#wait... WHAT... you mean you don't do that? oh...

[r66dusthewriter]

heyy dear, can you write some fluff with daryl and gf reader where glenn gets one of those polaroid cameras and start taking pictures of everyone at the prison, and when he checked the photos he noticed that daryl is lovingly gazing at reader in all the photos they appear together? even when glenn or carol starts teasing daryl about it he still ask glenn if he can keep them🥰

Picture perfect

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: here goes another extra fic this week. I swear it won't always be like this but i have far too much free time and i don't know what else to do with myself.

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: none.

Era: Season 4

Word count: 0.9k

“You’re gonna run out of Polaroids,” Carol said with a smirk, arms crossed as she leaned over Glenn, who was hunched at a table like it was a science project.

He didn’t look up, just grinned. “Already did. Totally worth it, though…look at this.”

He fanned out a handful of glossy squares, all slightly curled and sun-warmed. Carol leaned in, her expression curious until she saw it. You and Daryl, in nearly every shot but the focus wasn’t on the two of you smiling. In most, you were doing something completely ordinary…laughing with Maggie, cleaning your knife or merely walking next to the others, but in every single one, Daryl was looking at you, really looking. Unfiltered, soft-eyed and completely unaware of the camera. Sometimes he was in the background, sometimes next to you but never not watching.

Carol blinked and looked up. “What am I supposed to be seeing here?”

Glenn smirked like a kid holding a secret. “Blackmail, Carol, gold-tier. I'm talking ‘Dixon blushing’ level ammo.”

Carol laughed. “Oh, no. You don’t wanna play that game, Glenn.”

“Oh but I do. He stole my candy bar last week, this is divine justice.”

Despite her warnings, when Daryl finally rode back from his run that afternoon, Glenn was already posted up by the third gate like he was waiting to serve papers.

Daryl climbed off his bike with dust and grime smudging his neck and arms and his crossbow still strapped to his back. He dropped his bag onto the seat and looked around, automatically searching for you.

“Looking for someone?” Glenn teased, a grin stretching on his face.

Daryl scowled. “You know where she’s at?”

“Depends. How bad do you want to know?” He paused. “That hatchet you got there’s pretty sweet,” Glenn said with a sly grin, nodding at the weapon strapped to Daryl’s bike.

Daryl squinted, suspicious. “Ain’t for you.”

“It is now,” Glenn smirked, pulling a single photo from his pocket like it was top-secret intel. He glanced around dramatically before flashing it.

The archer looked down at it, then let out a low scoff, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Think she dun know I look at’er like tha’?” he muttered, tapping two fingers against Glenn’s temple once, snatched the photo and then, thwap!, he flicked Glenn’s ear, muttering “You creepin’ on me now?”

“Ow! What was that for?!” Glenn hissed. “You’re the one gazin’ like a lovesick outlaw.”

“Ain’t news to her, dumbass. Now, move.”

Grumbling, Glenn backed off but a few steps away, Daryl’s voice called after him. “Hey, Glenn!”

He turned. Daryl just stretched his hand out and Glenn sighed like he’d just lost a poker game, face falling. “All of them?”

“All of ’em.”

A second later, a stack of photos landed in Daryl’s palm, photos he quickly tucked into his bag without another word, meaning to look at them more closely later.

The sun warmed your skin as you approached the scene, steps slowing as Glenn passed you on his way back inside, rubbing his ear with a crooked smile.

“Hey…” you said, brow raised.

“Hey,” he muttered, shooting a sheepish glance over his shoulder at Daryl. “He’s all yours.”

“Right...” You frowned confused, then turned toward Daryl with that big smile he always pulled out of you. “Hi, handsome.”

He glanced up, immediately straightening a little, lips twitching upwards as he hid something behind his back. “Hey.”

“What was that about?” you asked, motioning toward the way Glenn had gone.

Daryl shrugged. “Kid’s troubled.”

“And you’re not?”

He smirked, still holding something behind him. “Maybe, but ya like it.”

“That I do,” you grinned, stepping closer. “Now, what are you hiding?”

With a little grunt, Daryl pulled two leather-bound journals from behind his back. One was your favorite color and unsurprisingly, it made the gift all the more meaningful. Your jaw dropped.

“Are you gonna start journaling with me?” You asked excitedly, taking them both from his hands.

Daryl scratched the back of his neck, glancing down like it was no big deal. “Kinda tired of watchin’ ya do it alone before bed. Even started wonderin’ if ya got a secret crush or somethin’.”

You wrapped your arms around him, laughing softly into his shoulder. “It’s you, so not very secret.” He hugged you back then, gentle and a little awkward, like always…exactly in that way you loved.

“Ya gotta teach me what t’ write, tho’, or it’s gonna turn into sum’ creepy book ‘bout ya.”

You pulled back with a giggle. “Doesn’t sound awful”

“Really doesn’t.” He reached out to gently squeeze your side, making you yelp and bat his hand away, but the more you looked at him, the more you could tell he was still hiding something.

“So…what’d Glenn give you?” you asked, poking at his bag with the journals.

Daryl hesitated for a beat before pulling out the photos, thumbing through them like they were old keepsakes. “Journaling material, ‘cause he’s nice like tha’” he said.

“The…troubled kid” You repeated in the same tone he had used.

“Mhm, the one.” He pointed at the pictures now in your hands, “For scrapbookin’. That wha’ ya call it?”

You smiled and nudged his arm teasingly. “Look at you, already learning and collecting.”

“Kinda fell into my hands,” he mumbled.

“Uh huh. I’m sure it did.”

You watched him a second longer, your heart fluttering as he carefully took the photos and tucked them into his vest’s inner pocket, like they were precious.

“You always look at me like that?” you asked, pointing at where the pictures were now carefully kept.

He shrugged looking away, ears already a faint pink. “Nah. Just when yer breathin’.”

[eraserbread]

go as a dream, pt. 2 ft. ex-husband satoru gojo✧

୨୧ - ten years together, five years married -- it's a long time. too long to be running on borrowed time glued together by the past. leaving is easy, but staying away turns out to be impossible. → afab!reader, modern/no curses!au, long-established relationship, mutual pining, smoking, heavy angst, toxic relationship dynamics, mention of pregnancy/failure to conceive, rough sex, drinking, verbal outbursts, mentions of body and relationship insecurity, emotional sex, spitting, dub-con (?), masturbation, oral m!receiving, face-slapping, unhealthy possessiveness, slight sub-drop, mentions of readers relative hair length in contrast to gojo's, mentions of readers mother, nsfw → w.c. - 18.9k {1.45 hour reading time}

a/n: honestly, i don't know what to say anymore. this chapter ruled my life, and it only took me two weeks to complete -- I was just so invested and emotional. thank u all for the love on part one, which you can re-read here :)) again, sit with this for awhile. it's a lot of words to ingest and a lot of emotions to feel, but I think they're good ones. don't be too afraid to keep reading <3 ily! -elly

listen to the soundtrack (updated for pt.2), revisit part 1 <3

A cigarette passes through the warmth of the summer air, mid-morning rays bleaching the burning tip an eye-squinting shade of red. 

Shoko brings it to her lips, tongue in cheek as she stares past Suguru’s head. Perched at the back entrance to the Science building, the small expanse of cars parked neatly under sun covers distracts her piercing gaze. She shakes her head, lowering the smoke to ash it quickly, then reaches to take a drag. 

“You don’t think it’s gonna affect us?” She continues, growling something of a sigh into the openness. It’s clear as day, Shoko is not having a good morning. You were supposed to return today, but so is Satoru. This divorce wasn’t even her problem, but the entire staff base was going to feel the ripples. Every single one of the 120 faculty members was aware of the marriage. Satoru is everyone’s favorite – you were his rock. 

“Only if you allow it to.” Suguru crosses his arms at his chest, squinting as he peeks behind him. The crunch of tires pulls his attention just like it pulled Shoko’s. “Look, I texted him the other night, didn’t get a response, and moved on with my life.” He shrugs, sharp shoulders soft against the blur of harsh light. “Satoru’s so easy to read that it’s shameful. He wants to be alone – needs it, too. It’s like he’s allergic.” 

Shoko hums, pursing her lips around another drag before handing it off to Suguru. She’s looking past his head again, thinking she recognizes the sleek, black car that pulls in behind the school. 

She does. It’s Satoru’s. 

“Speak of the devil,” She mentions, glancing up at Suguru when he peeks over his shoulder again. “That’s probably Jo.” 

“Oh-” Suguru shoves the cigarette between his lips, cheeks hollowing around the drag he sucks out. If Shoko was right, Satoru hated the smell of smoke – he’d complain with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. It’s a habit; there’s a jump behind Suguru’s step as he walks to meet Satoru halfway. Shoko’s standing up like she’s about to head inside, light eyes squinted as she watches him shrink with distance. “Oh, shit.” 

“Whaaaat?” Shoko springs up, hand latched onto the metal. Suguru halts in his tracks at the end of the ramp, grip tightening against the rail. She can just see the look on his face in her mind; he doesn’t have to be looking over for her to know. 

“They’re getting a divorce, right?” 

“What do you mean – yeah.” 

“Okay, well, they don’t look very separated to me.” Suguru’s pushed out of the way as Shoko stumbles over her feet for a good vantage point. He’s not lying; you and Satoru are together. It’s just like things always were; he holds the door open for you, gaze dead ahead as he waits for you to slip out. That poor door slams shut – his body so packed full of hot tension they could feel it from so far away. 

You aren’t looking at him either, wary with a short peek over your shoulder when you emerge. Satoru is wearing a tight, dark, long-sleeved shirt in the peak of this heat – you’re wearing long, dark pants. 

Everything is right – normal. Why does it feel so wrong? Something is off.

“Go – go, we have to hide.” 

“What? No, I want to know what’s going on-

“Oh, he looks so pissed.” Shoko gasps behind her hand. “He’s wearing the glasses – Geto, the glasses.” 

“I see the glasses. Come on.” The cool air from inside the building soothes Shoko’s back like a thick, welcome blanket. Sure, inside would lead to hours of emotionally uncompelling work, but it’d be better than second-hand embarrassment. She’s wise enough to deduce that nothing good will come from this situation. 

Shoko ducks out, sliding under Suguru’s stretched arm, keeping the door propped. They both dart from the entrance.

“What a shit show. Someone is lying.” Shoko’s nearly running down the hallway, breath heavy in her throat. It’s still too early for students to be in yet, but a scattered few roam the halls, breaking their necks when the pair rushes hot past them. 

“Don’t bring it up; just act normal,” Suguru mutters, pushing the door to the staff room open for Shoko to step into. They know it's where you two would stop once you arrived – it’s where everyone is gathered. 

At least three heads turn at the dramatic entrance. 

Utahime stands up from her spot at the head of the table, a thick, leather-bound book open towards the end that she entirely disregards. “Shoko!” 

“Gojo’s are coming.” 

Two seats down from Utahime, back as straight as a pen, Mei annotates paper assignments, nails as red as the ink on the page. She hums – slow, controlled. “Didn’t you say they broke up?” 

“That’s the issue, just be normal.” 

They don’t have to tell Nanami twice – he takes his coffee, drops his conversation, and leaves the room like he was never there. Takuma watches him walk out on their discussion, sputtering like a fish out of water. 

“What is happening?” He turns around, eyes blown wide. “Suguru?” 

“Sit. Be normal.” Suguru snatches his shoulders, pushing him into the empty seat opposite Mei. His heavy touch lingers, and one hand fumbles in his back pocket for his phone. 

“Don’t say anything about the divorce, or I’ll strangle you,” Shoko speaks through gritted teeth, holding her hand in a tense claw in Takuma’s relative direction. He slumps down like he’s guilty, letting Suguru’s weight sink in. 

“I didn’t even know they were getting divorced…” He trails off, voice light as a feather. 

“Shut up,” Shoko and Suguru hiss at the same time, wary of the shadows that pass the covered windows every time one appears. She’s keeping an eye out for a pair of them – intertwined by the arms like you and Satoru always do. 

It never comes. 

The door clicks, creaks, then settles. You walk inside, your head heavy and your gaze low. Shoko gives a breath of relief. 

“Hi, stranger.” Suguru purrs. 

“Oh my God – you didn’t sleep?” Shoko clicks her teeth, turning on her feet, and she crowds you at the door. You feel pitiful standing in the way, arms crossed over your sensitive frame, still singing and sore from last night. There’s a crip in your walk – a numbness in your eyes. 

“Oh, Gojo.” Utahime pouts, standing to greet you, hiding no pity behind her words. It’s all over your face, you feel like shit. 

“Don’t call her tha-

“Whatever, it’s fine.” You cut Suguru off, knowing he has good intentions but belittled by the air of it all. Utahime goes in to hug you – your chest aches as she cradles it. “I guess it’s nice that everyone knows. I don’t have anything to hide.” You smile when she pulls away, avoiding eye contact so she can’t see the lie in your gaze. It’s bad enough you can’t even hide it in your tone. 

Shoko is chewing her bottom lip raw, poking and squeezing at it with manicured fingers. She wants to say more – wants to point out the stumble in your step and the drowsiness in your eyes. She wants to point out the fact that you came here with him, but knows it's inappropriate. After all, you and Satoru live together and share a car – it’s not unheard of that you two are still around each other. She just worries about the headspace it’d lower you into. 

Satoru, when he’s upset, is an entirely different person. Every ounce of heat in his soul drops, leaving icy lakes where his heart should be. He jokes through it all, making sly digs at Shoko’s unhealthy habits or how useless he thinks she is as a friend. Always, he’d laugh it off, then drop his expression like it was never there. He’s too good at being an asshole – it’s why she’s so wary. 

“You sure you’re good to be back?” 

You ignore her. “Hi Mei, Takuma.” 

“Hi, beautiful. Long time no see, hm?” 

“Good to see you, Gojo.” 

“Stop-” You reach for Shoko’s shoulder as she whips around to scold him. “I don’t care. I’m not changing my name.” 

She turns back to you, eyes wide with worry. You can hear the unsaid words vibrating off of her bare lips. They wash over you with the weight of the world. Everyone is staring. 

Utahime crosses her hands at her waist, clearing her throat as the dust settles in the room. Takuma peeks up at Suguru as he steps away, wanting to say more but far too conscious of the space they found themselves in. 

“Smart.” Mei hums, not having looked up from her work since you entered. She tilts her head, light, loose hair falling over the pressed, blue blazer over her shoulder. “Don’t let one bad Gojo ruin the name for you.” 

“You know you’re not helping, right?” 

“Bye, Ieiri. Your abrasiveness would be endearing if she were actually a child who needed support.” Though she threatens to walk away, Mei doesn’t move. She doesn’t even reciprocate the hazel daggers Shoko is sending her. “It seems this conversation is a bit suffocating. Why don’t you move it outside.” 

“Is that a suggestion?” 

“Let’s just-” Suguru jumps into action, peeling his dark eyes from his glaring white phone screen. “Come on – she’s right.” 

“We don’t have to talk about it at all.” You scoff as Suguru nudges both of you out of the frosted glass door. “You two are making this into a spectacle.” 

“Oh, I guess it’s fuck me then? Okay.” 

Suguru scoffs once the door closes on the rest of his colleagues.“Sho- are you just incapable of calm?” 

“I need a cigarette.” She decides, turning on the ball of her flat shoes. In one fluid, flustered stroke, she’s pulling out her pack and her phone, grumbling something likely aimed at Suguru that you couldn’t catch onto. 

“Is she serious?” You scoff, eyes burning a bit at the rush of emotion so early in the day. You’re still incredibly fragile from a silent, ugly morning with Satoru, facing his glaring and silent treatment all the way here. You felt worthless in his bed, in his car, and now you’re an outsider at work. 

Suguru stands with his hands stuffed in his front pockets, his knee jutted as the back entrance rushes open and slams shut. He squints against the light, bangs reacting to the breeze. “She’s just overwhelmed with the change of workload. She’s fine.” 

“Have you heard from Satoru?” 

“Oh.” Suguru flips his phone around in his pocket, biting over his lip as he feels your short stare burn the side of his face. “Texted a few minutes ago. He just said he was on campus – came in through the front.” 

“Like he’s avoiding me.” You sigh, gaze falling as you turn back to the hallway. Sugu’s close behind in every one of your movements, head tilting like a confused puppy. He knows you two drove together… Toru’s doing a pretty shitty job at avoidance, then. 

“You don’t even have to be in the same vicinity as him today. Don’t let it bother you.” 

You suck your cheek, hoisting your bag further up your shoulder as you weigh your options. You could go back to the break room and kill ten minutes before the day started, or you could duck into the bathroom and cry this energy out. Right now, the latter is the best option. 

“You understand, don’t you?” You turn around, peeking over your shoulder at his hunched frame. Your lips are shaking with a familiar rush of emotion. Yeah – you’re about to cry. “It’s so hard to see when you’ve lost your light.” 

Suguru stares at you like an emotionless, gutted fish. Lips parting to bring you back as you start to walk away. You take a few steps, then turn into the bathroom hallway, face beet-red as tears start down your face before you can hide. 

Your languid pace turns into flustered steps, hiding your running nose behind your fist. Through your peripheral, Suguru locks eyes with you just before you disappear. He feels backed into a corner �� broad shoulders weighed down by bricks he didn’t place. 

Suguru sighs, eyes rolling in his skull as he turns back to the break room. Mei finally looks up when he pushes back inside, but he doesn’t care to notice. He needed to tell Toru what was on his mind. 

To: Satoru Gojo I actually want to die a little inside. I’ve never seen her cry before, please let this be the last time Oh, i’m so sick From: Satoru Gojo Wdym?  Are you talking about Gojo? She’s a literal train wreck, just avoid her

Satoru looks up from his phone, pulling his square-framed glasses from his face as he steps inside the building. For some reason, he finds a smile crossing his lips at the feeling of being back – he’s riding on a dangerous high, eyes flickering the white fluorescent lights. On his phone, he can see the three dots undulate across the bottom of his screen as Suguru responds, but he tucks it away just as the message appears on his screen. He wouldn’t be distracted right now – today was a big day. 

It’s the day every student waits for – the day when Satoru takes over office hours. In charge like that, he’s gentle and enthusiastic. Scarily good at his job, too. A small cult following had bloomed around him – girls even opting to take Nanami’s course so that they could sit a little closer to their beloved Gojo.

He feels on top of the world when he lets himself lead. It’s still unknown as to why he’s still just an aide, but you know why. Satoru is as straight-backed as they come. He doesn’t drink, do drugs, lie, or steal. He hardly cusses – never, ever getting mad… unless he’s around you. Their beloved Gojo becomes Satoru when 5 o’clock hits.

He’s grown up as the wonder boy, always wanting to do things by the book. He went to school and immersed himself in his studies to escape from his family, devoting all his energy and sanity to it. That’s why he graduated early – taking that first opportunity at freedom and education by the horns and riding off with it. It only took him two years of schooling to get his first career line as an aide at Tokyo-U, and he’s still there nearly eleven years later, hanging off of Nanami’s bootstraps – aging him twice as fast. 

 Satoru absorbs Nanami’s information like a dehydrated sponge, coming back to life every time a new nugget of knowledge plants itself inside of him. It’s all he lived for before he met you, and loving you wasn’t even the end goal. He never wanted to get married but couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you with another man. Even now, moping about the science hall, the thought bubbles in his throat like he needs to expel it. 

No, he wouldn’t think about you now. He needs to swallow it down. 

Then, the perfect distraction presents itself at the crossroads in front of him – Nanami and his beloved protégé, Yuji Itadori. He’s one of Satoru’s favorites, too – the only one who can carry his humor in non-humorous spaces. 

“Sir, I’m really excited about all the stories you’ll have to teach when you come back! Please bring us souvenirs.” Itadori is begging with his arms clasped, dangerously close to Nanami’s footpath. The older man cradles the coffee he brought from the break room, golden eyes flickering from the steam he’s nursing to his peer. 

“It’s much more than a pleasure trip, Itadori. I will be in and out of various Universities doing guest lectures with little time to rest or sight-see.” Nanami is typical, just as straight-edged as Satoru, albeit in a stricter sense. Nanami didn’t need anyone around him – Satoru needed everything. 

He needs this twenty-two-year-old kid to like him, which is why he approaches him as if they’re friends, not a teacher and peer. 

“Itadori!” Satoru rushes to the scene, sticking a hand in Itadori’s light locks and ruffling them unkempt. “What are you doing here, kid? Did you sign up for my office hours?” 

“I was the first person who put the request in! Kugisaki told me they were all full two minutes later… she had to settle for Nanami’s after his break.” 

“Settle?” 

“Ah – don’t take it personally, Nanamin.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

The pair break out in devious laughter. Nanami rolls his eyes, ready to walk away and find peace in his empty lecture hall. Something stops him – it’s the way Toru looks at him with his long arm slung across Itadori’s shoulders. They’re nearly twins like this once their outward appearances fade away. They’re just two smirking idiots burning holes in Nanami’s aging face, not saying a thing. 

“I heard you two talking about Malaysia. I know you’re excited, and so am I.” 

“Mm, because you can pretend to be me for a full month – I know.” 

“I’m excited, too! Inumaki mentioned sneaking into the lecture in my place next Thursday… and I told him no.” 

“Good. Respectful.” Satoru mentions. Nanami sighs again. 

“Please don’t sneak students in while I am gone.” 

“I’ll make sure he won’t.” Satoru smiles like an elated child, pearly white teeth on full display. Bells don’t ring early in the morning like this, but at the turn of the hour, Itadori notices immediately and shrugs from Toru’s grip. 

“Sir! I will see you this afternoon.” He bows deep enough to show he respects the pair with his life, but not enough to make it odd or showy. Nanami nods him away, and then Itadori turns to Satoru. He goes in for a hug. 

“Do good work today.” 

“Yes, sir.” He nods, so sure of himself and glistening with the only praise he needs. “Goodbye Nanamin! Bye, Gojo!” 

Once they’re alone and Nanami tries to flee, Satoru finds a way to hook his attention once more. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and smirks, “You know, I’ve been meaning to congratulate you.” 

“For what?” 

“Well, isn’t your dream coming true? You know, any school in Malaysia would hire you without question. Japanese is so highly sought after there. So is science – especially mind science. You could get your hands on some cool research material. Everyone's willing to have their mind poked for a little bit of money” 

“You just know this course will be handed to you on a platter. Not that I’d have it any other way, of course. You spent the last decade fleshing out these units with me.” 

“Your encouragement means more than you know.” 

“I respect you, Gojo.” He nods, finally taking a sip of the coffee he’s letting get a bit too cool. “I won’t be your friend, but I respect your relationship with your students as well as your colleagues. You’re more fitted to be a Professor than a lot of them already here.” 

“But the system-

“Ah, the system.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hyper-aware of the time ticking away. He needed his dark, quiet time, and Gojo was pulling that from him with every chatty second. “Systems are made to be dismantled, aren’t they?” 

That’s what he leaves Satoru with, and the lingering smell of his shower from this morning. It makes him think for a moment – about his boss, or Nanami’s boss. The way they judge scores and hand out punishments when grades drop, and students drop out. To a high degree, they have nothing to do with lazy pupils or people who make poor decisions about their majors, but when they do fall short, it consumes them. There’s no need to rub salt in the wound, but it's common practice when teaching. 

Control is so fragile in this field – when you’re nurturing new minds. 

Toru slams the door shut on you with the same vigor he showed this morning. You two waited three hours after the day ended to shrug off back home together. The sun is setting in the warm sky – you’re quiet and nervous. Today had been shitty, but freeing in its own way. It gave you time and space, free from Satoru and his seedy, strict ways. You’re talking to people that you haven’t seen in a month, and the normalcy is sparkling off of you. 

What a shame that one look at Satoru’s covered eyes and you’re slinking back into insecurity. He was just so cold. 

He’s an iceberg personified – a walking flurry of winter snow that keeps flying under your jacket, making your skin sticky and wet. You hate it – you hate him, right now. 

Yet, you stay. You let him treat you like this because you’re the idiot. A flustered, selfless idiot who uses her body as ransom for a love it’ll never feel again. You wish you could go back in time and bottle the feeling of the last night you and Toru actually made love. If you close your eyes, you’re back there – back pressed into his sheets, his sweet name on your lips, and the climax just seconds away. He told you he loved you on a loop. Yes, he wanted you swollen with his babies, but that’s nothing abnormal in the heat of the moment. He made sure you knew just how much he loved you. 

When he gets back in the car, you’re rudely jolted from your head, numb to the noise but nervous about what would transpire once he settles so close. You know he doesn’t want to talk to you – he’s said it on multiple occasions on the way here, but that won’t stop you. You still pine for him – still yearning for a shred of attention, even if it’s platonic. You just don’t want him to hate you… never, ever. 

As stupid as it sounds, all you wanted was yourself back. If living a life known as only Satoru Gojo’s wife was your destiny, you’d kill yourself trying to run away from it but would stumble two steps back just to feel him again. 

What a cruel existence… you let your head fall into your open palm. 

Just like he promised, Toru doesn’t speak a word to you as he pulls off, glasses sitting over his hair so he can squint at the road. With both hands on the wheel, you can peek over and see just how tense he is. Thick veins protrude against his pale skin, leaving purpley streaks and tinges against the ocean. Of course, you’d only notice this. Your throat burns. 

“I… I ordered my new bed today.” 

“Will it be here today?” 

You pause, unsure of his tone. He just seems transactional – as if all the life had been sucked from his soul. “No,” You reply, soft as a whisper. It’s lost against the rush of the road. 

“Speak up, or don’t speak to me at all.” 

“You don’t have to be so mean.” 

“And you don’t have to be so goddamn pathetic, but here we are!” He explodes, finally free after holding in anger all day. He used to hate lashing out at you like this – he never really did, but you were the bane of his existence right now, pestering at his ear like an angry fly. “You cried in front of Suguru today. Do you see how terrible that makes me look? I can’t even pretend to care through text, and I shouldn't feel like the bad person, but that’s how it looks, doesn’t it?” 

“I-I didn’t cry-

“You’re gonna call him a liar?” He whips his head around, blue eyes wide and crazy. You can always nail down how he’s feeling with the glint of his eyes. They’re blown and dull – he’s mad. They’re bland and sparkling – he’s endeared. It hurts to know him so well. “You’re seriously going to sit here and call Suguru a liar to my face? Are you dense?” 

“Satoru, I’m sor-

“No! No, you don’t get to be sorry.” His grip tightens. He rolls his shoulders back, so tense that it’s almost painful. “You don’t get to be sorry… not when you’re the one that left. I’ve never felt hurt like that before – it tore me apart.” 

You’re crying now. You can’t help it – the emotion in this tiny car is so thick and hot that you feel suffocated. He’s always been one to swallow his pain or just ignore it through and through. He hates his family but visits them every year. He hates the commercials that interrupt his favorite show but will sit through each one willingly. He hates loud, sudden noises but doesn’t flinch at them. He hates you but loves you. He wants to hurt you, then turn around and heal it brand new. 

Right now, all he wants to really do is yell. It’d make him feel brand-new. 

So, that car ride home is the worst thing you’ve ever put yourself through. It’s constant – belittling, nasty, and loveless. He doesn’t stop. 

“I think it’s so funny – you’re the one telling me to be kinder, when I used to beg for that. Do you understand just how much I begged for you when you were already emotionally checked out? Nobody deserves that.” 

“I-I didn’t-

“You don’t get to speak – you get to listen.” He pauses, taking a breath, then starts again. “You didn’t even spare me a stupid meal – not unless I forced you. I had the swallow back the urge to call you a cold bitch because I felt some type of dedication to you. Call it respect – but it’s all gone now.” Another pause – he has to catch his breath.“You just make me sick. Truly… And when you crawl into my bed feeling lonely tonight,  I want you to feel as disgusting as I felt this last year.” 

Satoru has to stop again. He has to give it to you. “I don’t know… it just feels so good not having to worry about upsetting my wife.” He lifts his hands from the wheel, adding fitting air quotes around the phrase he lost access to a month ago. “I can fuck every person that looks my way, come home smelling like it, and always count on you to open your legs. Are you not ashamed?” He finally spares you a look, not even reacting to the silent, shaking sobs you’re trying to stifle. 

“I’m just so exhausted with being good for you. I’m exhausted with holding your hand and kissing it better when you never did the same for me. You’re cold, calculated, and cruel. So fucking cruel, and I want you to feel it.” Staring you down again, it feels like knives in your back. “Do you feel it? How much I hate you right now? I want it to hurt.” 

“Fucking classic. Pathetic, sad coward. I hate you. I hate what we have.” 

Somewhere, buried in the deepest part of yourself, you conjure up something to defend yourself. “I don’t want to be with you. Look at how you’re speaking to me!” 

“Oh, fuck me! For years, you’ve called me useless, pathetic, and annoying – years! Isn’t that your favorite term, “Stop annoying me, Satoru”? Huh? Am I annoying you right now? Well, I’m not sorry.” He’s flailing like a polite maniac, hair ruffled and disheveled as he nervously runs a hand through it, trying to use the road to balance out his emotions. His heart is beating so fast, you’re crying in his ear, and he’s numb to the core. “I’m not fucking sorry because you’re an entitled brat. My family took you in last time, and you were worried about them thinking you’re fat – they just wanted to cherish you!” 

Your jaw hangs open – those arrows hitting a deeper part of you. “That’s not what happen-

“I’m doing the talking – me!” He whips over at you, swapping hands on the wheel so he can dig a finger in his chest. “How ungrateful, and you still have the nerve to walk around with that Gojo crest on your skin.” 

“J-just stop!” You’re sobbing, trying to hide behind your hands as they cover your face. You’re pushed all the way to the door, cowering in on yourself to dodge his bullets. You’ve never seen him like this, and you never want to see him like this again. The Toru sitting to your right was not the same boy you married. “Stop, okay?! I get it!” 

“If you get it, you’ll get a hotel. You’d sleep on the bare floor and shiver all night, but I know you better than that. You want to be touched – you need to feel real, satiated, and wanted, right? What if I said I didn’t want you anymore? That your body disgusts me, and I’d rather use my hands?” Satoru doesn’t think he means what he says, but he speaks it like he does. If it hurts you, good. It can’t hold a flame to the years of emotional neglect you put him through. “Silence. That’s what I thought.” 

You’re a shell of yourself, existing with holes riddled through your exhausted body from his shots. It feels like once it’s over… It’s over. He’s done, finally empty from the thoughts making him manic. You know he hates you, now. He made it clear that you’re the reason he hates you, and it just makes your decision feel even more right. 

Your husband is gone. 

You sob while he calms down, heavy breathing morphing into contented sighs and occasional head shakes. You feel like a disobedient child after being scolded, ashamed, and wanting to melt away. You never wanted to speak to him again, but you’re so close. You let your eyes slip shut. 

Minutes pass — however many needed to until you’re back home. Toru doesn’t say much, but he is chewing his lip when he parks. “I’m sorry.” 

You scoff. “Now I really don’t wanna talk about it.” 

He huffs out a defiant breath, slamming that fucking car door again just like he’s been doing all day. Still, he makes the time to get out and open yours for you. 

“I didn’t mean that stuff I said about my parents.” He whispers, leaning against the doorframe, eyes lost somewhere in the deepening horizon. “Yes, I think you’re crazy… But so am I, then. I think it’s the fact that you bring it out of me.”

“Satoru, do not speak to me.” 

He thrusts his hand towards you, putting your coolness on display. “Look at you – cold as ice.”

“Are you fuck- Are you serious? You just called me every name in the book, then you try to lighten things up with your shitty sayings?” You reach past him, using the side of the car to stand up and not his outstretched hand. “Nothing is funny right now, Satoru. If you want to hate me, how about you hate me completely?” 

“If you want to leave, how about you leave me completely?” 

You shoulder past him, unable to hide that look on your face, he can’t see. Then, there are people around, and you two have to put a lid on your boiling emotions. Your lips snap shut. 

You two play the role of the emotionally detached young couple too well — you don’t even glance at each other in the lobby or in the elevator. He’ll peek over at you sometimes, wondering if you’ll be looking back. There’s nothing. 

He unlocks the apartment door when you step beside it. As the lock turns, words bubble in your throat. You swallow them down, Satoru lets you in first, thoughtful even in the thick of this seismic rift.

“I have some work to do, so you can figure out dinner.” He starts, key clinking on the hard countertop as the door draws shut. 

“I’m not cooking for you.” 

“Then, there’s plenty of laundry to do.” 

“Just shut up — do you hear how demeaning you sound right now?” You scoff, kicking your black loafers in the corner by the door for him to pick up. 

“What else do you do when we’re at home?” He’s mad, too, wanting to jump down your back for painting him into someone he’s not. “You don’t work from home, I do. I work from home after eight hours on campus — you make sure the home is neat and dinner is made! Why are you so hellbent on fighting me all the time?!” 

Desperate for a shred of control, you fight back. “I work from home, too!” 

“What are you so desperate to prove?!” 

“That I’m not your wife anymore, Satoru! I signed it away, it’s not who I am!” 

“Tell me, Gojo.” He lets himself calm down — two deep breaths, and he leans a propped arm against the countertop. “Who are you, then? Do you even know?” 

He wants a reaction so bad, calling you that name. You won’t give in, you spit venom and then turn your back. “I hate you.” 

“Yes, but answer the question.” 

“You stole every single chance of self-discovery I had.” You don’t know why, but you’re storming off to the spare room in hopes of peace. You know he’ll follow you, and he does, but he’d never undermine you and open the locked door when you don’t want him to. Not even after saying all that to you. He’ll let the lightness of his hair rush in the heavy breeze from the slam, blinking when that lock turns and the thump of your bag hits the floor. 

Still, he reaches for the knob, giving it one little shake. “You know, I really am sorry. There were better ways to air my frustrations out without resorting to name-calling and accusations.” 

“Fuck off Satoru.” You deadpan, absolutely no emotion behind your tone as you unbutton your blouse in the bedroom mirror. He heavy-sighs against the wood. 

“I’m gonna work for a few hours, then grab some takeout. I’ll let you know when it's here.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

Biting down on you is like crunching through ice, and Toru’s teeth are chipped and sensitive. He doesn’t fully realize that you’re retaliating in the one way he hates – by ignoring him. 

There is absolutely nothing Satoru Gojo hates quite like the silent treatment. Fittingly, nobody can dish it up like him either. There were times when you were clawing your skin bloody for an ounce of verbal support, all for him to turn his nose up at you and walk the other way. 

It’s what you have to dig out every time you think you want him back – that cruel existence when he’s too fed up to speak and the venomous words he thinks he can speak to you. Now, you have more material to hate him with. 

However, he does leave you alone for a few hours. It’s wholly welcomed – you’re able to get ahead in some work you’d have to finish tomorrow, kicked up with your laptop on your knees in bed. You have the windows wide open, using the sun as your clock to measure the time before you’d have to take a shower and resort to bed. 

Sometime before the sun fully sets, you can hear Satoru move about the hallway and inevitably shut and lock the front door behind him. You take that time to sit up in bed, rubbing your skin raw in the shower in less than five minutes, and melt into the couch with your current read tucked under your arm. Freedom like this in the space you developed is so serene and exactly what you needed. Satoru never lit candles, so when you sat up to light them, the wick crackled with unuse. Lighting fills the air – the softness of lavender spinning from the smoke like ribbons you can’t make out with the naked eye. 

You’re only wearing socks, wrapped in loose linen shorts and a patterned sleep top that leaves little to the imagination. Not wearing undergarments to sleep is just routine – you don’t know why you feel so naked under the soft, golden light. Perhaps it's the fact that Satoru is due to arrive at any moment. You couldn’t check his location, but when that lock clicks, you’ll be running back to the bedroom with the linger of your smell clinging onto the furniture. 

Or, maybe you wouldn’t run. Maybe you’d eat with Satoru and not pull away when his hand slips—your core trembles at the thought. You quickly open your book to will those thoughts away. 

When that dreaded lock clicks, you’re flying up from your spot, book slamming and heart racing. You have every mind to run for the hills – to curl up on yourself and will the night away with dreams, but you don’t move. You’re too late. That’s what you tell yourself. 

Satoru is slinking back into the apartment, wearing a dark hat over his hair and glasses hanging from the front of his shirt, which he pulls off and places next to his paper bag of takeout. He notices your head over the back of the couch, smiling softly when you turn to him with an unreadable look on your face. 

“I got Thai food, I know it’s one of your favorites.” 

You don’t respond. His smile fades into grey. 

“Food from Thailand-” He starts, unveiling the carry-out boxes hidden in their outer packaging. There’s a separate plastic bag he unveils, setting it next to it. “-And drinks from Japan. I got cold green tea – your favorite.” 

“I’m not hungry for anything provided by you, unfortunately.” 

“Unfortunately?” He scoffs, eyebrow raised as he moves about the kitchen, not bothering to plate the food, but opting for real chopsticks. It’s a stainless steel pair you got for his birthday – his favorite. “Don’t be hard-headed. Come and eat this.” 

You stare at him blankly, blinking once before turning back to your book. In your rush, you absolutely lost your page, and it was one of your final straws. You can feel the frustration start to build in your bones. 

Satoru closes in on you from behind, gaping mouth and disheveled, hatless hair everywhere as he takes a noisy bite of his rice noodles. He crunches on his broccoli in that savage way you despise, exhaling loudly as he slams into the couch next to you. 

Pulling your limbs close and turning your nose up at him, you scoot to the edge, begging for distraction from the words you’ve already read in front of you. You still couldn’t find your page. 

“Don’t be like that.” He mutters around a bite, manners completely thrown out the window when he’s next to you. 

“How about you don’t be like that.” 

“Like what? Cold? Cause that’s what you’re being.” Two seconds after his last, Toru shovels another loaded bite into his mouth, chewing quickly. “I like that sleep set on you. Reminds me of our first anniversary.” 

Satoru can never be vague – the entire idea is lost on him. It wasn’t in your head when you pulled this set out of your bag; it’s just what you packed to sleep in. Your options are so limited, and now you feel like you can’t run from them. 

“Close your eyes, then.” You cross your knees, trying to shrink yourself further so you don’t fall victim to his man-spread. He’s taking over the couch with his long limbs like he always has. Years ago, you didn’t care because it was just an excuse to be touching him all the time. Now, you’re running from it. 

Caving and leaning forward to put his meal down, he gives you a look over his shoulder – one that pulls your attention from the turn of a new chapter. “Don’t be like that,” he repeats, then his knee bumps your thigh. You suck in a breath. 

It feels like the end closing in again – dreaded but so familiar. 

Satoru blinks once, then licks over his lips. Your finger twitches as it washes over you again. 

Then, he turns around, wrapping a thick hand over your throat. You react with claws, reaching up to tug at his wrist. He’s not being gentle – your breathing is uneven and scared. Knees pressing to the couch to crowd you, Toru lets your book tumble off your lap when he pins you down. 

Your hands are shaking, eyes screwed shut, but completely unable to speak. He’s got you so vulnerable like always – reduced to a thing manufactured for his pleasure who would never, ever say no. 

After all, what’s a man to do? This was customary during the marriage, and if you’re willing to give it, Toru is more than willing to take it. He can read you well enough to know this is what you need – him. 

As he crawls over you, both knees pressed close to your thighs, his weight shifts back, and your legs quiver. He’s got your arms tied up, legs pinned, and body becoming one with the cushions. If you’d look, you’d see the tent in his grey sweatpants standing at full attention as he dominates you into wordless, fightless putty. 

You only need one more thing to seal the deal – that mature, deep, reassuring voice scorching you like fire on mealy stones. 

“Gonna give it to me?” He whispers, free fingers pushing through his lips into the warmth of his mouth. He’s wetting them over, unsure what to expect when he dips his hand into your shorts. Your eyes are squeezed shut, and that’s as good a sign as any to let him know you wouldn’t be an overactive sprinkler system down there. 

You don’t answer him right away – those two fingers twirl around his digits like he’s making out with them. 

Under this dull, shadowed light, you crack open your eyes and die at the sight hovering over you. 

Toru’s light hair hanging over his blinding eyes, the way the shadows dip in the sucked hollows of his cheeks and bounces off the strength in his hand. A small, silver bracelet rolls down his arm, hanging from pale skin so delicately that your insides tremble and shake. 

You squeeze them shut again. “Oh, my God.” 

“Well, Gojo, I’m not God.” He mutters, wet fingers falling from his lips. He trails them down past your waistline, using his instincts to push them right to your warm, waiting cunt. Easing you apart, he raises an eyebrow at the slickness that pools around his fingers, but his heart is pounding. You’re wet for him – growing wetter by the second, and he’s drinking it up like a greedy child, tongue darting over his lips again. “But it feels like you want it.” 

“Don’t wanna talk-

“Well, I do-” He cuts you off with a bite of his tongue. He gives you no warning, but you can feel his fingers start to slip lower, completely disregarding your pleasure and focusing on intrusion. Your breath picks up when his fingers slip inside. “-Wanna talk about it. It’s impossible to get off when you’re keeping your filthy mouth shut.” Punctuating his point, that finger inside of you curls mean against your shivering walls, hooking you like prey. 

“Ugh – God, Satoru.” 

“Yeah, let me hear it.” He eggs you on with a deep voice, sliding another finger inside of you. He waits a moment, grip tightening uncomfortably over your neck, before he’s fucking you on them – no mercy. He’s not tender with anything anymore. “God, Satoru, Jo, Toru, Gojo – I don’t care. Just say my name.” 

“Ugh – I hate you.” 

He leans down, lips hovering over yours as you slowly blink your eyes open. It’s startling… looking right into his pearlescent gaze, but it's so familiar that you could die. Then, he kisses you like everything is okay. You kiss him back. 

“I love you – Mm, I love you, baby.” He’s rejoicing on your lips, the lines between marriage and separation blurring in his hazed mind. “Love when we fight ‘cause it shows that you still care.” 

“Higher… H-higher, I wanna com-

“No, it has to be on my cock.” He cuts you off with little thought, thumb only barely lifting to ghost across your shivering wet clit. It shocks you from the blood, back arching painfully over the soft couch. “Just wanted to get you wet for me first.” 

If it were anybody else, you’d be cringing with the language Toru so easily lets melt off his tongue, but it drives you deeper. His hand on your throat – his voice in your ear. Yeah, this is why you married him. It’s just too good. 

You want more. 

“Then give it to me.” You growl, finally ready to be his again. You’re ready to hear your old pet names – you’d be good enough to hear them. If he just keeps this up… if he lowers you deep enough, then pulls you back up for air, you’re sure it’d be the one thing that reels you back. 

“Fuck – I love you. I love that I can hate you. I love that I can love you. I love that I can fuck you.” He sits up, face flushed from your presence. His thumb is back at his lips, studying the taste of your chapstick on his tongue. He looks so manic, like he’s entirely taken with your dark expression. 

Finally, that hand around your throat unravels, and you’re taking a deep, reassuring breath. “Don’t say that. Not right now.” 

“No, I know you want it hard.” He mentions if it was a fact, like he knows how repressed you are from a too-sweet marriage. The main thing Satoru adopted when you took his surname, was the absolute definition of love and gentleness. During sex, he never squeezed you too hard. During arguments, he’d nod and let you win. There is something there – something that drove that part of love out of your life. You’re just too blind to see it. 

“You don’t have to say it, I know you feel ashamed.” 

“C-can you just…” 

“Can I what?” 

“Get on with it.” You whine, hips bucking up into his pelvis. He loves trapping you like this, chests kissing when you take a deep enough breath. “I don’t want— don’t wanna talk about it.” 

His hand closes around the underside of your jaw, yanking your head to force eye contact. You’re like a puppet – pliable and jelly in his grip. You can’t fight back against his strength. 

“You don’t get to rush this. Not like before.” His voice simmers out, getting lost in his chest all gravelly and hard. His fingers dig into your jawline, leaving wells against the sensitive muscle. Your face twitches, eyes shut and burning. 

Then, he slaps you for some reason – on the face. 

Your lips part, eyes flying open as you suck in a breath. Your body is rolling under him, shivering with generational need for him to bury himself inside of you. “Ohh, God. Toru–

“Knew you’d like that–” another slap. You bare your teeth. “-Fucking shameless.” 

“D-don’t wanna hurt,” 

“Ye, you do.” He slaps you the other way, gentler on his backhand but strong enough to leave a sting. You’re wiggling from his grasp – his hot fingers tighten. “You were shaking in the car when I was demeaning you. You know, that’s what I was doing – demeaning you just like you do to yourself. If it didn’t feel good, you’d have burned my number the second you left.” 

“S-so mean…” 

“Didn’t mean all of it, but I meant most of it.” He leans real close again like he’s trying to push words into your gasping mouth. “Respect is earned, lust is given. You’ve gotta give it to me really good for me to even glance at you outside of these walls again.” 

Toru sits up, letting you free as both hands work at his waistband. He’s not stalling, and he’s so hard that his cock whips out with one tug at the crotch. He hisses as cool air hits too-hot skin. “Tell me what you told Mama, baby. ‘Toru is so cold, he ignores me’? What about, ‘He watches my every move, even my bank account’?” 

You don’t really understand what he’s trying to say; all you’re focused on is the pure, shiny white pearl falling over his fist as he works himself in front of you. You’re trying to look him in the eye – his shirt is between his teeth, now. He’s the perfect reflection of the lust you keep buried deep inside of you. 

“Bet you didn’t tell her about how I peeled the underwear from your skin and sucked them clean right in front of you on our wedding night,” his neck tenses as pleasure builds white-hot in the core of his hard body. “Or how I obsessed over that green tea you told me you liked on our first date – the green tea sitting in that bag over there you didn’t touch. Remember how I wiped the shelves of it and surprised you with a fully packed fridge? Or your ring, I had resized six times just because it kept falling off during sex, and I’d have to stop and put it back on? Hm… there’s that time I missed finals because I was hungover in a hotel room with you in Shibuya. The last time I drank, I drank for you.” 

You’re crying now. It’s a feeling you’re used to – crying at the thought of him and everything he’s done. The ring now sits beautifully on your finger. It’s so embedded into your being that you don’t notice you haven’t taken it off. 

“Yeah, how can you ignore that? It’s true love, I don’t care what made you run so afraid, but my love never faltered.” 

“If that’s all you want to see, fine.” The tears are making you angry – you’re frustrated by the build-up, horny and tense. Your face burns from his palms. “But I see the times you purposefully didn’t make me finish, how you told your family I was crazy for not wanting them to comment on my body, and the weeks of silence you gave me after.” 

“Insignificant things, sure.” 

“You’re not denying it.” 

“Because I did it, so what?” Toru’s starting to get himself there – scarily close to finishing from the flustered sound of your voice and the quickness of his fist. He quirks his neck, finally pulling open his eyes. “Ugh – what about when you told your friends how I wasn’t good in bed? The same friends I have to see every day?” 

“None of my friends are going to stroke your ego. You don’t like how I describe you? Fix it.” 

That cold look in his eyes burns as he hoists your hips up with one arm. There’s no real way to fuck you comfortably like this, so he’ll maximize his own pleasure, knowing you’ll cry and come for him at the drop of a coin, and the pain will only make you hotter. 

One long leg swings over the side of the couch, foot planted just the way he needs to keep his balance as he watches his cock disappear inside of you. You’re stretching so filthily around him – opening up to everything he has to give. You’re already blooming that delicious pink-red shade he loves so much. He’s so focused on the sight that he doesn’t notice the line of drool that slips from his shiny lips. 

“Put me down– this angle.” You’re whining, fingertips digging into the side and back of the couch like you’re trying to run away. He has your body pressed in a sick seventy-degree angle, your thighs burning and singing with pain at the awkwardness. 

“-is so hot, I know.” Satoru throws his head back when he’s buried all the way inside of you. He focused on this feeling right now – filing it away as one of his favorites. He feels so safe and surrounded like this – loved from the core of his being, even when you’re deadset against him. “Baby, you’re so flexible.” 

You’re sweating now, tears sliding hotter down your flushed cheeks. He’s rolling his hips, staring off into space as he brushes your cervix. Your hand flies up to push at his chest – you fall short. “S-stop! God, you know I hate that.” 

Toru finally looks down at you, gaze sparkling in turquoise hues as he watches you flail for mercy. “Feel good?” He rolls his hips again, breathing so delicately like he’s in heaven. “You’re so wet. Gonna make you feel me tomorrow.” 

It’s the last thing he truly says to you before pulling out halfway – mind on a mission as he fucks you so hard you’re seeing stars. All the blood is rushing to your heart and head – eyes rolled back like you’re on the verge of death as his thrusts send you deeper and deeper. He’s pushing you into the cracks of the couch, uncaring of how your neck is straining and face reddening. He’s fucking you with his eyes shut – perhaps imagining someone else, yet hopelessly in love with you. 

Your body is trembling as he continues the assault on your poor cervix – his eye twitching every time he slams into that soft little barrier. 

Toru has a sad affinity for this – being so deep inside of you that if he were any deeper, he’d be playing in your womb. He’s so obsessed with your body – he can’t help it. He loves your taste, and the way you sound, look, and feel. Every one of his five senses is wholly devoted to you, and still, you found a reason to leave him. 

He lays you down so well every night, and still you tell your friends he can’t make you come… To him, it sounds like a personal problem. He won’t let you fuck with him like that – not again. He’ll just fuck the devotion right back into you as hard as he can. 

Toru’s sweating now, too. It’s dripping off the hair sticking to his forehead – hips moving so fast they’re blurred with speed to the naked eye. Combined wetness makes those lewd squelches so much louder, and you’re deafened by your own desire. 

Sanity is starting to slip away from you. Satoru notices immediately. You’re not tearing at the couch as hard as you usually would – your grip falls loose. 

“Look at me, beautiful. Look at how well you’re taking me.” He grunts, taking breaths between each deep word. His voice is so lost – so wrecked, and it wrecks you. A whine punches from your throat. 

Toru gulps and starts again. “Hey, c’mon. Gonna be a good girl and stay with me?” 

“Too- It’s too-

“Shh, shh… Don’t talk, honey. Let me take care of you.” It might be a bad idea, but Toru has you completely mindless. He reaches for your clit and pinches it whisper-soft between his thick fingers just to elicit a different reaction from you. He smiles when your eyes fly open. Your whines are the only thing he can hear. “Do you know how good you feel – how good you’re making me feel?” 

“Mm, yeah. T-tell me.” 

“It’s so hot.” He starts. Moving both big hands to your waist when you start to slip. The sweat against your silk, all streaky and stained, is so slippery, Toru wishes he can rip it off. “You’re squeezing me so tight, it feels like home – God, it’s just so hot.” 

You’re crying even harder if that’s possible. The onslaught of his deep, precious voice during this rush of physical and mental stimulation is just too much. It feels like you love him so much – like you want to open up and give him babies, be his forever, but you can’t. 

You’re not even his anymore. 

Then it hits you like a cruel joke without a punchline – your orgasm, right to the face. 

At that very moment, all life is pushed from your bones. You go completely limp in Toru’s grip, dragging him down like dead weight. He scrambles, letting your hips fall as your body shakes and seizes with release. 

It’s never hit you this hard before. It’s never come to you so unexpectedly. 

You’re obsessed. 

“Oh, my God… Shit, you should see your face.” Satoru’s voice carries you through the mindlessness. He’s sitting between your thighs, pulling his leg behind him to finish you off in missionary. Your legs are too weak – they fall open and expose you like you’re a prize to be bid on. “So pretty… So beautiful; my perfect wife.”

“N-

“Yeah, I’m gonna cum so fucking hard. It’s coming – shit, ah-

Toru can only roll his hips because the expression of pure mindlessness you’re making is better than the ruthless way he’s screwing you. Seeing your strict demeanor crumble and burn with the feeling of him makes him so fucking cocky. He knows you now – has never seen this before, but will do anything to see it again. 

When he comes, he buries his face in your neck, getting drunk off your scent as he ruts into you weakly. He can feel himself flood and pool around his cock – leaving a sickly, shiny layer on him once he pulls out. It falls limp against your thigh, and for a moment, Satoru collapses into you. He holds you like a prize. 

You two must’ve stayed like that for hours – days have passed in your mind. You’re not worried about his crushing weight or his soft breath; you’re worried about what your friends will think when you tell them Satoru just gave me the best sex of my life. 

Shoko will laugh – Utahime will take pity. Yeah, you have to tell them. 

When he’s finally sitting up, it feels like your skin is being pulled from your body. You two are interconnected; he has to sit up slowly so your soul doesn’t detach, too. His hair is a mess – it’s the first thing you see when you creak open your eyes, feeling high off of something you couldn’t pinpoint. Maybe it was him – how you couldn’t get enough of that savory, sex-filled scent that wafts off his godly body and settles in your skin. 

This feeling —lost in a rose-colored daze —feels like love. 

“If you can sit up, I’ll grab you some tea.” He sits back, sliding his pants over his filthy skin. Of course, he has plans to shower later, but he’s hungry. That always comes first. “You want some Pad See Ew, baby?” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

He rolls his eyes, and finally, you two feel like yourselves again. You’re rolling over on your side, positioning your shorts back over the mess between your thighs – shoving your chest back in its constraints. 

“Will you cut it loose? You know how hard I just made you come? I swear, you saw Jesus.” 

“Shut up.” You bite. “No, I didn’t.” 

Satoru sucks his teeth, kicking his legs back up as he takes his cool noodles back in his grip. He’s eating like nothing just transpired – hair sticky with sweat, come drying on his skin. You feel just as dirty, and when you move to kick your feet off the edge of the couch, your core cramps and tightens. Your hands fly there to cradle it. 

“Ah- fuck.” 

“You okay?” 

“No!” You snap, overcome, and pissed because you told him you didn’t like when he targeted your cervix like that. It didn’t take a genius to know it’d be bruised for these next few days. “I don’t know if you know, Satoru, but you can’t fuck yourself into my womb, so you need to stop trying.” 

You’re not trying to be funny, but Toru chokes on his food with a laugh. He’s coughing – laughing. You’re glaring. 

“But I know it’s so warm and safe in there, baby.” He sighs, pushing your overwhelming strictness off his shoulders like he always has. Yes, he knows about your cervix aversion. No, he wouldn’t fuck you halfway – there’s no point. He needs to be buried inside of you, all the way to the hilt, or it’d kill him. 

“You have no respect.” 

“I don’t.” He mumbles, taking another bite once his breath evens out. Sharp canines scrape against pristine metal. You glance over at his striking side profile. “But seeing you so beautiful and willing to let go like that might be bringing some back.” 

“How about you keep it?” You’re trying so hard not to let him in again – so hard. His voice is sweet like honey, and his movements are endearing, but you know it’s that post-sex ovulation-thick way your thoughts twist and twirl everything into something it’s not. You can only hope that the feeling of absolute detachment you experienced a month ago will return and bring you to your senses, as Satoru did. 

Unfortunately, you’re leaning into his strong frame when he fishes for a vegetable-heavy bite for you, mentioning, “Open wide.” As he pushes it between your lips. 

Sauce dribbles across them; Toru reaches to wipe it away, then leans in to lick them clean. 

That lick turns into a kiss – his hand pressed to the side of your head, chopsticks digging into your hair as his tongue licks forward into your mouth. He wants something else out of you now – your devotion. Perhaps that umami taste on your tongue that he’s so addicted to. Either way, you’re making out with him like you love him, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Toru is just so in awe of how sexy and mindless you look right now. He wants to make a mess of you again. “On a scale of one to go rot in Hell, pervert – how pissed would you be if I said I was hard for you again?” He whispers against your lips, serious as hell, but moreso focused on never letting up on yours. 

“Go rot in Hell, pervert.” 

Midnight has ticked by – forgotten takeout containers litter the table. You’re standing in the dark, legs trembling in the shower as the throbbing in your stomach makes it hard to keep steady. 

You’ve been here many times before, losing your mind against the rush of clear water. Moments like these give you time to think – to want, to yearn. 

Now, you’re yearning for Satoru. 

You want him to bust the door open and press his naked, wet body into yours until you become him. You want his hair in your mouth – his blood on your skin, his touch on your bare, shivering flesh. No skin, no boundaries. 

Your shame spans countries – continents. You hate yourself. 

Reaching between your thighs, you cup your hand against your core, absorbing the flaky traces of him before the water washes them away. Once, it was so thick – so soft against the heat of your legs. Then, it felt like lava pouring into your soul. Now, Toru’s old finish feels like a stain on your skin. You sigh. 

Satoru loves showering with you, so it doesn’t take him long to come slinking in, welcome as ever. He’s still wearing those tired, terribly attractive grey sweatpants, hair wild from constantly running fingers through it. The sweat’s got the strands sitting on a different gravitational field – they’re everywhere. 

“You can tell me to go die, but I swear it’s just gonna make me stay longer.” He whispers, stepping inside with you like he always has. This is such a familiar maneuver – so familiar it makes you smile. His hand on your wet shoulder, his toned stomach melting into your back. You sigh against him, nodding slowly. 

You don’t know what to say. “Hi.” You reply, rolling your head back on his sturdiness. Toru breathes out a short laugh. 

“Hi, my love.” He kisses the top of your head, taking this moment as his. Nothing can ruin this right now. 

One more kiss – a few seconds to linger, then he turns you around. His hands trap your arms, and his tall reflection feels like home as he gazes down at you. You’re being stared down like headlights in the dark – blinding and cruel. You blink up at him. 

One arm falls, reaching between your pressed bodies, and your thighs part as they know. Except his fingers concentrate under your belly button, smoothing out before pressing softly. You suck in a breath. 

“It feels good to leave my mark like that, though it hurts you.” He’s mumbling, so the mood isn’t lost or twisted. Satoru is in here because he knows one more round will do him in perfectly. So, he pushes you to your knees, keeping his arm strong and stiff to guide you as you fall. 

You do so without saying a word, ignoring the singing in your pelvis and the shame on your cheeks. He knows what he wants – you know what he wants, so you don’t waste time. 

Rescinding all control, you lean forward and press your lips to his heavy-hanging cock, breath so hot and painful in your throat. His thighs smell like him – the tuft of hair around him being the absolute goldmine of his body. A beautiful head of hair falling into a gorgeous face, body, and crotch – all dripping like a waterfall to his long fingers, strong legs, and wide feet. Every part of him was crafted with so much care and precision; it’s your job to worship it. 

Satoru reaches down, grabbing his cock by the base. He palms it to the side, letting it linger on his thigh as he presses your face to the swell of his sack. You whine, tongue darting out to catch the water that streams against the soft skin. Satoru tastes so much like himself as you suffocate between his legs, but it’s a taste so salty and loving that if you could bottle it for a high, you would.

He holds you close for a moment, letting you kiss and lick at him like a needy kitten. His thick fingers trail across your chin, sending down little breaths and moans to make your blood hotter. You reach up and bury your fingertips in his thighs. 

Satoru pushes you away once he’s hard enough. His blood is rushing again, thick cock painted in a hue of crimson. It almost matches the palm of his hands – as soft as them, too. Shiny and pink like his lips. 

“Open your mouth.” He demands.

You do. 

Water attacks your gaze when you try to open your eyes, but he notices and shifts just for you, letting the water pelt his shoulder blades. With a curl of the lip – a suck of the cheek, he gathers spit on his tongue and lets it fall right into your waiting mouth. 

Your lips snap shut. His cock eases against your jaw, sliding delicately across your wet skin. He pushes your head back, water falling on your skin as he rubs his length over your cheek, brushing your nose, poking at your eyelid. 

He’s guiding himself with his thumb, making sure he’s pressed close enough to feel something. The rest of his fingers tangle in the hair behind your ear, caressing you like a porcelain doll. 

Satoru knows he has you again. It’s a feeling he can’t see but can pinpoint in the darkest of hallways. It’s the sound of your voice – your obedience, your care for his jokes. He knows. 

You’re right back where he wants you. 

At the end of the night, you crawl into his bed. All the lights are off, and the bathroom door is cracked – soft light from your shower spilling into the void. You think Satoru is asleep on his side of the bed – his soft snoring is familiar. 

You’re half asleep, throat on fire, stomach in knots when you crawl over him. 

Your knee presses into his side, body sliding over his arms as you make your way. He ruined your set, and now you’re wearing his clothes to bed. You don’t mind. Satoru surely doesn’t mind when he blinks awake, and it’s the only thing he sees. 

You settle against his back, slipping an arm under him – winding one over his broad shoulder. He’s the little spoon, rolling back into the touch like he’s never been without it. You used to hold him like this when you called him your husband, sneaking little ear kisses and wandering fingertips as the night dragged on. 

Now, he knows you’re awake. He’s awake. 

His voice hits so genuinely, you think it might kill you. “We don’t have to be married if you don’t want to be… but I think we’re good enough to start over.” 

“Satoru…” You whisper, voice broken with the ghost of him scrubbing your throat raw. “I’m scared.” 

“So am I, but it’s a good feeling.” He reassures, giving you that sweet, low voice he knows you can’t say no to. “If this weightlessness isn’t gone by tomorrow, we’ll know, and I’ll give you your divorce.” 

It’s been a week since you’ve been moved into your apartment. You and Satoru have had sex two more times since that night, but you two don’t bring up the obvious. 

You’re staring in the floor-length bedroom mirror, fingers at the blouse you’re buttoning to your skin. Like always — it’s your friend's idea. You’re impartial to karaoke, but they’re desperate to see you again, chalking up the weekend outing to a housewarming. 

It’s been too many times that you’ve blown them off; now you have to show up. 

You straighten out your hair in the reflection, avoiding your eyes and the darkness that just won’t fade. Your phone rings — exercising bad habits, you reach for your side table to answer it without checking the caller. 

“Hello?” 

Your mom is on the other line — her voice is warm. ‘Hi, dear. We haven’t heard from you since you visited. How’s Tokyo?’

You sigh, stepping back to sit on the edge of your bed. “Um… I know. It’s just been a lot. Tokyo is good… It’s good for me to be back here.” 

‘Settling into your new place, still?’

“Unfortunately.” You’re ripe with shame for some reason, fingers twisting in the strings hanging from your thin skirt. “Had a friend help me move the last of my new furniture today. It’s good to actually have stuff.” 

She hums — you know she wants to say more. ‘And… is it okay if I ask about him?’ 

You close your eyes, the sound of her gentle voice making you cry only the way a mother can. “Satoru? Mhm. I put in for divorce yesterday. Just waiting on the proceedings to be shipped to me.” 

‘That’s good. I’m proud of you for taking that step. I know it’s hard.’

“Really, really hard.” You’re crying now, unable to hide the sound of it in your voice. Over the line, she hears, giving you a sad little hum. You feel so pathetic - reaching up to cover your eyes to hide from yourself. “Mama, I’m so scared.” 

‘Darling, you have no idea just how strong you are and just how strong I think you are. No matter your reasons for leaving, I understand and support them. Satoru was an important person in your life — there’s no doubt about it, but even the closest of relationships aren’t meant to last forever. God has something better for you, you know that.’ 

“Have you ever felt like this? Like you’re standing so close to the edge, but you just… can’t?” 

‘Well, what made you leave him?’ 

Your throat clicks, stopping the words before they’re even thought of. If you cared, you’d give her a laundry list right now, but you can’t. “I- I can’t. I’m ashamed.” 

That’s all you need to tell her. It clicks. ‘It’s not the sex, is it? Dear, if you’re not satisfied, have you told him?’ 

“It’s-” You pull the phone from your ear, chest tightening as tears rush. “It’s not that, it’s the opposite. We can’t stay away from each other.” 

‘Oh,’ she pauses, unsure of where to step. You two always had a good enough relationship to talk about these things, but the conversations were few and far between. You hardly talk about Satoru when you're at home, which is why the divorce doesn’t surprise her. ‘How many times… have you two been together since the split?’

“Four or five times.” You’re beet red in shame, sniffling into your hands as you try to muster up words. “It’s so bad, I know.” 

‘Nobody can blame you for going back to what you know. After so long with your father, I don’t even know if there’s a man out there who can even make me feel anything anymore. You’ve been with Satoru for years — he’s all you know. Don’t feel guilty.’ 

“Thank you.” You cry, snotting into your hand, ruining the makeup you painted so precisely just minutes ago. “It’s just – the sex is good, but everything else is so terrible with him.” 

‘Then, you’re making the right decision. Trust it.’ She pauses for a moment, offering you the rustle of movement to fill the silence. ‘I don’t dare overstep, but if all he can offer you is pleasure, why don’t you just find another outlet?’ 

“What do you mean?” 

‘Going to the gym regularly could help you balance out some of that need. Or, you could derive pleasure from other sources. I know it won’t be the same, but toy-

“Mom.” 

‘I know – you don’t want to hear it from me.’ 

“No, I don’t.” 

‘Then pretend like I’m a friend.’ She doubles down, evening out her voice as she repeats. ‘It won’t kill you to just try. It can’t be worse than going back to him, can it?’ 

And that’s what you tell yourself as you crawl back in bed, breath heavy and hot in your lungs. The conversation ended long ago – you had to sit with yourself for a bit afterward, letting her wisdom set you straight. It feels better to know that you’re not a touch-starved slut, and it makes sense that you keep going back because it’s all you know. Change is uncomfortable. That’s what she left you with.

Now, you’re lying on your back against the rustle of sheets, staring at the ceiling, trying to work up the nerve. Proudly, you don’t own any sex toys – your husband was a walking one with a voice and touch that drove you mad. It’s what you’re trying to lose as you part your knees, hand reaching down to pull your panties to the side. Under your skirt, it’s so easy to get where you need to go – Satoru always loved you in them, and always found the perfect excuse to be under it come nightfall. 

You’re thinking about one of those nights – skin to skin, your voice melting off of his tongue as you slowly approach your core. Your fingers concentrate at your slit, completely bone-dry save for naturality. You breathe out a soft breath, working up the nerve to dip your finger a little closer to your most sensitive area. 

You can’t find the nerve. 

“Fuck.” You bite, angry at yourself as you hesitate. Time moves slowly suspended at this moment, and when you slip your eyes shut, all you can see is his gaze – that cheeky little wink he sends you when he’s propped between your legs. You’re combing back to remember his taste – his touch, the way he loves. It makes your heart skip a beat in anticipation. 

“Toru… Toru – mm…” You whisper, gasping when your fingers slide over your clit, making your back arch embarrassingly. “Please, Satoru – right there.” 

You feel so pathetic, but it feels so good. Too good. 

Just not enough. 

You work your smaller fingers in messy, quick circles against your bud – just trying to get yourself off so you can have a level head tonight with karaoke. It’s shameful just to admit how much you get from being intimate with Toru – it’s a way to lose your mind, like a high from a drug that costs way too much. 

You’re trying to mimic his deep tone in your head, whispering how good and beautiful you are. Your hand quivers as you bring it to your neck, hoping the soft squeeze will be enough to emulate Satoru’s affinity for squeezing you there. It works, if even for a second. Then, you’re scrambling for your phone, remembering the one video he sent you two years ago. You were in Tokyo, and he was in Kyoto – he missed you and recorded a video of himself in bed, vocalizing just how much he did. 

That tone – that adoration. It’s what you need. 

So you’re swiping manically through your camera roll, one hand frozen between your thighs as you search and comb the archive. 

Finally. You’ve never clicked on anything so fast. 

As you click the video to start, you push your head back into the pillows, working your fingers at your clit like you’d die if you stopped. 

God, his voice. 

‘Hi, baby. Just got to my room… It’s so big and lonely without you here… I know you’re gonna shake your head and think ‘God, he’s so dramatic.’ like you always do, but I miss you. If a man is dramatic for missing his wife, then lock me up and throw away the key because I'll be in jail for a long, long time… I wish I can touch you right now. Wish you were here so I can tell you all about my day – you’ll tell me about yours… then we’ll make the sweetest love… look, see how soft this bed is? You’d sink right in, love. I’d have to dive in and pull you up for air, haha… Anyways, I know you don’t like when I talk too much about nothing, but I really do miss you. Work trips are the worst. Well, I love you. So, so, so much. Alright baby, good night…’ 

He kisses the phone, and the video goes dark. 

You’re close, leaning over to bite the pillow in a sad attempt to muffle your overwhelmed sobs. In a few swipes, the video is replaying, and as soon as that deep laugh licks the line, you’re convulsing and coming all over your fingers. 

When you’re sitting in the dark blue light in the private karaoke room, you feel lighter, yet so guilty with shame. It’s only been twenty minutes, but you’re three drinks and two shitty pop songs deep. Now, you, Shoko, and Utahime are listening to the machine run – letting the choppy backing track carry the silence when one of you stops talking to take a sip. 

Shoko’s at your left, leg pressed to your bare one, blinding white screen cutting through the darkness as she feverishly texts someone back. When you lean over to ingest her business, you see Suguru’s name. Your heart flips. 

Clutching your glass like it’s a stress ball, you sit up so fast your head is spinning. “Please tell me you didn’t invite him.” 

Shoko scoffs, not even looking at you as she sends Suguru an “okay” message. “What? Of course, I invited him, who do you think’s gonna buy the drinks?” 

“Okay, but you know he’s going to bring Satoru – Shoko, I’m gonna fre-

“I told him not to invite Gojo. Chill – it’s fine. They’re walking up now, I think. He’s just bringing Yu instead.” 

You huff, sitting back with the mind to trust her. You can’t win against an angry or annoyed Shoko – never. Not even when she’s tipsy, and you’re drunk. You actually don’t want to fight at all because you know you’d curl into a ball and call a truce. 

The fact that Suguru is just bringing Yu is a red flag – he went to school with them before you even met. If there’s one, there’s always the other. It’s suffocating trying to leave someone so integral to your friend group. 

You didn’t notice exactly when Utahime ducked out of the room, so you’re loopy and surprised when she peeks her head through the door, smiling softly, eyes shut. “Shoko-

“What?” 

Utahime opens her eyes to glance at you, then tugs at her lips as she circles back to Shoko. “I have a situation. Can you… come on?” 

“Whatever.” 

They leave you alone like it’s nothing, but you’re thankful for the loneliness. You didn’t even want to come out tonight; you thought the orgasm would help, but the conversation you had with your mother hung over your head like a dark cloud. You feel so lifeless – like joy falls onto your soul just to shrivel up and die. 

Utahime makes sure that the door is shut – she’ll keep an eye on it, too, but she’s panicking right now. There’s nobody in the world who has ivory-white hair, sticking out of the crowd like a sore thumb. It’s a weekend – the bar is thick with bodies, and Satoru stands tall amongst the crowd at the edge of the room, drawing attention. 

Utahime leaps into damage control, waving her hands in front of Shoko like it’d simmer her down before she starts. “Look, I don’t know where Haibara and Geto are–

 “Shit, is that Gojo-

She springs into action, Utahime right on her tail.“-wait! Shoko, look-

-no, I’m killing him.” Shoko would never let anyone see how flustered she was, but she knew this was going to happen. If Suguru didn’t tell Satoru he’d be here, it was surely Yu. She knows you or Utahime aren’t responsible. “Killing all of those fuckers – God, I hate them.” 

Just before Utahime and Shoko can close in on him, Satoru’s attention is pulled to his phone, then the pushing bodies moving through the door. Suguru and Yu are shoulder-to-shoulder, laughing at a joke carried over from the walk here. They don’t see each other often – not with Yu’s secretive job on the outskirts of the city he can’t tell anyone about. Suguru told you it was government work, and Satoru told you he worked for a tech company. They’re both liars, but Yu is sweet enough to overlook the grey matter. He’s been around for years. 

“You. Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest, come here.” Shoko points to each of them respectively, barreling into protector mode to shield your bleeding heart just a few rooms away. She didn’t want to see your face when you saw Gojo, but she also didn’t want to be proven a liar. 

“Hey, Shoko!” Yu tries, unfamiliar with seeing her painted in dark makeup but in love with the reflection. He just thinks she’s great, albeit a little strict. It’s why you two get along so well. “Utahime!” 

“To be clear, you’re ‘dumber.’” Shoko completely barrels past his sunny persona, letting Satoru pick it up when he looks his way. She targets Suguru, grabbing at his baggy sleeve to drag him away for a second. Utahime is quick to start damage control, leaning in to hug Yu and exchange pleasantries with Satoru. It’s hard to hide what she thinks about him when he’s so close – after everything you said about him, too. 

Suguru isn’t even surprised, but he does pull Shoko’s small hand from the expensive fabric, frowning against the flickering blue lights. Everyone’s gaze is shadowed – terribly sung music is ringing in their ears. “I didn’t invite him!” 

“I don’t care! Kick him to the fucking street!” 

“Dude, you’re drunk. Whatever, they’re cordial.” 

“Because she’s actively trying to stay away from him – ugh.” She grunts, disgusted to her core and so flustered she’s tripping over her own feet. Suguru is a lost cause; he’s too nonchalant and sweet. She needed to poke the target – the only man wearing sunglasses in a bar. “You.” She states, pointing a finger right into Satoru’s chest. 

He steps back, feigning ignorance. “Hey-

“Leave – I’m so serious.” 

He’s laughing – of course, he doesn’t think this is serious. “Why would I leave? Come on. Don’t be like that.” 

“Oh, my God, I’m going to kill you!” 

“Shoko–” Utahime steps back in, cheeks all red with flush. Poor Yu has no idea what’s happening – he doesn’t think he even wants to know. 

“You’re gonna kill me? Me?” Satoru’s challenging her; it’s just in his obscure nature. He thinks she looks like a feral kitten, with fluffy hair and a razor-thin gaze. “What’d I do?” 

“Why couldn’t you have just kept your stupid mouth shut?! We wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

“What situation? My divorce?” 

“What divorce?!” Yu stands shellshocked, looking at Suguru, who is chuckling under his breath, then to Utahime, who looks like she just wants to run and hide. He can’t blame her – these two are scary when they’re mad. 

“His!” 

“Mine!” They belt at the same time, emotions running hot without care. 

Then, it’s like something supernatural clicks. Satoru stands up straight, taking a tentative step back. “She… she’s here?” 

“Who fucking cares?!” 

Satoru looks past Shoko’s sad, tiny figure, peeking over his shoulder as Suguru gives him a small nod. 

He feels manic, like a lion swooping in to collect his mate. It’s a feeling in his blood that he’s not sure he can pinpoint, but one that feels like pure, unbridled protectiveness. He just knows you’re somewhere sad and drunk, wishing he were close even though you’d push him away. Without care, he’s shoving past Shoko – she spins on her heel and follows. Suguru slinks behind with his hands in his pockets. 

“Lay off Shoko!” 

“You’re going to make it worse when you go in there!” 

“She needs me!” 

“Guys, come on.” Suguru’s voice evens theirs out as the music thins. They stop in the hallway of private rooms; Satoru is panting. “Satoru, I don’t think you should go in there. We don’t have to fight about it, and you know-

“I’m the only one that knows what she needs.” Satoru presses his hands into his chest, blue eyes open to the hilt under his dark glasses. His heart is racing so fast he doesn’t know how to think. “It’s complicated, but I know she needs me.” 

You can hear them outside the door – you’re staring at the red wood, vision pulling in and out, distorting the obvious. It makes it easier that you’re drunk, but Satoru’s voice feels like a blanket – a loud, mean blanket. Your heart races just like his, swallowing twice when their voices draw closer. 

Then, silence comes. Someone mutters. 

And the door swings open – wind slaps you in the face. 

It takes a second for reality to settle, but when you see Toru’s body in the doorframe, you’re panicking. 

You scramble for cover, rising to your knees pressed on the faux leather couch. He closes in on you before you can blink, and trying to gather yourself to run, you rise to your feet, towering over him, for once. 

“Get down. We’re leaving.” He takes his glasses off when he looks up at you, big hand reaching to snatch yours up. He feels possessive in your drunken daze – mean in a way you’re not sure you’ve seen so blatantly. 

“What? No.” You whine, knees rocking together as you tug against his grip, nearly losing your footing. 

“Get. Down. Look at you – about to fall.” Toru glances over his shoulder at Shoko and Suguru watching on with their fists in their mouths. He has to approach this accordingly – you two are in public, and everyone thinks you’re estranged. 

Then, he thinks to himself – how estranged can a couple be after only a month and a half apart? 

No, Satoru is crazy about you. He doesn’t care. 

He snatches you down so quickly, careful to hoist you to your feet when you rightfully stumble. 

The last time you two saw each other left him with more questions than answers. Satoru is reaching out for you, gripping onto every shred of hope you hang on a string. He thinks these hookups are hope — a way to split you open so he can see who you are and what you need. 

You don’t talk to him much anymore, but you didn’t tell him no when he proposed starting over. It’s why his mind is skewed - you won’t give him the answers he needs, so he’s making it up in his head. 

Not to mention, this is not where you were supposed to be tonight. “You said you weren’t feeling well, so you were gonna stay home.” He closes his hands over your shoulders, shaking them to bring you to life. Satoru is mad, but he’s not angry. You were too drunk to care — trying to drink him away. 

“Mm,” You whine, shaking hands covering your eyes. You feel exposed with your friends in the doorway, even though the lights are so dim nobody can really see your face. Except him. He’s so close. 

“I hate when you do this!” His voice reaches a peak you haven’t heard in a few days. It’s still not enough to rid your shame. “Stop running from me! There’s nothing to run from!” 

His tone makes Shoko stand up straight, ready to dive in and protect your shivering figure. They’re just lucky the music is so loud — it drowns Satoru out. “Hey, shithead. You don’t have to scream at her.” 

Sensing this situation won’t get better if they’re idling, Suguru steps in, smoothing his hand over the top of her back. “Shoko, let’s just leave them-

“I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep trying.” You whimper, safe with him so close but torn to pieces at what you know you have to do. You have to leave him. This has to be the last time you two ever see each other. 

Digging deep, there has to be something there — some kind of courage that can rear its ferocious head and set you free. 

“Trying? All we do is try; this is a marriage!”

“And I want out. Let… let me out.” 

“You keep coming back! Why?! If you hate me, stop crawling back!” 

Like always, you’re crying, hunching in on yourself as his anger shoots for your core. ”I can’t stop! I can’t. I wish I knew how…” You shake your head, scrubbing at your eyes like it’s scrubbing how pathetic you feel from your frontal lobe. “I-I’m so scared that I’m not who you think I am, Toru. I need to be free — or at least feel free — and I need to be wanted by you. That’s all I want. I want you.” 

“See? You’re telling me you don’t want me, then saying you do.” He calms down when you’re shaking so bad you can’t breathe, turning that possessive arms-length hold into a comforting hug. “How am I supposed to work with that? Help a guy out.” 

“I want you.” You sniffle, finally calm enough under the prison of your hands to get some real words out. “I don’t feel good without you.”

“I want you, too — easy as that.” Satoru takes that spark you give him and lights a torch. He pulls you away when he feels your hands lower, heart-shattering when he sees your bloodshot gaze. “We’re back together now, got it.” 

“No, Satoru—

“What about me is driving you so far away?! Help me understand, I’ll change!” 

“How can I ask you to change everything about yourself?” 

You can hear it through the fog — Satoru’s heart plummets. He pulls away. “What do you mean?” 

It has to be the drunkenness— there’s no way you just said that out loud. You don’t even believe it. Yes, he has flaws like every other human, but he tries. 

Which is more than you can say. 

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, the door slipped shut because someone knocked on it as soon as the silence hit. The noise stills you to the core. “Satoru, come on. I’ll take you home.” 

Satoru takes a step back, staring into your soul as if he wants to snatch it away… his gaze is off, as if it’s missing something. Or, like something inside of him has died. 

“I-I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” 

He laughs — something akin. Just a short, stupid breath of air through his parted lips. Silently, he shakes his head, then turns on the ball of his foot, making a beeline straight for the door. 

“Sat-

“Yeah, Suguru, let’s go.” 

“Sure-

“Satoru, don’t.” Now, you’re doing the chasing, piecing together the only two sober brain cells you have to put one foot in front of the other with purpose. 

Through the door, you’re rushing past Shoko, tears streaming down your face. It’s pathetic — honestly, the laughing stock of your lifetime, but right now, you don’t care. It feels like you need Satoru. Like your heart is ripping from your chest every time he takes a step away from you. 

No. It’s not supposed to be like this. Satoru is not supposed to be leaving you. 

The crowd gets thicker as they approach the front doors — Suguru peeks over his shoulder, expression so damning and overcome as he watches you push past bodies to get to them. Satoru is dragging him along now, holding onto his bicep like he’s on a mission. 

“No! Mph– T-toru!” You sputter, the heel of your hand flying up to tug at your eyes. You can’t see much in the haze – the front door is cracking open. Everything falls by the wayside. “I’ll stay, I’ll try! I promise you, I’ll try again!” 

He stops, grip shaking around Suguru’s elbow before he yanks it back. The three of you stand like statues in the middle of the floor, blocking the exit — bodies pushing. You’re out of breath, swallowing tears and wiping wetness when he turns to look at you. 

In the pursuit, his glasses fell, but somehow you can see the look in his eyes. One that loves you, hates you so well, and that can’t hide the devotion he feels. 

It hurts. You’re running face-first into a lie. 

Satoru blinks at you, breathless, as he closes the distance in less than a second, it feels like. He yanks off his glasses, balancing in his left hand as he cradles your cheeks. Sobbing, you grip his shoulder blades, shaking your head when he pulls your gaze. 

There, in the ripe blue light at Midnight, he kisses you like he used to all those years ago. He holds you, eyelashes shuddering against your skin as he leans into you. 

The kiss is hungry and mean — he’s shoving his tongue between your lips, squeezing your face so you don’t run away. You cry and sniffle against him, whining when he bites down on your bottom lip, drawing blood. 

Satoru’s not done for at least a minute — face so red when he pulls away that you swear he’s due to pass out. In that heaviness afterward, he presses his forehead into yours. Not saying anything, just silence. Pulsing music, unfamiliar stares. 

Nothing blooms into something. You’ve thrown your life to the wolves, innocent and baring your neck to be mauled to a bloody, beautiful end. 

That’s why you’re crying now. Not for him… for you. 

Satoru is on his back in bed, your ring finger in his mouth, sucking the metal clean. 

You’re on top of him, crying like always. Head tossed back, jazz music on your skin, and blossom in the air. You’re riding him like a horse, out of your mind with pleasure as he moans your name. He’s fucking you so good, now, knowing you differently since the breakup. You feel different since then, too. Nastier — headier. 

You know what you want. Satoru knows you know what you want. He’s ready to give it all to you, but right now, all he wants to do is suck your wedding ring. 

“You look so hot like this.” You gulp, tongue flicking from your parted mouth. Your free hand reaches forward to rub over his face, marking the expanse red in your wake. “Look at me.” 

He does, slamming open his eyes and staring at you so blue it feels like you’re drowning. Toru’s pupils are blown to Hell, too — so dilated you could be mistaken for a drug he’s high on. 

“Fuckin– look at you.” He groans, teeth grinding as your hips slam down again. He’s sure your calves hurt with the fervor of your want, but he’s just too much right now. Your body is craving him – he’s treating you so well. 

Satoru reaches forward, kissing your glistening ring as he grips and grabs at the flesh gathered around your hips. Your body is making him drool, and the pure mutual attraction in the air is so thick neither of you can snap out of it. You’re caught in a constant state of praise, adoration, lust, and more praise. 

Everything is perfect, here. You’re not sure you ever want to rise to the surface.

Technically, you and Toru aren’t separated anymore. It’s complicated. 

It’s what you two tell your friends – it’s what you tell yourself. He still refers to you as his wife even though things aren’t perfect all the time. He comes to and from your apartment now, just like you do his, and the space is exactly what you two need. Maybe living with him is too much? Being around him constantly is suffocating? 

The pieces are starting to fall into place. Satoru sees that you still need to feel free even when you’re tied to him with a ring you refuse to take off. If it’s staying so perfectly, ripe with his spit and deep in the throes of pleasure, it’s meant to be on you. 

“Oh, you’re stunning – taking me like this.” 

“Tell me, baby.” 

“Sexy fuc-fuckin’ mouth. God, your pretty little lips–

You’re slowing down, catching your breath as you grind on him like you want it to mean something. Your ringed hand pinches at his chin, egging those words you need to hear along. Toru’s spacing out – he’s close. 

You shiver, that deep, grinding sensation setting you ablaze. It doesn’t dawn on you just how far you were edging yourself until you’re about to snap, but it’s impressive. “Want it in my mouth?” You whisper, dragging one of his heavy hands to your lips. Biting and kissing at the soft webbing between his thumb and pointer, Satoru mumbles something adjacent to yes, then no. You giggle – hardly there, but felt through the vibrations of the pulsing position you’re in. 

“No– yes, oh, suck on it, beautiful… Tell me you love me,” 

“Oh, I love you, Satoru.” 

“Again.” 

“I love you!” 

“Come here.” His voice turns into something primal – deep in his chest in a way he can’t replicate outside of the moment. This is taking you there at an alarmingly defenseless rate, closing in like a bounty hunter. 

Satoru yanks his hand from your mouth, pinning you chest-to-chest by the back of your neck. He knows not to be gentle now, taking the small hairs at the nape and nearly pulling them out. Open-mouthed, sharp-toothed, he gnaws at your cheek and ear because it’s just too much to get to your lips right now. 

It gets too much – he has to fuck you. He feels like a track runner, hips rising from the bed so he can carry you both to the finish line. Toru knows you too well, he knows how to sync your orgasms, and he executes it perfectly this time. 

Fingertips digging in that gorgeous muscle around your hips, Satoru fucks you right – the only way he knows how to keep you, now. He tugs at your earlobe with sharp teeth, gasping right into you. You’re sobbing for him, fists pulling at the ruined sheets as the wetness between your bodies gets too much to block out. 

“Ugh – take it.” He growls, screwing his pulsing release deeper inside of you as it comes. You can feel every spurt – your nerves are on fire. It’s that third one that does you in. It pools right against your favorite spot, stabbing deep inside of you as Satoru lays his mark. 

You’re the one that collapses on him once the aftershocks ride away, but he’s still limply thrusting into you like he doesn’t have a mind to stop. 

After the ecstasy, Satoru thinks he feels… sad. He’s sad that its over. He’s sad you’re so tired you can’t talk to him anymore. He just wants to talk to you. He wants to know how he did… was it good enough for you now?

Everything settles. You roll away sometime in the midst, and Satoru sits up. He knows you’re tired – don’t want to be touched, don’t want to be bothered, but he wants you to know how much that just meant to him. 

He wants to show you how loved he feels. Something he hasn’t felt in that last year of your marriage. 

“Ba-

His phone rings. Satoru closes his eyes and wills it to Hell.

Then snatches it up from the nightstand, eyes glancing at the caller ID as he stands and fishes his underwear from the pile on the floor. 

It’s Nanami. Satoru smiles when he answers. 

“Hi! How’s Malaysia?” 

‘I’ll make this quick – I’m having a peaceful time down here.’ 

“Really?! Aw, well we miss-

‘I was offered a position down here at the school… Effective next semester, but effective nonetheless.’ 

Satoru stands still as a statue in the doorway of the bedroom. Glancing back at you, it seems like you’re completely dead to the world; you must’ve drifted off. 

So, he slinks out with his promise of good news, trying to hide his smile as he shuts the door so softly the click is almost invisible. 

When he’s safe from ears-length, he opens his mouth. “That’s so amazing! How amazing! So deserved – really, that’s so great.” 

‘Don’t be coy, Professor Gojo.’ 

It’s hard to hide the face-spanning smile that creeps over his. Then, he throws his hands up – letting it take over. In any case, he grinded for over ten years just to feel this moment. Now, he gets to live it. “God – it just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it?” He flushes like a child, bringing his hand to his face to cover the unbridled joy. 

He has to shake himself free of it again. He earned this. He’s allowed to feel excited. 

After all, you’re not at his feet telling him how annoying his light is. 

‘Fairly well, I admit. Look, Gojo, I didn’t know this was going to happen, but I do not regret it. Your pupils adore you, peers love you, and you’re so smart…’ Nanami pauses, taking a deep breath. Satoru can almost see him now – head in his hands, stewing away in the wake of success. ‘You know I have nothing but respect and faith in you.’ 

“Thank you… honestly, thanks.” 

‘I’ll be back in Japan next week – together, we will work on making this transition as smooth as possible, okay? Don’t let this weigh on you, Gojo. The summer semester is slow. It’ll be the perfect time for you to adapt.’ 

“Yes… yes, sir. I understand. Thank you so much.” 

‘Alright.’ 

Just like that, the line clicks on the most important phone call of his life.

Satoru spent the entirety of his twenties focused on this and you – it’s all he knows, so stepping into this shiny new territory is terrifying and so exciting. 

He just can’t stop. Satoru can’t stop smiling. 

Lost in himself in this moment, the only thing that can pull him out is you. The movement from the bedroom behind him makes that smile even wider. Toru just can’t stop winning today – you’re awake after sex. 

Still, he gives you a moment, giddy in his own skin as he paces, combing his hands through his hair, trying to slow down his racing heart. He doesn’t know whether he should grieve for the years past or look forward to the new ones – maybe both? Maybe talking to you can help him balance out these big, conflicting feelings. 

For once, Satoru actually wants to call his mother. 

He abstains, opting to slip back into the bedroom with a small grin on his lips. You’re not in bed – the sheets are ruffled. Satoru smiles even bigger. 

“Hi, sleepyhead.” He peeks his head in the dark bathroom, reaching to pull the dimmed lights a little higher. He watches as newness floats over your body as you lower yourself into steaming bathwater. 

You’re exhausted – bones sore. You needed this. 

Satoru walks into the bathroom, turning the dripping shower head you used to rinse entirely off. Silence spills the nude space. He’s biting over his lip as he watches you settle. 

“Hi.” You reply, finally. Eyes drifting shut as heat melts over your entire strung-out nervous system. Against the heat, you’re shivering,  opening your eyes as you lean against the back. Staring at his smile, you can’t help but smile back. “What?” 

Toru’s phone is still in his left hand. He waves it once, then pushes it on the counter. “Nanami’s all kicked up in Malaysia. Totally forgot about us over here.” 

You laugh under your breath, flashing him the sleepy bedroom eyes that make him feral. He steps closer. “Mm… Miss him. Nanami always has the best family-owned bakery recommendations.” 

“My professor is not a review site – but I agree.” 

“Shut up,” You shrug him off with a short laugh, rolling your head the other way as he approaches the side of the tub. The moment falls in silence – Toru is kneeling beside the basin, reaching for your wet hands against the polished stone. 

“I know it’s still too soon to tell how you’re feeling, huh?” He chews on his words carefully, avoiding eye contact when you look over to evaluate the sudden dip in his tone. 

Satoru’s referring to a conversation you two almost had two days ago over dinner. He brought up moving you back in — you declined immediately. He suggested going on casual dates until the pieces are connected again, but you also declined. 

He asked you what you wanted from him, and you lied. You want his company, but you want his lust even more. You want him to scream your name in his sleep — to torment him with debilitating morning wood and linger in the air long after it’s gone. You want to smile in his face and have him smile back — you want that feeling of teeth against softness when he smiles as he kisses you. 

That’s it. 

“What do you want to hear?” 

“That you’ll forget you ever left and let me buy you that house I always promised.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Nanami took a job in Malaysia. They’re offering me his position.” 

You sit up, water splashing around you as you stare at him dead-on. Satoru is easy to read — when he’s lying, his eyes sparkle in mischief. He’s telling the truth, you can tell. 

Then, it dawns on you. “Oh, my God.” 

He’s smiling as big as he did when he found out, just ecstatic you’re around to tell it to. “I know.”

“Oh- oh, my God. Baby, I’m so happy.” You whisper, shell-shocked as you pull him into a wet hug. “I’m so proud of you.” Your naked chests melt together with water to make them stick. His heart is sprinting like a hare, knocking over your chest cavity for entrance. 

It’s true – you’re so proud of him. Before Toru was your husband, he was a friend. Previously, he was a trusted and beloved colleague. That’s where it should have stayed. 

“I love you. I do it for you.” He kisses your hair, big hands rubbing your back. This moment with you is so tender and warm, like he can pull away and feel the same heat from you. He knows the truth, though – just doesn’t want to admit it. “I feel so good right now, with you and this news. I think it’s hope.” 

Still hugging him close, arms slung over his neck, your hands pull into fists where he can’t see. You’re staring at yourself in the tall vanity mirror. You know what this is – what he’s going to take from this. Now that he’s found success, naturally, he’ll want to drag you into it. After all, you two spent your best years talking about this time in your lives. He’d get this promotion, and everything will be okay. 

So, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you state the obvious. “I love you.” 

~

 Suguru’s house is up in lights, and chatter spills out through the open kitchen window. Everyone sounds so happy – Satoru’s name is on the tip of everyone's tongue… Everyone is so happy. 

Not you. Never you. You swear something inside of you was manufactured with broken parts – this didn’t make sense. You’ve spent the best week of your life with Satoru. You two had the best conversations, and agreed on the minute stuff. This last week actually felt like the promise – a tiny little inkling of the hope Satoru wanted to churn out so badly. 

Inside, you’re nowhere to be found. 

Once he crawls off of you, you’re drowning in overwhelming numbness. 

When he kisses you, some feeling comes back, only to fade away again with the passing breeze. You look at him and see nothing, you’re tired of hearing about the promotion, and you’re tired of your inability to escape him. 

It passes through you all at once as you stare at the promotion party from around the corner. Suguru lives in a beautiful, well-maintained neighborhood – families and salarymen at the top of their field make this street more alive than you’ve ever felt. You envy it. 

You envy their lives – you bet their marriages are perfect, and their children are beautiful. Their cars are probably polished like Satoru’s, ripe with money like Suguru and demanding attention like Shoko.

You squeeze your eyes shut and fall back behind a fence, willing your life to disappear. You no longer want to have a choice. You don’t want a body that feels something your mind doesn’t – you just don’t want to be here. 

It takes everything inside of you to do it, but one-foot steps in front of the other. Your arms shake as it clutches your purse against your body. Tears come – you welcome them. 

You welcome anything that pours some feeling back into you, because you feel like a dripping, empty chasm. Burning the hope you two created as fuel, your slow steps turn into determined strides, sneaking a look over your shoulder to see if anyone from the gathering was following. 

Maybe you want them to, or maybe you just want to disappear off the face of the Earth. 

You chose the latter. 

France is beautiful around this time of year, but not the city. The countryside sparkles in the humid breeze, away from all the noise and sewage. It feels a little bit like home, only you can’t go back there. Not yet. 

Not when you gave every single piece of your old self away. Of course, you kept the ring and the last name – it feels good to carry him around. It’s proof to your former self, there to remind you that those years did exist, and they were good. 

It’s just you. You’re the faulty component. You’re the missing piece. Satoru is an angel – you’re nothing but a stranger who crashed into his life and drained his happiness from his sweet soul. He doesn’t deserve that. 

The toll you took on him was starting to kill you, but he was too indebted to ever let it show. Satoru would see the darkness in your eyes when he turned your words into a joke, then nod and tell himself to never do that around you again. Being so close to you for so long, his light started to fade at the corners like a vignette. 

He never mentioned it, and when you began to notice, you hated yourself. 

Now, you’re cordial with your mind. It’s had time to think and heal just being alone. Being in France is just a vacation for you – sleeping in a bi-weekly rented cottage a few hours from the Capital. 

You truly picked the destination out of a hat after leaving Tokyo. You quite literally ran for the hills – sending off the stack of divorce documents to his new office at Tokyo-U for him to sign. Inside that sealed package, you had decided to give him the note you had written when you left the first time. You’re not sure why you kept it, but you knew you needed to. 

This was why. You knew you were going to leave again. 

With the absence of him, you’ve begun writing again. It started as notes to him, then to your past self – now it’s studies of the mountainside, the way the air smells as it rushes through your hair. Small little poems to take your mind away, and it feels so good. You don’t feel like a walking extension of him anymore, but you feel like a Gojo. There’s that scary sense of power that sits over your shoulders, knowing it’s all one phone call away from falling back into place. 

You have plans to reach out to him eventually, but it feels good to not exist anymore. It feels good to pad around the little cottage in nothing but your socks and underwear, reciting the poem you wrote yesterday without care of anyone hearing. 

It feels good to feel the morning light on your skin, snaking in through the window with the week-old dried wishbone on the sill. You love this life right now, and that’s all you need. 

All you need is right now. 

@coralbae @nylve @torueater @yossellinn @kiwikeeahwah @gojoikawa @peacequeen2 @asimpinamillion @genericxseas @casssiesthings @bypanana @kr3ideprinz @kamuihz @bbqsauceonmytddys @sukunaslilsocks @spacefae-x @tenaciousavenueavenue

[n0rmal-cat]

Kpop demon hunters x reader- selling your soul for job experience Part 2

[i wrote more but a friend said to cut it off here and save the rest for part 3 which ill post tomorrow]

part 1 part3 part 4

They made a deal for their soul, they made a deal for their soul-

How did this mess even happen? And why on earth did they sell their souls in exchange for babysitting five idiots?! 

Apparently, they were meant to be the manager, but considering they could barely manage their own life, the thought of doing it for this bunch seems unlikely.

“So what exactly do you need me to do?” reader stood in front of the biggest couch they had ever seen, it was definitely bigger than their old apartment that's for sure. "You guys need like some water or snacks?"

"Water," the mint one raised his hand. He held a water bottle in his hand, but reader just guessed he was a really thirsty guy.

“Listen, whatever your name is,” the one with black hair said, casually nudging them with a hand on their back. “You don’t have to do anything-why don't you sit back and enjoy the ride?” a playful smile on his face.

“But I thought I was supposed to-“

“Don’t worry about Jinu,” the pink-haired one waved dismissively. “He’s just a little flustered after Gwi-ma asked you to be our manager. Why don’t you come sit by us? We’ll keep you company,” he beckoned, patting the seat beside him with a warm smile.

“Weren't you the one who said you wanted to eat my soul while I slept?” They pointed a finger at him, confused knitting their brow.

He chuckled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Guilty~”

Jinu let out a sigh. He grabbed reader 's chin with his claws, "Please, dear, won't you let me take the reins? I’ll buy you some food, huh, that’s what everyone wants, hm, a cute boy buying you food.”

Reader looks into his face strangely, “ya what?” 

He tried to smirk again, seemingly trying to look flirtatious but failing miserably.

“Ahg, never mind, we need to figure out our stage names,” Jinu said, pulling his Playboy mask off. “Ah, Mystery, Abs, Romance, and Baby!” he said to each of them respectively.

Mystery shrugged in nonchalance, Abs wore a puzzled expression, Romance beamed with enthusiasm, and Baby simply sipped on water, unimpressed by the unfolding drama.

“Stage name? Wait, what exactly are you guys doing? What am I the manager of” reader asked.

‘Ab’s’ leaped to his feet. “Oh! We’re a ‘demon idol group’ Jinu’s plan is brilliant! Just listen, we’ll become the biggest group out there, steal all the hunters fans, and then throw an epic feast!”

And of course now they knew that 'feast' meant eating half the population's souls, I mean, hey, at least that didn't include them since they didn't really have a soul anymore...

“The hunters? There are demon hunters, are they like YouTuber ghost hunters?”  This whole thing was just confusing reader even more than it already was.

“Please stop,” he rubbed his forehead. “Look, are we all ok with our names?” he looked around the room, annoyed.

Mystery shrugged, “It's fine…”

“Well, I, for one, absolutely love my name! It perfectly encapsulates everything I am,” Romance beamed, a playful smile lighting up his features. “Yeah, thanks for naming me ‘Baby.’ That’s so creative! Do you want a reward?” he teased, batting his eyes dramatically, which soon turned into a scowl.

“And what about you?” Jinu directed his gaze toward Abs.

“Ah, no, I’m not a fan of my name! Abs isn’t even a good name! Can’t I choose something cool? Like ‘Guns!’” He flexed his arms proudly, showcasing his muscles. Romance clapped his hands in enthusiastic support. “I think ‘abs’ is a cute name! Oh, you could even go by ‘Abby’”

With a wide grin, he wrapped an arm around the reader, radiating happiness. “Haha, yes! Maybe Gwi-ma was right about you!”

Jinu furrowed his eyebrows. "Okay, let’s move on... Our first single, ‘Soda Pop,’ is written! All we need to do now is work on the choreography, and we’ll be set for our debut," he held out papers with the lyrics on them.

Reader quickly skimmed through them. "So, did you mean to write it in a way where it sounds like you want to eat their souls or?"

"Oh no, I very much did, I find it quite funny humans don't know anything." he let out a small laugh.

"Ah..Wait, you don’t want a name?” the reader asked, genuinely curious.

“My name is Jinu,” he replied, confused.

 “No, I mean your stage name! Maybe something like Raven? Because of your hair!” the reader suggested, half-jokingly.

"Oh yeah, I knew that, phh." he clutched the papers in his hands, a darker purple on his face, before walking away slowly. “I’m gonna go…back to my room now, haha bye…bye..”

The room descended into an awkward silence, broken only by Baby's frustrated outburst. “Oh, so he gets to keep his name, but I’m just called Baby?” he spat, irritation evident in his tone.

“Relax, you know Jinu just wants to hold on to everything that makes him human while he still can,” Romance tried to calm Baby.

“Oh, don’t give me that nonsense! What? Do we not want to keep our humanity, too? It feels like we don’t get anything from this shitshow, I want my curse gone to ya know!” Baby shot back, his voice escalating.

“Please, your curse is nothing compared to the rest of ours!” Abby glared, her expression fierce. In a fit of anger, Baby clutched his water bottle so tightly that the top popped open, splashing mystery.

Just like that, a full-blown argument erupted among the four of them, the ground seemed to shake by the sheer volume of them. 

Reader put their arms up to block their face. These guys were gonna have fans? They could barely communicate without starting a fight.

“Hey!” Six angry yellow eyes suddenly glared back at them, fierce and unyielding. “I—” they almost struggled to keep their composure. Were they really going to do this? I mean, they had already agreed to a death wish, so what was the harm?

“Do you guys really think you can maintain a fanbase with those attitudes? You can barely string together two words before one of you starts yelling!” the reader exclaimed.

"And also, how are you even going to be idols, news flash, you guys are purple!" They let out a sigh as they finished.

Baby was the first one to smile. “Well, would you look at that, the manager knows how to manage,” he chuckled letting go of Abby’s hair.

Romance crossed his arms, a frown on his face. "But they’re right. If we go out looking like this, people will definitely stare, but it won’t win us any fans,” he said

“Can’t you guys just disguise yourselves as humans? I mean, we’re in this whole building, right?” Reader gestured dramatically to the apartment.

“That was Gwi-ma’s idea, not ours,” Addy replied, shaking his head. “We can disguise ourselves, sure, but it takes a lot of energy.”

“Especially when dancing,” mystery replied.

Reader glanced between them, a smirk forming as a lightbulb moment clicked. “Well, I mean, you guys are strong demons, aren’t you? Jinu picked you for a reason,” they said, wrapping an arm affectionately around Addy and Romance.

“You’re just as bad at flirting as Jinu,” Abby nodded at Romance's words.

“I’m trying to encourage you…” Reader shot back, forcing the words through clenched teeth.

A moments later and the same pink smoke appeared again this time relieving them in human form.

It was a little rusty, and you would see their patterns or eyes change for a split second, but overall it was good.

“Not bad, actually really good”

The only issue was… “We’re gonna need to do something about those clothes, though. Don’t get me wrong, the matching black outfits are great, but they’re just not… hmm, boy band-y?” Reader put a hand under their chin in thought

“So what do you suggest, oh great manager?” Baby asked rolling his eyes.

“Me? You’re letting me decide on your outfits?” Reader blinked with a mix of surprise and excitement.

“Well, we would have asked Jinu, but he’s not. Here right now.”

“He’s also like four hundred years old,” Romance added with a playful roll of his eyes.

“I would love to help, but I feel like I’d have to hear you guys perform the song first,” Reader said, genuinely excited. Who knew selling your soul could lead to a makeover montage? 

“You heard them let’s go find Jinu!” Abby punched the air. Like a pack of marching ants, they fell in line as they went to find Jinu.

“Jinu, we're pumped up and ready to dance~” Abby half sang.

They stopped at a door marked with a nameplate that read ‘Jinu’. Abby reached for the handle, only to find it locked. “Locked…” The group exchanged a few glances.

“Ha!” Abby kicked the door down.

“What is wrong with you?! You didn’t even knock!” Jinu yelled from his bed at a giant blue thing by his side. “And why do you all look like that?”

“Reader suggested we use these disguises because we’d blend in better, but now we need clothes, and they can't give us any without seeing us perform,” Addy explained, glancing back at Reader.

“We haven’t even practiced our choreography yet? And I was going to dress us, clothes aren’t that hard to understand guys”

“Wrong!” Reader screamed, stepping forward. “Fashion is incredibly complex! There are so many factors to consider when choosing what to wear.” 

With determination shining in their eyes, Reader pushed to the front. “So perform for me so I can help you pick the best outfits possible!” Were they being too much? "Please..."

"Yeah, come on, Jinu, let's go, you're the one with all the musical talent." Romance nudged baby, who rolled his eyes. "Jinu, we're already in these forms, just perform the song with us already."

He got up from his bed, making the blue thing turn alongside him, “Come along, Derpy.”

Romance put a hand to their ear “that’s her you encourage someone” he said whispering.

But reader was focused on something much more important.

A very big cat is the only thing reader could think of as they watch it walk past them. “I need that.”

“What?” one of the boys replied, looking puzzled. “What?”

Finally, Jinu stood before them in his human form, just like the others, they were ready to perform their practice performance.

“Just count down from three, then hit the button,” Jinu instructed.

“Got it, and one, two, three go!” Reader pressed the play button 

Settling down next to Derpy, they found themselves bobbing their head to the hypnotic beat that filled the room. The music was undeniably fun, and the boys' voices were surprisingly harmonious. Well, considering they were demons, it made sense performing was kind of their specialty.

“Wha!” reader had to duck down so they wouldn't get hit by the flying pink heart. Derpy tilted his head slowly.

As the music came to an end, the boys posed in perfect synchronization. “There, do you have everything you need now?” Jinu stepped toward the reader, his brow glistening with sweat, clearly trying to maintain composure despite them all looking like shit.

“Actually, yes! Oh, and you guys can change back now!” The moment the words left their lips, all of them let out a relieved sigh as they morphed back into their original forms.

“Now, how am I going to get these clothes? It’s not like I have any money,” the reader thought aloud. “Does Gwi-ma have a credit card or something?”

Juni wiped the sweat from his forehead and handed them a card, his expression earnest. “I won’t disappoint you!” reader exclaimed, rushing out of the room with determination.

“Gahhh, I need some water,” Baby groaned, doubling over and placing his hands on his knees, clearly feeling the effects of their hard work.

[seitmai]

Many thoughts

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

Instant bonding 🤝🏻

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Well what a great reason to be distracted 🤭

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.”  “How do you know that?” Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.”

Thank God he encourages her to eat

 You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down.

Truly a sight for sore eyes 😌

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

That truly sounds horrible and I'm on Bucky’s side, the jokes don't make it any better

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?”  Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

🥹🥹🥹

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone.

 You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

Not saying also says a lot

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. “What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today. “I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

I respect a side hustle 🤭

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Alpine spotting!!

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

Haha I wonder what encounters he had with parking enforcement to earn that reputation 🤔🤭

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

I can truly feel the chaos of getting into the car with all the stuff, been there before, many times 😅

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.”  Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” “I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke.

Those jokes are definitely not landing with Bucky again

 “I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.”  “Of course it stands.”  You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

🥰🥰🥰

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

Well, at least they have that in common 🥴

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” “I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.”

Facts!

 You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was.  It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

Fuck that!

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased.  “Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

I like them joking like that together 🥰

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you.

That's great if you ask me 😅

 It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult.

Gorl, just let it happen and enjoy!

 Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

Brown is truly the worst, I get why Bucky has a hard time holding back

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.”  “If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” “Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.” “Right now, maybe.” 

I have Avery bad feeling about this, I think Bucky’s old instincts or something might kick in when he specifically mentions "right now" 😬

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest. You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

Ahhh 🥰

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” “Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

Valid

“Hey, I have other friends.” “I haven’t seen ‘em.” “Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

I would definitely need proof with his track record 🤭

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

This is crazy, really unreasonable

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

That's so fucked up! I feel so bad for her

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more. You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

Ah fuck

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

Understandable

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

Wtf that guy is a threat and holds a public office 😡

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

I really would love the old Bucky to make an appearance rn

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?”  You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. “Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

He is so protective 🥺

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.”  “Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Nooo 💔

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

At this rate Brown will kill her in one way or another for sure!

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

Understandable!!

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things.

Oh he so deserves it!

You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

🥺🥺🥺

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage.  You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He is so worried for her, understandably so with Brown being around!

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that.

He didn’t understand 🥺

 “Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

Uhh rough topic 😬

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” “Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

He's not wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” “And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

I'm glad he has Sam to share this with

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

🥹🥹🥹

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” “What, you mean like blackmail?”  “Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Good thinking, Sam! Sometimes an outside perspective is everything ☝🏻

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

Mood

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician.

That sounds kinda fun...

 That was not the case for this gala. 

...but that really doesn't 😬

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it.  Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

If I thought Brown couldn't get any worse 🥲

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

🤢🤢🤢

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

For real

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” “You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

Damn what a way to connect again 😬

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away.  “I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.”  “Fine. What do you want?” Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest."

Fair haha

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

🥹🥹🥹

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” “Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes.  “I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.”

God he cares so deeply about her 🥺

 “He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?”  “I’d be blacklisted.” “He can’t do that.” “He can.” 

Urgh Bucky really is naive in this and that breaks my heart, because in that moment he realizes he might really not able to help her 💔

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it.

Maybe she should move, fake her death pin it on Brown 🤔 thinking about it I like that plan and I might know someone else who likes it and would be really helpful from experience with this lol

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. Was D.C. even worth it? 

Absolutely not! Someone steals my dessert? The last straw, I would be OUT!

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

Ew why are the men cheering 🤢

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

He 100% did

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” “How should I know?” 

And once again he gets worse!

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

Oh god this must be horrible

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. “You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. “I got you, okay?” 

He's so gentle and all she needs in thats situation 🥺 (also is there no ambulance on stand by? This feels like a place lots of old politicians that could drop dead any second lol)

“F-f-feels—” “I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register.

People like that are essentially in emergency situations like that👏🏻

And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

He truly should know by now🤦🏻‍♀️

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” “B-bucky—” “Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

🥺🥺🥺

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

Yes 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻 and I hope she dumps his ass!

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

He is just so sweet 🥹

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It wasn't even an option to not wait

Finally!🥳👏🏻🥰

It only took you a moment to make a decision. You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation.  It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

🤭🤭🤭

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

I couldn't be happier about this 🥳👏🏻

Checks and Balances

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: Your boss was an ass—you knew it, the office knew it, the entire country knew it. Working for Senator Brown was never easy, but you had managed it for the better part of three years and didn’t want to see your career go up in flames. Unfortunately for you, Bucky was slowly falling in love with you, and Congressman Barnes didn’t think managing it was enough. 

Word count: 9k

Warnings: Injury (kinda), hospitals, angst, an abusive boss, protective Bucky!!

a/n: Ahh a Bucky fic that's not an AU (that's also one million words)! Idk how the government works tbh so sorry if things are a little inaccurate there lol. This takes place right before Thunderbolts! Thank you for reading, I love you!! ❤️❤️

Masterlist

~~

“Congressman Barnes,” you greeted, a slight nod of your head the only acknowledgement you could afford. Senator Brown was only a moment away from screaming at you again, and you could only take so much screaming in one day.  

Bucky, unfortunately, did not care about being screamed at by Senator Brown. He took your upper arm in a light grip and shot you a confused smile. “What, you avoiding me? Can’t be seen in the halls talking to me?” 

A fairer assessment of Bucky’s interruption was that he didn’t know of the wrath Senator Brown could incite upon you. Sure, Bucky knew that Brown was a hardass, and by association, his executive assistant would have to put up with it, but he had no way of knowing just how terrible the man was. 

When you met Bucky a few weeks ago, you had been alone in a hotel lobby. The heels accompanying your freshly pressed pantsuit had been killing you, and you needed a moment for your feet to breathe. Bucky, apparently, also needed a moment away from the conference, and you had gotten to talking when he plopped into the overstuffed armchair beside you. 

He knew you worked for Senator Brown. You knew he was a Congressman, obviously. You also knew his background and the complexities that came with it. Many people in the political space turned up their noses at him, something you had a similar experience with as you were “only an assistant.” The two of you had joked about it, eventually making your way to the hotel bar and laughing over the amount of hidden toupees currently residing in the ballroom.

In the weeks that followed, you had texted with him, met for coffee twice because he was “in the area”, and had maybe even considered the fact that you were friends with Congressman Barnes. Friends were invaluable to have in D.C., but they were also something to be wary of. Bucky didn’t feel the type to be wary of. 

As you stood halfway frozen in the hallway, his comment began to make sense. He was calling back to your initial hotel conversation, making a joke about biases and stuck-up politicians, but this was not the time. Not that he could have known. 

Senator Brown barked out your name when he noticed you were no longer beside him, surely trying to get you to jot down some thought banging around in his head. You whipped your head to the side, almost missing the affronted expression on Bucky’s face as he registered the tone that your name was spoken in, and shook your arm from his hold. 

“Sorry, Congressman,” you murmured, turning on your heel and making quick strides in Brown’s direction. “I apologize. What can I do for you, Senator?” 

Your boss barely hid a scoff. “You can start by being where I need you to be. And write this down—I do not believe that the House takes the proper—” 

You scrambled to take out your phone and open the notes app. A rookie mistake; you usually had it open the second his meetings ended, but you had been distracted. By Bucky. 

Your heels hurriedly clicking against polished marble, you took a fleeting glance over your shoulder. Bucky remained there, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest, metal from his hand glinting against the gentle fluorescence of the hall. 

Three days later, he brought it up. 

You thought you’d found a private spot to scarf down your lunch in your allotted fifteen-minute break, but with a sandwich only half finished and your mouth full, the call of your name reminded you that there is never any privacy for you at this job. The sound of Bucky’s voice softened the blow a bit. 

“He always treat you like that?” Bucky asked, swinging his leg over the bench on the other side of the table. He watched as you tried to chew quickly, some of the hardness he’d sat down with melting from his expression. 

You covered your mouth with your hand and swallowed hard. “What?” you finally got out, reaching for your water bottle. 

Bucky raised a brow. “Brown. Does he always yell at you?” 

After a few sips and swallows, you gave up on being able to finish your lunch. You had to plan out your meals very meticulously to finish, and Bucky had already taken up 30 precious seconds. 

“Oh,” you began. You swiped a hand through the air. “It’s fine. He just gets a little intense sometimes. It’s just his personality.” 

“You’ve been working for him for three years.” 

“Right.” 

“The guy should treat you better. He could only keep assistants for a few weeks at a time before you.” 

“How do you know that?” 

Bucky slid your food towards you. “Eat. You looked like you were in a hurry when I got here.” 

You eyed him for a moment. With his hair tucked behind his ears, you could see the tenseness of his jaw and the shadow of his beard dusting above his collar. It was no secret that Bucky was alarmingly handsome in a sea of 60-year-old politicians, but you had never gotten the opportunity to see it at work. You were always too busy, and Bucky’s office was three floors down. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you back,” you said, reaching for the fruit in your bag. “I meant to. I’ve just been working late since the meeting on Monday.” 

“It’s alright.” A pause as you continued to eat your food. You had maybe four minutes left. “How late?” 

“Oh, um, I’ve been going home around 10. It’s such a pain in the ass to get a taxi at that time, you wouldn’t believe. Uber isn’t much better, and I definitely can’t walk home in these things,” you joked, motioning to the bandaids strapped behind your heels. “It’s not so bad, though. After about a month of late nights, Brown will go on a “vacation,” and I’ll have a few weeks to reign in the chaos during normal business hours.” 

You were giggling as you spoke, adding air quotes and sarcasm to try to alleviate the irritated look Bucky was sporting. After a few weeks of being around him, you understood that Bucky was quieter than you, but his silence right now was pressing. Your jokes weren’t getting him to talk, so you switched gears. 

Popping a grape in your mouth, you asked, “What are you doing up here, anyway?” 

Bucky let out a breath and tapped his hand on the table. “Honestly? I came to check on you.” 

“To check on me?” 

“After Monday, I wanted to make sure—” 

Your phone started going off, the “Senator Brown” contact making your blood run cold. You brought your watch up and let out a gasp that made Bucky jump. 

“What?” he rushed, standing from the table as you started to pack your things in a panic. He went to help you, but after two brushes of his hands, he realized he was only in the way. 

“My break was over two minutes ago. I have to go right now.” 

“Two minutes? What—y/n, that isn’t—” 

He was here to check on you. Right. That was really sweet. 

Your brain tried to catch up with your panic as you reached over and squeezed his arm gratefully. “I’m really fine, Bucky. It was nice to see you. We should get coffee again.” You were sliding through the double doors and back into the building as you called, “I’ll text you. I promise this time.” 

And you did. In the seven minutes of free time you got around 9 pm, you sent him a quick follow-up text. The bubble went right below his text from two days ago, and you felt a small pinch of guilt for not answering him until now.

You: Free Saturday morning?

He answered you almost instantly.

Bucky: Depends. Are you still at work right now?

You frowned at your phone. 

You: If I am does that mean you won’t get coffee with me?

Bucky: So you are 

You: …maybe 

And then, your seven minutes of silence were up. When Brown’s footsteps could be heard by the door, you tucked your phone into your desk and went to work on the stack of papers he assigned you. He so graciously let you know that he was going home now, and you could leave once you were finished. 

That was perfect. 

It took you an hour and a half, but when you sorted the final paper and checked his schedule for tomorrow for the last time, a sense of relief flooded you. You didn’t even care that it would take another 30 minutes for an Uber to arrive. All you could think about was your shower and your bed and taking these shoes off your feet. 

You gathered your belongings and swiped your phone from the desk, clicking to the rideshare app and somewhat dreading the small talk to come. It would be extremely convenient to have a car, but that wasn’t something in the cards for you. Your tiny apartment had barely any parking, and everything else was within walking distance. 

As you continued to ponder the pros and cons of taking the bus home, a honk from the curb made you jump. You lowered your phone and squinted into the distance of the now barren road. 

“Someone order an Uber?” 

Disbelief was your first emotion, and then shock and then confusion. “Buck—Congressman Barnes?” you asked, correcting yourself when the memory of the building at your back resurfaced. 

“You’re not getting in my car if you’re calling me that,” Bucky replied, leaning down to peer out the passenger-side window. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked him for the second time today.

“I told you, I’m driving for Uber. You called for one?” 

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. You shook your phone by your face and leaned down towards the window. “Haven’t even ordered it yet. I’m not supposed to get in the car unless they can put in the code verifying my identity.” 

“Give me a code, then. Here,” he passed you his phone, the background illuminating a small white cat. “Wait, sorry, I have to unlock it.” 

Your next laugh was more of a scoff as he reached through the window to take it back. “Seriously, what are you doing here?” 

Bucky paused, looking you up and down for a moment before his jaw ticked to the side in a smile. “I’m taking you home. You live close, it won’t take very long.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that.” 

“You’re not asking. Now, hurry up and get in. I’ve been in the fire lane for 20 minutes and parking enforcement hates me here.” 

You went to argue again, but Bucky only raised a brow and unlocked the doors. 

Sliding in the car was somewhat of a mess with your bag and your jacket and the file you had meant to finish at home almost suffocating you. Bucky tried to help, grabbing items and waiting for you to buckle in before placing them by your feet. You were flustered from the transition, trying to adjust your skirt and seatbelt as Bucky reached forward to tuck a strand of hair stuck in your lip gloss behind your ear. 

You turned to look at him instantly, but the man only gave you a closed-lip smile and shifted the gear of his car, pulling away from the building of your nightmares. You blinked back towards the dashboard, needing a few more seconds to settle yourself. 

“I really didn’t mean to make you feel guilty,” you stressed to Bucky after he flipped the radio on, low music trickling in. “When I told you about staying late, I mean.” 

Bucky tsked, knocking his head to the side to shoot you a lingering glance. “You didn’t, alright? This is my own problem. I just didn’t feel comfortable with you trying to find a way home so late.” 

“I’ve been doing it for a while and I haven’t died yet,” you attempted to joke. 

Not the best joke, it seemed, with Bucky’s fist clutching the steering wheel a hair tighter, the sound of leather meeting your ears. He shook his head. “Where’s Brown? He doesn’t let you take work home?” 

“Oh, he does sometimes,” you chipperly replied, trying to sound awake and get Bucky un-pissed off. “He just checks my timesheets when we work overtime, so I have to make sure I stay late enough so that he won’t say anything. I still have this to take care of once I get home.”

You tapped the manila file in your lap and looked over to Bucky as he drove. He was wearing jeans and a pullover crewneck, his hair tied back and casual, and even though you’d seen him outside of work before, he looked different this way. Something about the night and him driving you home made him look different. 

Bucky didn’t make a comment about your work or the system you had to avoid criticism from the Senator. Silence lapsed in the car, you lightly drumming your fingers on your thigh as the D.C. night swept past along the car windows. 

“I would like to get coffee Saturday,” Bucky finally said. “If the offer still stands.” 

“Of course it stands.” 

You only briefly caught the half-smile that lit up his face before the light of the streets was lost to a tunnel. 

~~

Coffee was relaxed and enjoyable, as it always was with Bucky. He asked a few more questions about your work, a topic he had previously not touched on. He wanted to know about your coworkers, if the interns ever helped you, how much time you got off, and in turn, you asked him about being a Congressman and if he actually enjoyed it. 

Both answers left the other person less than satisfied. 

“What about you?” Bucky asked, tilting his cup up. “Why have you been an executive assistant for so long?” 

You hummed. “I don’t know, really. My dad was in politics, and he would only really accept my work if I was, too. He’s… not around now, but I feel like I have to stay. I’m good at it.” 

“I believe it. Could be good at a lot of things, though.” 

You shot him a mock glare. “Trying to get rid of me, Congressman?” 

Bucky leaned forward, placing a hand on the small table that only separated you a few inches. He answered you earnestly, but a small amount of humor lightened his eyes, made him look less serious. “Now, why would I want to do that?” 

Your lips parted to quip something back, but then he was raising his hand again, the heat of his skin lingering at the corner of your mouth. He swiped his thumb there, and you were frozen, a replica of when he brushed your hair back a few nights ago, but the car had been a distraction then. You had been flustered and trying to sort out your belongings, so you didn’t think about it for longer than a few seconds. 

“Whipped cream,” he explained, holding you in his gaze for a moment longer than you should have been. Even as the barista from behind the counter was now standing at your table and speaking. 

“Hi! Would the two of you like to try our new coffee cake? Free samples since it’s new.” 

Bucky was the first to look away, tearing his eyes from yours to smile politely at the barista. You shook from your stupor and quickly reached for a napkin, brushing it against your lips even though nothing remained. 

You felt fuzzy, confused. But also nothing was confusing and you were reminded, again, how attractive the Congressman was. How attractive and how definitely off-limits he was. 

It would be so taboo for Bucky to be dating an assistant. 

“What about you, ma’am?” You blinked several times and looked up to read the small ‘coffee cake’ sign lying next to the treats, the barista’s blinding smile expecting and very retail. 

“I’m allergic to cinnamon, but thank you.” 

“Allergic to cinnamon?” Bucky asked as the barista left.

“Yeah, anaphylaxis and everything. I carry an epipen with me, but I’ve only had to use it once when I was 10. Did you know that some bakeries add cinnamon to buttercream birthday cakes?” you chuckled, reorienting yourself to the present. “Are you allergic to anything? Or, I guess you probably aren’t. Isn’t that a serum thing?” 

“Not allergic to anything, but if I had been, it would’ve been wiped out by the serum. We didn’t really have a lot of food variety in the 30s. Could have been allergic to shellfish—didn’t try that until after.” 

You had to pause the cup at your lips. “Oh my god, I forgot you’re like 100 years old.” 

Bucky’s expression morphed into an offended wince. “Alright, I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t exactly lived 100 years.” 

“I was just thinking the other day how you don’t exactly fit in with the rest of Congress, but you so do! Maybe even on the young side,” you teased. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky egged on, nodding with his brows raised. “You were thinking about me?” 

You knocked your head back in a laugh, holding your stomach with your forearm. “How did I forget this?” 

“You know what? I’m not driving you home anymore.” 

With lingering giggles, you righted yourself in your chair, a smile still clear in your voice. Contrasting his words, Bucky’s smile was just as wide as yours, a slight redness to his cheeks making him look softer. You brought a hand to cover his arm on the table. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, Bucky. You aren’t old. I take it back.” 

“Yeah, you better,” he taunted, though his arm flipped over and he gave your wrist a soft squeeze as he said it. 

~~

Bucky wouldn’t stop touching you. 

You didn’t know if he was doing it consciously or if this was something he commonly did with his friends, but he was going to get you in trouble. 

Outside of work, it was fine—distracting and disorienting, but fine. A brush of his hand helping you into the car, fixing your bag on your shoulder, a hand on your back when you left the coffee shop; over the past few weeks, it had all begun to feel commonplace. 

It could have been frequency that made you more aware of this habit of his, because Bucky had begun picking you up every time you worked late and planned coffee or lunch or even a walk at least once a weekend. So, maybe this was his norm and you were just around him more often—something you enjoyed, but also something that made feelings more difficult. 

Because, again, Congressman Barnes could not be dating an assistant. His credibility among the rest of Congress was already being questioned almost daily, and he did not need the court of public opinion breathing down his neck on top of that. It was a fortunate truth that while the internal part of his job was tricky, most of the public favored him. 

So, as much as your chest hurt and your stomach flipped whenever you were around him, you settled for friendship. A touchy friendship. 

At work, things felt heightened in the worst way possible. 

You couldn’t even understand why he was coming to the top floor so often, seemingly lingering there so he could scare the crap out of you when you’d turn a corner. And then it would be a smile and another hand at your back when he was passing you—a hand that was not necessary. Or he would find you at the tail-end of your lunch break and move your hair away from your eyes, distracting you to the point of no return. 

It was the worst because you were getting distracted, and when you were distracted, you got yelled at. 

Bucky had seen you get yelled at a few times now, each seemingly worse than the last. He kept quiet about it, but you could tell it bothered him. He almost stepped in once—when Brown was irate at the coffee you’d gotten him and chucked it at the wall, you saw Bucky step forward from down the hall. He stopped at the slight shake of your head. 

You were used to the Senator throwing things, and as long as it wasn’t in your direction, it was no harm done. At least, that’s what you thought. 

“You should go to human resources,” Bucky commented one Sunday, the two of you sitting along a lake by the Capitol building. 

You almost snorted. “Right. And what do you think old Mrs. Martha is going to be able to do for me? Brown has been in office for over a decade. If anything, that would just get me fired.” 

Bucky shook his head, expression taut. “There’s gotta be something else then. You don’t deserve all of that.” 

“If we’re talking about not deserving torment, I think I’m the least of our worries here, Sergeant,” you noted, knocking your shoulder against his in an attempted lightness. 

But when you turned to look at him, Bucky was already facing you. “I’m serious, y/n. He’s throwing things at you. I’ve stayed out of it because you told me to, but after today—” 

“Bucky, hey,” you calmed. “I know it seems crazy, but I know how to deal with it. I know he won’t actually do anything.”

“Right now, maybe.” 

You sighed, searching his eyes and trying to discern when this became such an intense conversation. Trying to figure out when the two of you had discussions like this and not just lax coffee hangouts. Against your better judgment, you placed a hand over his thigh and relented. 

“Okay, fine. I’ll work on it, but I’ll be the one working on it, okay? It definitely can’t be you—he would freak out if a representative started ordering him around. Even if you could totally knock him out.” 

Bucky shook his head in disbelief, a smile begrudgingly sneaking onto his face. “I can’t believe you’re joking about this.” 

“You can definitely believe that.” 

“Yeah, I can.” And then you were tugged against his starched, ironed suit, his metal arm holding you close to his chest.

You gasped a little at the initial contact, your heart hammering against your ribs as Bucky simply kept you there. This is dangerous, your brain reminded you, but it was also harmless, if you looked at it the right way. 

“You know, I’m not going to die, Bucky. I’ve dealt with this for years.” 

“Yeah, you keep joking about that,” he gruffly replied, the words a ghost against the top of your head. You hadn’t realized his lips were that close. “If we could keep the death jokes to a minimum, that would be great.” 

You pulled back from him enough to look at his face. “Why? Afraid your only friend will bite it?” 

“Hey, I have other friends.” 

“I haven’t seen ‘em.” 

“Shut up,” he groaned, tugging you back in. “You can meet them as proof. Next weekend.” 

“Okay, sure, Bucky,” you sang out, tapping his chest. “But if we need to reschedule this meeting with your 'friends,’ I would understand.” 

As Bucky went on to refute your insinuations in a grumpy tone, you tried to pretend that this felt like that—just a friendship. 

~~

Approximately four days later, everything went to shit. 

Senator Brown was on a tirade, screaming at everyone and everything in his path. When he got like this, the admin staff usually locked the doors to his office and the entire floor if they could, but today, they weren’t ready for how angry he was. 

It was a bill, or a speech, or maybe even the press catching wind that he was cheating on his wife—it didn’t matter. He was pissed and you were going to have to answer for it. 

You stood in his office with a clear view of the glass wall connecting to the hallway, hands behind your back and fighting off a wince with every curse and insult the Senator threw at you. 

“I hired you to take care of this bullshit! Why the hell am I dealing with this when I’m supposed to have an entire staff? This is fucked!” 

“You’re too worried about going home early, you can’t even assemble a reply to an email correctly! A fucking email!”

“I should’ve fired you weeks ago. When you started fucking off to wherever you take too long for your lunch break and stopped doing your job. I swear to god, this country has—” 

You were only retaining about half of what he said, which was good, considering everything was an attack on you, and your work ethic, and then he even started going in on your clothes and your apartment. It must have been something really bad this time. After he was done yelling, you would check his texts and probably find a couple of mentions of divorce sprinkled in between messages with his lawyers. 

Affairs and divorce were always messy for politicians. 

“Of course, Senator. I will do better. I apologize,” you offered, unsure what you were apologizing for at the present. It wouldn’t matter; he would just start up again about another topic. 

“Damn right you will or I’ll send you out on the streets. Do you know how hard it is to get a job in D.C when a Senator blacklists you?” 

Did you ever. 

When Bucky had asked you why you stayed, you left out that key bit of information. He was still newer to the field and didn’t need to know that Senator Brown held that over your head each time you even hinted at moving on. 

You figured the screaming was almost over. Brown was in his 60s, so he would be getting tired. And it probably would have been over if he hadn’t checked his Apple Watch and read a text that got him fired up once more.

You greatly regretted setting that up for him. 

You braced yourself for further yelling as his face began to turn red, but were alarmed as the Senator reached for the wooden pencil case on his desk and threw it. Pens flew, and you knew he wasn’t aiming for you, but the cup hit a vase on a high bookshelf to your right, which then toppled over and shook loose the framed art hanging above your head. 

You should have moved, but you spotted Bucky in the hall, and he always distracted you. 

The frame shot straight down, smacking you in the head and causing your knees to buckle in surprise. You fell to the ground, feeling dramatic and disoriented as the room silenced and your ears rang. You knew he wouldn’t apologize, but the continued quiet as you pushed yourself up and sat back on your haunches was almost deafening. 

The glass door to the office swung open. 

“What the hell?” A hand was on your elbow. A colder one felt around the top of your head. It was Bucky, obviously it was Bucky, but you were too afraid to look, keeping your gaze locked on Senator Brown. “Hey, you okay?” 

The hand on your head moved down to your jaw, forcing your gaze to Bucky. He searched every inch of your face as you blinked at him, mind blank. “Um, I’m fine.” 

Your brows furrowed, trying to connect the chain of events that led to this. You brought your hand up to replace where Bucky had placed his, the action seemingly spurring him into action. 

“The hell is wrong with you, huh?” Bucky shouted, rising from the floor. “You think it makes you tough to throw things at her?” 

Senator Brown had gone from furious to unsure, probably aware of the physical strength Bucky harbored. But, as was typical with politicians, he would not put anything before his pride. Brown righted his expression and pursed his lips. 

“I wasn’t trying to hit her, Congressman. It was a simple accident. You weren’t even in the room to see it happen.” 

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t need to be. You’re screaming at her when you’re not throwing. What kinda grown man does that?” 

“Bucky—” you cautioned, glued to the floor still. 

The senator directed his attention towards you, brows raised accusingly. “Oh, so you’ve been gossiping about me, then?” 

You shrank back, hand lingering where your head ached, but Bucky stepped in front of you, blocking you from Brown’s line of sight. 

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Bucky seethed, jutting a finger into Brown’s chest. 

Brown’s head sharply turned. “That you are, Congressman. But it seems like my assistant here no longer wants her role, so this conversation is moot.” 

“Wait, I—” 

“Maybe if you spent time picking on someone your own size instead of acting like a coward—” 

“Bucky, don’t—” 

“A coward? A coward? Who’s the one who cannot speak for himself on the board? Tell me, Barnes, is that part of some unresolved trauma from some nondescript decade?” 

“You shut your mouth before I—” 

“Congressman Barnes,” you called, authority that didn’t belong to you heavy in your tone. You were two seconds away from losing your job and being blacklisted, neither of which you could handle. Bucky froze, his anger still held in his shoulders. “Thank you for your concern, as I’m sure you were just passing by when you saw what happened, but I can assure you that it was an accident and I am fine.” 

Bucky looked over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but took a step back and dropped his hands by his sides when he caught your expression—still disheveled, but resolute in your decision. He needed to leave. You needed to save your career. You could… figure everything else out later. Probably. 

You bit into your bottom lip until it hurt. 

Bucky looked at the wall behind your head and then tracked his gaze to the forming lump on your crown. “But—” 

“I am fine,” you repeated slowly. Having risen from the floor before calling his name, you walked to the door and held it open. “We’re very busy. Please excuse us.” 

Bucky licked his lips as he looked to the floor, shaking his head in abject disbelief and following your direction. When he met the entryway, he tilted his head slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but thinking against it. His hand twitched at his side, and then he left, taking long, purposeful strides away from the office. 

You took a deep breath, allowed yourself a moment as the door closed, and then you did something purposeful yourself. Even if it killed you to do so. 

~~

Bucky’s POV

Bucky was losing his mind. 

After leaving Brown’s office, he’d stormed into his own and promptly shut and locked the door. Tugging his tie away from his neck and prying the uncomfortable suit jacket from his shoulders, Bucky then began to pace. He was pissed. He was so beyond pissed. 

It would have been so easy for him to knock that Senator out, and he would have deserved it. Bucky had had to watch for weeks as you were berated and screamed at, and then the line was crossed when he saw him throwing things. You hadn’t let him do anything, and then you hadn’t let him do anything again after you’d been hurt. 

He watched you flinch and cover your face, and even that hadn’t been enough. 

Bucky swiped a hand over his mouth. 

When had you started to matter to him so much? That was a stupid question, and apparently, he was full of stupidity today.

He promised that he’d let you take care of it, and then he went in there and almost killed Senator Brown. A replay of you falling to the ground looped in his mind, and actually Bucky didn’t feel stupid at all. All he felt was rage. 

“Shit,” he breathed out, knocking his head back and falling back into his office chair.

He’d messed up. He wasn’t sure exactly how, but he knew you were not happy with him. What did “taking care of it” even mean? And why were you so dead set on keeping that awful job? Bucky could think of at least a dozen other jobs in D.C. that would not involve you being verbally and physically abused. 

Fuck, he wished he had more pull, but as a Congressman of only a few months, there was little he could do against a Senator. And he had a meeting in five minutes. 

Bucky pulled his phone out and sent you a quick text about talking after work, let out the longest sigh of his life, and then readjusted his tie. 

That had been three days ago. 

You never texted him back. And you left the building far before he could give you a ride home. When he asked your coworkers, they said you were no longer working overtime and left during normal hours. 

Fine. That was good, actually. Only, Bucky never saw you. 

He frequented all of your normal spots, wandered up to the top floor, and even stopped by the coffeeshop two days in a row, and you were nowhere. Avoiding him, obviously, and while he understood (he didn’t), he mostly wanted to put eyes on you. To make sure you were okay. 

Sure, you didn’t have a severe head injury, but it was more than that. 

Bucky brought his turmoil to the barbecue Sam was holding that weekend. The one you were supposed to be at. 

Nursing his fifth beer that wouldn’t do anything, Bucky leaned back against the fence of Sam’s yard and sulked. He’d talked to a few people when he got there, but sulking was on his agenda for the afternoon. 

“What’s up with the stank face?” Sam asked, entering Bucky’s orbit of solitude and despair. “It’s gonna get stuck like that if you keep it up.” 

“I don’t have a stank face,” Bucky argued. 

“Right, right. Well, right now you have more of a pissed off face, but I guess I bring that out in you.” Sam paused and then smacked Bucky in the shoulder. “Come on, man. What’s going on, seriously? Does it have to do with that girl you were supposed to bring?” 

“I don’t want to talk about that.” 

“Oh, you don’t? Then it’s that.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, knocking back more of his beer as the sizzle of burgers juxtaposed with his somberness. “Alright, fine. It’s that. But it’s stupid. We weren’t even…”

“Dating?” 

“Yeah. That.” 

“You told me you went out for coffee and all that. That you would go on long walks at the lake and canoodle at work.”

“Are you going to take this seriously?” Bucky accused. “‘Cause if you’re not, I’m leaving right now. I’ll leave.” 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry,” Sam surrendered, raising his hands. “But really, Buck, that all sounds like dating. Tell me why she didn’t come.” 

Bucky clenched his jaw and stared out at the merriment of the barbecue, remembering the scene more vividly than he would have liked. He tried to find an exact moment that would have led to you avoiding him, but he couldn’t pin it down. Maybe it was the entire thing? 

“I think she’s mad at me. I kinda went off on her boss and she told me she wanted to take care of it.” 

“What do you mean ‘went off’? And isn’t she working under a Senator?”

Bucky puffed out a breath. “Yeah, Senator Brown.” Sam let out a low whistle as Bucky continued. “He yells at her. Throws things. I felt like it crossed a line this week, so I guess I kinda stormed in. She threw me out and’s been avoiding me since. We had talked about it before and she said to stay out of it, but, Sam, the guy’s a dick.” 

“And you really like her,” Sam added casually. “And I really like her,” Bucky confirmed. 

Sam paused to contemplate, though Bucky didn’t know what he could possibly offer that Bucky hadn’t already considered. He really, really liked you—more than he figured possible, especially with all of his attempts at dating since his pardon. But then you’d surprised him that night at the hotel, and he’d been hooked. 

He hadn’t even had the chance to tell you.

“Well, two things,” Sam began, leaning on the fence next to Bucky. “Sounds like she knows what she’s doing, so you should have trusted her. But—” Sam cut out as Bucky opened his mouth “—it also sounds like Brown’s a major ass with a lot of power. You don’t know what he might have over her, slimy dude like that.” 

“What, you mean like blackmail?” 

“Maybe, who knows? You just gotta talk to her, man. Work it out.” 

Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder before wading back into the party in the yard. Bucky, feeling somewhat lighter but also still at peril, kicked off the fence and made his own attempts at being sociable. 

“As soon as I can actually find her,” he grumbled to himself. 

~~

The charity gala had been on your calendar for the past six months, and still, nothing could have prepared you for how much you didn’t want to attend. 

You usually enjoyed events like this. You got to dress up and eat nice food, and Brown always got too drunk to remember that his assistant was even in the building. The first hour felt like work, and then the rest of the night was cosplaying as a rich politician. 

That was not the case for this gala. 

Ever since the ordeal with Bucky, Senator Brown had kept you on a tight leash. Whether that was due to how much he enjoyed intimidating you or his fear that you actually were telling people he was a mean, abusive boss, didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this gala was going to suck and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You had apologized profusely, swore up and down that you didn’t know Congressman Barnes, and practically pledged your life to Brown in every way you knew how. You never left the office, never took a lunch break—you were pretty sure your eyes were permanently dry from how long you stared at a screen all day. 

Making you attend this gala and not leave his side was another ploy to make you atone for your wrongdoings. Maybe the man knew how much you enjoyed these events and was taking advantage of that. 

“Check this,” Senator Brown lazily ordered, draping his coat over your arms. “And meet me back in the dining room. You get to sit right next to me.” 

You offered him a tight smile and felt the ache in your shoulders begin to fester. You were more uptight this week than ever, but that had nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. Nothing. 

It was just this job and your future in D.C. hanging in the balance. 

Obviously. 

You meandered over to the coat check, taking longer than you needed to and dragging your feet along the way. Your phone was buzzing incessantly in your bag—most likely some PR fire you’d need to put out before more people realized Brown was cheating on his wife—and you had absolutely no inclination to drag it out. 

“Just these two,” you offered, pressing the coats into the attendant's hands and taking the ticket in return. 

“Actually, can you add this one to that ticket?” 

As if this night couldn’t get any more uncomfortable. 

You could feel his chest against your back even before you heard him. He shifted his arms out of his sleeves and placed a hand on your shoulder as he leaned towards the counter. Of course he smelled good. Why wouldn’t he?

You fought the urge to roll your eyes in repressed… something and spun on your heel. 

He was just as close as you were expecting and also far too close for comfort. You knocked your head back to catch his gaze, trying to appear unamused and angry. 

“Why would you do that?” you asked. 

Bucky paused for a moment, searching the planes of your face for a beat too long before replying, “No reason to open another ticket. I’ll just leave when you leave.” 

“You mean you’ll leave when Brown leaves, then?” 

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “So, nothing's changed.”

This time, you did roll your eyes. You clutched the coat check number in your hand and began to storm off, not in the headspace to have this conversation at this gala. Bucky, however, did not seem to mind. 

The hand on your arm was soft but firm as you were tugged into a closet and subsequently shoved into a rack of hanging coats. It was too dim to see beyond your hands out in front of you, but Bucky solved that predicament as he entered your space. 

“Did you seriously just throw me into a closet?” you whisper-yelled, all too aware of the staff only feet away. 

“I had no choice,” he replied with the same urgency. “You were stomping off. And I didn’t throw you in here.” 

“I was not stomping off,” you scoffed. 

“You were.” 

“Was not!” 

“I could hear your heels. You were stomping.” 

You groaned, pushing into his chest to try and create distance that wasn’t available. Your back only hit the wall. 

“Fine. What do you want?” 

Bucky froze for a moment. “I… I didn’t actually think you’d stay in here. Or let me talk, if I’m being honest. 

Your jaw fell open, an incredulous laugh slipping out. You’d almost forgotten how endearing he was in just about everything he did. Even as he stood in front of you in a full, three-piece suit, smushing you against a closet wall because he had dragged you in there with no plan, a part of your chest warmed. 

Your phone vibrated in your bag, and that warmth turned to ice. 

“I don’t have time for this,” you determined, wiggling your way towards the door. 

“Wait, hold on. I do have something to say, wait,” Bucky pleaded, metal hand—more gentle than you were sure it was ever used for—encircling your wrist. He tugged you back even closer this time, your face inches from his. “I wanted to say sorry. And… and I want to get it.” 

“Get it?” you parroted, trying extremely hard to ignore the dropping feeling in your gut as he stared into your eyes. 

“I want to get why you stay. Why you let him treat you like that. I want to know so I can… feel okay backing off.” 

All you could get out was, “Why?” 

Bucky’s next words were spoken as he stared down at your lips. “I think you know why.” 

Breaths began to fail you, each exhale more ragged than the last. You had been expecting this, in a way, and that was why you always made excuses. He couldn’t be with you because he was a Congressman. You were only an assistant. You couldn’t date him because you were too busy. He wouldn’t want to date you, anyway. Senator Brown would never be okay with it. 

All of those excuses evaporated within the shared space of the closet, and then you got scared. So, you blurted out what he wanted. 

“He won’t let me quit. He won’t let me work anywhere else.” 

Bucky blinked, a fog clearing from his heated gaze. His head jutted back an inch, and the hand that had somehow found a home on your jaw paused its ascent into your hair. “Won’t let you?” 

“I’d be blacklisted.” 

“He can’t do that.” 

“He can.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to speak again as the air in the closet became breathable and light peeked in from the cracking door. You sprang back from the Congressman, pushing his hand away from your cheek and slamming your back into the wall. It didn’t help much; the fifteen-year-old with the shawl in her hand was already making her own assumptions as you rushed past her and left Bucky to his own devices in the closet. 

Amazing. 

Just amazing. 

You debated moving states, or countries, or entire career paths as you hurried into the dining room of the gala. Not only had you taken too long at the coat check, but you knew you looked completely flushed and out of it. You prayed that Brown was already drinking and wouldn’t catch on. 

Thankfully, your prayers were answered. 

While he was not happy to see you, his raised brow and side-eye deadly as you sat down, he didn’t say anything. And that was how dinner went—quiet and uncomfortable for you, but otherwise par for the course for Senator Brown. 

Bucky was staring at you from across the table. The room was backlit by dull candles and expensive chandeliers, and you could feel his gaze on the side of your face like an unprecedented heat. He often flickered that gaze to Brown, but it would harden, become angry.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. 

You either stuck it out with Brown or tossed your political science degree in the trash can on your way out.

When dinner passed and dessert was served, you eyed the lemon tart mocking you from your plate. Dessert, when your life felt so out of control and confusing, couldn’t hurt, you figured, so you picked up your fork and ignored the knots taking up space in your stomach. 

“Yours looks better.” Senator Brown picked up the lip of your plate and slid his in its place. “Here.” 

“But—” 

“Oh, don’t complain about it. Who complains about chocolate cake?” he peeved, snickering to the men on the other side of the table. He then went on a drunken rant about “good help” and the “youth of today” as you looked down at the cake in front of you. 

Was D.C. even worth it? 

Bucky was staring at you again. He wasn’t directly across from you, a few centerpieces blocking your view, but you could feel it. To avoid him—and your feelings—you ate the cake. Brown and the men sarcastically cheered as you did, alcohol clear in the air at this point, and you took another bite to get them to find some other novelty. 

You took three bites before it started to sink in. 

You vaguely registered that Bucky had pushed out from the table, a clink of silverware preceding the motion. It was too late for him, however, because as your own fork clattered down, you could no longer breathe. 

Your tongue felt ten times too big in your mouth and your throat was glued shut, air tunneling through any openings it could find. You pushed out from the table and stood. The extra space didn’t do anything. You clawed at your throat until your legs became unsteady and failed from the lack of oxygen. 

The table was extremely long, so at some point, you thought you heard Bucky dive over the dinner party rather than continue his trek around to your side. Other sounds filtered past the panic clogging your ears. 

“What’s wrong with her?” 

“I don’t know!” 

“Is she allergic to something? It’s an allergic reaction!” 

“Brown, what is she allergic to?” 

“How should I know?” 

“Well, do something!” 

As you were grappling for your purse, a choked whine fell from your lips. It had been kicked somewhere, pushed out of your grasp, and no one at this damn gala was helping you. Several older women had gone to their knees with worried expressions at your eye line, but they weren’t doing anything. 

“Move.” 

Your head was beginning to spin, and your thoughts were blurring, but you heard Bucky. He came to your side much faster than it felt, moving things around that your blurred vision couldn’t catch. And then, pain. And then relief. 

Your gasping breaths were supported by gentle hands on your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. You grappled at Bucky’s wrists and tried to parse out panic from physical symptoms, but there was so much commotion in the room and your head was still so fuzzy. 

“You’re okay,” Bucky assured you, voice almost too low to catch. Someone was on the phone with 911 in the back. “You can breathe with me. Come on. Don’t—hey—don’t look at them. Look at me.” 

Your chin was pushed forward, and then your forehead connected with his. Ringing persisted in your ears. Your hands were beginning to shake from the epi, your jaw following close behind. 

“I got you, okay?” 

“F-f-feels—” 

“I know,” he hushed. When your breath was somewhat steadier, he tucked your head beneath his chin and began barking out orders. He asked for an ETA on the ambulance, for your jacket, for ten other things you couldn’t register. And then, “You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” 

The chaos of the room went silent. Within your shaking hands clutched in Bucky’s suit jacket, your fingers spasmed out of fear. 

“Excuse me?” Brown scoffed. You were honestly surprised he was still in the room.

“What, throwing things at her wasn’t enough? Had to try and kill her?” 

“B-bucky—” 

“Throwing things at her?” you heard from across the room. “Brown, what is Barnes talking about?” 

“I have no idea,” Brown spat out. He jutted his hand out towards you on the floor. “He never knows what he’s talking about. We’ve established that.” 

“Right,” Bucky deadpanned, pulling you closer to his chest as you gasped for breath. “So what do you call this?” 

“An accident, obviously.” 

Bucky let out a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head in disbelief. Silence blanketed the room once more, and it was clear that he had given up. His hands were glued to the back of your head and your back, and he didn’t have the time or the drive in him to care about Brown right now. 

“I saw you switch the plates.” The quiet voice came from across the table, the young blonde’s face registering in your memory as you peeked out from beyond Bucky’s chest. “She had a card with it, too. It said there was an allergy accommodation.” 

Low murmurs fell over the room. Brown, much to your surprise, looked at a loss for words, his expression betrayed as he stared at the woman across the room. It clicked then, where you knew her from. She was on the front cover of every article you were pressured to get taken down, and the contact photo for the main caller in Brown’s phone. 

“What? No,” Brown refuted, a nervous chuckle escaping him. “She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, either. She’s barely even a secretary. She’s—” 

The eyes around the room made his words trail off. “Barely even a secretary” was certainly a degrading title for his mistress, and everyone in the room knew it. If you were to look at your phone, you’d have seen that the newest story of their relationship had been blowing up all night. You guessed she was fed up with him denying it. 

Sirens sounded beyond the doors of the ballroom, breaking up the tension at the wide table. Brown used it as his getaway, throwing his napkin down and muttering something about insolence or idiots or something of the sort. You couldn’t really hear anything over Bucky’s low whisper in your ear, followed by his lips against the side of your head. 

~~

After being monitored in the emergency room for approximately six hours, the night shift staff sent you off with a horde of medication to take for the next month and, of course, a new epipen. You trudged out past the waiting room, prepared to wait in the parking lot for an Uber, when a certain man sitting in a chair far too small for him caught your eye. 

He was half asleep, his face held in his metal hand as he nodded off and woke up just as quickly. His suit looked stiff and uncomfortable as he twisted his wrists, dragging the sleeves up to his elbows. He’d discarded the jacket somewhere, probably lost to the world now. And then he spotted you, your dress awkwardly draped over your body in your haphazard attempt to re-dress, your hair completely out of place, and your hands filled with paper bags of medication.

He shot out of the chair, holding everything in your hands in one of his, and assessed you himself. His gaze roved the mess you’d become. He should have made a joke about it, maybe teased you for almost dying, but instead, he ran a hand over your head and dragged you against his chest. 

“Scared the shit out of me,” he murmured into your hair. He pressed another kiss there, reminding you that the first one hadn’t been your imagination. 

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said, clutching his button-up in your hands. 

“‘Course I did.” He leaned you back, hand still woven at the base of your hair, not caring that he was in the middle of the ER waiting room. “You okay?” 

It only took you a moment to make a decision. 

You pressed up, kissing him even though you were in the ER waiting room. Even though you both looked like a mess and you’d almost died and you had no idea if you still had a job. You kissed him and it startled him, the paper bag of medications crunching in his hand, but he kissed you back without hesitation. 

It wasn’t a passionate kiss—not like the breathless, wanting kisses you would share late, share tomorrow—but it was confirming something. Bucky held you and had his lips firmly against yours, his brows furrowed in a way you couldn’t see, and he confirmed everything you’d suspected. 

You figured you wouldn’t need to work if your boyfriend were a Congressman. 

But, as you would soon find out, Senator Brown didn’t have very much time left as a Senator, anyway. 

[cherrygirlfriend]

─── YOU'VE GOT MAIL .ᐟ

...or what it's like to be scared.

★ pairing.ᐟ frat!rafe x nerd!reader

★ summary.ᐟ rafe cameron is the golden boy of kildare university; certified frat boy, captain of the football team, relentless party animal with lines of girls to sleep with.

reader couldn't be more different; while she has the best grades in the whole school, she suffers from social anxiety disorder, and her social life is limited to her three best friends and the cat she secretly snuck into her dorm room.

both of them decide to join the anonymous chatroom for their campus, and start talking to one another, a friendship starting to form between the two; but neither of them know how different the other is.

★ author's note.ᐟ i still intend on logging off however as there’s literally one chapter left after this i’m gonna post it sometime next week, and i’m logging off again until then. thanks everyone for the well wishes. i don’t know how long i’ll be gone but it’s gonna be at least for now.

YOU'VE GOT MAIL!

"don't fuck it up rafe. don't fuck it up rafe. don't fuck it up rafe."

the sentence echoed throughout rafe's brain, and he was unable to contain himself, the boy getting on his feet, rushing after you, all the words his friends had said to him turning into nonsense. for once, he listened to his heart.

"wait!" he called out, grabbing your arm, forcing you to turn around to face him, your eyes glistening with tears, "what do you want? i thought you didn't need a random chick you met on the internet in order to feel like a badass?" you scoffed.

"i'm an idiot." was the only thing rafe said before he closed the distance, pressing his lips on yours.

what rafe hadn't expected, was that only after his lips had been on yours for only a few seconds, you'd pushed him off of you as soon as you could react, looking at him with an expression of pure confusion bordering on disgust, making the boy's brain glitch. "rafe, what the fuck was that?"

"i- i thought that would be... a good way to show you how i feel for you...?" "i'm- jesus! rafe, this is not some cheesy romcom! kissing me after saying something like that about me is not in any way romantic. it's- it's insulting." "oh."

the seriousness slowly started falling from your face when you saw the redness starting to creep onto his cheek, rafe's hand scratching the back of his neck, the boy looking at anything but you, a soft chuckle escaping your lips that finally made his blue eyes snap to you.

"if you want to show me how you feel for me... just talk to me. tell me how you feel." "ohhh..." "so?" you cross your arms. "are you gonna tell me?"

rafe cleared his throat, looking down at the ground, "i don't really know how to talk about this 'feelings' shit." "you weren't that bad at it when you said things to me on the app." "yeeeah, but there's a difference. doing it like this is... all awkward and whatever."

"suit yourself. bye, rafe." you smile at the boy, but just as you were about to turn away from him, you felt a warm hand clasp around your wrist. when you looked back at rafe, he had his eyes pressed closed, the boy taking in a deep breath.

"when i talk to you... i feel the kind of happiness i've only ever felt when i won a big match. but, like, tripled. you're wicked smart and even though we joke about it sometimes, you never make me feel stupid. you're... yourself. even when i didn't know you were... AnnabelLee, when you were just you... you were always so bright, like sunlight.

rafe shifted on his feet, his eyes slowly opening, jaw clenched, "i don't think i deserve you. i'm not good enough for you, and i've been so fucking scared that you'd agree with that thought. that you'd think i'm just some dumbass who doesn't know how to treat girls right, like most people do. but... i've never felt this way towards another girl and that fucking terrifies me. i didn't mean anything i said to my friends, but i was scared that you didn't want me after you knew who i really was. you're not just some random chick, and i shouldn’t have said that because you're... the chick. and i'm the biggest idiot in the world." he chuckled in a slightly self-deprecating manner, rafe's mouth pressed together in a tight-lipped smile, "you're... you're the girl i love."

your eyes widened slightly and your jaw dropped at the confession; and somehow the brain that is usually on overdrive, overthinking every single thing, was now empty, as if all the cogs usually turning inside your head had stopped, like those simple words were the only thing enough to cause a malfunction.

"can you... can you say something?"

"you... you love me?"

"yeah." rafe says in a throaty voice, making him clear his throat as he looks down at the ground, "i... i love you."

you felt as if your knees were going to buckle underneath you as you took a shaky step towards rafe, swallowing down every single doubt that was threatening to crawl up your throat. all you could do was reach a hand out to his cheek, his blue eyes flickering to your face and you saw something you hadn't ever seen on his face before; vulnerability.

and this time it was you who closed the gap between you two, connecting your lips.

it was something neither of you had expected; you'd never made a move on a guy, and when rafe didn't kiss you back for a short moment, you nearly started pulling away, only to feel him molding his lips to fit against yours, his hand on your waist as he pulled you closer to his chest.

no one had ever kissed you the way that he had; no one had ever made your fingertips tingle against their skin, no one had ever made electricity shoot through your entire body.

when you pulled away from the kiss, you were nearly left breathless, your face only inches away from rafe's, his large hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he smiled down at you softly. "fuck."

you let out a breath of a chuckle, your lower lip stuck between your teeth as you looked up into the blue eyes that were now mostly pupil, before mumbling softly, "yeah. fuck."

your lips felt like they were buzzing with electricity for the entire walk back to your dorm as you and rafe walked together with your fingers interlocked, neither of you saying a thing, only listening to the soft breeze of the wind, your arms pressed together...

and they were still buzzing the next morning when you woke up.

and when you were sitting in the cafeteria with vivian, zainab and emilia...

"i kissed rafe."

the words are out of your mouth as soon as you sit down at the table where your friends were eating, vivian coughing from nearly choking on a meatball.

"wwwhhaattt-" she wheezed before continuing to cough, starting to hit her own back, "i think what vivian meant to say was... what the hell?" emilia interjected.

you couldn't help the radiant smile that took over your lips, a soft squeal leaving your lips. vivian's coughs started subsiding, and the girl took a large gulp from her bottle of water before turning to you, "you two kissed? when?"

"last night." you bit down on your lower lip, your cheeks hurting from how hard you were smiling. "what was it like?" zainab asked, softly nudging your shoulder.

"it was... like nothing i've ever felt. i can't even describe it with words."

"you can't describe something with words?" vivian snorted, and you could see zainab kick the girl under the table, making her let out an ouch! but somehow even her quip wasn't enough to bring you down from cloud nine.

"it felt like... when you find the correct spot for a puzzle piece. it felt like i finally understood what people in romance books and movies were talking about. like every part of my body was on fire from a blaze that he started. like i couldn't breathe if he wasn't touching me."

"wow..." emilia mumbled softly as he looked at your dazed expression.

"shit." vivian chuckled, "imagine how it'll be when you finally bang." "viv!" zainab exclaimed, throwing a fry at the pink-haired girl, who simply shrugged and grinned back at her.

"shut up, viv." you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help but smile, "real talk, i'm happy for you." vivian reached out to take hold of your hand, "you deserve a guy who gives you fireworks, babes."

when he entered the cafeteria, it was like the whole room brightened, your eyes immediately drawn to him.

you watched as rafe walked into the cafeteria with a group of his friends, playfully punching one of them on the arm before turning his head to look right back at you. and when his lips quirked up into a smile, yours did too.

you didn't even notice the way your friends followed your eyes to the boy before turning back to each other, "yeaaah, she's so gone."

you were laid up in your dorm room working on homework when you heard a sharp knock, angel's head quirking up, the cat looking to you, both of you sharing a confused look. as you got out of bed and made your way to the door, the white, fluffy cat followed at your feet, your eyes widening once you pulled open the door and saw who was on the other side.

"hi." rafe said with a slightly sheepish wave, holding a shoe box in his other hand. "hi." you mumbled softly, "can i, uh, can i come in?" "oh, yeah, of course."

stepping aside, you allowed rafe into your dormitory, the boy gazing around the different things in your room when you realized you were clad in an old stevie nicks t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, your cheeks starting to feel warmer in embarrassment, "what, uh, what are you here for?" you mumbled, a tight-lipped smile on your face.

"oh, yeah." rafe chuckled softly, "we have a game tomorrow, and i was wondering if you were coming." "vivian mentioned it earlier," you nodded, "i dunno, i mean, i don't really know anything about football." you chuckled breathily, "and... i have a lot of homework..."

"yeah, yeah. i get that..." rafe mumbled, before clearing his throat, "i... i really want you to come." your eyes widened, "you do?" "yeah. i do." he smiled softly, holding the shoe box out to you, "you could even wear this. if you want to. if you're not too busy."

you took the shoe box he was offering to you and opened it, seeing a folded piece of fabric. "what's this?" you chuckled softly, placing the shoe box down on your bed as you unfolded it.

"it's my jersey. i've seen some of the guys loan them to... uh, girls." "how many girls have you loaned it out to?" you chuckled playfully as you admired it, "none. just you." rafe shrugged. you placed the jersey down, turning to rafe and taking a deep breath, a small smile on your lips, "well, maybe you'll see me there. and maybe i'll wear that."

as rafe was about to turn to leave, you took hold of his wrist and he turned back to you, "but if i come to the game, you better win it." you got on your tiptoes, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

TAGLIST: @yktayy9669 @tinythebunni @dywho @melalsworld @akobx @samwinchesterisawhore @st8rkey @jjasmiineee @ltristessedureratoujours @a-lovers-card @uselessnewt @lunaleah @letstryagaintomorrow @cinnamqnnlatte @papapoy @kay133sposts @wtfisastiles @butterfly1c @emmiesummers @melodyyybubbles @toomanywhitelies @littl3loveydovey @scne-vampire @alwaysmaybank @mysticbby2009 @luna443 @drewstarkeyswife-7 @flowerluvr @kisselxoll - cont. in com

[kxsagi]

Whoever you like with a reader that never shares stuff about their life? Specially big things, and it's not like they're hiding it, they just don't think it's a big of a deal.

(This is me btw I forgot to tell my friend that I moved countries like five months out.)

“𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐩”

a/n: lore drop of the day from me!!! my card got stuck in the fuckass ATM machine 😀🔫

but forgetting to tell your friend you moved countries five months later is crazy 😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, kaiser michael, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, niko ikki, barou shoei, otoya eiya, itoshi sae, karasu tabito

isagi yoichi

this man is a chronic over-sharer, so when he finds out you've been dropping life-changing events like candy in a trail behind you, he’s disturbed. 

you told him you got into a new university in another city like three months after you started attending. he thought you were still commuting from your old apartment. 

“wait, what do you mean you don’t live there anymore??” 

he starts keeping a mental checklist every time he sees you: are you still in the same timezone? do you still have a cat? are your parents still alive? are you married now??? 

once he finds out you were hospitalized for a whole weekend and didn’t tell anyone, he puts you in a groupchat titled “yo tell us if you die.” 

itoshi rin

rin thinks you are hiding something, not because you act suspicious, but because who forgets to tell someone they got a new sibling??? 

he asked how your weekend was and you casually went, “oh yeah, my mom had a baby. it was chill.” and now he’s staring at you like you just admitted to committing a felony. 

he gets irritated on principle because you’re so calm about it. “you don’t think a new family member is worth mentioning?” “i mean, i wasn’t the one giving birth. i just held the baby.” 

he now interrogates you once a week. you sit there sipping your drink like you’ve done nothing wrong. 

weirdly, he finds it kind of hot. “how are you always so unbothered.” bro is suffering internally. 

kaiser michael

actually finds your behavior hilarious. he thinks you’re a walking enigma and he loves it. 

when you randomly mentioned your ex-boyfriend from three years ago that he never knew existed, he blinked like a cat who just got splashed with water. “wait. you dated someone for two years? and never said anything?” “well it’s not like it’s relevant anymore.” 

from then on, he tries to bait you into revealing more forgotten lore. 

“so when were you planning on telling me you speak fluent german?” “i forgot.” 

he is now 45% in love with you and 55% afraid you’re part of a secret agency. 

nagi seishiro

he didn’t even notice at first because he also forgets basic facts. 

you once told him you dropped out of college and he just went, “huh. sick.” 

but then months later, he asked what class you were taking, and you blinked. “i dropped out, remember?” 

he did not remember. 

“why don’t you tell people things?” “i do. you just weren’t listening.” 

he starts asking questions like “so are you still… in japan?” and you just shrug. 

starts writing down your life updates in his notes app. it’s like a patchy wiki page. 

shidou ryusei

thinks you’re insane. but also kind of respects it. 

he’ll hear you casually mention that your apartment burned down last year and he’s like “WAIT BACK UP. WHAT?!” 

your lack of reaction makes him spiral. “do you have no emotional attachment to anything??” “no i just moved on. i got a new place. the new one has a bidet.” 

now he asks every time he sees you: “so. did you lose a limb recently? join a cult? are you wanted in another country? blink once if you’re on the run.” 

and you’ll just laugh and say “oh yeah i got hit by a cyclist last week.” 

he’s never felt more unhinged in his life. also? he’s obsessed. 

niko ikki

he thinks he’s going insane. because you’re so normal until you drop things like “my parents divorced two years ago” during lunch like it’s the weather. “... you’ve never mentioned your dad before.” 

“he lives in canada now.” “WHAT??” 

he starts journaling just to process your conversations. 

thinks maybe you just don’t trust people, but when he gently brings it up, you’re like “oh no i just forgot.” 

he now feels like an investigative journalist trying to piece together your life from fragments. 

still doesn’t know what city you live in. 

barou shoei

takes it personally. 

when you mentioned in passing that you moved to another continent without saying anything, he just glared at you like you kicked his dog. “you moved?! why didn’t you tell me?” “i thought i did. didn’t i?” you did not. 

he’s baffled by how little importance you put on what he considers life-changing events. 

but over time, he stops getting mad and just starts sighing. 

“just tell me next time, alright?” “of course! … oh, did i tell you i got a new job?” “YOU WHAT–??” 

otoya eita

is fascinated by you. like a bug in a glass. 

he’s incredibly nosy and loves drama, so when you offhandedly mention, “i accidentally got engaged once,” he almost chokes on his drink. “babe. what??” 

now he pesters you constantly just to see what forgotten gem will fall out of your mouth. 

“did you ever commit a crime?” “does trespassing count?” “oh my gosh i’m dating a criminal.” 

he finds it thrilling. your mystery is his favorite thing. he even calls it your “girlboss lore drops.” 

itoshi sae

the first time you casually mentioned that you used to live in spain, he actually froze mid-sentence. “wait, you lived in spain??” “yeah. like three years ago.” 

slowly realizes you just… don’t share things unless asked directly. but not out of secrecy, it’s because you literally don’t see it as a big deal. 

“why didn’t you tell me?” “you didn’t ask.” 

his eye twitched. it lowkey frustrates him because he wants to know everything about you, but you’re out here forgetting you changed citizenship. 

he starts asking follow-up questions for everything. “what’d you do today?” “oh nothing. just mailed a few boxes.” “boxes for what.” “for the visa stuff.” “visa???” 

eventually, he softens. now he just tucks your little lore drops into his mental folder of “reasons i love her (even if she’s insane).” 

still mildly stressed 24/7 though. 

karasu tabito

he thought you were messing with him the first time it happened. 

“wait, back up, you’ve been to five continents?” “yeah.” “why the hell didn’t you ever say that?” “you never asked.” “do i have to interrogate you?? are you secretly in witness protection???” 

once you told him you were trilingual midway through ordering food and he just stared at you, stunned. “oh my gosh, you’re a menace.” 

but also? he thinks it’s hysterical. 

“i bet you wouldn’t even mention it if you were dying.” “depends. is it serious or like. manageable.” “WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??” 

this man now treats you like a human puzzle. he keeps tabs. he tries to guess what you’re going to forget to tell him next. 

your friendship is now built on a mix of feral banter and him dramatically gasping every time you accidentally drop major life news like “btw i used to do fencing in high school.” 

he’s hooked. like a reality show. 

“stay tuned next week when she reveals she once survived the bubonic plague and forgot to mention it.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[annualwallrocket]

"Ahh, pro-pronouns? Those are the things they use in linguistics, right? Eh, let me see, luv... um, I don't really know much about that, but, err... if- if you want to talk to me, then, you'd obviously have to use, ah... second person, right? Right. No wait, or is it third? Which one's *you*? Is it second or third? Oh, brilliant. Lady, I'm not meant for this- really, I'm not the person to ask. Ahem, lets see... *page rustling* maybe it's first. Do you think it's first? Yeah, it's probably first, er... Oh, oh no. It's second. Well, luv, if you're talking to me- I guess you'll have to use... second... person? Is that what you mean? Oh, oh, you mean pro-nouns? Like professional nouns? No? Sorry! Sorry. Sorry, mate, I just, uhm... I don't really... you know."

yes i drew and wrote all of this at 3AM. this is the love i express for this man

just because someone is your favorite character doesnt mean theyd have the same moral alignment as you. wheatley from portal wouldnt say "my pronouns are he/him, thank you for asking!" hed say "what uhh. what does that mean. um. you mean the nouns im most "pro" at is that what youre saying? i like to think im pretty pro,, at all nouns really. umm lets see... apple, kazoo, bubble, happy, door, umm... cake. not too fond of cake really i think its alright but. not my Favorite. if it were up to me though id eat a whole cake in one sitting. if i were a human. not a human, clearly. also not sure if id, know what cake even tastes like. if i tried it. no tastebuds. no Mouth... no. hole. anywhere on my body. haha um,, well anyways id. id say im pretty Pro Nouns. dont see why anyone wouldnt be... what? you mean what i Go By? what do you. ohhhh. ummm. the male ones. the male pronouns. if i can remember what they are... definitely the ones for guys. manly men. like me. pretty sure im a man,,," and you need to accept this

[meenaxskz]

running out of protections aka everybody's sooo creative! (bf!hyunjin x reader)

drabble | bf!hyunjin x reader au genre: very light smut (just in case…but mostly crack) | crack warnings: mature suggestive content | language summary: you’re finally about to get SOME with your boyfriend but... uh oh. no condoms. disaster strikes. hyunjin, ever the dramatic creative genius, tries to solve the problem… with plastic wrap. a/n : please do NOT try this at home lol. saran wrap is for leftovers, not your love life. don't forget to wrap it before you tap it you hoes

you’re on the bed. it’s late. the lights are low. spotify is playing something vaguely sexy but honestly you stopped noticing the music after the second makeout session.

his hands are everywhere. your shirt? pushed up. his sweatpants? around one ankle. your legs? tangled. your breath? gone.

he’s kissing down your neck, moaning into your skin. his hand slides into your underwear and jesus take the wheel, you gasp.

it’s happening. this is it. you are moments away from finally doing the deed after a week of teasing, bad timing, and one horrifying moment when changbin walked in to borrow toothpaste.

hyunjin pauses “wait”

you open your eyes, dazed “huh?”

“condom?” he breathes, blinking down at you, lips red and pupils blown.

you blink back. “drawer?”

he nods. dramatic. heroic. pants halfway down, he dives off the bed and immediately trips over a hoodie on the floor and faceplants into the carpet.

you roll your eyes“oh my god.”

hyunjin muffled “i’m fine.”

he army crawls to the nightstand, still pantsless. opens the top drawer. freezes. opens the second one. then… the third. silence.

“…hyunjin???” no answer. you sit up. “what’s wrong.”

he turns slowly, face pale “we’re out.”

you blink. “no we’re not. check again.”

“i did. twice. and i even looked in the emergency sock.”

you gasp. “not the emergency sock.”

“it’s EMPTY. we’re animals”

you sigh, disappointed and… yeah, a little frustrated “okay. well. then it’s over. no big deal.”

“no big deal??” he gasps. “BABE. my body was READY. my soul is NAKED.”

you cross your arms “well i’m not doing anything without protection”

he sits up slowly, a glint in his eyes “i’ll make one”

you pause “what.”

he stands. “i’ll make one”

“…what.”

“i have saran wrap. and tape.”

“WHAT.”

he’s already sprinting to the kitchen. you chase after him in nothing but a tshirt.

“hyunjin don’t you DARE”

“i’m doing this FOR US” he calls, yanking open drawers “for SAFETY. for SCIENCE. for SEX.”

he slams a roll of plastic wrap on the counter like a mad scientist.

“okay, so if i fold it like this...”

“STOP.”

“...and wrap it twice for protection”

“STOP RIGHT THERE.”

“...and add a little masking tape”

“ARE YOU TRYING TO GET AN INFECTION??”

he spins around “NO I’M TRYING TO GET SOME AFFECTION”

you grab the saran wrap. he clutches it like a child losing his blankie.

“hwang hyunjin, if you put leftover sandwich wrap on your dick, i will call your mom”

he gasps “low blow”

“this entire situation is a low blow”

“you’re just mad you didn’t think of it first”

“OH MY GOD”

he folds his arms “then what’s the point of me learning origami if i can’t use it for sex”

“you are NOT learning origami you maniac!”

“...okay, true. but i believe in myself”

you groan, grab two capri suns from the fridge, and drag him back to the couch like a toddler mid tantrum.

cut to: 20 minutes later. you’re both in pajamas. face masks on. watching a baking show. sipping capri sun like nothing happened.

he looks over, sad “we were so close. i had a plan.”

you side eye him. “you were going to macgyver a condom”

“and?”

“you were about to stick your dick in a taco shaped plastic balloon.”

“it would’ve been beautiful.”

you smirk. “baby, you have a hot face. but your brain is held together by string cheese”

he grins proudly “you think i have a hot face?”

you stare at him “you literally tried to commit craft based cock crimes.”

he shrugs “if loving you means turning into a DIY guru, so be it.”

you chuckle. “okay, guru. next time, just… restock.”

he grabs your hand. dramatic. “i’ll buy a whole box. i’ll buy ten. i’ll get a COSTCO MEMBERSHIP”

you: “okay now that’s hot.”

⤷ main m.list ❟

DISCLAIMER : This blog and all related content (fics, fake texts, headcanons, imagines, etc.) are entirely fictional and created for entertainment purposes only. I do not know Stray Kids personally, nor do I claim any of this reflects their real personalities, actions, or relationships. All characters and their personalities—including Meena King—are original creations.Please enjoy responsibly and remember : real people = real boundaries.

[harrysfolklore]

Future wife pre Silverstone dinner with George and fam?! Or!! A look back on Silverstone with them over the years 🥹

something short but i wanted to write for our favorite babies before silverstone !

You're parked outside your parents' house for the Silverstone weekend family dinner, but Lando's lips on your neck are making it very difficult to remember why you need to go inside.

"We're going to be late," you breathe, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

"Mhm," he hums against your skin, "Probably."

"My parents are waiting..."

"Five more minutes," he murmurs, finding that spot behind your ear that makes you gasp.

"That's what you said ten minutes ago," you manage, but your hands are already threading through his hair.

"Can you blame me?" he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark. "Do you know how good you look in that dress?"

"The dress you're trying very hard to ruin?"

"I'm not trying to ruin it," his hand slides higher. "I'm just... appreciating it."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

He grins wickedly. "Would you prefer a more detailed description of what I'm—"

A sharp knock on the window makes you both jump apart.

"If you two are quite finished," George's amused voice calls through the glass, "Mum's about to send out a search party."

You roll down the window, trying to fix your hair. "We were just—"

"Yeah, I know what you were 'just'," George smirks. "But maybe save it for after dinner? When I don't have to watch my sister getting felt up in a car?"

"Jealous, Russell? That you're not getting felt up in a car." Lando asks sweetly.

George's face scrunches up in disgust. "I'm telling Mum you're being inappropriate."

"What are you, twelve?"

"Children," you cut in, straightening your dress. "Can we go inside like adults?"

"He started it," they say in unison.

"I did not!"

"Did too!"

"Oh my god," you open your door. "I'm dating a child."

"Hey!" Lando protests, following you out. "I'm very mature."

"Says the man who was just trying to convince me to skip family dinner for car sex."

"I wasn't..." he stops at your raised eyebrow. "Okay, maybe I was. But in my defense, you look really good in that dress."

"Gross," George comments. "That's my sister."

"Your sister who looks amazing in this dress."

"Stop talking about my sister like that."

"Make me."

"Boys," you warn as you reach the front door. "Behave."

They both straighten immediately, making you roll your eyes. Some things never change.

Your mum opens the door after two knocks, face lighting up when she sees Lando. "There you are! We were starting to worry!"

"Sorry Mrs. Russell," Lando says sheepishly. "We were just—"

"Snogging in the car," George cuts in with a smirk.

Your mum's eyebrows shoot up while you elbow George hard in the ribs.

"We were not," you protest, though your flushed cheeks probably tell a different story.

"The state of your dress says otherwise," George mutters, earning another elbow.

"Well," your mum says, fighting a smile, "come in, come in. Dinner's getting cold."

You're sitting between Lando and George at the dining table when your dad fixes Lando with an intense stare.

"So, Lando," he says seriously. "Your intentions with my daughter..."

"Dad," you groan. "We've been dating for months."

"Yes, but this is the first time he's been to family dinner," your dad points out. "I think I'm entitled to ask about his intentions."

"I'm going to marry her," Lando blurts out, then turns bright red. "I mean... if she wants... obviously not right now, but someday... if she'll have me..."

George snorts into his drink while your mother beams.

"Well," your dad says, fighting a smile. "That's certainly direct."

"Sorry," Lando mumbles. "I just... I love her. A lot. And I've kind of been planning to marry her since we were teenagers, so..."

"We know, dear," your mum says kindly. "You used to tell everyone who would listen that YN was going to be your wife someday."

"Mum!" you protest, but Lando perks up.

"You knew about that?"

"Everyone knew about that," George rolls his eyes. "You weren't exactly subtle."

"Says the one who helped him track my dates," you shoot back.

"You knew about that?" George looks betrayed.

"Everyone knew about that," you mimic his tone. "You weren't exactly subtle."

After dessert, your dad clears his throat. "Lando, fancy joining me on the balcony for a moment?"

"Dad, absolutely not," you protest, but Lando squeezes your hand.

"It's okay," he says softly, following your father outside.

You stay in the living room with George, nervously watching through the glass doors.

"He's probably going to scare him off," George says, "You know, say that it's not convenient that you have a brother driving for one team and a boyfriend driving for another."

You give him a horrified look.

George laughs. "I'm just kidding, sis. Dad knows Lando's been in love with you forever. Pretty sure he's just giving him the obligatory father speech."

When Lando returns, he's grinning, and your dad looks suspiciously misty-eyed.

The goodbyes are warm - your mum hugging Lando tight, your dad clapping him on the shoulder with obvious approval, and George threatening to tell everyone about the car incident if Lando doesn't let him win at Silverstone.

Back in the car, Lando pulls you close, kissing you softly.

"What did dad say?" you ask against his lips.

"That's between me and my future father-in-law," he grins.

"Future father-in-law?"

"Well, I did announce I'm going to marry you at dinner," he reminds you. "Might as well commit to it." You laugh. "My home race weekend, dinner with the family... everything's perfect," he murmurs.

"Even with George catching us in the car?"

"Especially with George catching us in the car," he smirks. "Now we can traumatize him forever."

"You're ridiculous."

"But you love me."

"Yeah," you smile. "I really do."

[sad-girl-hours23]

hi darling, for the cuddle prompts! bucktommy + 27

– @bisexualbrainrots

Thank you for the ask! This was for "first cuddle" and I enjoyed writing this so much. So much that it's 723 words lol so many of which are not them cuddling. But I hope you love it anyway <3

Steam billows from the bathroom as Tommy walks out. He's wearing a pair of basketball shorts and a sleeveless tank top he borrowed from Buck, though he's not sure he's ever looked as soft and inviting in them as Tommy does.

Tommy greets him with a smile and a kiss and takes the offered glass of water with a murmured 'thanks'.

As they stand at the foot of the bed, Buck realizes this is the first time Tommy's been in his bedroom. Why is he sweating all of a sudden? "What side do you prefer?"

Tommy turns to him and arches his eyebrow. "It's your bed, Evan."

"Uh, right. I'll just—" he gestures vaguely to the bed and walks around the right side of it, setting his glass on the nightstand.

Tommy watches him for a moment with a soft smile on his face. Then he rounds the left side of the bed and pulls back the covers. He looks at Buck. "We're just sleeping, Evan."

"I know," Buck says, but he still waits for Tommy to lie down under the covers before joining him. Now that he's in bed, his exhaustion from the day catches up to him: Waking up hungover. Losing Chimney. Looking for Chimney. Chimney found. Encephalitis. Chimney marrying Maddie from his hospital bed.

And Tommy.

Tommy showing up for Chimney and Maddie. And for him.

Tommy walking through the sliding hospital doors—walking to Buck—covered in soot and visibly exhausted. Saying 'sorry' for being late as if he hadn't been fighting a fire the entire day.

God. Buck wanted to climb him like a tree. He still wants.

But then he wanted to take Tommy home and wrap his arms around him, blanketing his big frame.

Buck's still not sure if that's something it's okay to want. Does he want it because he's only ever been with women and has always been the big spoon?

"I can hear you thinking."

Buck flushes, but he turns and faces Tommy anyway. "I want to try something we've never done before."

It earns Buck an impressive eyebrow raise, but Tommy turns and faces him too. "Now?"

"I want to cuddle."

"That—is not what I was expecting." A smile tugs at Tommy's lips. "I'm not sure that's something you try, I think you just...do."

Buck laughs—a huff of breath forced from his lungs. "Yeah. Right."

Tommy cups his jaw with gentle fingers. "Hey. Talk to me, sweetheart."

Buck sighs. "Sometimes I worry I'm doing this all wrong."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Dating a man."

"Well—as the man you're dating, I've got no complaints."

"Tommy. I just—I don't know what role I'm supposed to take or fit into."

"I'm going to stop you right there, not because you did anything wrong. You don't need to fit into any role, Evan. Besides, we're still getting to know each other. We're still learning how to be a couple—whatever that means for us. Just do what feels right and if you're not sure about something, you can always talk to me."

Buck frowns. "I appreciate it, I do. But it feels like you're telling me to just be myself."

"That's the idea."

"No offence, but that's terrible advice. What am I supposed to do with that?"

"You can start by cuddling me."

Buck smiles. "Yeah? You want that?"

"Yeah, I do. You know—most people don't look at me and think little spoon."

"Well most people are wrong." Buck sits up, giving him the leverage he needs to turn Tommy the other way. Manhandling, his lizard brain supplies, and he files that away for another day. Buck pulls him into the cradle of his hips. Tommy shudders. Oh, maybe they should have done this the other way around.

Tommy sinks into the embrace. "Go to sleep, Evan."

Buck huffs. "I'm trying, but some parts of me are going to take a minute to catch up."

Tommy's whole body shakes with laughter.

"You're not helping, you know." Buck squeezes Tommy's hip, then lets his hand rest there on the hot stretch of exposed skin. "Am I doing this right?"

"Mm. Best big spoon I've ever had."

Buck's pretty sure he's the only big spoon Tommy's ever had, but that conversation can wait another day. He kisses Tommy's shoulder and murmurs "goodnight."

He can't wait for the rest of their firsts.

[gwennkoi]

The doors to the throne room opened with a boom as a woman dressed in red-lacquered armor stepped through. She held her flaming sword at the ready and called out, "King Renfrid Bedillion! In the name of the people, our country, and by the righteousness of the Goddess, I have come for your head and the throne!"

The king clapped from their throne in thunderous applause. "Bravo! Yes! That was the entrance I was hoping for! Oh, it was worth the wait."

The warrior stalked forward, peering for hidden assassins and guards, but the chamber appeared empty except for the king and herself. "I will have my vengeance and free this kingdom from your grip. Your guards will never make it in time."

The king laughed to themself, "Oh, of course not. I haven't kept guards in here for years." They stand up and lay their crown onto the throne. "I have left a series of scrolls hidden in a cache beneath the throne. They have information on which nobles I believe to be the most corrupt and are stealing from my-- well, now your--coffers. There are also some recommendations on which members of your new retinue can be trusted."

"You can not talk your way out of this, you vile tyrant. You will die by my hands this day." The woman has reached the steps to the throne and continued with divine purpose.

"Oh, I do hope so. Also, make sure not to keep going with the whole divine mandate to rule thing. I'm certain that's all made up by the church and the nobility as a way to keep the peasantry under their thumb. I had an idea to let everyone help choose who is in charge, but I couldn't figure out how to stop the nobility from rigging it in their favor. I'm sure you'll figure out a way around that. My reports about you say you're quite clever." The king knelt to the ground and offered his neck.

The people's champion raised her sword and stopped. She stood there poised to make her final strike but did nothing until the fury finally drained from her face, and she stayed her blade.

"Why aren't you defending yourself?!" The warrior demanded with irritation taking command of her emotions.

The king looked up into her eyes and gave a sad smile. "Oh, I've been trying to get deposed since before you were born. I've been trying to find a worthy successor, and the prophesy said you'd do the best job of it."

"Why in the Goddess's light would you want to be deposed? Do you not care for your own life? Could you not change the rules of our great nation? Why have you taken steps towards a great revolution?" Her fury was returning, but her sword no longer threatened the king.

"Oh, child, I have no idea what the world looks like beyond these walls. I have no idea what it is like to grow up farming the fields or being threatened by monsters. I am too far separated from the reality of my people. There were other potential deposers I could have offered my neck to, but they had no idea of the true responsibility of leadership and would only have caused turmoil. Now, take your prize." The king once more lowered his head.

"I cannot! You are not the tyrant the church described to me!"

The king looked up and laughed, "Oh, they put you up to this? I hadn't heard. Yeah, don't trust them. They only want more power like my grandfather gave them. They care only about larger cathedrals, larger tithes, and their whims to have royal backing."

The king stood and stretched their arms and legs. They put their hand on the warrior's shoulder and led them down the steps before the throne. "From everything I've gathered about you, young hero, you seem like the type of leader the nation deserves. And now that you have lost that fervor I was depending on, I must make other plans for being properly deposed."

"What do you mean, your majesty?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm just sad because I had always liked the artistry of it. Shame." And with that, the king sprinted to the large stained glass window and leapt through it.

The king, after hearing the prophecy about a child fated to depose them, decided to just let the events play out without interfering.

[heartmix]

forgiving means acceptance - CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.6k+

Summary: She always loved when people remembered the little things about her, but learned to let that go with Charles. Even as far as letting him get away with forgetting the most important date

Warning: hurt to comfort, happy ending, charles lowkey bad bf, forgetting anniversary, sadness, anger

A/N: if this was me this shit would not fly...good thing it ain't. Wasn't going to end it happy but my last CL fic was angst so i decided to make it have a happy ending

F1 Masterlist / Masterlist

In previous relationships, you were always one to stress the little things. Good morning and good night texts, remembering your order from your favorite restaurant, and even making sure to put down the toilet seat lid when they were done using it. Everyone who took the time to get to know you knew how you adored and stressed the little details. That all changed when you started dating Charles. 

You knew the challenges of being an F1 driver and being the unofficial Prince of Monaco at that. Agreeing to be his other half meant that you agreed to the lifestyle of it all. This relationship was going to be intense and unlike anything you had experienced before. 

In the first few months, you tried to remind him of the little things and how much it mattered to you. After some time had passed, and trying to show that the little things mattered to you, the reminders fell through. He did try, and he listened, but he was doing so much at once that the little things were never important to him. One thing you learned about him very quickly was that he was the bigger picture type of person. At first, you were a bit annoyed with it, but seeing more of his day-to-day, you've learned to let it go. 

It wasn't like he didn't love you - he absolutely did, and he made sure to tell you that every day. At times, you wondered if he did. Words meant nothing if actions didn't back them up. He should know better than anyone - he could say the team was going good, but if there were no podium results, then that was all for nothing. 

At first, you were angry at him for not paying attention to what you considered important. Then that anger turned into sadness. Many nights, the worries got to you, and you would stay up thinking if he loved you like the way you loved him. You always paid attention to the little details when it came to him and did your best to cater to his love language. Now it was a year later, and you found a way to be numb to it. You still loved him - that hasn't gone away, but after missing your anniversary, you knew that you should fully let go of him ever catering to you. 

It was hard to hide it from the people around you. They noticed how you wouldn't get upset at the man for forgetting things or missing a lunch you had planned. That alone raised some eyebrows, but they let it go, seeing how much you loved him and he loved you. They would think otherwise if they knew he forgot your anniversary two months ago. 

"Hey, what did you and Charles do for your anniversary? Jake and I are coming up on our one year, and I don't know what to do." Your best friend asked while on FaceTime. You were currently in Canada for the Canadian Grand Prix - you figured you'd kill some time while waiting in Charles' driver's room so you both could get something to eat before he needed to be back to reviewing data. 

"Oh, um.. He took me to dinner at this fancy ramen place while we were in Japan." You nervously came up with something on the spot. It wasn't a total lie. The day of your anniversary coincided with the Japanese Grand Prix weekend, and you did eat Ramen, but it was dinner with his brother, Arthur, as well. 

"Well shit not like I can fly to japan for a simple dinner, but maybe we can go to the place we first met." She thought out loud, making you smile at the thought of her putting a lot of consideration into the special date. Romance was still alive and well for some people. 

"That's honestly, really romantic. I say that's the best date."

"Aw, thanks, babes. Hey, I need to go, it's almost midnight here." 

"Please get some sleep - I'm going to grab something to eat and I'll text you when we get back to the hotel. I love you."

"I love you too, Bye!" As soon as the call disconnected, your smile dropped. You hated lying to her, but you would rather shield your feelings away than have your best friend hate Charles for the rest of her life. 

It wasn't like you meant for your smile to drop. It was natural at this point to put on a persona when talking about you and Charles. Quickly, you shook away any doubts, knowing Charles could walk in at any time. You didn't want him worrying about you when he had a race weekend to focus on. 

As you were getting up to collect your things, to find him, there he was waiting by the door with a frown on his face. The thought of him overhearing your conversation didn't cross your mind. The first thing you guessed was something with the car or the team. 

"What's wrong, baby?" You walked up to him, seeing if you could search in his eyes if he was angry or frustrated. Instead, you found sadness and disbelief. 

"I missed our anniversary?" His voice was soft, borderline broken. There was no way he forgot, did he? 

"Don't worry about it - it was a race week, so it's okay." You tried to reassure him, squeezing his hands to let him know it was okay and you weren't mad at him - not anymore at least. 

"No, it's not okay. How could I forget? Why didn't you tell me?" It wasn't an accusatory tone, more like why didn't you say something, get mad at him, cry, or anything. Why didn't you react in any sort of way? 

"You won in Japan and your first win of the season, how could I take that away? Our anniversary wasn't important at that moment." 

"You're wrong, it's more important. What kind of boyfriend am I not to put you first?" He was now getting mad, his voice rising and his tone harsher. Not at you, just at the circumstance, at himself. 

"Racing is your life, it was there before me."

"But you're my future. You shouldn't have let me get away with missing something that important or anything that's going on. I'm so sorry, mon cherie." He pulled you in for a hug with a kiss planted on top of your head. It was to reassure him more than you. 

"It's okay, it doesn't affect me anymore." Sensing you weren't telling the entire he pulled back, looking at you unsure. There was something deeper, and he knew.

"Stop lying to me. Tell me what's going on." 

"I'm learning to accept that not everything is going to be catered to me. Walking into this relationship, I knew what I signed up for. Your fast life doesn't accommodate my needs. But that's okay, I'm learning as I go."

"You've got to help me here." He asked, still not understanding what you were trying to say. 

"I was always the type to stress the little things. The little gestures are what make me the happiest. Like remembering my order from my favorite restaurant or texting me goodnight when we're not seeing each other for the night. I've learned to let it go early on, and I understand how busy you are, so because I've let that go, I've let everything else you do go." The confession felt all over the place, but relieving, it was bottled up for months, and now that it was finally out, it made you feel just a bit better. 

"You let me forgetting our anniversary go." He clarified with the utmost sadness in his tone. 

"Yeah. I know it wasn't because you didn't love me. I know you do. That's why I learned to let it go." 

"Do you ever do that again. I don't care how busy I am, I forget how fast things go, and sometimes things slip. I shouldn't even need you to remind me. Not only for our anniversary, but for things that make you happy. There isn't going to be a next time, but please yell, hit, scream, do anything because I will not accept anything less. Not when it comes to you." He let it all out in one go, and you couldn't help the smile that was forming on the corner of your lips. 

"Okay." You didn't know what else to say. It was everything you wanted to hear, but now you're speechless. 

"Okay, as in you're going to ingrain in my mind everything you deem important. Okay, as in you will yell at me next time. Do it in front of the garage so everyone will give me shit for it." You couldn't help but laugh at the seriousness in his voice. You knew he wanted the team to take him seriously, so him telling you to basically humiliate him was something you didn't think would come out of his mouth. 

"I don't know about the last part, but okay to the first part." 

"I can settle for that." He smiled one of his million-dollar smiles. "So here's the plan. I'm going to win this race, then you and I are going to Greece for a small two-week break. About time you live your mamma mia dreams."

"You remembered?" Looking at him in shock that he remembered your dream vacation spot. Sure, maybe the standards were low at this point, but you were still taken aback. 

"Oh, I'm not that bad of a boyfriend."

"You did forget our anniversary." You teased, making him roll his eyes. Now that he knew the truth, you were going to weaponize it every chance you could, but he didn't mind one bit. 

"I deserve that."

"But Greece sounds great."  You clarified, making his smile widen. 

"Good because I will continue to make this up to you for the rest of our lives." 

[endahouselikecarpet]

Date Everything x Reader

Going on a Picnic

[I don't have a real way to say how they get out of the house. Could be the canon way (not saying it so I don't completely spoil it, or whatever way you imagine :) ]

Timothy- The initial response: Oh, a picnic? And, it's pre-scheduled and everything! How marvelous! How romantic!

Reality: BUGS! BUGS EVERYWHERE! "Oh, my whiskers! My poor ears!" He would fuss. Tries to hide under the blanket, but even that doesn't save him.

You tried to tell him you can head home, but he insists you stay. There's still a half hour left for this on the schedule after all. If you wait or set it up closer to sunset when the insects aren't as crazy he really enjoys it.

Kristof- Now, he's always happy to show off how strong he is, especially if it's something helpful like carrying things for you. But, once it's time to just sit down, he's struggling. What do you mean you just sit here? He enjoys nature, but you could at least go for a hike or something??? Where's the violence????

However, if you were there for a special occasion and there happened to be fireworks- he would have thought he died and ascended to a holier place. The noise! The explosions!! THE VIOLENCE!!!!

Cabrizzio- Oh, he is in love! With you, of course, but also with this idea. Will bring a blanket. You tell him there are tables there, but he won't have it. It's not a picnic unless you're sitting on a blanket on the ground!

He's a bit more lax on that after his legs are itchy after being on a wool blanket and having grass bristle against them. Will still insist you both do it again though.

Dorian- Time to just rest? This is pretty nice. It didn't have to be this specifically, but it's nice to be out and see the sunshine every once in a while. He's mostly happy because it involves being with you and sitting down for once.

Will be hungry afterwards, though. I don't think light, typical picnic food would be filling enough for some of his build.

Lux- You want them to... go outside? With the dirt and and trees and shit??? To... see grass, and dare they say, touch it???? Have you lost your mind?????

When they realize it's at the very least a good photo opportunity, they're... mostly for it. They're not going to be keen on setting things up, other than nit-picking how it looks on camera. And, as soon as they even think about sweating, they're ready to go.

But, they will have fun, actually, and be less against the idea if you ask again.

Kopi- Oh, my gosh! A picnic sounds so sweet! She's absolutely beaming from the moment you ask her, to the moment you get back home.

She always works so hard, and to have a fairy tail moment like this and getting treated like the princess she in makes her feel so appreciated.

You'll basically have to drag her home when it's dark, because she never wants this to end. Even then, she manages to get you to stay a bit longer by pointing out, "But, there's fireflies. Can't we stay a little longer to watch the fireflies?"

And, since she asks for it, if course you'll give it to her. What's fifteen more minutes really going to hurt?

Eddie and Volt- Eddie thinks it's a bit cheesy, but he secretly loves that kind of stuff. You would have to wake up Volt. He works at a night club, dear. He hasn't seen the sun this bright in a while.

Eddie just sits there and let's the sun shine on him. Volt would want to feed you stuff. Like, he's supposed to do that, he's seen it on movies and everything. Eddie will feed Volt, not so much as a romantic thing, more because he needs Volt to stop talking for two seconds; Volt had been talking both your ears off because he can't handle the quiet.

Things are fun, but chilled. It wouldn't be odd if Volt dozes off on Eddie or your shoulder.

Hector- It would take some time to convince him to go. He seems like someone that struggles with agoraphobic tendencies. But, if you're going to be there with him, then perhaps it will be alright.

He absolutely loves when you get him to the place where you want to set up. He loves the feeling of being close to you, the love of his life, and seeing the beauty that surrounds you. To share this gentle moment.

Then it happens... the allergies.

Oh, god, the allergies! Hector tried to play it off like it was just a few sneezes. But, then his eyes started to itch. Soon enough, his nose was completely stuffed.

Get this poor guy home and get him some meds and tea. If there's anything he could thank his histamine system for, it was letting him get taken care of by you.

He would actually love to go on another picnic with you; just be sure he takes something before you go this time.

[onlyywwon]

[ 1:13 ] - y.jw (mdni)

☆ ( 星星 ) ... "i can't keep my hands off of you. baby they don't know you like i do. and that's fine cause you're all mine."  ‘ 连字符 ’ ♡ :

── ˙ ̟ ★ pairing: jungwon + fem!reader ⟡ !

── ˙ ̟ ★ genre: smut (semi-publc sex, f recieving, p in v, dom!jungwon, sub!reader, praise, dirty talk, implied fwb, nicknames: baby, angel, pretty girl...) ⟡ !

╰ a/n: hi there! my first smut ! this one was rushed cause i woke up from sleep to just do this cause jungwon. enough reason :>

you shouldn't be here, the two of you should definitely not be here right now. and even if you were, you shouldn't be doing this here.

it's past closing hours at your university. the library is technically closed — but since you were an assisstant to the librarian, you had the keys. you had recieved a call from jungwon asking if you were still at the campus. he had gotten himself locked in the library by mistake, not that he'd mind since he considered it his second home, but tonight he had places to be. and you being the ever helpful friend you were, ran to help him out.

and right now? he has you pressed up against the desk he usually sat at, quiet, secluded and barely lit — a perfect little pocket of shadows swallowing both of your figures.

his glasses are off, thrown somewhere onto the desk on where his belongings sat, lips latched onto your exposed collarbone, biting it lightly. his hair is slightly messy, sleeves of his cardigan rolled up — betraying his calm and composed persona in the wake of others.

"you're crazy," you whisper, breathless, "someone could come in."

who are you kidding? this whole place is about to be closed up, who's actually going to show up now, unless it's the watchman doing his rounds.

"oh yeah?," you could hear the smirk on his face, as he let go of your skin, pressing a soft kiss to relieve the pain and reached up to whisper softly in your ear, "and who's gonna walk in huh? even if they did, so what huh?"

you gasped, as he sat down on a chair, pulling you down with him, and settling you in his lap. his hands gripped your thighs, your skirt bunched up around your hips as he shoved your panties aside. "so wet baby, you're soaked. just from me marking you? or were you expecting this angel?" without waiting for an answer, he freed his length from the confines of his dress pants. hard and leaking, tip nudging your soaked folds. you let out a quiet moan, your hands perched on his broad shoulders.

"yeah, like that baby?", he questioned, his breath ragged as he composed himself. you managed a nod, before his hands pulled you up, lining himself at your entrance, smearing his length with your slickness, before slowly sinking you down on him.

so hard. so full. so warm.

you bit your lip to prevent a scream as your grip on his shoulders tightened. he's leaned back in the chair, letting out low grunts as his hands press in to your hips to keep you in place.

"take your time," he murmurs, voice thick and low, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, "don't rush it baby, i want you to feel it."

and you do. oh god you do.

he fills you up so good, so slow, the stretch burning in the best way possible. he could feel the way you're sucking him in, your walls fluttering around him, even if he hasn't moved yet.

"so pretty for me, aren't you baby?", he mutters, slowly, nudging himself between your walls. you bury your face in his neck, hiding your whines.

he's so deep inside you, filling you to the brim, his hands moving to stroke your things like he's comforting you — while he keeps you stuffed.

and then you hear it — footsteps.

the two of you still completely, his hands coming up to your mouth instinctively, palm pressing gently over your lips. he leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear, tone hushed, "don't make a sound."

you don't mean to, but the fear of being caught bubbling inside you, lead you to clench around him so tight, eyes wide and pulse pounding. his breathing is steady, controlled, trying to not make a sound — but you feel him twitch inside you.

to both your luck, the footsteps fade.

jungwon chuckles — low and cocky.

"you like that?" he whispers, tone dripping with amusement. "you got so tight right now baby."

"jungwon- please-"

"what is it baby? want me to fuck you?" he tilts his head, leaning in, his lips hovering over yours, warm breath fanning your face. "go on then, baby. take what you want."

you whimper, lifting yourself up slightly, then sinking back down slowly, feeling the drag of his cock along your gummy walls. his head falls back, jaws clenched, eyes fluttering shut at the action.

"that's it," he groans. "just like that angel. show me how bad you need me."

and you do.

"won- aahh," you start moving— slow at first, then more desperate, hips rocking and thighs trembling. the chair under the two of you creaks but neither of you seem to care, lost in each other. his hands never stop touching— guiding, teasing, squeezing all over.

"can't believe," he drawls, "the whole school thinks i'm just some quiet little nerd. if only they knew how good you look bouncing on my cock like this."

"mmhm, won-" you cry out, but he catches it, kissing you to muffle the sounds. he could tell you were close, your walls digging in on him, bringing him to the edge as well.

"you gonna cum for me pretty girl?" he pants, mouth against yours. "come on baby, make a mess on me."

you clamp around him, losing it, body shaking as you fall apart. "miliking me so well, huh baby?" he mumbles, as he thrusts up— deep, fast, chasing his own high with a quiet groan. spilling into you as he holds you down.

you fall on him, head resting on his shoulder. "you did so well angel," he presses a kiss to your temple, one hand perched on your waist, the other stroking your hair.

© onlyywwon 2025. all rights reserved.please do not copy, translate, or publish my works on any other sites.

[notvictorhugo]

As a trans radfem, I feel the need to say that, if this post is not willfully untrue, it is grossly misinformed, so I would like to clarify a few things.

First of all, no, radical feminism is not "believing men are evil from birth". This is the sort of conclusion you reach by talking to a conservative, taking their scarecrow to be a real thing, deciding that is some sort of extreme feminism, and saying "Oh, no, I am not so radical". Radical means approaching things from the root. We believe that sexism is not because of some weird "all men are this (naturally superior, naturally evil, biologically evil, biologically great), all women are that (naturally submissive, naturally good, biologically inferior, biologically mystical)", which are both the libfem and the sexist position, but rather that there is a societal structure, called patriarchy, which encourages men to act in specific, oppressive ways by providing specific incentives. Since all men are offered these incentives, often at some cost (betraying other people, betraying other people, closing off some part of themselves), and their reward is usually fairly great, most men tend to accept them.

(To give some bibliography, both Wittig's "The category of sex" and the more recent Trans/Rad/Fem, by Talia Bhatt talk about this, and both posit liberation via abolition of sex and gender, not via eradicating men, which is something that you should probably not take as a honest position but as LARPy edgyposting)

The second point, and the most relevant one, is the belief that TERFs thrive because of either radfeminism as described above or some sort of hatred of men. TERFs, in their current incarnation (not in the eighties), love men. JK Rowling, banner of the movement, is constantly praising men, begging for their help and protection, and claiming that they are inherently superior to them. Most importantly, apart from a 2016 twit mocking Trump on abortion, Rowling had no feminist inclinations before deciding to wage war on trans people: the idea that she was a feminist (a radical one, at that!) seems to appear because she supported Labour (but only in its conservative New Labour iteration) and because she was a famous woman beloved by youths. More generally, this entire iteration of TERFism is something planted and watered with money by American christian fascists, which has taken the name of a (particularly nasty and transmisogynistic) branch of 80s feminism to disguise its conservative nature. Whether they have willingly chosen it or whether it has been given by uninformed but well-meaning allies, I am not sure.

Instead, TERFism is gaining ground extremely fast precisely because the mainstream discourse, in both conservative and progressive spaces, seems to have forgotten what patriarchy is and how it works, and, instead, have turned everything into a "Girls vs Boys" thing. The conflating "Radical feminism", a thorough analysis and critique of patriarchy, as "They think men are naturally, biologically evil", only contributes to this, disconnecting us from our history, and in particular the very history that can help us move forward.

A final point. The idea that women complaining about their oppresion by men and patriarchy is contributing to their oppresion as trans people, and that they should just shut up about it for their own good, is conservative retoric. First of all, those who want to wield the accusation of maleness against us will do so, no matter what we say or do not. They don't listen to us, ever. Secondly, even if that were true -even if, in bad faith, our fight for liberation as women lead to dishonest accusations to oppress us as trans women-, does that mean we should just drop our fight for liberation and wait, meekly and silently, patiently nodding to our oppressors, like the good nice women that we are? In a similar vain, we white trans women are constantly being bombarded with the stereotype of the racist white transfem, the idea that we, somehow, are the most racist out of all collectives. Does that mean that white trans women should cease in our anti-racism? After all, if we gain footing in the anti-racism fight, won't that just make those scarecrow inventions even worse? Clearly not. The same thing applies here.

do you think people are self-aware that the overblown fear and demonisation of men as an entire class of people is the reason that TERFs are thriving

[filthygalli]

Business Trip

Oneshot: F!Reader x Husband!Storm Shadow

Main Masterlist

LBH Masterlist

Warnings: Red text means flashbacks, On the table sex, Possessive! Storm Shadow, Age gap (Not mentioned), Fingering, Choking, Body marks (hickeys), Body worship, Not proofread! (Might be some grammar mistakes) Let me know if I missed anything.

Word Count: 1208

Author’s Note: Another storm shadow ficccc! I ran out of pictures so i used Byung Hun’s latest pic of him wearing white tux! And this is quite not how i want it to end but not too much smut on this one!

Taglist: (Want to join my LBH taglist? Let me know!)

@rimzaaa @alex-17s-world @sylviavf @sweetstrawberrianne @nightblxezz @animelight128 @yxluana @carolinevoight @itsmoonchik

It's midnight Y/n and Min-Ho are asleep in their respective bedrooms, it's raining hard and the wind is cold, Y/n is alone in their marriage bed with her husband, who's having a business trip in Monaco. She was tired, but not because of their son Min-Ho, it's because of her work.

—

Min-Ho is an understanding kid, he's always taking care of his mom whenever his dad is gone for work, “You're going to take care of mommy while I'm gone, ok?” Says Storm, while ruffling his son's hair, “Yes, Dad..when will you be back?” Says the curious kid, “Hmm…by Friday I'll be home, and I'll try to go home early if I can, why?” Storm says as he crouches down to talk to his son, “Nothing..mommy gets sad when you're gone..” he says looking at his dad, Storm chuckled, “That's why you need to be a good boy for mommy, Min-Ho, So she won't get even more sad, ok?” Storm smiled at his son, Min-Ho smiled back, “I'll be good to mommy.” “Is that a promise?” “Yes, daddy.” Storm chuckled at his son, “Alright buddy, I'll go check on your mom before I go.” He says leaving Min-Ho in the living room watching some cartoons.

Storm went upstairs to go to his wife's home office where she works. He knocked before opening the door, “Hey.” Y/n looked up from his laptop, “Hey.” she smiled upon seeing her husband wearing a black chino pants with white button up sleeves, “You're all packed up?” She says as she closes her laptop, “uh huh..” he says as he closes the door behind him, walking slowly to his wife, “isn't your flight at 10:00 AM? It's already 9:46 AM, Storm.”

She scolded her husband, “Well…I wanted to say goodbye first before leaving, leaving without goodbyes is rude, isn't it?” He says leaning towards her table, meeting up her gaze as he looks at her lips then to her eyes, She chuckled “Have a safe flight, and don't worry about me and Min-Ho, he's not as stubborn as you.” She joked as she saw her husband giving her an unamused look…

“Fu– Fuck!” Y/n said as Storm fucked her on her table, papers scattered across the table, “You have to be a bratt, hmm?” He said as he rammed his cock inside her pussy, Face pressed on the table as Y/n moaned, “Storm– Stop– Min-Ho might hear Ah! Us!” She choked a moan, “He won't, he's watching downstairs” He said grabbing a hand full of hair of his wife, “I'm gonna put my cum inside this tight cunt of yours that you'll be leaking for days– fuck! Ah- And don't you even dare touch yourself while I'm gone– shit– you're so ah– tight!” He fucked her hard that the table is slowly moving, “I'll know when you touch yourself, understand?” He says leaning on her ear waiting for her answer, “Please–” he slaps her ass hard enough to leave red marks on her ass, “Not the right answer, Love, Try again.” He said as he slowly fuck her, teasing her pussy, “I promise– oh! I won't– touch myself!” She moaned, “Good Girl.” He says as he grabs her by the waist, “On your knees.” He says to her wife who's fucked out, She did what she's been told to do, She kneeled Infront of him looking up at the man who's towering over her tiny figure…

—

The bed shifts as Y/n wakes up, this can't be, Storm wouldn't be home until tomorrow, her body tensed as she felt a warm hand touch her waist, “Relax, It's me.” He felt her relax, “I- what are you doing here? I thought you'd be home tomorrow?” she says, sitting up, “Should I leave?” “What?! No!” Y/n says as Storm chuckled, “Come here, I've missed you.” He says grabbing her by the waist, their lips crashed on each other, the kiss went passionately as Y/n moans from the kiss which made Storm put his tongue on her mouth as she moaned, the kiss was sloppy, their tongues explored each other's mouth as Storm groaned and choked her to push her on the bed, “Do you know what you do to me?”. He says licking her neck all the way up to her jaw, “Tell me..” she moaned, “I had to skip a few meetings just to fucking jerk my self in the bathroom while looking at your pictures..” he growled, “My mind is always on you baby..On how your tight pussy will stretch when I put my cock inside you..” he says pushing her panties on the side as he rubs her clit in circling motion, “Hmm– ah-” “You like that huh? I barely touched you and you're already soaking wet..”

You nodded, “I need your words baby,” Storm grunted, “i- i like it, please, i need you–“ you cried out as storm chuckled deeply, “So eager.” He murmured against your skin as he inserted his middle finger inside your walls, clenching around his finger as you whimper his name, “I’ve missed this feeling,” he whispered, “the feeling of your velvety walls around my fingers, wet, and clenching tightly.” He added as he added another finger—making you full, you grunted, “I barely even touch you, Y/n, are you that desperate for me? Hmm?” Storm said as he slowly pumped his digits inside you, curling his fingers as you soak him, you nodded as your eyes glistened with tears, “y-yes.” You muttered.

After hours of teasing you with his fingers, he hooked his finger on the waistband of your panties, removing it in a swift motion—throwing it somewhere on the floor alongside your clothes and his.

He leaned down as he kissed his way down to your cunt, kissing and leaving marks on your skin—marking you as his.

“Please..” you begged as you looked down on him, “Patience, Sweetheart,” he whispered dangerously against your skin, pressing open mouthed kisses on your hips, licking, and sucking the flesh of your skin till it turns red. He leaned back up, looking down at your naked body—admiring how he painted your body with his love marks, “Beautiful as always.” He murmured, leaning back down as his lips captured your nipple, sucking and licking the hard nub, you moaned as you arched your hips, he bit down on your nipple—making you squirm under him, his cock stood proudly, cum beaded on the tip. He slowly grinds his hips to your thigh, he’s hard and veined. His eyes never leaving yours as he sucks your breast, you begged him to touch you, to fuck you till you can’t walk anymore—but he didn’t.

Making love with storm takes time; he would pour his time on worshiping your body, saying praises that makes you uncontrollably wet, his voice deep and dark as he whispered against your skin on how beautiful you are to him, how good you are doing just for him, that he owns each and every part of your body, that only him can touch you—can smell you, he’s the only man in this world that can consume you.

Because if someone dared to touch you, he’d kill them.