine. He’s-

…aaaaand Deku isn’t responding. 

Deku blinks. He opens his mouth. Closes it. He sets the laptop down, staring up at Katsuki intently, and Katsuki starts to sweat. 

You are Bakugou Katsuki, he reminds himself. You might be down bad, but you’re not weak. It will not kill you if he rejects you. Well, it’ll kill you a little. But not that much. 

“At the crepe pla- to give you the laptop, right?” says Deku slowly. His face is turning bright red. Katsuki goes a little weak in the knees. 

“Sure, yeah,” Katsuki says half-heartedly. “Look, if you want, I could. I dunno. Fucking- buy you a crepe or something. As payment.” 

He’s so smooth. Eat your fucking heart out, Dunce Face. ‘Zero game’, his ass. 

“Sure,” Deku says, scratching the back of his neck, smile just a tad bit shy. His face is still mildly flushed. Katsuki swoons (and does his best to not let it show on his face). “I- uh. I’d like that. I guess.” 

“Cool,” says Katsuki. “Cool. Great. Okay, bye. Be there or else. Bye. See you.”

He turns on his heel and power walks out of the room, not once looking back, even when Pigtails nearly crashes into him or when Deku makes a noise suspiciously like he’s slamming his head against the desk. He walks out of the room, into the hallway, back to his own office.

The door slams shut behind him. He takes a deep breath. Squeezes his eyes shut. A breathlessly excited grin forces his way onto his face, and he pumps his fists, victorious. 

He's got a date.

part one/part two

[bangtanfanfiction]

hopelessly falling  → k. sunwoo (tbz)

Based on this ask.

♢ Pairing: Sunwoo x Idol!female Reader → Idol AU

♢ Word count: 6.8k

♢ Trope: 8th f!member of BTS, strangers-to-lovers, Older!woman x Younger!man

♢ Genre: Fluff, suggestive, angst if you squint ig

⌲ Description: Being the 8th female member of BTS has brought you more trials than you could count. Now being the only one left behind after their enlistments was another obstacle you struggled adjusting to, until you found yourself hopelessly falling for someone completely unexpected. ↳ Warnings: Makeout session, swearing. Sunwoo being a flirty menace but we're loving it.

HOBI: Good luck, Y/N! You’ll crush it like always! JIMIN: You’ll do great! JIN: We’ll be monitoring you :)) YOONGS: Don’t be nervous, you’ll be amazing, kiddo. JOONIE: Y/N fighting! JK: Fighting! TAE: Go, go, go Y/N!

Despite the relentless thumping of your heart, or the cold sweat building up on the surface of your skin - there was no hiding the loving smile pulling at your lips as you scrolled through the messages in the group chat bombarding the notifications without you having to even ask.

Your members knew you well enough at this point after more than ten years together that when you went radio silent on all platforms, it meant you were drowning in your nerves. 

Frankly, how couldn‘t you? You were the last of BTS to release your solo album, and only after all of them had enlisted into the military with you sending them off accompanied by a snotty nose each time. If you could, you probably would have enlisted as well despite being a woman just to not be alone until Seokjin or Hobi were to return. 

Ah…This was hard. You thought, dropping the phone back on the table and looking yourself in the mirror. 

Taking in your elaborate makeup and clothes, hair styled to perfection not a single speck of mascara or blush out of place. You were surrounded by people; your management team and stylists. People who had been with you for more than five years, but the loneliness had never felt more heavy than today.

You thought you had prepared yourself for it. Mentally that is. Your boys had also been exceptionally worried for your mental well-being for when it was time and made sure to give you all sorts of ways to communicate with them. 

The irony was that you actually enjoyed your own space. Being alone at home for days and doing nothing besides your usual workout routine was ideal, truly. 

Until you understood the saying ´You don't know what you have until it's gone.´ 

Clearly not as overly dramatic or depressing as the original meaning. But still, you felt their absence all the same. 

The only comfort you could find from this was Yoongi with his alternative enlistment and still being around for you to find comfort in after his working hours. 

But you hadn’t sought out his presence for a couple of weeks now, being too busy with your prep and wanting to let him get used to his new routine before barging in with your cries of loneliness. 

“Maybe I should get a boyfriend…” You muttered to yourself, catching the delighted attention of your main stylist unnie, Aera, whose eyes widened at those words.

“You want a boyfriend?” She straightened up as if finding a 50 percent off sale on designer goods, making you regret having spoken at all. “Ooo, do you want me to introduce you to someone? I can set up a blind date! You like them like ten years older, don’t you? All alpha male and stuff? I know a couple of men like that.”

Her ranting and frankly too-knowledgeable about your preferences made you heat up in slight exasperation. 

Okay, so what - you tended to gravitate towards buff, white men in their late thirties bordering on forties. Just because you might faint at the sight of Henry Cavill or Chris Evans hardly meant much for your real-life preferences. 

Ask Jimin. You dated him – a brief one year - and he was hardly a carbon copy of Captain America or The Witcher. 

“Unnie, I’ve already told you…”

Aera sighed before mimicking what you hardly believed sounded like yourself. “I know, I know. I’m not looking for anyone, it happens when it happens.”

It wasn’t the first time you’ve had this conversation with her. 

“Besides, why is everyone being so pushy about me finding someone?” You directed this question to the rest of the room, who laughed amongst themselves at the truth of it. 

“Because your last boyfriend was Jimin, and that is honestly sad, darling.” Your manager, Yoo-Mi, piped up from the corner while scrolling through her phone. Probably double checking your upcoming schedules and forward emails to the rest of the staff. She was always working despite you begging her to take it easy sometimes. 

Turning around in your chair, you frowned. “It’s only been three years.” Going into the fourth since your mutual breakup. 

“Exactly, sad.” She didn’t relent, making your shoulders slump, another titter of fond laughter spread through the room. “Listen, Jiminie is great, of course he is. So we don’t blame you for already reaching the top when it comes to standards in men. But when was the last time you had a crush?”

“A crush?” Even the word sounded foreign to you. 

“Henry Cavill does not count.”

“But that’s a crush!” You exclaimed. “I could pull him.”

“That’s not a crush, that’s a fantasy. You haven’t even met the man.”

“Rude…” You mumbled with a pout, though admitting defeat. 

Damn, so everyone thought your dating life was dry and depressing. Great. 

You knew they all meant well, acting like an overbearing family. And in the end, they just wanted you to be happy. 

“Y/N it’s time to head out.”

Standing up you took one last overview in the mirror before typing out a reply to the group chat.

Y/N: I'm off now! Love you!

You had completely forgotten how music shows worked. It had been three years since the group promoted for ‘ON’ in the midst of covid with countless of measurements. You hadn’t stepped foot on a show since, besides supporting your members for their recent promotions. 

It had also been more than a year since you’ve done any performances within Korea, having only just returned from your American solo promotions - so for you, everything felt more awkward than familiar despite your years of experience in the industry. 

You heard the cheers of the crowd just as you walked into the studio where the live recording was going on for another boygroup, the hard-hitting smooth beats making your head nod as you stopped in front of a screen to overlook the stage. 

Staff moved around you, securing a mic-pack before your sparkling microphone with a gradient purple to black found itself in your hand. The fans were screaming and chanting, and you found your attention caught without realizing it. 

You counted ten guys on the screen as they danced fiercely in commendable synchronization looking like one single unit as they moved. 

The Boyz was a familiar group to you, an old memory from an award show where they had asked BTS for a picture with shy grins and you had nearly cooed at their cuteness. Then again when Kingdom: Legendary War had aired you found yourself tuning in to watch every week. 

However, this was the first you’ve seen of the group since then - having been far too busy to keep up with all the groups on the regular, never mind every single song. 

You were enjoying the song currently playing, head nodding to the beat as you watched on. 

Not even you noticed how you had simply frozen at the next chorus, your attention wholly stolen for a mere couple of seconds. 

But it had been enough to change your entire world when the moment was recounted by your team in the future. 

“Hi, hello,

My name is what you want it to

숨겨 왔던

욕망들을 whisper.”

Huh. 

A sneeze suddenly forced itself out of you as you glared at the culprit, Aera smiling pointedly while holding a makeup brush that she had just tickled under your nostrils. 

“What was that for?” You grumbled, the room coming back into your attention. 

“My, my Y/N - is that a blush I see?” She teased as you scoffed, eyes flickering to the stage as the song came to an end. 

“You’re being ridiculous.” You dismissed her swiftly, ignoring the hum she gave and letting her touch up your already flawless makeup.

You were waiting patiently near the stairs, letting your management team take the last checks for your setup as people rushed around on stage to clean up and get it ready for your performance.  

The Boyz were making their way down and were impressively quick to notice you, though you blamed it on your bright white clothes in the darkness. You watched in patient amusement as some of their eyes widened, and even saw a member slapping the one in front of him with a muted gasp. 

You offered them a friendly grin as their flustered bodies caught up and everyone started bowing, their waists nearly snapping in half as you took half a step forward. 

“Please, take it easy.” You laughed lightly. “I loved your performance. The song is amazing.”

The obvious leader stepped forward, again bending at the waist but spoke with a sure and calm voice. “Thank you, Sunbaenim. It’s an honor.” 

The members were quick to follow with various choruses of thank yous, however, some had accepted your words and took it a bit easier with the bowing.  

“We love your album, sunbaenim. It’s been on repeat in the dorm since its release.” He continued to lead the conversation, the group of young men creating a half circle around you. 

“Oh thank you so much!” There was no hint of any pretense in your tone, you were always immensely grateful when people told you they loved your music. 

“You’re the leader, right? What’s your name?” 

“Yes, I am. I’m Sangyeon.”

“Ah right!” Your fingers snapped in excitement. “I remember you, of course. From the MMA’s…was it 2018?”

Some of their eyes widened in surprise to know that you remembered them. You relished in it honestly, always loving to prove people wrong about the public’s assumption of how worldwide fame and recognition had made BTS arrogant and seemingly unapproachable. 

“Y-yes, that’s correct, thank you for remembering us.” 

“I enjoyed watching you on Kingdom.” You admitted, noticing how they were starting to relax around you, smiling more easily and paying attention as if you were the president holding a speech. “You were one of my favorite groups throughout the whole second season.”

Again they started bowing and thanking you, luckily less aggressive than earlier. 

“Y/N-sshi, we are ready for you in five minutes. Please make your way to the stage, thank you.” A voice announced through the speakers as The Boyz started to bow again and ushered away as you offered brief goodbyes. 

But then you made the mistake of looking up, finding yourself locked in a trance of soft, plump lips, thick eyebrows, puppy dog eyes, and a slim angular face - your throat felt parched as your mouth parted, but no sound came out and you snapped it back shut embarrassed. 

Kim Sunwoo noticed the sudden strange behavior, as a single brow rose but he remained polite with a simple tug of his lips and a slight bow. 

His dark straight hair was parted in the middle, reminding you of the styles from 90’s boybands. You admired the way his slim t-shirt molded against his lean body with the leather pants and a thick silver chain around his neck. A chain he had pulled seductively while gliding across the floor and stared into the camera.

An image still swimming in your mind. 

An appraisal that you were quick to scold yourself over as you felt yourself blushing even hotter, eyes snapping away only hoping he didn’t notice your weird actions. 

Only to find yourself stumbling over your own feet in a moment of rare clumsiness. 

You managed to save yourself the embarrassment of falling to the ground, but only with Sunwoo’s quick thinking. Who had smoothly stepped close and held out a hovering arm just in case you were to fall, his other gently around your bicep to keep your balance. 

Fuck, you were making a whole fool out of yourself.

No one had noticed it, thank goodness. All too busy with their tasks to pay attention to the interaction.

“Are you okay?” Jesus, his voice was deep. “Sunbaenim?” He hastily added, seemingly remembering your status. 

“I-I’m okay.” You even stuttered now. Since when did you ever stutter. “Sorry, and thank you.”

“You should watch where you’re going.” He offered a half smile, those lips looking even more ridiculously plump and soft close as you stared up at him. “Careful not to get hurt.”

At this point, you were sure he noticed your flustered state as you cleared your throat and took a small step back out of his grip. 

“I should get going.” Was all you managed to say in your embarrassed state, swiftly stepping past him to walk up the stage but not before glancing back and noticing the amused pull of his features as he quietly chuckled to himself and followed his members out.

Aera made her sudden presence known as you flinched at her proximity, only to feel your stomach drop at the near-manic grin on her face. 

“Now that, is a crush, my dear.”

You wanted to curl up into a ball and scream your frustrations out from that whole interaction, but could only brace yourself with a smile as you were faced with the crowd who cheered as you came into view. 

Dozens of ARMY bombs waving helped settle the worry in your gut just for now. 

Nicely done, Y/N. Worldwide icon, indeed huh. 

You were still thinking about it as you exited the stage studio. 

So caught up in your lingering embarrassment and out-of-character behavior that even surprised yourself. 

Over what?! A pretty face? A voice that made your skin tingle just by the rasp of it?

“Fucking get a grip, Y/N…” You muttered, fingers massaging your temples as you returned to your dressing room. 

Only to walk straight into your next phase of what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you. Quite literally too. 

Sunwoo let out a low ‘Whoa’ as you gasped and stumbled back to fully avoid running him down in your haste to hide yourself away until the nominations live broadcast. 

The toilet sign hung above his head as he maneuvered both of you to the side and away from the doors.  

“Oh my-” You were practically bumbling fool as your hands moved in silent explanation without many words to follow up, but he understood you well enough with a small, charming grin making his eyes crinkle and nose scrunch up just the slightest. 

“Hello, sunbaenim.” He gave a polite nod of his head. “It’s one of those days, huh?”

“Yeah…” You sighed in defeat, hardly trying to keep up that big and mighty senior artist image any longer. “I’m sorry it’s been taken out on you today.”

Sunwoo never lost his smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s hardly the worst thing that happened to me at music shows.”

You nodded thankfully, very much aware that you were avoiding looking at him directly. Just for your own sanity, if you were being transparent. 

“You can stop that, by the way…” My god, were you shy, right now?

“Stop what?”

You cleared your throat. “Calling me sunbaenim all the time. I’m not very fond of the stiff formalities, so you can just relax around me.”

“Ah…” Even though you weren’t looking at him, you could feel his thinking. “Then… would noona be alright?” 

Your neck might as well have cracked with how quickly you snapped up to stare at him with widened eyes. Only to meet a knowing smirk gracing his dangerously, pretty face.

“N-noona?” You repeated almost stupidly.

“And here I thought my breath smelled or something. You wouldn’t even look at me.” The smirk widened.

Calming yourself in record time, you were composed enough to retort with a halfhearted glare. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

“You are making it very easy.” Kim Sunwoo was a straightforward man, you realized. “I suppose I would be too if caught checking someone out.” Well fuck. 

Your first step was denial. “I wasn’t-”

“Don’t feel embarrassed about it. I know I’m good-looking, noona. Just didn’t realize it was to the point of losing gravity.”

If you weren’t quick on catching onto dry humor, you might have thought him deadly serious with how flat he spoke those words. But you were well versed with this sort. Yoongi being a perfect example of it. 

The exaggerated push you delivered against his shoulder came from a place of familiarity with your own members, and Sunwoo didn’t seem to mind the casualness of it as his facade broke and he laughed. 

Giggling along, you shook your head. “You’re good.”

“I know.”

However, your smile fell at his sudden wince and how swiftly he managed to play it off within a second. But you were a quick study and noticed how subtly he rolled his neck. 

“Are you hurting somewhere?” You were blunt in your concern, this time surprising him. 

“Ah…” He was considering lying, you knew that. Having done it many times before yourself. But Sunwoo brushed the moment off.  “It’s just a bit of muscle stiffness in my neck and shoulders, nothing too serious. Don’t worry about it.”

You scrutinized him for a couple of seconds before accepting it. “If you say so. But I wouldn’t be dancing as hard as you did today with that kind of pain. Be a little mindful at least and ease back.”

Sunwoo was appreciative of your advice, accepting it with a gracious nod and another, quite frankly, heart-palpating smile directed at you. You could probably just stand here and admire him for several minutes in silence if it was offered to you, but you had an image to maintain after all.

An image that fell through the moment Kim Sunwoo was involved. 

“Getting lost in my beauty again, are you?” His teasing was never-ending, but instead of annoying you it only managed to pull your smile even wider. 

“You are ridiculous.” Was all you managed to say with a chuckle. 

He bit into his lower lip thoughtfully before deciding against whatever mental war he was having. “Ridiculous enough to ask for your number?”

There it was again. Your dry throat, and the way your heart probably skipped a beat. 

“You…want my number?”

“I mean, who doesn’t want a BTS member’s number.” Sunwoo shrugged, that stupid fitted t-shirt and chain catching your attention again. 

So you quirked a brow at him, knowing something else was coming. “And that’s your goal? A BTS member’s number?”

“That would be cool.” He was being awfully truthful until his eyes locked onto your own. “But I would love having the number of a beautiful woman more. Perhaps with a date on the side?”

Your surprise at his bold confession was hardly hidden, mouth parting as you blinked up at him expecting a joke to follow. 

This wasn’t exactly the first time you’ve been asked out by someone, but it has always been a bigger or older senior until BTS blew up to the point other idols found it too intimidating to approach anymore. It was a love-hate relationship for you in those circumstances. 

Yet Kim Sunwoo managed to cross those unwritten boundaries without fear of outside consequences, his gaze firmly locked on your own without notice of anything going on around you standing by the toilets in a public hallway. 

“Are you sure you would want to risk that?” Those words tasted bitter on your tongue when all you wanted to do was say yes. 

But you weren’t a fool. Anyone getting involved with BTS would always get a spotlight of any kind shone on them, wanted or not. And you made sure to warn them of it. 

Sunwoo was not shaken by it. Only quirking up a brow as if saying so what. 

Your heart thumped even harder. So you held out a hand and he wordlessly put his phone in it as the clicking of your manicured nails swiftly typed in your number. 

You watched as he typed in whatever name he chose to give you in his contacts and pocketed the device again.

“I’ll be waiting for that date.” You smiled with satisfaction to see the top of his ears turning red, brushing past him.

So you weren’t the only one affected at least.

UNKNOWN: What’s your favorite drink? Y/N: Who is this? UNKNOWN: I’m hurt, noona.  Y/N:  Ah Hello to you too, Sunwoo You changed Unknown’s name to Sunwoo. SUNWOO: Backtracking to the question. Y/N:  I’m a coffee addict SUNWOO: Ofc, the drink of life. Let me guess, iced americano? Y/N: I’m more of a sweet latte girl SUNWOO: A woman after my own heart. Y/N:  Alright you little flirt Care to explain? SUNWOO: I’m planning for our date ofc Y/N: Oh? Did I miss the location? SUNWOO: It’s a surprise Y/N: Should I be worried? SUNWOO: Why do you keep doubting me :(  Y/N: Acting cute won’t help you SUNWOO: heart emoji Y/N: But fine, better not disappoint me, Kim Sunwoo I got high standards after all ;) SUNWOO: I guess the pressure is on

“Hi.”

“...hey.”

Your soft giggle on the other side of the phone made Sunwoo smile without realizing it. 

“Why are you breathless?”

“Ah…” He kicked away a stray pair of pants on the floor before sitting down on his bed, making sure the door was closed. “I ran to my room when you called. We just got back from the schedules.”

“You could have just called me back.” There was rustling on your end, and looking at the time he assumed you were just getting into bed. 

“I didn’t wanna leave you hanging.”

“Hm, what a gentleman.”

“For you? Always.”

You giggled again. A sound Sunwoo was certain he was becoming obsessed with hearing. 

“I tried seeing you today.” 

“Yeah.” He lowered his voice just in case any of his members were to hear him. “Me too. It was quite hectic today, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I know how it gets.”

“What did you do today?”

“Besides the music show? Just some interviews and a radio recording. I’m keeping my promotions at the bare minimum this time around.”

Stretching out on the bed, he couldn’t help but tease you. “Of course, the power of BTS.”

“Oh shush you.”

A silence settled between you. But it was a comfortable one, strangely enough. No awkward shuffling of clothes to have something to do, or the tense waiting for the other to speak. 

“I like this.” His voice was grating with how low he was trying to keep it. 

“...Like what?”

“This. Just talking to you, noona.”

Sunwoo could hear the smile in your voice. “I like this too. Very much so.”

It was hard to say how many hours the two of you spoke every night since that fateful day, but there were certainly no complaints on either end.

“This is fucking ridiculous.” Roughly peeling off the cropped denim jacket, you would feel guilty about how you threw it in the corner later. Aera would understand, hopefully. 

The stupid conflict between HYBE and MBC was no industry secret. But you managed to convince your company to give them another chance by letting you promote there this time after several years of avoiding the place. 

And did you regret it. 

“Do they think they can take me for a fucking idiot because I’m solo?” You seethed, whirling to stare at Yoo-Mi. She had a displeased expression as well, already tapping on her phone furiously as mutters of annoyance spread through the rest of your management team. 

You had been on a tense tirade the entire morning with the MBC production team and director about how you wanted your performance to be captured. They were obviously not used to how much creative freedom you were usually privy to and fought you the entire way, with passive-aggressive suggestions going against what you wanted. 

They only kept messing up, from your mic glitching on stage to the sound being off in your in-ear despite your several attempts to fix it during rehearsals. So the final product ended up being a complete mess in your own opinion, finding faults in every single frame in the live broadcast, your voice not being clear enough, and backtracking far too loud to convince viewers you were singing live despite having more than enough proof throughout the ten years. 

The haters would have a field day with that. 

“-a complete mess today, I’m telling you!” Your manager’s voice was going on in the background. 

“I can’t do this right now.” With a pointed look a Yoo-Mi, she nodded in understanding as you walked out of the dressing room towards wherever there were fewer people. 

You found a random hallway, fairly empty with an empty cushioned bench away from the main area of dressing rooms. Slumping down with your back resting against the cold wall, you closed your eyes with a tired groan. 

It was moments like these where you craved the support of your members. If this were Namjoon, he would not have relented in getting this perfect, Yoongi and Hobi right by his sides with their penetrating gazes to make sure. Jimin and Tae would be by you in their comfort, whereas Jin and JK would make extra sure that things weren’t spiraling out of control by being the compromisers in the middle. 

You weren’t a pushover, far from it. But you weren’t one for confrontations unless absolutely necessary. Today could have gone several ways with much better results if not for the underlying conflict between business companies. 

You don’t know if you dozed off or were simply in your own world. But the sudden cold, damp surface of something on your forehead made you flinch up as your eyes connected with the concerned ones of Sunwoo. 

He held an iced coffee in hand, the same one he was pressing against your skin as you allowed yourself to relax. 

“Are you okay?”

Standing up, you instead ignored the question and wrapped your smaller hand around his own still holding on to the cup. “Is this for me?”

He nodded, lips peeling back into a small smile as you accepted it. “A caramel macchiato latte, extra espresso shot.”

You had only mentioned your preferred drink once, but he had it memorized already.

“Thank you.”

Leaning with a shoulder against the wall, hand in a pocket - the concerned glint in his eyes never went away. Wearing a similar fit to the one when you first met him, Sunwoo was still as handsome as ever. Instead of a t-shirt, he wore a fitting turtleneck, a cropped blazer that made him seem even broader, and those damn leather pants with silver accessories adorned his hands, ears, and neck.  

His slightly bronzer skin compared to others seemed to glow. A feature of him you would never be sick of admiring. 

“Are you going to keep staring at me in silence?” Your lips quirked up before taking a sip from the drink, the taste of it getting your mood up. 

“Not if you say what’s bothering you.”

“What makes you think there is?”

Sunwoo snorts. “I walked passed you earlier and you didn’t even notice.”

Glancing at the coffee in your hand. “And you went to get me coffee?”

“I thought you needed something to cheer you up.”

So you gave in. “Just creative differences with the director here. My manager is taking care of it.”

Sunwoo hummed in understanding. “But are you okay?”

His brows were furrowed, those lips you could never ignore pulled into the slightest pout. Swallowing your nerves you stepped even closer. Sunwoo straightened up at the proximity but not moving away. He waited for you. 

“Can I hug you?” Your whisper practically melted him as everything about him softened. 

“Of course.”

Without hesitation, you put the cup down on the bench before snaking your arms around his slim waist, face tucked into the hollow of his neck and shoulder, and breathed him in. 

The aroma of ground coffee beans and subtle vanilla, all wrapped up in notes of sweet fruits and blended spices of sandalwood and sage; a scent you would forever associate with him from this moment.

Sunwoo’s arms wrapped around you, hand gently stroking your back as you relished in the comfort he was providing. A feeling you had missed immensely. 

You were falling, and there was nothing to stop you from being completely consumed by the orbit that was Kim Sunwoo.

Sunwoo was mesmerized. 

Quite frankly frozen to his spot in the dressing room, standing in the middle of the room, drink forgotten in hand as he stared at the screen where you were currently one of the last performers. 

Fair enough, he wasn’t exactly old, still young at the age of twenty-three, and being one of the youngest in his group he was often reminded of it. But he wasn’t ignorant. Especially not enough to ignore the fact he had fallen easily and quickly down the rabbit hole that was Y/N of BTS. 

Where everyone else saw the star quality encasing your every being, he managed to see past it. Your shyness that you often hid behind the pretense of a bold personality when faced with strangers. Sunwoo could see how you were struggling to be by yourself on stages where you used to be with seven others and had quite quickly used his presence as a comfort to chase your struggles away. 

And he had happily complied. It started with texting until he crossed that line by calling you one evening after a scheduled music show where neither had managed to talk, but craved to. 

After several of nights of calling each other, you surprised him one evening by turning on Facetime, sending his heart stuttering at the beautiful sight of you all barefaced in cozy pajamas under dim lighting as you settled yourself on a couch. 

Yet you still hadn’t found time to meet properly. The end-of-year season was always hectic with the amount of promotions and award shows that went on, especially for his group. Making that long-awaited date having to be put on pause. 

Sunwoo didn’t even expect you to attend after that fiasco of a recording earlier in the month until he woke up to a text this morning from you letting him know, with an unwritten hope to find some time to meet.

“Sunwoo’s in love.” A jest from one of his members snapped him out of the stupor as he simply rolled his eyes with a smirk, playing off the words even though they made him sweat. 

If only his members knew the truth. 

“She’s amazing.” Another compliment followed by several others as his members fell into a light discussion about you and your well-known ability to control a stage and make people pay attention by a single note of your voice. All that without the help of your members. 

Sunwoo felt like the clock was dragging by - his energy and hope diminishing with each minute while pretending he was okay around everyone. The award show was nearing its end, with you closing it before all performers would meet for the closing stage. 

He must have been one of the first members out the door when the call to gather was announced. His casual eagerness was enough to catch the curious attention of a few members, but he did the best he could to act his normal self. 

The stage was packed with the dozens of groups and performances that had joined for the event. Sunwoo made sure to stay close to his group, but he also couldn’t help the way his eyes kept searching for someone in particular. He had caught glimpses of you walking around the stage waving at fans, but also greeting artists who were eager to say hi. 

You were keeping close to your labelmates, TXT, laughing and smiling with them openly with an arm looped around Yeonjun’s like an older sister. Sunwoo would be lying if he didn’t feel jealous seeing you act so openly affectionate with them, but he reined in the green monster quickly. 

He barely managed to reign in his shock when squished amid the crowd as everyone tried to leave the stage and a familiar hand wrapped itself around his own with a quick squeeze before letting go again. Sunwoo saw your back as you walked away in front of him, still beside TXT. 

You never gave any indication it had happened besides the barest of glances over your shoulder. 

The next time Sunwoo managed to see you was by being dragged quite forcefully into a cleaning supply closet as the door closed behind him with a thump and lock turning.

He huffed out a laugh as you stood before him, a guilty grin painted on your lips. 

“Was that a bit too rough?”

“It was perfect.” Sunwoo continued to chuckle and finally took you in. 

The two of you were matching in black, his an assemble of leather and silver accents, whereas you were all sparkling sheer fabric with thigh-high stilettos and matching mini skirt. Jesus fuck. 

 His throat bobbed as his male mind caught up to what was happening: standing in a small-sized closet in dim lighting, with you only inches away from him dressed like actual sin. 

“Do you think they’ll notice?” You asked worried, gnawing on your lower lip. His gaze zeroed on the action. 

“My members definitely have, but they’ll think I probably ran off to the bathroom.”

“We won’t have long then.” The downturned vision of glossy lips made him lick his own, in anticipation or nerves, Sunwoo wasn’t sure. 

He could hear and feel everything now. The sound of your breaths, the rising of your chest, and the heat of your skin only a fingertip away from his touch. You must have caught on to the same desire because you finally looked at him - as in thoroughly looking, doing an appraisal of him from head to toe with a sly tilt to your head, eyes lingering on the cropped fabric of his shirt - lips pulling up into a smile. 

Someone was clearly not feeling shy anymore. He didn’t know if it was a good thing for him. 

“-can I kiss you, noona?” Sunwoo cut off any words you wanted to say. And you didn’t seem all that surprised. “I need to kiss you. actually.”

“Need to, huh?” You were clearly very amused by his words. “Then who am I to stop you?” 

Oh yeah. Definitely a dangerous turn for his sanity. 

“You’re such a tease.” Sunwoo couldn’t help but mutter as he hauled you against him firmly, cutting off your giggle with his lips which turned into a pleased sigh.

Your arms reached up to wrap around his neck, pressed up against each other down to your hips as you raked your nails through his scalp causing a shudder and a groan to leave him. 

Sunwoo kissed you enthusiastically but slowly, seemingly on a mission to memorize every single crevice in your mouth, those plumb lips feeling even softer on your own. He turned your bodies around, never separating from your mouth when he suddenly bent only to pick you up. 

You squeaked in surprise, pulling back momentarily only to be pushed even firmer against the door, your legs spreading to accommodate him between your thighs, your skirt scrunching up. 

That all melted away as you let out a soft moan as Sunwoo finally sucked on your tongue, humming against you with a smirk tugging in the corner of his mouth. He moved away, to the corner of your lips, behind your ear, and down to your neck - wet kisses and his tongue making you pant as your thighs squeezed around his hips. 

Your fingers that were already in his hair tightened their grip even further, holding him against you where he was kissing your neck with a breathless whine and Sunwoo only chuckled at your reaction. 

Honestly, you hadn’t expected him to pick you up just like that. But no part of you was certainly complaining by the turn of events. 

He was more than ready to go further, you noticed. And to be fair, so were you. So strung up with your nerves desperate to find release in any kind that you could have fucked him right in this closet. If it weren’t for the time and place. 

Manvouring Sunwoo’s face back up, you only got a glimpse of his flushed appearance, lidded eyes, and swollen lips before you kissed him again. This time much slower, trying your damn best to calm both of you down. 

Your feet found the ground again, Sunwoo leaning in over you with both hands cupping the back of your neck almost too gently, but a hold that you couldn’t help but rest into. 

It was a struggle to separate, he found out. Pulling back but always needing to dip back in for another kiss or peck. He did it so many times that you ended up laughing. 

“Fuck, I can’t seem to let you go,” Sunwoo murmured, thumb caressing your cheek softly as your eyes sparkled up at him. 

“It’s not the last time.” You assured him, leaning in to press your lips against his neck for a little teasing touch as you smirked in satisfaction feeling him shudder before nuzzling close. 

“I know…” He sighed heavily, obviously not wanting to leave, but the clock was ticking. And the more time they spent lost in each other’s arms would make everyone else around them more suspicious. 

So with a heavy heart and frankly, half a boner - Sunwoo pushed himself away so you could open the door. He took the lead, peeling it open slowly and looking both ways to see it was surprisingly sparse with only a couple of staff on the other end. 

You held onto his hand from behind him, sneaking out slowly as the door clicked shut. From there both of you rushed to where your dressing rooms were - you only being a few doors down from him. 

Just as the sign of The Boyz were in view, Yoo-Mi, your manager came out of your door and freezing both to the spot. 

Sunwoo cursed, body tensing beside you, but he was assured quickly to see the almost entertained smirk on the older woman’s face as she waltzed in their direction. 

“Unnie.” You greeted her sheepishly, never letting go of his hand. You actually moved closer as Sunwoo bowed in greeting. 

“Not a crush, huh?” That was all Yoo-Mi said before shaking her head and moving on. “I’m going toilet, be quick, we’re leaving soon.”

Then they were alone again. Slowly glancing at each other, Sunwoo bit down on his lip before snorting out a laugh with you following with a low laugh. 

“That went well.” He grinned. 

“We really have to go now,” You gave a pointed look at their intertwined hands. 

“Yeah…” His grin didn’t fall as his large hands gently gripped your hips and pulled you closer. You hardly had the power to resist him. “Goodbye kiss?”

“You will be the death of me, Kim Sunwoo.”

Sunwoo leaned down with a mischievous tilt to his mouth, lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “But you would love that, noona.”

Leaning up you sealed the kiss softly, hands resting on his chest only to flinch apart the very next second. 

“Yah Kim Sunw-!”

Q or Changmin stood in the open doorway with his mouth dropped open, only for the two of them to realize they had placed themselves directly in front of The Boyz’ dressing room.

Giving a complete view of both of them to everyone inside as heavy silence fell. 

Well. There went the secrecy.

“What…the hell?” 

Simultaneously taking in the jaw-dropped expressions of his members. You and Sunwoo couldn’t hold back your nearly manic cackles as you fell into him for support.

“Am I dreaming?” Someone wondered out loud in English. 

If this was a dream, then you would never want to wake up. 

Thank you for reading!

masterlist

[sitp-recs]

15 Christmassy fics to read (or reread) this month

This rec list is for @annakendricks who sent an ask about Christmas reads and also dedicated to @lettersbyelise for supporting this idea 💜 Despite the winter blues, December will always lighten up my mood with the holiday spirit. This month has been pretty hectic for me but I can’t wait to get some time off and indulge my fave Christmassy rereads. Come and join me if you like! Here you’ll find a little bit of everything: soft and contemplative, smutty, crack-y, movie AU, holiday romance and even Gen fic, which is not my usual fare but fit the theme perfectly. Pick your flavour and Happy Holidays!

🎄A Christmas Happenstance by Only_1_Truth (E, 5.5k)

The Hogwarts School for the Gifted and Supernatural had classes year-round, but the dormitories emptied out regularly on holidays as if the students were suddenly becoming allergic to the walls. Both humans and non-humans mingled freely in the surrounding town of Hogsmeade. Draco Malfoy, however, isn't feeling in the mood after a rather spectacular break-up.

🎄A Charitable Christmas by Alisanne (E, 5.6k)

Hermione’s plans to raise money for war orphans do not meet with Harry’s approval. Fortunately, Draco steps in to help him come up with a much more enjoyable strategy.

🎄A Hippogriff for Christmas by @xanthippe74 (G, 6.4k)

Draco is desperately trying to fulfill four-year-old Scorpius’ dearest wish for Christmas: a visit with a real Hippogriff. Harry is desperately trying to be left alone, safely tucked away from the attention of the wizarding world as Hogwarts’ Keeper of the Keys and Grounds.

🎄Surviving the Horde by FleetofShippyShips (T, 7k)

Draco has managed to avoid Christmas at the Burrow for ten years, but not this year.

🎄Tidings of Comfort by @blamebrampton (G, 10k)

When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life. Luckily for Draco Malfoy, London has places where the tired can rest and recover.

🎄Love, Actually, is All Around by @punk-rock-yuppie (T, 10k)

It's Christmastime, and Harry has just started as the new Minister of Magic. It just so happens that Draco works in his office as well, a holdover from Kingsley's tenure. Naturally, love is in the air.

🎄break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 12k)

Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

🎄All Roads Lead Home by @dracogotgame (G, 15k)

Draco is strong-armed into spending the first Christmas after the War with the Weasleys. And Harry Potter.

🎄Love All Lovely by @shealwaysreads (T, 19k)

Draco comes home for Christmas, and discovers that sharing is the best way of celebrating old traditions, and new ones too.

🎄Waking Up Slow by @sweet-s0rr0w and @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 22k)

'Twas the night before Christmas, although it’s July / Draco’s a shopkeeper, no-one knows why / There’s hiking and witch caves, freak snowfalls and more / Bad Christmas jumpers, nosy neighbours galore / Narcissa’s here too, but… something’s amiss / And what’s in those chocolates that’s making them kiss?

🎄I'll Floo Home for Christmas by jadepresley (T, 39k)

The Ministry Christmas party is the biggest event of the year and Harry absolutely does not want to plan it, and he certainly, one hundred percent, does not have a crush on Draco Malfoy.

🎄The Romantic Prawn Who Loved Christmas by @bixgirl1 (E, 39k)

When Draco, forced into sharing a room with Potter for the year, finds out that Potter has a sleepwalking problem, he expects the odd conversations and the weird games of chess. What comes as a complete shock are Potter's other activities...And why he seems so intent on having Draco join him.

🎄December Never Felt So Wrong by @maesterchill (E, 50k)

'Twas the month before Christmas and sixteen year old Draco Malfoy had never felt worse. His attempts to kill Dumbledore were failing and, as usual, Harry Fucking Potter was a constant thorn in his side. All that suddenly changed when Draco woke up 15 years in the future and discovered that not only was he allegedly shagging Harry Fucking Potter, he also had thinning hair and a five year old son, and no fucking clue how he got there.

🎄A Room Up There (And You In It) by @the-starryknight (T, 59k)

When Preservationist Draco Malfoy was assigned to work on Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, he was excited to delve into the gorgeous Black family antiques. His excitement quickly ended when something in the House decided it did not like his presence one bit.

🎄All Must Draw Near by Saras_Girl (M, 61k)

Harry doesn't have time for rumours; he has a shop to run. Which is just as well, really.

[kiwiana-writes]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks @getmehighonmagic @whimsymanaged @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @junebugclaremontdiaz @onthewaytosomewhere for the tags. Y'all are getting more than I intended of the Anastasia AU tonight because I couldn't figure out a good place to cut it... at this rate idk what will be left to publish that hasn't been on tumblr but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Nora.” Alex swallows. “I know this guy.” “You know Prince Henry?” She reaches out, patting him on the cheek. “I think finals have fried your brain. He’s been missing for a decade. That’s kind of the point. Unless you’re telling me he’s a ghost wandering around the White House—that’d be kinda cool.” “He’s not a—wait, you believe in ghosts?” Nora just shrugs, eyebrows raised, and stares at him until he keeps speaking. “Obviously I don’t know Prince Henry, Jesus. If I did I’d be ten million pounds richer, for a start.” Twice a year like clockwork, ex-Queen Mary, now the Duchess of Washington and holed up in one of her cousin’s royal properties along with her daughter and two remaining grandchildren, pops up on social media to remind the American population of the reward on offer for her younger grandson’s safe return. There have been literally dozens of fake Henrys over the years, all hoping to get their hands on the cash, all soon finding themselves on the wrong side of treason charges. He looks at Nora’s computer screen again, fingers drumming restlessly on the desk. “I’m telling you, though, I know that guy. We were in Intro to Psych together freshman year. I would’ve put actual money on that being a picture of him, not some randomly AI-generated image of what a missing prince would look like now. God, can you imagine if the answer to this big mystery was just, like, that asshole from one of my gen eds? What would the chances of that be?” It’s rhetorical, but Nora’s never met a statistic she doesn’t try to calculate. “Infinitesimal. Unless”—she grins, all teasing sarcasm—“your Intro to Psych buddy refuses to tell you anything about his life from before he was twelve. That might get us into a high enough fraction of a percent that Excel won’t display it weird, at least.”

Tagging @affectionatelyrs @anchoredarchangel @anincompletelist @blairwaldcrf @celaestis1 @celeritas2997 @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @happiness-of-the-pursuit @heybuddy-drabbles @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @matherines @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @notspecialbabe @orchidscript @rmd-writes @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @three-drink-amy @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland and, as always, anyone who wants to play.

[ghost-bxrd]

Keep going I want everything *holds up a note pad* give me angst

*slides glasses up higher*

Okay, you asked for it! Get ready for some really cracky ship content on the side of more Court Family au!

Bruce grows up learning high society and Court etiquette mostly from Alfred and some trustworthy Court members and quickly decides that some things need to change. (He may be morally flexible here but he still wants to change things for the better). He still puts up the Brucie mask in front of High Society, but now he does it with the goal to gather blackmail material from as many people as possible and indebt them to him for potential use down the line.

Bruce becomes Voice of the Court when he turns eighteen and immediately starts uprooting several of the more corrupt members of the Court, instating new people into the ranks that will benefit the city as a whole. He makes some enemies this way, naturally. And soon after the Cout’s Talon is tasked with Bruce’s safety at all times.

Bruce and Cobb do NOT get along. At all. Mostly because Bruce is determined to make Talon’s life even harder by trying to slip away from his sight every other second. It’s infuriating. Cobb considers literally sitting on the guy after only one week. (“Try bailing on me now, o’ honorable Voice”)

Bruce spends several months strategically implementing new laws and projects that will benefit the Court AND Gotham in the long run, making it a point to go to the most important meetings in person, even if they happen to be between criminals. (Cobb was so, SO tempted to let Black Mask shoot the idiot that day.)

Within two years human trafficking is close to nonexistent in Gotham City, lethal crime is down a good ten percent (which isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but for Gotham it’s almost biblical) and whispers of “Batman” are omnipresent. (Cobb considers asking if slapping his Voice would be considered treason but… it probably would. Even though Bruce really deserves it with such a stupid cover name. Owls HUNT bats… couldn’t he have chosen Owlman?)

(“What’s your name, anyway?” Bruce asks one day, flipping his tie into a neat Windsor knot that’s just passable enough to not be considered sloppy. “I am the Talon of the Court, my Voice.” Bruce hums, one elegant eyebrow raising in the stark reflection of the mirror, “No, your real name.” “It’s whatever you wish it to be, my Voice.” “You know what I mean, Talon. If you do not wish to answer, then I will not make you. But do not play me for a fool.” “… Cobb. William Cobb.” Bruce blinks, the left corner of his mouth tugging upwards, “Will… I see.”)

The first time a traitor nearly succeeds in killing Bruce is when he once again slips away from the Talon’s sight, and while Bruce is still well trained he’s no match against five people with guns, sedatives, and a mission. Cobb finds them right as they’re about to shoot Bruce in the head and goes absolutely feral. (He hates Bruce, he hates Bruce, he hates Bruce, he hates-)

Bruce wakes up back at the manor with a pissed off Talon standing in the corner of the room, keeping watch and refusing to talk to him anymore beyond what he’s ordered to. Sneaking away from the Talon after this becomes virtually impossible for Bruce.

Cobb keeps giving Bruce the cold shoulder for months to the point where Bruce becomes genuinely concerned, but the Court scientists assure him that their Talon is running at a 100% capacity. (That’s not what I’m asking, Bruce wants to scream. I want to know if he’s okay.)

(Cobb wasn’t worried, he wasn’t. He watched countless humans die in so much worse ways already. Inflicted worse himself. It’s just because he almost failed his mission and allowed the Voice to be killed that he’s so unnerved now. That must be it. That’s all it is. That’s all.)

Dick’s parents fall and Bruce is up and out of his seat the next second, pushing through the masses until he can clutch at the child and cover his eyes, shielding him from the view of his parents’ dead bodies. Social Services never get to put their hands on Dick Grayson.

The Court is ecstatic. Cobb is ecstatic. From tragedy, opportunity blooms like a rose with poisonous thorns, and the Talon stands ready to take on his apprentice as the Court broaches the subject with Bruce.

But Bruce (idiotic, stupid, bleeding-heart Bruce) refuses point blank. (“He’s a child,” Bruce says. Like that means anything. They were all children, once. He’ll grow out of it quickly enough. And the boy will make an excellent Talon, perhaps even surpass Cobb himself, with time and training. Maybe more capable at keeping the Voice safe than him, too. But then Bruce says, “He’s my child. My ward. And any of you who think to go against me will answer to the Talon and myself.” And, oh, damn you, Bruce. Damn you. But what else is Cobb to do but lift his head and stare down the Voice’s subject in silent challenge, daring them to object? Bruce is his Voice. Talon will never not side with the Court’s voice. (He pointedly does not think of the time he slit another Voice’s throat. He does not.))

Dick is anger and fury and sunshine and it drives Cobb crazy. The raw potential that is lost with Bruce’s refusal to allow him to train the boy… he cannot stand it. There will be another Talon before long (Cobb is not bitter about it, he is not) and with Dick the protection of the Voice would have at least stayed within the line of Cobb’s blood, but now… now Cobb can’t be sure the new Talon will take their task as seriously as the boy would have.

Dick is the one to approach Cobb for training before he ever goes to Bruce

Bruce nearly has a heart attack the first time he finds Dick training with the Talon, ripping the boy away and screaming at Cobb for nearly an hour about “orders” and “NOT a Talon” and many other things Dick doesn’t really get

Bruce asks Talon to bring him Zucco’s head and Cobb will forever deny the vindictive pleasure he felt when watching the smarmy man squirm and beg for his life (he didn’t get fond of Dick. Cobb doesn’t do fond. He hates him almost as much as he hates Bruce, thank you and good day.)

… okay I just realized none of this really qualifies as angst but— somehow this post got away from me. I’m sorry 😭😭😭 feel free to ask for more specific angst content tho? 🙏

[zialltops]

honeysuckle’s & huckleberry’s

Cowboy!Joel (41) X F!Reader (25) | 15.5k | wip | explicit | 18+ minors dni | enemies to lovers | slow burn | au: no cordyceps outbreak

After four years away at collage, you’re finally home with the tools and knowledge to save your family ranch. That is, if their ranch hand would stay out of your way.

Or: Ranch hand Joel doesn’t know how to handle the return of his bosses prodigy daughter, her snarky little attitude, or her sinfully tight jeans.

a/n: this chapter gets me right in the feels every time. I love watching the way Joels character changes and his train of thought shifts. I hope you guys like this chapter because it was so fun for me to write 🥹❄️

Masterlink

Chapter 3: Blue

As it turns out, extreme levels of dopamine in his brain after a bone chilling orgasm is exactly what Joel needs to level himself out while you’re sitting beside him in the passenger seat. It doesn’t make him stop thinking about it, but it does keep the tiny little gremlin in his head that tells him to pop a stiffy at bay. The only thing he has to worry about is his eyes, keeping them off of you and on the icy driveway as he pulls away from the house. The snow has started to melt, leaving behind a sloppy mud that makes the truck slip and slide. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to get your car out, even if I can I don’t think you’ll be able to drive it in this.”

You make an exaggerated groan and he doesn’t even need to look to know you’re rolling your eyes at him from your spot beside him on the bench seat. “You just love deciding what I can and can’t do, don’t you? You know I lived here my whole life right?” He dares a glance over and you’re staring at him with your eyebrows knitted together and your arms crossed. His eyes tick down and he wants to kick himself in the head for even looking because your shirt is leaving nothing to his imagination and little to wonder about how good they would look bare with his dick between—jesus christ, Joel, get yourself together Man. “I wasn’t doubting your ability, I’m suggesting that it would be dangerous for you to even try.”

The truck hits the pavement and most of the snow has melted, but the freezing temperatures leave a icy film across the top. He had to go easy on the breaks and hope to god the truck makes it up the inclines he has to take to get to your car. The last thing he needs is to be stuck out here in the cold with just your bodies to keep each other warm. He absolutely one hundred and ten percent wont survive that, not without absolutely humiliating himself. God, he fucking hates how much you affect him against his will.

“Since when do you care about what’s too dangerous for me, huh?” Why in the hell is he arguing with you like you’ve been married for twenty years? “You left me in the snow to freeze to death in my car four days ago, why am I going to listen to you about whats too dangerous for me?” You have a point, but so does he so he just shuts his fucking mouth and keeps on driving.

It takes twice as much time to get down the pass than it usually does, but the lower Joel gets, the more the ice melts into cold water and mud. By the time he gets to your car, the road is clear but the car is still sunk down to the rims in the embankment. Theres a uneasy sort of silence in the truck, something lingering around the cab of the old blue pickup that feels like shame and embarrassment.

“Texting, huh?” He breaks the silence with a crude joke that earns him a deep glare. “Fuck you, asshole. You know, I really don’t know what it is that my parents see in you. My mom always said how polite you were but I don’t believe that for a second after knowing you for a few days.” You prop open the door and climb out into the snow with your car keys in one hand and the other holding your unzipped jacket closed. Your stupid fucking shoes and that tight ass—fuck.

How is he supposed to be okay with the way you make his body react when you literally curse the ground he walks on, thinking he’s the worst thing that ever happened to this damn town? He gets out after you and slips on his gloves to keep the cold off his hands. The winter always leaves him cracked and brittle from cold work, sometimes his knuckles bleed and his bones ache for gentle hands instead of hard callouses and a cowboys scars. “You don’t know anything about me.” He reaches into the back for a chain while you open the door to your car. “I know enough. I know you’re bullheaded and selfish. I know you’re rude and you don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Fucking bitch, like he’s not allowed to have some self preservation after the life he’s lived, always cleaning up Tommy's mess and abandoning his own life in the process. “Don’t act like you’re any better.” You lean out of your car and make a face at him while he hooks the chain to the front of the truck. “Me? You don’t know a damn thing about me.” Like you didn’t just spout off about all the things you think is wrong with him—he can do that too. He has a fucking list of reasons you piss him off. “I know that you’re entitled and expect people to be at your beck and call. I know you’re privileged with no regard for anyone around you.”

He follows the chain to your car and hooks it to the chassis underneath. “Well were just a match made in fucking heaven then, aren’t we?” Its dripping with distain and bitterness, so Joel ignores the comment no matter how much his brain runs and runs about all the way he could be made for you, the way’s he’d fuck that attitude right out of you until you’re quiet. But he can’t and he won’t, he’ll probably spend the rest of his life wondering what you’d feel like, the way you’d shake and scream and beg for more—but wondering is far as that fantasy will ever go.

Because at the end of the day, you’re still Hank's daughter and you’re still half his age and—you hate his guts, which is definitely a deal breaker when it comes to getting someone in your bed. So he keeps his mouth shut and heads back to his truck to tug your car out. “When you’re out, hit your brakes so you don't slam into me.” You sink down into your seat and glare at him. “I’m not stupid!” He never said you were, but he doesn’t expect you to know everything, so he does his best to be the helpful asshole he usually is.

He pulls the little car out, manages to keep the chain tight until it's back on the road and the brake lights come on in front of him. He puts the truck in park and hops out to unhook the chain, but you don’t open the door. When the car is unhooked, you’re already pulling away without a word of thanks. Joel knows he’s well past earning the way you treat him, but that doesn’t make him stop wishing he could just get you out of his head already, wish he could hate you with that same mind altering disgust that you have for him, maybe watching you drive away would be easier.

Two months pass much like the first week. Joel keeps to himself, you frown at him and avoid him where you can. When you do see one another, Joel feels like you’re always at each other's throats. Everyone in the house has started to notice the distaste in your strained relationship, if Joel is willing to let himself call it that. It’s more like a forced acquaintance. Either way, your parents even see the way the two of you bicker and fight, but rarely does anyone but Tommy make comments about it. Tommy likes to bring it up any chance he gets, usually when Joel is alone just to rile him up further. He says stupid shit, like “I bet the sex you guys would have would be crazy good” when it’s just him and his brother at the dinner table and it makes Joel stiffen and run off to the cabin without his plate or a goodbye.

He sneaks in later for his plate and catches you in the kitchen with red eyes and tear stained cheeks, but you cross your arms over your chest and try not to meet his eyes. You’re dressed in just a big tee shirt and he can see from your bare feet to the tops of your thighs. He’s the luckiest son of s bitch in the world that he just worked himself over twice because he would be tenting his sweatpants right there in the kitchen.

That was three days ago and he still can’t get the sight of tears in your eyes out of his mind. He wonders if he did that, if he’d said something that struck a nerve and there you sat at the kitchen table after everyone was tucked in bed, crying your pretty eyes out. He feels like the worst fucking person in the world because of it, so he stays away even more, makes himself sad little ramen noodle dinners in his sad little hunting cabin he shares with his brother and he stares at his ceiling wishing it was you he was looking up at—smiling instead of frowning for once—all he wants is to see you smile. Really smile, for him, at him. He wonders what your eyes look up when they light up, wonders what your skin feels like when its not shaking in rage.

But between all the avoiding and hiding, Joel didn’t even realize how quickly Christmas had snuck up on him. He checks his phone sometime after lunch, his day spent getting the herd ready for another brutal snow storm. He’d been to town that morning for hot feed to keep them warm and any supplies they might run out of while snowed in, while deep, dark clouds hung in the distance. He was leaving the feed store when the clerk waved at him with a polite “Merry Christmas!” When he made it into the truck, he pulled out his phone and realized the date, December 24th. It was Christmas eve and it was an absolute miracle that stores were open right now. It was only eleven thirty and the sign posted on the door says it closes at two.

He starts to put the truck in reverse, turning around to look behind him while he pulls out. When he does, something inside of him doesn’t let his foot off the brakes. He thinks about you—in Christmas pajamas on the floor opening dumb little gifts from your parents because it's the first Christmas they’ve had with you for years. He imagines what they’d get you, probably things a grown adult needs—products, socks, underwear, (don’t even go there Joel) and he thinks about how disheartening that must be to a woman like you, used to proper city living now, expensive gifts and pretty things. You deserve pretty things, Joel wants to give them to you.

He turns around, throws the truck in park and jumps out, heading back into the feed store. He makes a bee-line for the glass jewelry case sitting in the corner, partially scavenged through since it is the day before christmas and all—he should have thought about this weeks ago. He scans through everything, shiny horse shoe earrings, matching pendants, jeweled cowgirl boots on a chain and turquoise ring sets. None of them look good enough, none of them scream you, sweet you—fuck, he’s seen it, when you’re so damn sweet, when you think no one is looking—Joel is, always looking.

He kneels down, scanning the bottom shelf of the case when he spots a simple golden chain and a bumble bee dangling delicately from its tiny hoops. It doesn’t have any stones on it and Joel thinks he likes that more, that it’s simple and graceful, not too flashy or obviously shoutings “look at what you do to me, look at how much I wish I could have you.���

In the end, he has just enough bills in his wallet for the necklace, tells the clerk he doesn’t need a bag as he stuffs the box in his pocket and heads back to the truck.

He has a busy day when he gets back to ranch, Tommy is checking on the pregnant heifers while Joel fill’s multiple feeders with hot grains that will keep them warm through the impending storm. He has just enough time before it starts to snow to get the horse fed and the equipment properly covered in tarps. This storm is set to drop more snow than they have seen all winter and Joel doesn’t look forward to the animosity that comes with never being able to get out of each other's hair. “How’s the heifers?” He asks Tommy when he brushes grain off his hands. “They all seem pretty far out besides one, she was really soft, sort of worried me.” Heifers get soft around the tail when they are close to caving, but Joel doesn’t think she’ll be willing to have her calf in this storm, so he lets it go. Instead, he takes a spot beside Tommy at the stable door.

“Snow’s comin’ down thick now,” Tommy says from the protective covering of the stable, staring out across the yard at the powder covered ground. Snow blows through the big sliding door, filling the building with cold gusts. “We should get inside before it gets worse.”

Joel wants to—when he looks off at the two story house, the christmas tree shining through the window, he spots you on the other side of it, fixing and ornament hanging from the nettles. The stable is a stone's throw from the house, Joel can see every feature, the color of your eyes, your sweet, sweet smile—because he’s nowhere to be seen.

He’s so busy staring, he doesn’t catch it in time when your eyes meet his across the yard. That sweet smile falls, those soft eyes harden and he feels his gut lurch. “You go ahead, Tommy. Think I’m going to hit the hay.” Tommy knows this bit just about as well as Joel does, knows he’s been avoiding the house, your parents, you because nine times out of ten, it’s just Tommy at dinner these days. Joel spends his night with microwaved meals and old episodes of The Rifleman to keep him busy until he finally gives in and slips his hands in his pants.

Tommy doesn’t put up a fuss, instead, he claps Joel on the shoulder and gives him this sad sort of smile before heading off towards the house. Joel turns in the other direction, follows the fence line for a half mile until he reaches the cabin. His feet are cold, his lips feel cracked after a long day outside in the harsh weather. He microwaves a sad little dinner, pretends the mac and cheese on the side is half as good as warm food at the table when the people he looks at like family. He’s simply not welcome there anymore.

He gets through two episodes before he promptly passes out, his pants left intact tonight because it’s not his dick leading the way tonight, its that look in your eyes when you saw him across the driveway. The pang he felt in his chest when you frowned and turned away like it hurt you to look at him.

He sleeps through the night, propped up like that on the couch and when he wakes on Christmas morning, his neck has a crick in it and his back is killing him. He barely drags himself off the couch and into the shower before his day has to start. The hot water eases out some of his muscles, but it still hurts like a bitch to stand up straight or turn his head.

But the cattle aren’t going to let him take a day off, the horses won't care for themselves, so he gets to it only a few minutes late. When he heads out the door, the ground is covered in two feet of pure white snow and dark clouds still hang overhead.

His Christmas is spent in the field’s and the stables and the box in his pocket burns a hole through his thigh the entire morning, until he’s shoveling off the driveway and the front door comes open. Louise makes her way onto the porch with a plate in her hands, shuffling down the slippery steps when she gets Joel’s attention. He tosses down the shovel and hurries over when she starts to wobble on the second step and nearly slips. He catches her arm and helps her steady before letting out a cold gust of air that fogs through the chill around him. “Miss Lou, what are you doin’ out here? It’s freezing.” She has a light coat on and her cheeks are red from the cold.

“You’re the one out here in the cold, Joel. It’s Christmas and you’re the only one working. Have you had a decent meal this week? I haven’t seen you at dinner in…well, I don’t know how long.” She’s the one reason Joel feels guilty for avoiding the house, in the years he’s lived here, she's always enjoyed cooking for them, she’d always tell him he couldn’t keep her dream alive if he was malnourished. He feels like that now, running on half the calories a man his size should be taking in and his mind is in a constant state of despair these days.

“Just needed some space is all, Ma’am, nothin’ you did.” He assures her, taking the plate carefully and helping her back up the steps. “I know it's not just that. My daughter can be really difficult sometimes…I know you two bicker. It’s a shame, really—I thought the two of you would hit it off.” That's the whole problem and what a shame it is that Joel can’t look at this woman’s daughter without thinking about all the ways he could have her, make her his. “Would you come inside? Hank and I got you something, he thought you would be in this morning but you never came. I'm sorry if your food is cold.”

He didn’t care if it was cold, his stomach hurt because he was so hungry, he'd eat it if it was frozen. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her no, so he heads inside the house with snow covered boots and a nervousness he hasn’t felt here since the first day he stood in this living room. For so long it's felt like his home too—but now he can't help but feel like an intruder.

When he closes the door behind him, Hank and Tommy are watching the game, but you’re nowhere in sight. He tries to shake off his nerves, moves to the couch beside Tommy and sits down. At his brother's feet is a brand new pair of deer skin gloves, Tommy’s favorite—but hard to come by. He knows they weren’t cheap and his heart aches a little, knowing they’d worked hard to pull together the money.

“Glad to see you can pull yourself away for a few minutes. You know it ain’t goin’ anywhere, stay for a little while.” He knows that—the storm will be with them for four days and he knows there will be more snow to shovel tomorrow, but he can’t stay for long, not when your prying eyes finally detect him in your safe haven. “I’ll stay for a little while, still a lot to do out there.” He knows Hank is too old for that kind of work, Tommy’s too lazy and Joel wants nothing more than to escape. “Got you somethin’, been saving up for it for a while now.” He leans down towards the tree and picks up a rather large box—it’s not gloves thats for damn sure. “Sir, I…I didn’t get you nothin’.” He didn’t have the money, he spent every dollar he had to his name on a stupid necklace for his daughter that would rather see him outside in the freezing weather shoveling snow than on her couch in front of the fireplace.

Hank throws a hand, playing off Joel's concern with an amused huff. “You do so much for us around here without asking for anything in return. You had one when you got here but i know it got tore up taking the cattle to pasture.”

Joel rips the wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box with the word Stetson on the top. Joel doesn’t even want to open the damn thing, he knows what's inside and how much it cost, an arm and a leg, probably a month's saving in the off season. “Hank…”

The olde man shakes his head firmly. “You deserve to have the sun off your neck, son. Just say thank you, make sure it fits.”

He pulls open the box and inside lays a black felt hat with a matching band, beautiful leather work that loops into an ornate metal buckle to hold it in place. He pulls the cowboy hat from its box, puts it on his head and—it’s a perfect fit.

It's been a long time since he had a hat, a lot longer since he had a nice one and a lifetime ago since he had the money for a new one, especially one this nice. “I don’t know what to say—thank you, Hank…this really…means more than you know.” More than he knows how to convey with words. It’s been a long time since Joel had a hat that fit, one that wasn’t second hand or made for someone else’s head. But this—this was made for his head, the measurement must be damn near perfect. “How’d you know my size?” He wobbles his head around and the hat doesn’t budge, hangs on snuggly. He’ll even be able to ride with this on. “I measured your head while you were sleepin’.” Tommy tells him with a smug grin. “That's weird, Tommy. I would have kept that to myself.”

It draws a laugh out of Hank who has abandoned the game in favor of watching Joel's excitement. “Well, what are you waiting for—go check yourself out in the mirror, make sure you like it,” he stands and walks over to the mirror hanging on the wall above a decorative entryway shelf. When he spots himself in the reflection, he realizes just how long it’s been since he’s seen the man looking back at him. He’s graying in his beard a little, the age lines on his face have gotten deeper and more pronounced, but the black hat on his head makes that same man grin from ear to ear.

The stairs creek behind him and he turns half of his body to look up them. Stopped halfway down the stairs, you’re staring at him with a slightly slacked jaw. Joel knew it, Christmas jammies that leave your legs exposed to his greedy eyes. This time, he tries to keep them to himself. “Oh, uh…” he swallows down the lump in his throat and his pocket burns all over again. Should he give it to you now? Will everyone question him if he does? If he waits to get you alone, does that suggest that the necklace means everything he wants it to? A peace offering, an ice breaker, a “I’m sorry about the way I’ve treated you, but I want to try again.”

Instead, he leaves it in his pocket and tries to tamper down the way his cheeks heat. “Merry Christmas, Honey.” He tilts his hat up a tad so he can look up at you, but your slightly dumbfounded look morphs into irritation and discontent.

“What are you doing here?” You cross your arms and Joel’s good mood disappears. “Your mom asked me to come in and eat. Your dad wanted to give me this.” He points to the hat and your eyes roll as you make the descent down the rest of the stairs. “So if you’re in here, who’s taking care of the ranch?”

It isn’t often that someone sticks up for one of them in an argument, they tend to not get between the two of you, but to Joel’s surprise, Hank interrupts his daughter. “He’s allowed to come in the house, Honey—he works hard around here, he’s not a yard dog.” But that doesn’t stop you from sneering at him when you pass him on your way to the kitchen where your mother is. “Sure looks like one to me.” It’s under your breath so Hank doesn’t hear, but Joel does.

And he feels like a fool. A fool for spending the last of his money on this stupid fucking necklace, like a fool for being so plagued by thoughts of you in a different world, one where you don’t innately hate him, one where he doesn’t fuck up every chance he has to change the narrative.

“I should get back to it, I’ll see you guys…later.” He starts to head for the door when Louise pokes her head around the corner. “Please come in for Dinner!” Joel tells her that he will, he hates lying to miss Lou, but he does it because it’s Christmas and the last thing he wants to do is worry her today.

He wastes the day shoveling off the driveway, tries his best to rub out the crick in his neck and finally calls it a day when the sun is nearly set and the animals are bunkered down for the night. It’s started to snow again, so Joel makes his way back to the cabin with tired limbs and a new dusting of snow hanging onto the brim of his hat.

Dinner is just as lonely as the night before but this time he doesn’t pretend it's Lou’s cooking, he lets it be exactly what it is—a tasteless mush and his misery to sip on.

The Rifleman is just as predictable as it was the night before, as is Joel—who falls asleep before he has the heart to get his hands on his dick. But unlike last night, he doesn’t make it long propped up on the couch before a knock startles him awake. He drags himself to the door with sleep in his eyes and a chill in his bones. When he pulls it open, his pocket ignites again. On the other side of the door, you’re standing in front of him with a plate in your hands and a vicious storm letting down behind you. Did you walk here in that? “My mom said I chased you off, that’s why you didn’t come to dinner.” Well, you aren’t wrong. If you were still away at college, Joel would have no problem spending Christmas with Hank and Louise and Tommy who is apparently too good to walk you down here.

“You didn’t have to bring me anything.” He says. He glances to the side where his hat hangs on the rack. “Actually, my mom made me so no, I didn’t have a choice.” Ahh, of course—of course you wouldn’t do something that nice for him. “Well, thank her for me, then…” he reaches out for the plate and his fingers brush yours—bolts of electricity shooting up his arm and igniting his starved skin. It’s been so damn long since someone has touched him with kind hands and all he wants is yours—your soft, gentle hands he’s seen folding laundry and soothing horses. You don’t release the plate, but your eyes track up to his, meeting them across the threshold.

He could hold that gaze for the rest of his life if you’d let him—he’s always wanted a chance to get lost in your eyes and he’s getting it right now, his home pouring with cold in exchange for the heat in your cheeks and the sparkle in your irises. “Joel—“

There's a loud sound somewhere over the fence beside the cabin. It draws both of your attention to the blinding darkness. Joel knows that sound, a distressed heifer, probably the one who was too damn close to calving in a storm like this. There’s no way Joel can save that calf if it doesn’t make it and even if he wanted to, the snow is too thick to help.

“What is that?” You ask, finally dropping your hand away from his when you glance back up at him. “Heifer, think she’s calving—Tommy said she was really soft and her milk came in. Afraid that calf might not make it tonight.”

There's a look of disbelief in your eyes, shooting from Joel to the fence line and back. “You can’t help her?” Joel shakes his head and listens to the cow cry out again. “Nothin’ I can do for her. They aren’t supposed to be calving yet, we still have a few more weeks and it’s too cold out there. We might lose the heifer too.”

Joel observes the way sadness takes over your face, then determination. “I’m going out there to help her.” You tell him, already heading off the porch before Joel can even interject. “Don’t you hear me? She’s not going to make it, honey, just let it go.” But you don’t, you start to jog towards the fence line, so Joel huffs in annoyance and slips into his boots and jacket, finally pulling his hat on on his way out the door. He grabs a spotlight off the shelf by the door and follows your tracks through the snow to the fence line. It doesn’t take him long until he finds you, knelt behind a laboring cow, who’s already pushing in the freezing cold. “I can’t get this calf to safety and this storm is getting worse—it’s not safe to be out here.”

There's blood marring the white snow and your delicate hands. “I’m not letting her die in the snow on christmas because we made her have a baby, Joel—she didn’t ask for this.” Joel sets the light in the snow beside him and rolls his sleeves up, kneeling down beside you in the soaked snow. “She’s not going to make it.”

You make a face at him, one Joel is more than accustomed to. “I’m not letting her die alone, then.” And Joel isn’t going to leave you alone in the snow for a second time, so he stays there beside you, helping deliver the little black calf, who shivers wetly in the cold. It’s a little boy, floppy ears and a wobble to him when he tries to hold his head up. Joel can't help but smile, because this is always beautiful, even if he can't save this little calf. He looks up and you’re grinning right back at him, your cheeks bitten red by the cold and your hands shaking, but you look so fucking proud right now. Joel is too, after watching you pull that calf out of his momma like you were made for that.

“What if we get them inside, would they make it then?” Joel doesn’t see how, the snow is too thick and someone would have to carry him. “They wont fit in my cabin and the stable is a half a mile away. We’d have to drag momma through this snow.” He has a lead in the cabin, he could get her out of this snow, he thinks. Would she even want to go, after having a calf in the ridged cold. “We should try—we should at least try.”

Joel leans back and brushes the blood off on his pants. “Yeah—fine, we can try. Stay right here, keep rubbing him to keep him warm.” He stands and jogs back to the cabin, racing inside for the lead that he runs back to you with. You have the calf laid out along your legs while you rub his wet skin. “He’s slowing down. I can feel his heart slowing down.” He’s getting too cold out here—if Joel doesn’t act now, he won't make it, so he wraps the halter around the heifers head and hands you the lead. “Think you can pull her? She’s going to put up a fight.” You take the lead from him and nod, grabbing the light out of the snow while he picks the calf up under his belly. He makes a little sound at Joel while he starts to make his way through the deep snow.

It’s a long walk back to the stables, but you tug on that heifer and Joel carries the calf the entire way there, until he reaches the gate and manages to push it open just enough to get them through. He makes it to the stable doors in just enough time, throws it open and helps you inside. It’s not much warmer in here, but theres no snow and theres straw in the empty stable towards the back, so Joel makes his way over and lays the little calf down in the bedding. You’re right behind him with the heifer who takes straight to her baby once she has him in her sight again.

Joel plops down in the straw in the corner of the room once they are both situated, trying to catch his breath and warm himself up at the same time. He’s covered in blood, so are you, but you saved both of their lives and Joel has more respect for that than he knows what to do with. You risked your life out there for a baby cow and his momma.

“You did a good thing, out there. I’m sorry I didn’t want to listen to you.” You find a spot beside him in the hay and sink down, leaned against the wood wall with your shoulder pressed against his with how closely you sit. “You have every right to question me…you’re right, you know…I have no clue what I’m doing around here. Four years of school and the only thing I know how to do around here is the books, which is easy because were so broke.” Joel's heart aches for you, the sadness in your tone and the defeated look in your eyes. “I almost got us killed out there.”

Joel shakes his head and leans himself back against the wall too. “But you didn’t. You saved us a lot of money and saved his little life. I’d say that's a win.” He knows it doesn’t feel like one when everything else is coming down on your shoulders, but he can pretend it is for your sake. “Thanks, Joel.” You lean a little more, bumping his shoulder with a quiet yawn.

His pocket begins to burn again, but this time, it isn’t followed by the shame he’s felt all day. “I uhm…I hope it’s not weird, but I got you something…” he reaches into his pocket and starts to fish it out. “You didn’t have to do that,” you interject but he shakes his head. “I just saw it while I was at the feed store, thought of you.” He pulls out the blue box and holds it out to you. He tries not to read too much into the look on your face when you open the box, but he has to know. It looks like confusion, then shock and finally, sadness. “I was really rude to you this mornin’…and you had this in your pocket to give it to me?” You look over at him with big eyes, full of something Joel has never seen in them. “It’s alright—I deserved that.”

You shake your head and start to pull the necklace out of the box. “I called you a dog, Joel—you didn’t deserve that.”

He shrugs his shoulders, trying to rid both of you of the shame of that conversation. You hold the necklace up and admire it for a while, the little gold bee that’s going to lay against your chest, against your heart. You hold it out to him with a little quick of your lips. “Would you?” He takes it from you and you turn your back to him, using one hand to hold up your hair while he undoes the clasp and brings his hands around your neck, laying it around your delicate throat. It feels so intimate, sitting here in the hay beside a newborn baby calf in the middle of a snowstorm on christmas.

His knuckles brush against your neck gently when he does the clasp together, letting is hang from your neck, feels like a fucking brand on his skin. You turn back around, meet his eyes and smile carefully. There's a comfortable silence filling up the space between you, so Joel leans back against the wood and sighs to himself. “Let me walk you back to the house…it’s getting late.” His words are low and slow.

You nod at him and he stands, holding out a hand to pull you to your feet. He walks you out of the stables, through the blizzard and up to the porch of the big white house. “Where are you going?” You ask him when you get to the door. “Don’t know if I can make it back to the cabin in this. Might sleep out in the stable so I can keep an eye on the little guy.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at him for a long moment, then glance behind you at the warm house. “Come inside…Tommy took the guest bedroom but you can have the couch. It’s better than being out here in the cold.”

He wants to decline, but when will he get this opportunity again? To mend what's been broken between you? “Yeah—sure, that sounds better than straw poking me in the ass all night long.”

It makes you giggle and that makes Joel's stomach churn, his cheeks heat and his hands flex as he follows you inside. You get him a blanket, help him get situated in the low glow of the christmas tree in the corner.

When he kicks his boots off and settles down on the couch, you start to head for the stairs. He thinks you’re going to head up, but you pause at the bottom of the stairs before turning to look at him. “Thank you for helping me today.”

He hums, smiles and shakes his head. “It was my pleasure.”

There's another long silence, then you take the first step up the stairs. “Goodnight, Joel…Merry Christmas.”

He smiles back at you with tired eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Honey.”

[hawnks]

coincide pt. v

previous

series rating: r18 (explicit)

hawks (takami keigo) x reader

word count: ~4,800

[soulmate au, slowburn, UST as a plot device, avian keigo, allusion to depression, hurts hurts hurts until it doesn't anymore right?]

warning: canon-typical violence

Summary: You’ve got a talent for melodrama, huh?

.........................................................................

His sabbatical is lengthy and non-broadcast. They’d wanted him to take a respite, recuperate, maybe go sit under a waterfall. You’re not yourself, his handler told him. We need Hawks. Not whatever ghost has taken his place. It’s dangerous to keep masquerading as someone who’s heart is in it one hundred percent. That kind of half-assed heroing will get someone killed, one of these days.

They book him a room at a historical hotspring, set up an itinerary with huge swaths of time dedicated to “Rest.” He leaves the hotspring, and the country, without telling anyone.

He goes to Taiwan, to help with some underground hero work. Then France, then Egypt. Most of the jobs are espionage, kept under wraps, need-to-know basis. The rest are off the books altogether. He flies most of the way himself, just so he can pass out each night, bone-tired, and wake up in the morning with nothing but open air behind him. 

Everything hurts, the muscle strain and the altitude headaches and the canned coffee he mainlines just to keep from falling out of the sky on overnight journeys. There’s a pressure in his chest that won’t let up, a constant squeezing sensation that feels like shortness of breath, like drowning. Like all the air sucked out of the world, and Keigo, alone, fighting to stay afloat. 

Maybe he should get that checked out. 

But then, there’s no time to think about the future. He keeps his schedule tight, barely a second to blink between each mission, let alone book a session with his Commission appointed doctor. Besides, it’s pointless, anyway— 

All of it. 

He fights, draws blood, garners secret and dangerous intel. He sits down for dinner with ambassadors and heroes revered among their people. But there’s no glory to any of it, no reverence left in him. 

He imagines himself, a glassy-eyed, shiny little kid. How deeply he would have felt these accomplishments, these feats. Now all he feels is a vague sort of wistfulness. Like he’s already an old man, been through, seen it all. 

“What the fuck, Hawks,” his handler says over the phone. It’s been three weeks since he left, the first time he’s answered their calls. “You can’t just abscond without telling anyone.”

“Abscond?” he returns, with a genuine laugh. “Like I’m a thief?”

“You are an asset to the Commission,” the handler returns. “And you have responsibilities.”

“I’m on vacation,” Keigo tells him, and hangs up. 

And he tries (really, he does), to handle things in a productive way. He reads several (more than three!) listicles about top ten ways to get over a breakup, until he realizes that the two of you were never actually together. He’s not sure what to google for that. Unearned heartbreak? Severed soulmates? Miss her so much it feels like dying? But not even just the idea of her, or our apparent future, or the pretty thoughts about destiny? Miss the way she smells and the weird way she holds her chopsticks? Miss the way she laughs, and the sound of my name on her tongue? Miss her and miss her and miss her and miss her—

He tries the listicles. Does the self care thing, bubble bath, kitschy facemasks and all. 

And — he sees paramors in every country he visits. People from his past who fawn over him, praise him, adore him. They draw his jacket from his shoulders, and it smells like sweat and ozone. They find the tiny, secret clasps on the back of his uniform, unwrap him like a present.

“Pretty boy,” they call him. Coy and sweet. Hands so sure and eager as they caress his body. 

And he winces. Takes a step back. “Can we just—” he says, running a hand through his unruly hair. It’s getting too long. He’ll have to cut it soon. “Can we just talk?”

They all agree, sure, whatever he’s comfortable with. But the tension never leaves the room, no matter how long the small talk carries on for. Because he can claim fatigue or headaches or just not feeling it all he wants. But he could never admit the truth. How dirty he feels closing the door with another body in the room. How he cringes at the touch of another. How it’s— you. Always. On the back of his mind, at the base of his throat. Behind every turn and inside every decision. You.

You, you, you.

And the constant, painful reminder — 

The feeling isn’t mutual. 

...

The wedding is beautiful. 

Everything goes perfectly. The whole event looks like something off a trip-advisor page, beautiful but quaint, elegant yet intimate. The food is delicious, the cake so moist it melts in your mouth. Even the weather is sunny and mild, as if the powers that be wouldn’t even stand in the way of today. 

You wish you could give everything the attention and admiration it deserves. 

On the trip up, you imagined that maybe this would be just the thing to pull you out of your month long stupor. Wishful thinking, perhaps, but it’s hard to resist the rustic charms of this place, and the inherent joy of the other guests. 

Soulmate weddings are commonplace nowadays, but no less special for their frequency. There’s an indescribable quality of felicity to them. A rightness, like everything is happening exactly as it should, like everyone is exactly where they need to be. It’s something of a comfort to guests and to the couple themselves; what’s meant to be will happen. And there’s nothing anyone can do, no force of nature that can stop it. 

You try to enjoy yourself. Try to take in the ambiance, the good company. And it’s nice, for the most part. Really, it’s a lovely day, and if it weren’t for the strange tightness in your throat, constantly, you might even have been able to enjoy it.

You throw up in the bathroom, after appetizers, while the first plates are going around. You’ve been drinking, already too much, and on an empty stomach. You have half a mind to simply tap out for the night, but you can’t leave your friend tonight of all nights. Especially not when she keeps turning to you, elated, to make some silly joke, or to sigh and squeeze your hand with a dreamy smile. 

You sneak out when the party begins to pick up pace, leaving the revelry and crawling out a backdoor, into the insipid chill of encroaching night. You find a nice little staircase alcove, planning to settle down for a few minutes, but the sudden sight of another person on the stoop takes you aback. Even more so when you realize it's the groom himself, taking a drag on a cigarette.

You’ve never officially met, until today, and even that was just pleasantries, no time to talk. You’re not sure how to approach this situation; a part of you instinctively wants to apologize, but that would just make things even more awkward.. 

He peers at you, waiting for you to say something. But you don’t, so he does. 

“My last one,” he says, holding it up in salute. “I was thirteen, when I started. Thought I was a real rebel. It turns out I was just an idiot.” He looks at the cigarette, a strangely wry smile on his face. “Could never work up the nerve to stop, but… she hates it, so I’m quitting.” 

“A nice wedding gift,” you say, gathering yourself. You come to lean against the metal railing next to him. It’s cool against your bare arms, and you relish the sensation, the shock of it enough to keep you grounded, for the moment. 

“Ah,” he sighs, shaking his head. “Not a gift. Just… wanna make her happy.”

You look at his hand, the cigarette already halfway done. It smells different than any other you’ve encountered before, oddly mild, almost floral. And it makes something inside you well up, the thought that a life could be changed so wholly, so staunchly. 

You think, how special, to have someone who breaks bad habits for you.

It’s enough to cause you to burst into tears. Before you can stop it, your whole face is wet, and your breath is coming out in hiccuping gasps. 

The groom looks on, terrified. He stubs out his cigarette on his heel before handing you, of all things, a handkerchief.

He says, timidly, “Wanna talk about it?”

It takes a few long, awkward minutes before the initial wave of misery subsides, and you can speak. 

“Fuck.” You wipe your nose, unattractively, with his handkerchief. You shake your head. “Nah. It’s your wedding. Go have fun.” 

The groom shrugs. “I’m not one for spectacle. This is for her. Later, when we’re alone and eating pizza in bed, that’s for me.”

That’s nice, you think despite yourself. It just sounds — very nice. 

“She told me,” the groom says after a minute. “About your… soulmate, thing.”

You shrug. What else could you do? There’s nothing to be said. You’ve moralized and offered platitudes your whole life. You’ve lied and said you were content. But here, at your one best friend's wedding, alone, there’s no more slack to give. You’re faced with the truth lying at your feet, like a dead bird. 

You’re alone and it’s so hard. 

“She loves you. That’s never going to change,” the groom tells you. “Even if a lot of other things do.”

You think about that for a moment. Nod. “Yeah,” you say. “I know. Thank you.”

It takes you a few more minutes to calm down, fully. You’d tell him to go back inside, but you get the odd sense that he doesn’t really care that you’re crying in front of him, that he’s not as uncomfortable as you might have expected him to be. So the two of you hover there, on the stoop in the dark, until finally, you feel centered enough to rejoin the festivities. 

You brush off your dress. You offer him a hand up. 

“I can see why she likes you,” you tell him as the two of you make your way back inside. The instant heat upon walking through the door almost makes you wince. 

“Aw, nice,” he says, grinning. “Best friend stamp of approval.”

...

Keigo’s first stop, once he’s back in Japan, is a convenience store. The second is Enji Todoroki’s temporary, secret residence. 

It’s a small house, on the outskirts of a small city. Barely any thru-traffic on the streets. Most of the population is in their later years. No one recognizes Keigo as he trawls the street, looking for the discreet entrance. It’s hidden by a wall of laced kudzu vines. 

Enji is slow to answer the door. Keigo sent a text to say to expect him soon, but who knew if the other man saw it. He hasn’t been himself lately. 

When he finally opens the door with a grunt of surprise, Keigo just holds up his plastic bag in greeting. The outline of six tall boys is prominent. 

“I haven’t had alcohol in 20 years,” Enji says, his voice without inflection. Still, he takes the bag, leaving the door open in his wake for Keigo to shuffle in after him. 

The living arrangements are spartan. Hardly any furniture, and what comforts they offer is slim. Hard, cold surfaces. No throw cushions, or blankets, or pictures on the wall, or magazines bookmarked with old receipts. No sign of life at all, save for the single pair of shoes, tossed in a careless pile at the door.

The pair sit on the floor in the middle of what is probably the living room. There’s no furniture at all, here. The tatami is worn to softness beneath them, ages old. The combination makes everything feel stark, exposed. There’s a vulnerability to an empty house, no places to hide, no way to obscure yourself. 

They drink in relative silence. Keigo arrived in the late afternoon, and the day passes into night without obstruction. No one gets up to turn on the lights when the sunset fades into ashen stars, both of them content to sit there in the dark. 

It’s easier like this, almost a waking dream. Neither of them have been sleeping well, taking care of themselves. 

It’s been a long time since Keigo has drunk, too. Soberness was his default, an expectation of the job. Heroes don’t get days off, not really. There’s always the expectation that if some disaster should occur, they will be able to rise to the occasion. That doesn’t mesh well with substance use. 

Occasionally, Keigo will have a glass, to keep up appearances. But he can’t remember the last time he felt like this, tipsy, a mellow warmth settling beneath his cheeks.

Moonrise turns everything to shadow. Like this, tall, dark, and faceless, Enji finally speaks. 

“I wish I’d done things differently,” he admits. His voice is no longer booming, and proud. It’s quieter than Keigo has ever heard it. “I wish I could have seen that more than honor or strength, what they needed was… kindness.”

“It’s not too late,” Keigo says, but the words are empty. How would he know? He’s never had to consider these things before. Never had terrible, all-consuming regrets before. 

“In some ways,” Enji says. “Society would have you believe that amends are as simple as an apology,” he says. “But I will be paying for my mistakes for the rest of my life. And it still won’t fix everything. Some things are broken forever.” 

“That’s convenient for you, too,” Keigo says. He peers at Enji, eyes bright, intent. “In some ways.”

Enji peers back at him, expressionless.

“Now they’re tied to you forever, like you said,” Keigo explains. “You can’t fix things, but you can keep them.”

“That’s not my decision to make.”

Keigo’s response is quick, brusque. “Isn’t it?” 

He realizes he’s leaning forward, too tense, too defensive. This isn’t about what it’s about anymore. It’s not about anything, really. He sinks back into a relaxed posture, reestablishing his practiced nonchalance. He takes another sip of beer. His hand is trembling.

“No,” Enji says, simply. “It’s not.”

The pair fall back into silence. Enough has been said, for one night. 

...

Kirishima sends you home. 

It’s the last thing you’d expect, after taking several days off for the wedding. You come in early, ready to elbow through a backlog of work, only to find the floor already bustling with a small crowd of unfamiliar faces.

It’s about eight people, total. Some of them are heroes. You can tell from the way they’re dressed, the way they hold themselves. Kirishima is in the middle of them, more dour than you’ve ever seen him. 

He comes to you, when he spots you, skirting his way around the visitors to meet you at the door. 

“Ah.” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing back at the group he left behind. “Why don’t you head home for today? This is all kind of, uh. Not safe for you.” 

“Should I be…” you try to glance around him, get an appraisal of the situation, but he’s such a mountain of a man that he takes up nearly your entire field of vision. “Like, worried?”

“No,” Kirishima is quick to say. “No, everything is going to be fine. But this isn’t quite your area of expertise, and I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

He’s taken on his hero mien, shoulders back, a little more tense than usual. His tone is kind, but unmoveable. Leaves no room for arguments, or questions.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still a little unsure about all of this. “But you’ll let me know if you need help, right?”

Kirishima smiles at you, but not in a condescending, what would a small-fry like you be able to do, way, like any other hero might. His affection is so stalwart and genuine, his friendship so gentle. It only makes you worry all the more, for anytime that the goodness of Kirishima Eijiro might be at risk, that humanity might be deprived of him, for any moment, in any way. 

He holds out a fist, and you knock knuckles, shakily. “Promise,” he says. 

Then he pats you on the back, subtly steering you back to the elevator, away from whatever catastrophe he now has to face, alone. 

You have a vague idea of what all this might be about, but who knows what might have changed in the three days you’ve been away. The hero world moves at a breakneck pace, and it seems like you’ve fallen out of the loop. 

You think about the classified documents you’ve sorted through, the cases piled up on your harddrive. You’ve seen enough of past villainy to know that it’s not all stars and stripes and showing up at exactly the right moment. There’s a lot of accidents. A lot of almost made it, so close. Sometimes, the heroes just aren’t fast enough. Sometimes they make mistakes. 

It’s a job that risks more than one life. A burden on all fronts. If a hero dies, odds are many other lives get taken down with them. It’s why Kirishima wants you kept away from whatever is going on. The big bold word of the hour — casualty. Someone adjacently related to the incident, an unnecessary death. You’re not strong enough to protect yourself, not the way you’d need to, to exist in the same space as the heroes. Not enough to protect someone else.

Everything feels strange and uneasy. Like you’re teetering on the knife point of something huge. But you can’t fit all the puzzle pieces together, no matter how long you mull it over. It’s been like this for so long, you can’t trace back the origin of this foreboding feeling. Maybe you’ve always felt this way. You try to recall a time you’ve felt completely at ease, comfortable in your own skin, but you come up short, unable to pinpoint a moment, unable to figure out why not. 

You spend the rest of your day in PJs on the couch, eating icecream straight from the tub, fretting and fretting. Wondering when the anchorpoint of your life became fear. 

...

His next stop is the Commission HQ. 

No matter that he hasn’t slept in forty-nine hours. The Commission has already figured out that Keigo is in-country, and there’s work to be done. 

Firstly, he’s reprimanded. Loudly, and for a solid fifteen minutes. 

This is interrupted by a handler conspicuously walking right between him and the higher ups, and dragging him bodily out of the room. Keigo allows himself to be hauled away, waving as he goes. 

He’s asked to report on a number of missions he underwent while he was away. Provide details, recall key facts. He took diligent notes, but a lot of things require his own explanation, or follow up information. This takes up almost the entire day. Suddenly he regrets keeping so busy, over the past few weeks. 

It’s already late, late into the evening by the time he sets foot in his own agency. Things are quiet. There’s not much work to be done when Keigo himself is not around, so it’s unsurprising that most of the night workers have taken off. 

It’s nice to have a little privacy, even with another handler tailing him as he takes stock of the building. Nothing much has changed. Even his office is spotless. For some reason, he’d expected dust to have gathered in his absence, but of course the cleaning people would never let that happen. 

It’s almost like he hadn’t left, at all.

Exhausted, he intends to make one final stop at his locker before heading home. He just needs to grab another flight suit, dump his dirty ones in the hamper, to be cleaned. 

He’s still carrying around the bag he traveled with. He hadn’t taken much; his mode of transport doesn’t allow for heavy packing. He took the essentials, a few toiletries, a few flight suits, one spare change of civilian clothes. He dumps all of it in the bottom of his locker, to be sorted through when his bones feel less likely to melt out of his body altogether. 

He took one personal effect, and it stares at him from the top of the pile. The sweater he’d nabbed from your place. On nights he did sleep, he slept with it. Wrapped around him, or bunched up in his arms. It’s no longer soft, handled so much that the fibers had been worn to crimped bone. It had stopped smelling like you after the first week or so. Even with his heightened senses, eventually all traces of you were lost, the altitude and his own body overwhelming your scent. 

It was pointless to hold onto. It didn’t stave off the cravings, only made him remember all the times he had actually touched you, your skin, your hair. Felt your breath, or heard your voice. Dead weight, unnecessary baggage for his long trips. Still, he couldn’t get rid of it, no matter how many times he told himself he would leave it at whatever hotel he ended up in that night. Some mornings he would slip it on, pull it tight around himself, until he felt the constriction, until he thought the threads might snap under his grip. But the craftsmanship of it was impeccable, and it survived his rough treatment, and he would spend those mornings with the not-quite comfortable fabric wrapped around him, watching the sun rise miserably.

He shuts the locker door. Maybe this will be the end of it, now.  

He sends the handler home, assuring him that he’d be up and at ‘em at the crack of dawn tomorrow. The handler doesn’t look especially reassured, but there’s nothing to be done now, and he’s ready to call it quits himself.

Alone on the office floor, finally, Keigo takes a moment to just breathe. He closes his eyes for a moment. Tries to shut out all thoughts. They’d taught him to meditate as a child. He’d alway thought it a pointless endeavor, but now he kind of wishes he’d paid better attention, that he could simply will away his mind like turning off a light.

He barely has a minute to try. Someone clears their throat, asking for his attention. 

He turns to them with a smile. “What’s up?”

He recognizes the young man. A PA, hired a few years back. 

“Intel for you, Sir,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to wait until tomorrow to take a look.”

Keigo motions for the file in his hands, flipping through it as soon as he has it. No sense putting things off.

The PA explains, “The task force has discovered a list of addresses. Around half of them are the residence of record for established heroes. Another handful are homes that heroes have kept off the books. The one connection they all seem to have is that they are currently occupied by at least one civilian, as well.”

Keigo nods, peering at the list. 

The PA says, “Right now we’re operating under the assumption that these are a list of targets.” 

Keigo had assumed. With the momentum gained from Rei’s attack it would figure that the villain would keep going. Attention tends to spur on bigger and more intense feats.  

“Who else knows about this?” Keigo asks. 

“Only heroes assigned to the task-force, sir.” 

“No one from the Commission?” 

“The intel came to us from Deku’s agency,” he returns. “The Commission will receive the information as soon as Deku has convened with his people.” 

Keigo nods again, then returns his attention to the page. The first step would be to mobilize the people at these residencies, but how to do that without alerting the culprit would take some creative problem solving. The page is nearly full, numbers reaching toward the margins.

Still, despite the massive amount of work to come, this is a step in the right direction. 

He’s about to hand the file back to the handler and pay a visit to Deku’s agency himself when something catches his eye— 

Your building address, and next to it your unit number. You. 

He’s out the door and in the air in ten seconds, flat. 

...

The last thing you expect is to see on your impromptu day off is your door literally being cracked at the hinges.

The second to last thing is the man you haven’t heard from in weeks, pushing past you, stalking straight inside like he owns the place.

He looks… not great. He’s definitely lost some weight. There are horrible, dark circles under his eyes. His hair is a little longer than he prefers. He smells like how he always smells after taking double patrols, like sweat, and the city, and the sky. 

Has he been taking care of himself? Has anyone been looking after him?

“Get what you need,” he calls. “We’re leaving.”

He starts grabbing things himself. Your cardigan. The book you’re reading. Your sturdiest pair of shoes. His arms are full by the time you can work up the nerve to respond. Even then it sounds like more of a squeak. 

“Keigo?” 

He glances at you. He’s breathing hard. “Why aren’t you packing?”

“Because,” you sputter, “what the hell?” 

You reach for him. Then pull away. You take a step back, but you’re too unsteady on your feet to do anymore than that. Your legs might just give out, anyway. 

You’re reeling from his appearance, not able to make sense of any of it. Maybe you’re dreaming. But —

He’s standing right in front of you, the brightest thing in the room. If he were a little closer, you could feel his warmth. 

It’s been so long since you’ve seen him, it feels like you should have forgotten what he looks like. But it’s just the same as always, him in your space. Feels so right, even when everything is all turned around like this. Recognition, in its basest form.

He leans in toward you. Opens his mouth, about to say something. From this angle, oddly, he looks like he might be about to bite you, the subtlest hint of teeth, his breath still leaving him in heavy drags. Like a predator, all keyed up and ready. 

Like if you run, he’ll chase. 

You can hardly get the words out. “What’s happening?”

An expression crosses his features, a flash of emotion that’s gone in an instant. A tick of remorse, disconsolate. Then he’s back to his unshakeable, placid smoothness. 

“You’re not safe here,” he says. It’s a tone he’s never taken with you before. Stern, cool. 

You have a hundred more questions, but they’re like little dragon flies, flitting around your skull. You keep grasping for them, but missing. You can’t figure out what to say. You can’t figure out what’s happening. 

Then —

You taste it, before anything. A metallic twinge to the air, like an ink blot of blood, coins on your tongue. 

Suddenly, your center of balance is off. You’re falling, bracing, falling. But not falling, because Keigo has you in his arms, hauling you, painfully, in some direction. 

A noise you can feel in your bones, that makes you think your teeth might fall out from the force of it.

You’re airborne. You think you might vomit. The night is whip-cold but also brutally, violently hot. 

—Falling. Again. For real, this time. 

You feel the soft brush of grass. He’s pressing you into it. He’s shifting you on top of it, rolling you.

“Are we on fire?” you gasp.

“Not anymore,” he returns.

His hands are all over you, bracing, touching, searching. Your skin is oddly numb. You can’t quite tell which way is up, anymore. You can barely hear anything, the whole world muffled, static. 

Somewhere, in the dark you catch a glimpse of molten light, and the sluggish neurons of your brain struggle to the conclusion that your home used to be there. Everything that’s yours used to be there. Now lit up, glowing like a midnight sunrise. Blinding you. But you can’t look away. 

Keigo’s on you again. All around you. He has a better grip on you, now. Not painful anymore. 

Two flaps and you’re airborne again, clutching to him with all your meager strength. Being clutched in return.

The heat from the flames follows you up, licks into the sky, and you think you must still be burning, you have to be. 

But Keigo has a hold of you, so tight and visceral it swallows all your thoughts, all your fear, and eventually you make it far enough that the ash is distant, and the night swaddles you like a cool blanket. 

“You’re okay,” Keigo is whispering, lips against your crown, your temple. “I got you. I’m sorry. You’re okay.”

Distantly, you realize he’s been saying it this entire time. 

[idabbleincrazy]

Metamour No More

Fandom: Smallville

Rating: T

Pairings: Lex Luthor/Helen Bryce, Clark Kent/Lex Luthor

Characters: Lex Luthor, Helen Bryce

Word Count: 370

Warnings: polyamory, au s4, canon divergent, not so evil Helen Bryce, heartbroken Helen, divorce, implied Clex (technically starting underage, but within consent laws for the state of Kansas), poly gone wrong

Summary: When Helen married Lex, she thought that Clark was the metamour. She's finally ready to admit she had that backwards.

A/N: this little ficlet came out of nowhere when looking over my pride edition card for fandom-free-bingo. I've always been on the fence about Helen since, even though she tried to kill Lex for the money, she never outwardly spilled Clark's secret. She's definitely one of those gray-area villains.

Square filled: It's time to make a choice ( @fandombingo - Reverse 1999 bingo), metamour ( @fandom-free-bingo - pride edition), left behind ( @fandom-free-bingo - plural edition)

She couldn't take it anymore. She was his wife, damn it! And yes, while she might have known exactly what the situation was when she'd said 'I do', she hadn't thought she'd actually be expected to endure her husband's dalliances with…him…for the past two years. Two years of knowing exactly why they slept in separate bedrooms. Two years of only sporadically being visited in her own bed, never invited to his, never waking to his sleeping form beside her. Two years of sleepless nights when she knew he was either in his own bed, wrapped around long, muscled limbs under silk sheets, or those long, muscled limbs wrapped around him under cheap cotton and flannel.

Helen strode into Lex's office, not bothering with her usual polite knock, crossing the room to his desk before he even looked up. She slapped a file of papers onto his desk.

"Your attorneys should be pleased by how very little I'm asking for." She turned to go, but paused after a step, asking over shoulder, "why did you even marry me, Lex?"

"I really did love you, Helen."

"Not enough. Not as much as you love Clark. Not as much as I needed you to."

"I thought I would, over time. I never meant to hurt you, I just thought I could have you both, and that we could all be happy this way."

Helen turned to face him again, willing away the tears building behind her eyes.

"Go to him, Lex. Be with him, just him. Don't do this again. The next poor sap might not be content with just ten percent of your holdings. The next one might try to kill you."

Without waiting for his response, Helen left, the solid thunk of the door closing behind her a fitting sound of finality as she made her way out of the mansion. Her bags were already fit into the trunk of the BMW X5, the rest of her belongings being packed up to be sent to the penthouse until she could find a place of her own.

Taking the keys from the butler, she slid into the driver's seat, ready to put this town, and the mistakes it represented, far behind her.

********

@leatafandom

[nobigsecrets]

Ever since @teruel-a-witch posted her hot McDanno motorcycle boyfriends collage the other day, the idea of a McDanno biker AU wouldn't leave me alone. It didn't help that the post made me reread some parts of The ‘Auna Club series by mrspdrona, but mostly I got inspired by our subsequent conversation about whether Steve and Danny really would become mob-like criminals as members of an MC. I thought of some alternative ideas.

Steve

After Steve dedicated 15 years of his life to the Navy, all he gets as thanks for his service is a dishonorable discharge due to DADT. Add insult to injury, it had been the Petty Officer he's been having a secret affair with for almost a whole year who'd told when he'd been asked. Steve had secretly hoped this thing between them could be going somewhere, eventually, and never has he been more wrong. He's not even sure what hurts worse, the betrayal of the person he thought he knew, or the disrespect of the institution he would have been ready to die for.

So now he’s got literally nothing left: He's got no job and no career, no more friends nor family, no home and no place to go, no plan and nothing to do and he’s so. fucking. ANGRY.

What he does have is a motorcycle. He’s always loved bikes, they're so much more interesting than the stupid vintage cars his dad used to love. It was a guy Steve knew in high school (and who he might've had a major crush on), who let him ride his bike once and it was an instant addiction. (Ironically, the guy became his dad’s cop partner later, so the crush faded quickly but not the love for bikes.)

So when Steve gets out of the Navy, the first thing he does is getting his bike out of storage—and then he just takes off.

He's got nowhere to be and nowhere to go, so he just rides, not paying much attention to where he's going, content with wherever the roads might take him. Which happens to be the southern end of New Jersey—eventually.

He's been out and about for a few months, stopping and making new friends here, picking up a guy there, always leaving after a day or two and before trouble can find him. He's coming up close to a year when he runs into problems with his bike. Turns out years of being in storage weren't great for it. Steve knows his way around the engine just fine, thank you very much, but he doesn't have the means to fix what's wrong this time. A trip to the nearest shop is unavoidable if he doesn't want to strand in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere with his beloved bike in pieces.

And isn't it just his kind of luck that the closest garage he finds seems to be firmly in the hands of the local chapter of a one-percenter motorcycle club? At least ten of the guys hanging around are clearly recognizable as club members by the patches on their leather cuts. Steve can feel their eyes on him as he approaches though no one is looking at him directly.

He's as wary of them as they seem to be of him, if not more. He's aware they don't like strangers and he's even more aware that these kind of 'clubs' are just as full of bullshit and toxic masculinity as the Navy. Steve has sworn to himself that he wouldn't hide anymore, that anyone who has a problem with who he is can fuck right off. He's fucking done with playing by anyone else's rules. But he needs his bike to be fixed and he doesn't want to cause trouble so he keeps his head down, trying to find the right balance between looking intimidating enough without being provocative.

It works better than he wants it to. Because while he's waiting for someone to look at his bike, some of the guys cautiously strike up a conversation with him, like they're testing the waters, trying to figure out where he stands. They've recognized him as ex-military and they're friendly towards him, probably they've gauged him as potentially useful. They ask him which branch he served in and when he left; when they ask about the why Steve doesn't exactly lie when he tells them he got kicked out for conduct unbecoming, but he doesn't elaborate either.

Turns out he was right: When it becomes clear that the repairs on his bike take at least a day or two, he gets offered help and accommodation by no one less than the club's Vice President. Of course he’s being asked to work a job for the club in exchange—but he's been expecting it and he doesn’t hesitate for long. He doesn't have anything to lose. He’s got the skills, why not use them to his advantage as he pleases when the Navy doesn’t want him as he is?

Steve doesn’t plan on staying. Instead he plans to leave as soon as he's got his bike back and his debt is settled, except—

Except there’s this short blonde dude everyone calls Danno that has caught his attention. It's not solely his good looks that catch Steve’s interest, though. It’s more that he sticks out. He’s not a big number in the club—yet. He’s ambitious and he’s clearly set to move up the ranks soon, but to Steve’s trained eyes he’s trying too hard. Something about him doesn't pan out, but Steve can't put his finger on what it is.

Plus, the guy seems to have taken an interest in Steve, too. He's always around, watching, observing. He's always got a snarky remark and Steve can’t tell if it's a risky game of flirting he's playing or if it’s dislike over a perceived competition or if there’s another, ulterior motive. Either way, he's intrigued enough to stay for another job and he doesn't exactly mind that Danno seems to have become the guy to keep an eye on him.

He soon learns that they work well together, and it makes even more sense when he learns Danno used to be a cop. He's got tactical training under his belt and it shows. He's also been fired from the police, which has something to do with drinking and anger issues and his ex-wife. But whatever the details, the bitter experience is something that connects them. Steve finds there's a lot of connection between them and if the circumstances were any different he's sure there could be a friendship between them or—

But it's neither the right time nor the right place and Steve is a burned child so what the hell is he even thinking?

Danny

Danny is far from the disgraced cop he pretends to be.

What is true is that his ex-wife is the main reason why he's here. What is true is that he needed a reason to pull his head out of the bottle he fell in after she left him. What is true is that his temper is the character trait that got him this job. Well that and his love for motorcycles. And the job is a long-term undercover op to disassemble fucking Jersey Devils Motorcycle Club and their business once and for all.

He's been with the club for close to two years. He came highly recommended (however his boss pulled that off) and he hightailed it through the prospect phase, proving himself worthy of a full patch in record time. Always there, always doing what he's told to do, always loyal. Club comes first. Some days he can barely stand to look at himself in the mirror for the things he did for the club without batting an eyelid. What keeps him going is the good progress he makes in building a case against these assholes. They're going down so hard and very soon, except—

Except this tall, dark and handsome stranger called McGarrett walks into the picture and all over the case he's built, seemingly out of nowhere. It turns out to be the best thing and the worst thing that could possibly happen, both at the same time.

It's the worst thing because it's a major set back in Danny's work when the VP hires McGarrett for a job that's usually handled internally. And it's the best thing because it makes Danny realize the club's management is aware of being watched. That they're outsourcing their dirty work so it can't be stuck to the club. He doesn't think they're on to him yet, but it's a warning to keep his head down.

It leaves him stuck between a rock and a hard place though: If he warns McGarrett about what he's getting into, he'll make the club even more suspicious. Worst case, he puts McGarrett directly in the line of fire. And if he doesn't warn him, he'll become collateral damage in the big picture of the case. Hang together, hanged together. And McGarrett is far too interesting to be hanged. Or go to prison, or whatever.

Point is, the man has caught Danny's attention. Despite his closed-off behavior, despite his ruthlessness, despite the crazy devil-may-care attitude. There's something beneath all these defensive walls that is hurt and vulnerable but good in it's core. Danny would love to find out what the guy is hiding, if only the circumstances were any different.

As it is, he volunteers to 'babysit' McGarrett and it comes with several benefits: First of all, it strengthens his credibility within the club and hopefully scatters any doubts about his integrity. Second, he can keep tabs on which jobs they make McGarrett do for them which is relevant for his case. And thirdly, he gets to spend some time with the man—

And then Danny does learns about one of McGarrett's—Steve's—secrets very soon, up close and personal, when he finds himself pressed against the wall of the club house. It's late and they just returned from an errand and now Steve's hands are on his shoulders, holding him in place and Steve crushes his mouth against Danny's in a rough kiss. There's nothing cautious or questioning about it and Danny's kissing back after only a second of hesitation, giving as good as he gets.

The moment McGarrett pulls back and losens his hold of him, Danny grabs his arms and in a flash has reversed their positions.

"You always just take what you want?" Danny asks breathless. He's got his hands on McGarrett's biceps and uses his whole body to press the man into the wall.

"Now that I can," Steve says, voice hoarse, as he bucks up against Danny's body. Danny can't help but grind back and lean in for another kiss, demanding and urgent. When he comes back up for air a long moment later, he finds his hands have moved to cup McGarrett's face and Steve's hands are on his hips, holding him close.

"This why the Army kicked you out?" Danny pants. "Someone told them you're gay?"

"It was the Navy, but yeah." Steve manages a rueful smile. "What if someone told your guys in there what we're doing here? They kick you out, too?" Steve jerks his head toward the club house.

Danny stares at him for a moment. He's never thought about it and his stomach plummets. These guys aren't exactly the liberal kind—

"Probably," Danny says and maybe now is the time to come clean. "I've got no idea to be honest. Steve, listen to me. These are not my guys. I'm not one of them. I'm—" He realizes he's still holding Steve's face in his hands and lets them drop away. Taking a deep breath and mentally bracing himself he admits in a low voice, "I'm still a cop. I didn't get fired. I'm here to take the club down."

Side by side

A myriad of emotions run through Steve at Danny's admission. It's not so much surprise, he knew there was something about Danny that made him stand out from the rest of the club guys. But the feeling of betrayal is hitting him full force, the feeling of being lied to so fresh in his memory that he can barely breathe—

Luckily, Danny takes a step back before Steve can push him away. He puts some distance between them, his instincts telling him to run. But as he thinks it through, he realizes it's different. Danny lied before, but in the moment Steve made himself vulnerable by kissing him, Danny rewarded him with the truth. Danny trusts him enough to no longer lie to him.

"We shouldn't talk about it here," Steve says, turning back to Danny, "but I want to help you."

—

Over the next couple of days Danny lets Steve in on the case. Again, it shows that they make a great team and together, they formulate a plan to bring the Jersey Devils down.

Danny runs all his evidence, all their ideas and suggestions by his superiors and they approve—enthusiastically. Everything goes back and forth a lot of times until all details are cleared and an operation can finally be set up. It could be an epic victory—

There's one catch: Danny has promised Steve that he'll go free and therefore, he has placed a request with his boss to make Steve's help 'official'. And his boss agreed to the deal—until Steve's background check comes back flagged. "Dishonorable discharge, Danny, you know the rules. My hands are tied," his boss says and Danny is livid. No matter how much Danny argues, how many times he points out that Steve got fired because of fucking DADT, that Steve is not a criminal, that without his help the whole case wouldn't have panned out, he can't change the man's mind. It's the biggest bullshit he's ever heard, and he's lived and breathed the fucking Jersey Devils for two years!

That's why, when everything is over, when all members of the Jersey Devils are behind bars and charged for their crimes, Danny and Steve get on their bikes—and then they just take off into the sunset. Together.

[greydoesthearts]

The Awakening (Swap AU)

TW: Henrik being weird (like usual in this au), emetophobia at the end.

-

Marvin groaned and ran a hand through his long hair as he stared at the phone in his hand. Ten percent left on his battery, and the message that he'd missed his departing train to Ireland by mere minutes.

His breath curled out into the air in front of him and he pulled a long jacket around his body. He could stand here, wait around for a while, or sit inside where it was nice and warm but also... crowded.

Being around people didn't sit right with him. When he was this angry, he wanted nothing more than to go burn a building to the ground, or light fire to some poor dead grass. Neither of those things would lend him any luck in catching the next train in time, but they made him feel better, like a high of sorts.

Ugh.

Maybe he should just risk it, take a taxi to the middle of nowhere and do something about his frustration. Then he'd be in a much better mood to deal with whatever bullshit excuse Shannon wanted to throw at him about not seeing his daughter this week when he got back home.

Fuck it. He stepped up to the curb and started up the app to order a ride before his phone shut off when a car pulled in next to the very curb he was standing on.

Marvin raised a brow, then groaned again as his phone shut off in his hand while the driver of the vehicle rolled down his window.

"Excuse me, sir!" The driver called in a thick foreign accent, face obscured by shadows. "Do you know how to get to the hotel from here?"

"Oh, uhh..." Marvin muttered and stuffed his dead phone away in his pocket. Why couldn't people just leave him alone? "No, sorry, I'm not from around here. GPS not working?" He pointed at the very device he could see inside of the vehicle in suspicion.

The driver chuckled. "It does, but I'm terrible at following these things. Much better with spoken word or physical directions. Say, you headed anywhere?"

"Not in particular," Marvin shrugged. And that was a half-truth. "Was waiting for my ride, actually, so if you'll excuse me."

He stepped back from the curb, turning with his arms crossed over his chest and flicking his thumb across the insides of his fingers a few times like he was activating a lighter. A small flame sparked from the action which he used the heat from to warm his hands.

Behind him, he heard the car shut off and the door open before fancy shoes clicked on the pavement nearby and stopped.

"You were, huh?" the driver asked and Marvin halted in his tracks. Why was this guy so persistent? "Well, what if I drive you to this nowhereland? I ask no payment but the company you may provide--"

Marvin actually laughed out loud at that, turning slightly back toward the man and peering at his confused--and familiar--face. He barely paused. "You don't want my company, trust me. I don't keep well trapped with people I don't like."

"Aww, you don't like me? But you don't even know me!" He sounded genuinely... a little bit hurt. Marvin wasn't falling for it.

He laughed again, let his flame die out, and turned his body entirely back toward the strange man, getting a better look. Something was so familiar about him, and tied with the accent, he felt like he should just know this, but it escaped him. The man didn't even shift under his gaze, though, so that had to count for something, right? It provided some semblance of... innocence wasn't the right word, was it?

It finally clicked who the man was; he tried not to let the realisation show on his own face. Bar news television came in clutch this time.

"See, the problem there is that I really don't care that I do or don't know you. Your vibes are truly awful." Marvin taunted him. His phone was dead, and he still didn't want to go inside the station where there were at least a dozen people, but he had a feeling he could get this man weak. He deserved what he had coming. "Terrible."

The man chuckled, one side of his mouth quirking up slightly more than the other. "My vibes? I'm afraid I'm entirely unfamiliar with that concept."

"Just means you're a weird, weird man, that's all," Marvin shrugged again. "But, hey, listen. If you really wanna drive me to a secondary location, at least take me out to dinner first, yeah?"

"Dinner first?" The man said, finally catching on, a frown overcoming his previous grin. "Ah, well, you got me."

Marvin beamed with pride for only a moment before his expression turned sour. "My only question now is how the fuck you're out here, in the open, trying to pick off any poor unfortunate soul you come across and yet... you haven't been caught."

Henrik approached him carefully. "Tis a good question, there. I just- don't think it's the right one. That question should probably be why I chose you despite how brilliant you seem."

Marvin's lip curled as he moved up in front of him, the top of his head only reaching Marvin's chin, and patted his back as if they were old friends.

He pulled his coat around his body again, resisting the urge to reach out, grab the t-shirt peeking through Henrik's open coat, and set fire to the fucker. But all signs pointed to that being a bad idea if he ever wanted to get home. Still, he couldn't stop the fidgeting flick of his thumb against his fingers, causing flames to hurdle toward the ground and die out.

"I don't care why I was targeted, no," he emphasised and Henrik grinned. He narrowed his eyes in return.

"Not at all a little bit curious?" Henrik asked, tilting his head. "Because it's very interesting how I've come to know you at all." Marvin shifted his feet in place and looked away ever-so-slightly. "There it is. You are interested, aren't you?"

"Fuck off back to wherever you came, man," his own accent came out stronger as he spoke this time. "You're not even worth the effort..."

He tried to walk away, finally regarding the inside of the station as the best place for him to not lose his entire cool, but the hand on his coat sleeve ruined all of that collected cool and he lashed out, the palm of his other hand fiery and as skilled as he preferred; not very.

The fire burned through Henrik's coat quickly, yet the only indication of pain was a slight hardness in his eyes as he stared Marvin down in cold blood, then tackled him over. Even though his frame was smaller, he did the damage well enough as he watched Marvin's head hit the concrete and his eyes rolled back into his skull.

He was entirely too quick and quiet to have alerted anyone inside of the station, and from the windowless entrance no one could see them, or him as he dragged Marvin's body back to his car.

When he woke up, Marvin's head was killing him. He didn't remember what had happened, it was all so fast...

That man. Aw, fuck, what was his name? The fucking-- the murderer... Henrik, that was it!

Whoever, or whatever, the fuck he was, he must have done something to him. Well, he did, but Marvin couldn't remember what. Couldn't? Yeah, that was about right. His brain felt empty, all things considered. All he'd wanted to do was get home, then there was the fuzzy conversation, the stark realisation, and then nothing.

His hands burned like he'd used his magic recently. If he had, that meant he couldn't have been knocked out anymore than ten minutes, but the intensity called more for five.

He hadn't yet opened his eyes, but he didn't think he was moving or being moved, so he wasn't in a car being kidnapped or anything. He just felt nauseated and like everything was spinning, probably from the hit to the head.

Is that what happened?

"Fuck..." he put his arm over his face and cursed, but it came out a garble, like the word was stuck in his throat, choking on it. He coughed to get rid of the feeling, then finally opened his eyes as something wet dribbled down his front, and wiping his mouth and looking.

Wherever he was may have been dark, but the blood on his hand was darker.

Marvin sat straight up, trying to get any more blood out of his mouth by spitting, but it just kept coming and coming, and he was choking and choking, until he suddenly felt the need to throw up, emitting a ton of, practically black, blood onto the floor in front of him with a sickening splash. And that caused more sick to rise, until his stomach was empty and his mouth needed to be washed extremely badly.

He spat a few more times messily to make sure he was clear, then laid back down on-- it was a fucking couch, fake leather creaking beneath his body, he noticed. But he couldn't give a shit. Weakness was setting in and his eyes refused to stay open any longer.

Quickly, before he could fully pass out, he lifted his hand back to his mouth and touched the inside. His tongue... was...

His tongue was fucking gone.

[cowgurrrl]

Name of the Game

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: When work separates you and Joel to opposite coasts, it's nice to know that things haven't changed [1.2k]

Author's note: IT'S HAPPENING PEOPLE

Warnings: famous Joel au, no outbreak :D, baseball talk, Joel being a shithead, yearning, the lightest touch of sexting

"I hate this, by the way." You say the second the ringing on the other line stops. Joel laughs, and his studio chair squeaks. You keep telling him he needs to replace it, but he's obviously not listening.

"Hello to you, too." He says. You swear you can hear the smirk in his voice. It's been three weeks since you last saw him and the girls. He started recording a new album in Los Angeles, and you got sent off to New York City to shoot for your latest movie. You really didn't think being on opposite sides of the country would affect you two that much, but with the time change, busy schedules, and general exhaustion, you barely have time to talk. Plus, the girls are finishing up this school year, which is always a crazy time for him. You think it would be even if he weren't famous.

"Hi. I miss you." You say as you rummage through your bag for your water bottle. 

"This is just temporary. I promise," he says, and you sigh. It's temporary until the next project or album or tour, you think. Your and Joel's work ethic is very similar, and it would be admirable if you didn't both pile so much onto your plate. "I miss you, too." 

"How are the girls?"

"They're good. Sarah is stressed with finals and barely comin' out of her room, and Ellie sent me on a wild goose chase last night cause she needed a poster board for a project she's known about for a month. I swear, these girls are gonna put me in an early grave."

"You love them."

"I'd love 'em a lot more if they let me sleep." 

"Mhm," you hum as you move to another bag, still looking for your stupid fucking water bottle. At this point, you're ninety percent sure you left it in the makeup trailer. Joel likes to joke that you can't go anywhere without that huge pink monstrosity of a water bottle, but you might be proving him right by frantically looking for it. Joel chuckles at your half-hearted response.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you?" He asks, and you smile. You give up on finding it and flop onto your hotel bed as if it were your own.

"Not more than usual."

"Very funny," he says. "How's New York?"

"It's good. I think we've got another week or two of filming. Everybody's doing great work, and the directors are fantastic, but I'm ready to come home." 

"It'll go quick. Besides, you're not missin' much here."

"I beg to differ. It sounds like I missed world-famous rockstar Joel Miller battling it out with a fourteen-year-old in a Hobby Lobby at 9pm."

"It was actually a Michaels," he corrects. You can imagine him standing there with his hands on his hips as Ellie scans the different poster board types and asks his opinion. "The girls and I will still be here by the time you get back. They want us all to go out to dinner the second you get home." 

"That sounds nice," you say. "Much nicer than long-distance phone calls at one in the morning."

"Yeah, why are you callin' so late? Not that I'm complaining." He asks, even though he's only three hours behind you. You yawn and stretch out on the bed.

"Shooting went late today, and I didn't want to go to bed without talking to you."

"You're getting ready for bed?" He asks, and you hum. His chair squeaks again, and he gets quiet. "What are you wearing?" You laugh at the question and look down at your ensemble.

"Oh, something super sexy."

"Like?"

"A ratty old Cubs jersey and a pair of sweatpants."

"A Cubs jersey?! You're breakin' my heart, baby," he says. "Send me the hotel's address so I can send you an Astros jersey to wear instead."

"I'll wear an Astros jersey when they can win a World Series without cheating."

"At least the Astros can win a World Series. What was the Cubs drought? A hundred and ten years or somethin'?"

"A hundred and eight, thank you very much."

"What if I got it signed by the whole team? Would you wear an Astros jersey, then?"

"No, but I'd give it to your daughters and take the credit for it."

"Now, that," he says. "Is evil."

"One day, I'll take you to Wrigley Field, and you can watch some real baseball. "

"Be careful. I'll take you up on that offer."

"I'm counting on it, cowboy." The line grows quiet on both sides, and you know this is the closest you'll get to him for the next few weeks. You listen to his breathing and imagine his elbows on the desk in front of him, lyric pages scattered around him, and his guitar within reach. You wish you were there so he could pick your brain about a melody or even just walk by and kiss his head when he's deep in thought. In the same way, you wish he was here so he could read scenes with you and bring your favorites in from catering. 

"I can't wait for you to come home." He says so softly you almost miss it. You let your eyes close and take a deep breath. 

"Me neither."

"It's late. You should probably sleep."

"Yeah," you yawn. "Tell the girls I say hi."

"I will. I love you."

"Love you." You say and hang up. You put your phone on the charger and try to fall asleep, but your brain is overrun with thoughts of what you need to do the next day on set, things to ask the intimacy coordinator for, and new ideas for scenes. Your phone buzzes next to you an hour later with a text from Joel— a video of him strumming a tune you haven't heard before. He hums lowly as he plays, and the gentle unfinished song continues in your dreams.

The next day is full of shoots, reshoots, touch-ups, and one exhausting scene of running through the streets of Manhattan that the director wanted to shoot at least seven different times. By the time you get to go home, you're sweaty, tired, and have at least thirty unread text messages from Ellie, almost all of them TikTok's that "Oh my god, you have to watch." 

When you get to your hotel room, you go to throw your bag on the bed but stop when you see a big box wrapped with a red bow on it. You furrow your brows as you pick up the note attached and read it. For Wrigley Field - JM, it reads. You open the box, and a beautiful new Cubs jersey sits at the bottom with a signed baseball next to it. When you pick it up to look at it closer, it has your last name on the back, and you find an Astros hat at the very bottom of the box. For the World Series, the note reads. You laugh out loud and clutch the royal blue cloth to your chest. 

You respond to any and all unread texts, emails, and notifications. After a shower, you slowly start to feel human again. Human enough to shoot a text to Joel.

Ask me what I'm wearing

Uh oh, he responds.

C'mon, you know you want to

What are you wearing?

You smirk at your phone as you shoot him a photo of you wearing the Cubs jersey, the fabric riding up your thighs just enough to show that you're only wearing a pair of lacy black panties underneath. Your phone lights up with his contact photo almost immediately, and you laugh as you answer his call.

"Goddamn," his voice is deep and gravely as he groans. "After that, I think I just might be the world's biggest Cubs fan."

[beneathashadytree]

Hey! I absolute love your writing it literally gives me life!!! Okay so basically my request is like the straw hats doing one of those WIRED autocomplete interviews but the last question asking is you or zoro are dating and the whole crew cannot keep straight faces so it’s obvious you are and seeing the poor man flustered while you laugh 😭🙌 I hope you like my idea i’ve just been watching too many do them interviews and they are so freakin funny!!

WIRED - RORONOA ZORO X READER

Warnings : this is a sort of AU in which the internet and cameras exist in the One Piece world, a few curses I think, one sexual innuendo, a hint of Frobin (but you can interpret this as platonic if you like), this is not proofread, reader is gender-neutral!

Genre : fluff and crack (I love them)

Word count : 1.5K words

Additional notes : Aaaaa you’re really too sweet to me holy shit😭 I absolutely ADORE these interviews btw, so this was so fun to write. It was more lighthearted than I’m used to, which made it the perfect way to unwind after hectic days at uni! Let me know what you think of this💗

Requests : Are open! Check the rules over here.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp.

Masterlist

“Okay, final batch!” Nami called out, taking the cardboard and setting it on her lap. Luffy let out a huff of relief at that.

“Finally—!”

“Luffy, you can’t just say that to the camera,” Chopper cried out from beside him, “People will think you’re not happy to be here.”

“It’s just that I’m hungry…” he moaned out, rubbing his stomach exaggeratedly.

Rolling her eyes, Nami grumbled, “Fine, fine, I’ll hurry up. Quit whining, you big baby.” To her left, Usopp ripped the paper off the first question, leaving it for her to read. “Are… both Sanji’s eyebrows swirly?”

The blond stiffly smiled from the couch, “Suppose there’s no use hiding it any longer.” He pushed his bangs upwards, exposing both curled ends. His crewmates “ooh”ed and “aah”ed in fascination, and Zoro rolled his eyes at that.

“Bastard probably did it knowing it would be all over the internet,” he mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Sanji.

“Next question,” Usopp hurried, removing the paper on the question before a fight would break out. “Are… Franky’s modifications on every body part?” Grimacing, he glanced at Chopper. “Should we… should we really be answering this now and here?”

Chopper had a tired look on his face. “There isn’t much I haven’t seen at this point.”

With a shrug, Franky said, “Your call. I’m answering it anyways,” and leaning in conspirationally towards the camera, he grinned wide. “Yep, every body part. The adjustments guarantee a super time, if you catch my drift.”

“Franky, I think you should shut up. Permanently,” Robin sharply said, with an admonishing glare. The cyborg only winked at her, but did remain quiet afterwards.

“This feels like a déjà vu, doesn’t it?” Nami sighed as she ripped off another question. “Are… Brook’s signature moves inspired by other musicians?”

“Of course,” he answered with a benevolent smile, “I always pay homage to legendary dead artists whom I respect—though I myself am dead as well! Yo ho ho ho ho!”

“You’ll wear out that sense of humor one of these days.” Jinbei shook his head, though he looked at the musician fondly as he said it.

Luffy laughed, stretching his arms and wrapping them around Brook, slinging himself over to hug him. “I don’t care, he’s still a funny skeleton to me.”

Everyone looked at their captain with apparent affection in their eyes. “Onto the next question, let’s go,” Usopp enthused, his turn to rip next. “Are… Usopp’s curls natural?” A smug look made its way on his face. “Absolutely, one hundred percent. I have thirty handmaids to wash my hair, and ten servants to help style it perfectly every morning. After all, the great Usopp—“

“When did I turn into thirty handmaids?” came a snort from his left, and he turned his glare on them. Smirking at the camera, they jutted a thumb in the sniper’s direction. “This man right here comes crying to me every time on wash day because he’s too tired to do it himself.”

“Well, at least—“

“Settle down, ladies,” Nami interrupted coolly, before reading the next question out loud, “Are… Nami and Robin that beautiful in real life?” She blinked, glancing at her friend who was chuckling to herself. “I don’t know if I should be flattered that they think we’re beautiful, or offended that they think it’s all makeup and editing.”

“Oh dear,” Robin said, “Considering just how pretty you are right now, Nami, I’d take it as an honor.”

“You’re the best, I swear,” the navigator sighed happily, and everyone could almost see hearts in her eyes. She absolutely worshipped the older woman. “All compliments are ten times better when they come from someone as beautiful as you.”

“Ah, the most stunning flowers in the world—!“

“Are… Jinbei’s hugs as nice as they seem?” Usopp quickly butted in the middle of Sanji waxing poetic. After reading the question, every single one of the Strawhats grinned, answering in unison, “Yes!”

Their newest crewmate glanced at the fishman with a soft smile. “I was the last to join, but his gentle heart was enough encouragement for me to.”

With a sheepish smile on his face, Jinbei relented to the weight of Luffy tumbling from Brook onto him. He patted his back, and his captain only grinned wider.

“How sweet,” Nami cooed at the sight, before turning to rip the next question, “Are… Luffy’s attacks pre-planned?”

“No,” he bluntly replied from Jinbei’s hug, shrugging, “I do what feels right to me. I know my own strength well enough to know what to do.”

“Luffy’s much smarter than he looks,” Franky nodded, “His attacks are super deadly for a reason.”

Usopp hummed, “Alright, final two questions. This one says,” he paused, “Are… Chopper’s medical texts updated?”

“Of course. I have to have the latest discoveries and researches published in my books,” smiling as he spoke of his passion, he added, “Medicine evolves every day, so I can’t slack off as the ship’s doctor.”

“And the best doctor of all,” Brook gently patted his head, causing the reindeer’s face to quite literally glow.

“Asshole! That doesn’t make me happy at all.”

“And the final question,” Nami paused dramatically, before removing the paper, “Are… the two of them dating… Zoro and…” she leaned over trying to read the name furthest from her side, “Oh, it’s you!” she turned to her friend on Usopp’s left.

Silence fell in the room, everyone awkwardly glancing away from each other. Nami picked at her perfectly manicured nails, Robin found it awfully fascinating to card her fingers through Franky’s freshly-cut hair right now, and Usopp was too busy fussing with Chopper’s hat that was suddenly somehow completely askew.

Luffy’s (very obviously lying) face gave everything away when he said, “No… they’re not. Aren’t they, Jinbei?”

“Why would you ask me that?” he replied, dismay on his face as he was thrust into the spotlight he didn’t want one bit.

Brook deflected before they could even turn to him as the usual gossipmonger, “Don’t you like talking about love and romance, Sanji?”

The thunderous expression on the cook’s face was more than enough for him to choke on his words and turn away from him quickly. Much to their exasperation, that murderous look only served to affirm the public’s suspicions; his pure jealousy wasn’t so easy to conceal.

All the while, the rumored couple in question did their absolute best to avoid even glancing at each other.

Zoro’s stony expression would’ve been enough to deter even the bravest soul from asking any questions, but what completely contradicted it was the terribly endearing flush that climbed up down his cheeks to the nape of his neck. Though his eyes were guarded, his gritted teeth weren’t out of anger but embarrassment. It was laughable, really; how flustered the mere notion of being brought up as a couple made him.

And laugh they did, after having finally given in and spared the swordsman a glance from their place beside Usopp. Their knees knocked into his, and they could feel all along their body where they were touching just how tense he was. Simply unable to keep up the unreadable front, they wheezed with laughter at just how red their boyfriend currently was.

“You’re unbelievable,” they chortled, placing a hand on his shoulder for support as they bent over laughing.

Zoro glared at them, his blush only intensifying. “Shut up,” he hissed out, which only made them laugh harder, knowing that there was absolutely no venom behind these words. He truly was horrible at dealing with affection in a forthright manner.

Shaking their head at his antics, they only turned to the camera with a cheeky grin. “We’ll leave it up to the people to interpret it.”

“And cut!”

As soon as the words were yelled out by the director and the blinking of the camera turned off, Zoro swiveled in his seat to openly glare at them, his face still warm. “The hell was that about?”

“Your blushing gave it away, you musclehead idiot,” they rolled their eyes at him, “We’ll leave it up to PR. They’ll let us know what course of action we’ll take.”

“Why’s everyone so interested in us anyways,” he mumbled under his breath, and Sanji gave him his most disgusted look.

“Maybe it’s because your eyes are constantly defiling them, you shitty mossheaded bull—“

“You know there’s something about a pot and a kettle,” Nami scoffed, “Come on, Sanji. Let’s leave the two lovebirds.” Indeed, all the others had already packed their things and walked out (the first of them being a famished Luffy, of course).

“My sweet Nami-san! Of course I shall do whatever my goddess asks of me…”

Once they were alone, they carefully asked him. “Did… the question bother you?”

“Why would it?” Zoro looked confused.

“Just checking in with you,” they shook their head, a gentle smile on their face as they leaned in and kissed his cheek, “We’ll deal with whatever comes next together.”

He hummed, large hand reaching up to pat their head affectionately. Really, he couldn’t help but feel something melting inside his chest whenever they did things like that—even though he still remained a little flushed up till the tips of his ears.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go. By the time we make it back to the ship, Luffy will have had both our shares of lunch.”

Taglist: @stories-that-shaped-me @wifeofkyojuro

[lee-lucius]

Advent Calendar 2: Christmas Break

Word Count: 578

Modern AU

"Come on, Senku, do you really need to do this now?"

"It's not like I asked you to come over in the first place. You're begging won't move me one millimeter," Senku said, not looking up from his book even when Gen came up behind him, leaning over his shoulder to skim the words.

"We're on break. Isn't that when you're supposed to cut back on studying?" He sighed, unable to understand a word in Senku's textbook.

"It's not for school. I'm reading up on it to prepare for a new project I'm working on."

"But," he shifted closer, breath tickling Senku's ear as he spoke, "wouldn't you rather spend time with me?"

"No," he swatted at him like a fly, eyes still on the book. Gen yelped loudly as his hand hit him square in the face, eliciting a chuckle from Senku and an all too smug smirk. 

Eyes narrowing, he acted without thinking, shooting his hands down to squeeze at Senku's sides.

"What's so funny now?"

He made a strangled noise of surprise, one that sounded like he was choking more than anything, then laughed, something low and quiet, rumbling from the back of his throat. 

"Whahat ahare you dohohoing?" he protested, once again trying to swat Gen away, but he was too quick, rapidly jumping between spots on Senku's torso with childish glee.

"Obviously, I'm tickling you. You'd think someone with your intelligence would be able to figure that out."

"Whihihy?" he squirmed, mentally cursing the position he'd landed himself. Sitting at his desk with Gen's arms on either side of him, escape seemed impossible. Ordinarily Gen wasn't much stronger than him, but the ticklish sensation spreading throughout his body was draining the little strength he had. His arms were going limp. It was as if his touch was sending little shocks through Senku at each poke and prod, making his body jolt and his heart beat faster and his limbs go numb.

He was ten billion percent sure he stood no chance. 

"Well, you were being awfully rude to me earlier. I think a little payback is only fair, don't you?"

Senku wanted to protest, to ask how exactly this was payback, to tell him that he'd rather be hit instead, but any semblance of a sentence was interrupted by the embarrassingly loud noise Gen drew from him when he squeezed his ribs.

"Now this is definitely a good spot."

His voice was oozing with satisfaction, and Senku swore that he'd get him back tenfold for this. Then all coherent thoughts left his mind as it suddenly got so much worse. Drilling into that one absolutely dreadful spot on his upper ribs, one he was all too familiar with thanks to his father's annoying antics, Gen broke him. 

He was laughing louder than he thought was even possible. His knees shot up, banging against the bottom of his desk, and his arms, that had been all too weak before, only able to helplessly clutch his stomach, were suddenly reinvigorated, shoving wildly at Gen in his poor escape attempt. 

When he was flailing so much he almost fell out of his chair, Gen finally took pity on him and stepped back, letting Senku recollect himself.

After a few minutes of fighting to regain control of laughter and breath, Senku gripped the edge of his chair, forcing himself up and staring at Gen with an evil glint in his eye, "You… are ten billion percent screwed."

[b4mpyre-k1zz3s]

Dating Vampire!Bam HC’s! + Fic

Bam Margera X Gn!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content, crude language, jealousy, unwanted flirting, biting, blood, petty disagreements

An: I had this idea a while ago and I’m sort of seeing if anyone would want to see more content for Vampire!Bam. I am also using this to test interest in a more extensive Au for the guys, so let me know if you would be into that!! If you were wondering why this is coming out outside of my usual upload schedule, today is actually my birthday, so consider this a very self indulgent present to myself ;)

Normally, dating a vampire would be a dream come true to you. You could even get past the Not going out during the day and the whole drinking blood thing because, in your eyes, the positives outweighed the negatives

But unfortunately, while your boyfriend was a vampire, he was also Bam Margera.

The sleeping arrangements were probably your biggest complaint

Even though vampires are classically night owls, Bam would still cuddle up to you at night while you fell asleep because A: he had a job to be up for the next day and B: he was a good boyfriend

But the next morning there about an eighty percent chance you find him hanging upside down up in the rafters.

“Bam! Not again!”, You groaned. It was always such a pain to try to get him down

Speaking of jobs, his Jackass career wasn’t all that disrupted by the fact he wasn’t, you know, human. I mean, he was already pretty damn pale and he stayed up late most nights partying anyways

Whenever you were on set with him and they needed to film any water stunts outside, he’d always be sitting off to the side in his sunglasses and trunks, lathering up in SPF 500

“Hey, Y/N. Think y’could get my back for me?” Since you were more than eager for an excuse to feel up his muscles, you jumped at the opportunity

And of course Bam would thank you with a hug, finding it hilarious how angry you got when he messed up your clothes

But if there was one thing that entertained you to no end was how passionately your boyfriend hated vampire drama shows,

Especially Buffy.

Still, you would spend your weekends on the couch hate-watching it with him, laughing at every groan or eye roll from him

“I’m just sayin’- if I was there,” Bam picked a popcorn kernel out of his fangs, “I would rather starve than drink from an otter. I’d sooner suck on Steve’s neck than that thing!” Snickering, you gave him an ‘oh sure’ nod, turning back to watch the tv

Another perk of dating a vampire was the scary dog privileges you got whenever you went out to bars together

Bam was always pretty possessive of you, but he could be downright territorial

So while your boyfriend wasn’t one to go around flaunting it, he had no problem pulling you close by your waist and flashing that impressive set of fangs at whatever creep was annoying you at the bar

But those fangs- god, he could not keep them off of you!

No matter if Bam was hungry or wanted your attention or was just plain bored, he always had some excuse to get his mouth on you,

All day, Bam had been getting on your nerves so you decided it was time to put your foot down. “Nope.” Crossing your arms, you turned away from your boyfriend, “I’m not letting you today.” He was confused at your reaction- okay, maybe he didn’t ask you first, but wasn’t the ten minutes he spent kissing and licking your neck enough? Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck which was already full of hickeys, he murmured “C’monn…”

Bam’s lips made a popping sound as they left your neck after you pulled him off by his hair, “I’m serious!” Groaning like a child who didn’t get what they wanted, he sat back, “Fine…S’not like I need it to survive or anything…” His resistance lasted for about five minutes until you heard his stomach growl.

Begrudgingly at first, Bam mumbled, “M’sorry.” After another five minutes went by, he saw you didn’t relent as quickly as he though you would and Bam was all too eager to grovel, pushing aside his pride. “Okay, I was being a dick earlier! I’m sorry! Just- please?” His neediness pleased you and, unable to resist from cracking a smile, you waved him over with one hand. Your all too excited boyfriend just pounced on you! Clinging to your side, Bam cuddled up to you as he eagerly sucked from your neck in total bliss, moaning softly. You didn’t mind that much when he bit you, but you were kinda curious as to how he would react to being told no (for once in his life). After he had his fill, the only sounds in the room were his occasional hiccups as he lay next to you, content. Reaching over to him, you ran your fingers through his dark curls, thinking about how pretty he was when his mouth wasn’t ruining everything.

[heyiwrotesomethings]

A Little Bite, Please

Vampire Mitsuri Kanroji x They/Them Reader Modern AU

A/N: Something for spooky season, hope you’ll like it! Warning: Vampire Mitsuri did not get permission before taking a bite. Some manipulation tactics present too. Word Count: 1,712

She was staring at them again.

(Y/n) tried not to let it get to them, but it made it so hard to concentrate on what the professor was saying.

(Y/n) had a night class this semester. They tried to get a more convenient time, but of course every other student wanted the prime schedule slot as well. By the time it was their turn to schedule their classes, they were saddled with the 10pm, fifty minute class three times a week.

At least the class was easy. That was about all it had going for it. (Y/n) could think of a hundred things they would rather do at 10pm on a Friday night, but just showing up to lecture was thirty-five percent of their final grade so here they were, getting stared at by a pink and green haired girl, who sat in the row in front of them, mind you, making it extra unsettling. They had never seen her around campus at any other time, which was probably for the best considering her odd behavior.

There had been a couple of times that the tired Professor had also noticed the girl with the staring problem, Mitsuri’s, turned head and directed a question or two at her.

She would fluster, but answer the queries correctly. Then she’d pay attention for a time, but her attention always came back to (Y/n) in the end. And of course all the students around them noticed too, but they didn’t want to get involved. Occasionally (Y/n) would get a, ‘What’s this about?’, look and they could only give a shrug in response.

They hadn’t even gotten to speak to Mitsuri. They only knew her name because of the Professor. They always put their stuff in their backpack at the end of class and when they zipped it closed and looked up, her spot would be empty like she hadn’t been there at all. It was spooky.

“That’ll do for tonight,” the Professor said, clicking onto the last slide that simply read, ‘have a good weekend’, “No homework, just study for the test on Monday is my only advice. Get home safe.”

(Y/n) began packing up and just like always, Mitsuri was gone from the room when they looked up. So weird.

They hiked their bag onto their back and began to shimmy out of the the row.

“(Y/n), can I talk to you a minute?” The professor asked.

“Sure.” (Y/n) would rather go home, but what else could they do? He said it would only be a minute.

Ten minutes later, (Y/n) was finally out the door. The Professor had a few nice things to say about the essay they had wrote a couple weeks ago, which was sweet, but not something (Y/n) wanted to talk about at eleven o’clock at night.

“Nononono shiiit!”

(Y/n) left the building just in time to watch the last bus of the night leave campus. Their apartment wasn’t far, they often walked the mile to and from campus, but that was in broad daylight. They always took the bus route home if they had to stay on campus after the sun went down.

They’d ask one of their roommates if they could come pick them up, but chances are they were hopping through various fall parties in anticipation for Halloween. Must be nice.

The path was mostly well lit, and it was Friday night in a college town, people were bound to be out in droves… they decided they would go for it.

“I hate this.” They whined as they walked on the vacant sidewalk through the park, damp with the misting rain that had blown through.

Walking alone at night was as exciting as it was frightening. They had turned around no less than ten times in the last fifteen minutes. At one point, a cyclist passed them up and they had nearly screamed.

Around the halfway point they achieved max paranoia. They didn’t want to spend money on a ride share for only a half mile, but they were really starting to freak out. They swore someone had to be following them. They planned to stop at the next lamppost and make the call, but before they made it, they heard feet pounding on the sidewalk a ways behind them.

Before they could think to scream, run or turn around and punch at the air like a crazy person, a sweet voice called to them.

“(Y/n), there you are! I told you to wait, didn’t I?”

They flinched when an arm came up from behind them and wrapped around their’s. When they turned to see who it was, they found pink and green hair and hazy green eyes. It was Mitsuri from the night class.

“Shhh, act natural and don’t turn around. This guy has been trailing me for blocks. I’m so glad I saw you!”

“Oh really?” (Y/n) was immediately concerned. Of course they would walk with Mitsuri. To be honest they were glad for the company themself, safety in numbers and all that. “My apartment is only another half mile away. You can wait for someone to pick you up there or stay the night if you have to.”

“You are a life saver, (Y/n), truly.” Mitsuri sighed in relief, holding their arm closer to her chest.

“No problem. I’d hope someone would do the same for me.”

Mitsuri gave her an odd smile that looked more like a wince, but maybe it was just a trick of the poor lighting.

“Hey! Do you live on West Park Road? Is that why you’re going this way?” Mitsuri asked, changing the subject.

“Yeah, why, do you live there too?”

“No, I live a couple more streets down, but I do know that if you cut through the woods right there, you can cut your time significantly. I do it all the time.”

“There?” (Y/n) gulped. The forest was dark. They couldn’t even see the opposite street through the trees. “I don’t know, if that guy is still following you it might be better to—“

“Oh god, run!” Mitsuri squealed, pushing (Y/n) into the woods.

(Y/n) was much to startled to question her, instead they let Mitsuri lead them by the hand through the dark woods. So many twists and turns, (Y/n) didn’t even know what was up or down anymore.

“We’ll hide here, be quiet!” Mitsuri squeaked, pushing (Y/n) to the ground behind a couple of particularly thick trees, holding them tightly against her.

She was surprisingly strong, (Y/n) noted vaguely. They were too busy trying to muffle their heavy breaths from running to pay it much more thought.

They laid flat against the ground, trying not to let the leaves crunch beneath their weight. Mitsuri hovered above them, caging their body between her knees, palms on either side of (Y/n)’s head.

They laid there in silence for minutes, but it felt much longer. (Y/n) regained their breath, but they continued to hold still, waiting for Mitsuri’s verdict.

But Mitsuri again seemed more interested at staring down at them than looking out for a deranged man in the woods.

“Do, do you think we lost him?” (Y/n) asked barely above a whisper, swallowing thickly.

Mitsuri’s eyes followed the movement with great longing.

“There is no man, (Y/n),” Mitsuri looked ashamed, but hunkered down closer to (Y/n), stroking their neck with the knuckles of one hand, her cold breath fanned over (Y/n)’s face, “Why couldn’t you have just taken the bus like you do every other night… I tried so hard to protect you from me, but I can’t hold myself back anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” (Y/n)’s voice trembled.

They attempted to buck Mitsuri off, but that strength of hers kept her steady. She peered down at (Y/n) apologetically then effortlessly turned their head to the side, exposing their neck.

“What are you doing?” (Y/n) asked fearfully while they attempted to pry Mitsuri’s arm away.

“Shh, shh, I just need a little bite, please. So hungry. I’ll be so gentle, I promise. I’ve been practicing. I know when to stop now, you’ll be alright.” She husked over and over until the feverish words sounded like nothing in (Y/n)’s ears.

Mitsuri’s nose rubbed up their neck, then her lips came to rest against (Y/n)’s throat, making them shudder. Mitsuri shushed them once more, rubbing soothing circles against their ribs.

Then (Y/n) felt a sharp prick against their shoulder, close to the juncture were it met their neck, and a burst of warmth. They weakly attempted to push Mitsuri off again before their arms fell limply on either side. After a little while, their brain felt fuzzy and their limbs numb. The last thing they saw before succumbing to unconsciousness was Mitsuri licking the blood from her lips.

***

“Hey, (Y/n), you good? It’s four in the afternoon and you’re still in bed.”

(Y/n) groaned. Their head was pounding. Had they been drinking last night? They slowly sat up in bed, focusing in on their roommates poking their heads through the door.

“Is it really?” They croaked. Wow, their mouth was dry.

“Yeah, one would think you were the one out partying all night.” One of the roommates chuckled.

“You weren’t kidding about this week being hell for you I guess. Did you make yourself sick?”

“Maybe?” (Y/n) rubbed their eyes, trying to remember anything from the night before.

“Well, we made cute sugar cookies if you want any. And we were thinking of getting pizza for dinner. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks.” (Y/n) stood up and almost had to sit back down again. Why were they so dizzy? “I’m gonna wash up.”

The short trip to the bathroom felt way more difficult then it should have been. They turned on the shower then sat on the lid of the toilet to take a breather. When the dizziness became manageable, they stood up, catching a glance of themself in the mirror.

They saw something weird peeking out on the edge of their t-shirt and brushed at it, but it didn’t fall off, it was actually very tender there. They stepped closer to the mirror and pulled their shirt over, revealing a—

“Is, is that a bite mark?” They whispered disbelievingly.

Just what had happened last night?