#How To Avoid Lawyers In Divorce | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bitchlessdino · 3 months ago

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Killer Courtship (m)

Pairing: divorce lawyer!jihoon x ex fiance!fem!reader Genre: crime, angst, smut Word count: 25.9k rating: R tags: Ft. Seungkwan, brother in law!seungkwan, mentions of crime/murder, mentions of blood, murder suspect!reader, murder suspect!reader, mentions of controlling parents, heiress!reader, divorce lawyer!jihoon, college au, domestic au, unwanted touches, unprotected sex, oral sex Summary: It you were lucky enough in love, you'd end the doomed engagement before it stirs up in inevitable divorce. If you were unlucky, however, you'd end up going to your divorce attorney ex for a different marriage you're trying to get out of. Bonus points if you're a murder suspect. author note: thank you @lovetaroandtaemin for beta reading i always love and appreciate your help. part of DON'T HATE, LITIGATE Collabe hosted by @/Haologram. everyone else enjoy and sorry for the drought 🥲

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @kyeomiis @wonwooz1-blog @horanghaezone @stagefrjghts @pantumin @aaniag @mochisdayone @gyuguys @idubiluranghae

The happiest you’ve ever been…

“I can’t believe I’m gonna be Mrs. Lee Jihoon.”

Jihoon chuckles at your whimsy before shielding your eyes with his palm, drawing the heat away from the sun. “How long are you gonna look at that thing?”

You let your simple band bestowed on your ring finger gleam in the sunlight, turning your hand over and back with no rest. “Oh, this is gonna be my personality for… the end time.”

“For the end of time?”

“For the end of time.”

He conjures an impressed expression, gently tracing over the curve of your jaw. “That’s a very long time.”

You place your hand over his, beaming up at your now fiancé. “And yet it’s still not enough. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

He shares the same sentiment, but still he asks, “Why?”

Your hand reaches out to touch his face, feeling how tangible he is, how real he is. The man of your dreams, the reason you breathe, the embodiment of everything amazing and wonderful is in your grasp, looking in admiration at you the way you are at him. You gush, his smile making you feel more elated than the giddiest of schoolchildren. Meanwhile, your heart moves in a steadily growing rhythm, and you don’t think you could be more happy until you’re at the aisle walking towards this same man. “I never thought I’d meet someone that could want me so much. Especially you. And now I can’t imagine it being anyone else.”

His eyes soften, gently stroking the side of your head. He bends down to meet your lips that naturally fits his mold, tasting each other as you’ve done a million times, and yet are never sick of. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” Your eyes bat slowly back at him, swallowing the breath you take as you take in everything for all it is. “I always will.”

Present day…

The clock hands tick away as if taunting the young lawyer’s last moments. He twirls a pen between his fingers, finalizing the last case for the hour before the annoying clock inevitably strikes 6 PM, his quitting hour if he can help it.

For the last few years, Jihoon has done nothing but work past the last work hour to make ends meet, but today is the day he’ll leave on time for once. No buts, ands, or ifs. No exceptions.

Fifteen minutes and going. He’s gonna make it. He’s so sure, that he even let the office aide head home early so she can tend to her kids and useless husband. She deserves it, much like Jihoon deserves this. A proper end of the day.

Five Minutes. Everything is looking flawless. He’s looking front and back, left and right, electrically and manually handling everything to avoid errors. He’s going to make it. He’s going to make it.

One minute. Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door, and he’s betting on it being Cheryl, the office aid, so he can scold her for going against his orders but not really. He appreciates her too much and knows she has it rough.

Despite the guest being unwelcome—“Come in. This better be good,” he shouts from his desk.

The knob turns reluctantly, anxiously even, and Jihoon still has not looked up from his desk to check who it is because there is not a single person he could think of that would be worth overtime. Despite that, he knows he's not looking forward to whatever case is being thrown his way, judging by their inconsiderate choice of timing.

“Hello, my name is Lee Jihoon, Family Law attorney at large. How may I help you today during the very late work hour…?”

When he finally lifts his gaze from the desk, he sees the source of the disruption. All thoughts are suddenly out of the window. His legs move before his mind catches up, pushing him upright as awe anchors his gaze. Slowly, he removes his glasses from the bridge of his nose, narrowing his focus on the figure before him. Is it his eyes deceiving him—or his mind—that conjures this painfully familiar mirage standing just out of reach?

“Hi, Jihoon.” You finally say, a soft smile on your beautifully aged face. “I’m sorry for coming so late. I needed assistance as soon as I could, and I just came out from work.”

“Hey, you.” Great start there, big guy. “How are you here?”

“Well,” you point your thumb over to the obvious, “the door to start.”

“Ha, yeah. I mean what brings you in,” he asks slowly, putting back on his glasses and settling down in his chair before gesturing to you to do the same in one of the seats in front of him.

“Well,” you begin settling in the leather of the chair, “I want a divorce.”

Well. Those are never words he thought to hear from your mouth. And he never thought he’d be on the other end relieved to hear them. Fuck it. Another late night it is.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” he replies with the utmost sympathy, hiding the hint of interest threatening to slip through his tone. This is his first love after all, god forbid he isn’t still a little in love with them, and happy to hear they’re looking to be back on the market again.

Your hands settle on your thighs, acknowledging his gesture with an incoherent mumble before meeting his eyes, remembering how beautiful they always looked gazing back at you. “Yeah, well it was a long time coming. The marriage lasted a lot longer than it should’ve.”

“I bet.” Jihoon quickly catches himself, “I mean, a lot of clients feel that way, but before any big decisions, I should ask you the standard questions I always ask potential clients before we proceed.”

“Of course,” you amicably agree. “Do what you need to, Hoon.” You’re now the one catching yourself, finding yourself calling the familiar nickname you called your ex-boyfriend/fiancé. “I mean Jihoon. Mr. Lee? Attorney Lee?”

“Please stop. It hurts to watch.” He teases, crinkling his nose with a feigned look of cringe, but smiling like a man who feels otherwise.

You playfully roll your eyes. “Okay, okay. Lay it on me.”

Jihoon asks you the typical questions. Living arrangements? Presence of children? Assets? Reasons for divorce? And any heavier topics that he wouldn’t ask otherwise unless put in the situation. Then again it was you. He’d probably learn all there he needs to know to have you safe.

He’s pleased to learn that no children were involved, and you’ve been living at your summer home away from your husband for a few months now; and it’s a no-fault divorce, but he knows that already. That was a good sign for him already. Assets, however—

“You kind of know the gist, having been there at the beginning. I was inclined to marry him, and if I didn’t, risk future inheritance and be possibly shunned from my family until the end of time. The divorce would bring that all come to fruition with the prenup. Doesn’t help that he has the same deal with his parents, so there’s been a little friction with that, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. I don’t need their money. I just want out.”

He taps his pen against his notes, earnestly analyzing the words from front to back. “Hmm, it’d be useful if you’d bring it the next time you visit. Hopefully during working hours this time? Like lunch or something.” He hints and feels the regret seep in as the guilt washes over your face.

“I really am sorry again.” You make yourself small in your seat, squeezing your thighs tightly together as you bow your head. “God, I’m treating you like a therapist.”

He waves his hand reassuringly. “It’s alright. What’s divorce attorney ex-fiancés good for if not to help out their ex with their divorce and listen to their marital issues?”

You break out in a smile, shaking your head as your cheeks fail to deflate. “It really is so good to see you.”

“You too. You look good.” The weight of his words is damning, dripping with longing poorly masked by his professional disposition. He feels his role as lawyer that he’s worked at for several years slips away in a matter of seconds as his eyes take in every atom of you.

The simple words heat up your cheeks, and his shameless gaze knocks the wind out of your lungs, all the familiar feelings rushing back. “You look good.”

He savors your saccharine tone as it makes his blood rush down in places he wouldn’t dare mention in front of a client, even you. He hides his impatience behind his desk, gripping the edges to support and restrain himself from crossing the lines that take him out of a rational mind. “So, how did you find me?”

“Excuse me.” You cross your arms with a warped smile. “You probably have one of the most common names in existence. ‘Lee Jihoon?’ I’d have to look through hundreds—if not thousands—of them to find you.”

“Well, did you?”

“Well, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of excited seeing your face on the website.”

Jihoon has to remember to thank Wonwoo, who insisted on taking his work profile picture for him, later. “I make you excited? Well, Miss, I may be arranging your divorce, but you are still married. Find some self-control.”

“Shut. Up.” You attempt to feign sternness, but your smile deceives you, almost inviting the banter the lawyer incited.

“Make me.”

You stare back at him for a moment, watching the flirtatious challenge ooze from his eyes in a familiar way, which stirs something in you that you haven’t felt in a long time. Its lightheartedness starts to burn hotter, turning your stomach and deflating your chest as you expel a faint breath.

“I…should go,” you respond, breathless. You pick up your purse and turn away, a sly grin tugging at your lips as you toss the next words over your shoulder. “Lunch tomorrow it is. I’ll bring the paperwork.”

“And I’ll be here,” he bids with a salute, which he quickly regrets as soon as you leave.

Jihoon feels compelled the following day to dress in his best office attire, well-tailored but not trying too hard, and spritz a cologne he thought he threw away a long time ago along with the relationship that came with it. Its familiar notes fill him with a warm sensation. The kind that tightens his chest and tenses his muscles that cling to the fabric of his clothes. And he knows that when he checks himself every few minutes in the bathroom mirror or the reflection off the glass of his office room window—making sure it emphasizes just how much he’s been building his body to be at peak physique while simultaneously watching the time slowly tick until his appointment.

When you finally arrive, you carry a certain demeanor that makes him feel twenty again, as if you had just stepped out of class to see him waiting for you to walk you to your next one. You're perfect in your perfect blouse and perfectly tight pencil skirt. It makes him take a breath, loosening the grip on his tie to lessen the strain. “Hello, Miss Client.”

“Hello, Mr. Lawyer,” you lightly greet back.

Jihoon chuckles, waving you over. “So, what are you craving while we work on things? Lunch on me.”

You talk shop over gyudon, a meal that immediately comes to mind, and fortunately, a good and quick spot is just nearby. It reminds you both of something you would eat together religiously back then. To this day, Jihoon sometimes can’t pick up a piece of shredded beef topped with caramelized onions without picturing you parallel to him doing the same.

He knows he’d be crazy to admit out loud that it is straight out of a dream to be eating lunch with you again, but it is. Even more surreal that you’ve now become a client in a case that caused your breakup in the first place.

Before the breakup…

To say Jihoon felt drawn to you instantly the first time you met was the understatement of the century.

But before you, he only knew the law. Having grown up with Criminal Minds and SVU, he knew since his pubescence he was going to be a lawyer. No tragic backstory of a relative dying from a crime. No story of him or someone else being almost convicted. He just simply thought that to be in the hands of someone's fate in the courtroom was not only intriguing but dangerous. A power not to be taken lightly.

It became his whole life and the only thing he’d ever thought about doing ever. So, he did the only rational thing he could do: he studied his ass off every minute of his life if he wanted to pass the bar one day.

That is, until a little distraction like you came along. At the ripe age of twenty years old, Jihoon met someone who would one day change the trajectory of his life. Someone just as important as becoming a lawyer was. He didn’t think that was possible for someone as ambitious and driven as him. Distractions came rare to him. There was never space for a romantic subplot in his story.

He mentally thanked his former roommate, Soonyoung, everyday for taking the last afternoon slot for the required Psychology course. If he hadn’t, he wouldn't have been forced to take the morning classes, the same morning classes that you ended up attending.

He wouldn’t have gotten to occupy the seat next to yours every day for all of the semester, having the habit of getting to know you and learning things about you that he would’ve otherwise ignored about anyone else. Like how you prefer iced coffee no matter how below freezing temperature it was, or how your fingers curl and crunch up anxiously before giving a presentation—the little things.

And he most certainly wouldn’t have given in to the pressure of asking you out if he hadn’t gotten to know you in the class the way he did. There wasn’t a chance in hell he would’ve had the courage to approach you. A blessing in disguise shaped in the form of a breathtaking human being. And for some crazy reason, you said yes, because you liked him back. Gosh, his heart was soaring that day. He finally understood what butterflies in one's stomach meant.

What had started as a budding infatuation, blossomed into an epic love story for the ages—well, at least he liked to think so. He knew he’d remember and relive this period of his life for as long as he was alive. There was nothing like being in love.

And what was crazy to him was that you liked him as much as he liked you. The way you’d look at him as if he held the universe in the palms of his hands, or how tight you’d hold him when he would pull you towards his chest and lock you in a secure embrace. It’s as if the world faded around you—or maybe, you just became his world.

Before he realized it, you had become just as much a part of his life as his studies were, if not more. It pivoted his life in a path he never planned for, and strangely enough, he looked forward to it. He looked forward to the route you were taking him in. Whatever life had to throw, he’d be ready if you were by his side.

And that’s how it was for the first couple of years. You spent every waking moment together, every meal, every lecture, everything that mattered. With you, everything seemed to matter. And that’s how he ended up proposing too; that day during a picnic with the sunniest of skies under the biggest tree in the park with the cheesiest smile on his face. He was truly the luckiest man he knew.

God, did he love you. And god, did you love him.

But something changed shortly after the proposal. Drastically.

You had been distant with Jihoon for reasons he couldn’t explain, but he’s never been one to pry, so he'd given you your space, even when you never asked for it. He respected boundaries and would never make you give up yours for the sake of his comfort, so he waited.

Maybe that’s when it started. When he didn't fight for your attention. He wonders if that’s where things started going wrong.

Unlike you, Jihoon isn’t one for confrontation, but if you want him to burn the world, in a heartbeat he would. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t do for you, he just needs to hear it. It’d be anything.

“I can’t marry you,” you say in a quiet voice.

Almost anything.

You push your engagement ring towards Jihoon, unable to meet his eyes, as dark clouds hover above your head.

Jihoon gulps, choking on a breath he’s been holding since you called him over for this lunch date. He’s thinking things are just turning around, that you’d stop avoiding him like you have been. Then this hurdle–hurricane is thrown in his face.

And he knows exactly why.

After he proposed, he met your parents for the first time, your parents who lived in a different world than he ever could. They didn’t approve of your choice of a partner given his inferior background. They didn’t approve of this marriage. They didn’t approve of Jihoon. They had other plans in mind for their one and only daughter. Bigger, grander plans than Jihoon could ever fathom.

Since then, hope seemed lost. However, you thought you could convince them. Jihoon put his faith in you, because why wouldn’t he? He’s madly in love with you. He trusts you. He knows that you did the best you could.

“Didn’t budge, huh?” he asks with a bitter smile.

You sigh, before running your hands over your face in frustration. “You know it’s not your fault. They’re so stubborn about me marrying to preserve the company. Why should it be my responsibility? I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Your eyes flit to meet his, barely staying open. “If I had it my way—“

“But you don’t,” he cuts off.

“Hoon.”

He holds your hand in his, his thumb caressing over your naked knuckles. He swallows back a laugh of disbelief. He knew that happiness couldn’t have been that easy and within reach. Finally, he looks back at you and brings your hands towards his lips, kissing the balls of your palms as a single tear falls from the corner of his eye. “I love you. You make me the happiest person alive. And I want to marry you…but if our worlds are tearing us apart…”

The image of the man you love crying rips you to shreds, the agonizing pain stretching throughout your entire body, and you move towards him and you take him in your arms. Your lips quiver, letting out a shattered breath, feeling his tears now soaking through the cotton of your shirt. You don’t know what else to say at this moment except, “I love you, Jihoon.”

Present day…

“Okay, the prenup settles pretty much most of what we’re looking for, so the process will luckily be pretty straightforward.”

“Okay,” you nod in acknowledgment. “Like I thought. How long of a process is it going to be?”

Jihoon hums, tapping his pen to his chin. “Depends on the talk with his attorney. It'll be a clean and quick process if they're anything like me.”

You can’t help but smile. “No one’s like you, Hoo—Jihoon.”

He grins, catching your slip-up. “Well, one can hope.”

You press your lips in a firm line, your ears growing warm as you gather your files, tapping them on the desk to line them up in a neat stack. “Well, this was really helpful. Thank you for taking time out of your lunch to do this. You really shouldn’t have.”

“Anything for a friend.”

A light dims in your eyes, and your grip on the belongings tighten. “Right. Well, I’ll talk to him about the situation, and we’ll set up an appointment so we can all meet. I’ll let you know.”

“I look forward to it,” he responds earnestly.

Finally, Jihoon would be able to meet the bastard that your parents thrust upon you face to face.

He wants to assume that now and in the past your husband is just like you, forced upon this marriage for the sake of appearance and business ties. However, the more he spends time, how little you speak of him, the more he notices how you grow stiff when he’s audibly brought up, implying a strained relationship. That guy has already lost Jihoon’s good graces by that alone.

“Thank you. So what can we do in the meantime?”

“You make your plans moving forward as a single woman. Get your things in order, and that includes your personal matters, like your family that I assume are involved.”

You stiffen, nodding at the sad reminder. “Yeah. They are. Thank you for lunch.”

As you begin to leave, Jihoon can’t help but stop you in your tracks. He knows if he doesn’t say what is on his mind now he’ll regret it, unwilling to make the same mistakes he did in the past. “Hey, um. If you’re looking for more advice regarding this matter or what to expect after this whole ordeal, my office is always open during lunch hours. For you anyways.”

You give him a soft frown, shaking your head. “I couldn’t do that to you.”

“No, really,” he insists, not taking no for an answer, a touch of plead in his eyes. “I think with you around it’s the only way I actually eat during lunch.”

The corners of your lips finally turn up, tugging at Jihoon’s heartstrings and eating him up from the inside. “Then, maybe I’ll take you up on it.”

There is a certain comfort in the routine, knowing there’s something to look forward to every weekday at noon between the hours of 11:45AM to 12:55PM. You inevitably have to go back to your office, but Jihoon looks forward to those hours now, watching the hands of the clock tick by until lunchtime. It’s a game he’s started to play by himself, somehow always the loser with a big grin on his face when you’re right at the front of his door and the same loser with a sad smile when you have to leave.

“That’s so you. I can’t believe you still listen to that stuff.” Jihoon chuckles, stabbing at his teriyaki chicken pieces before stuffing them in his mouth.

“Oh, of course I do! These are real! Cut-throat! Blood-thirsty murder-cases! Most of the time involving women. That could be me one day. Can never be too safe,” You playfully warn, pointing your chopsticks at him.

“Maybe, but you come from one of the wealthiest families in the country and married into one of the other wealthiest families in the country. You no doubt have a near impenetrable security system keeping you very locked up and safe in your very nice big home.”

“Which makes me an even bigger target. Ah-ha. Didn’t think about that, did you?”

He rolls his eyes, grinning ear to ear. “Fine. But what does that have to do with crocheting again?”

Your eyes light up, giddily clapping your hands at his reminder. “It’s really nice—well, nice isn’t really the right word—but I listen to it when I'm crocheting. I once made a whole blanket listening to an entire season about a missing person’s case that turned out to be a missing people's case.”

“Of course, you did.”

You get a quick glance at your phone when you grab your drink, seeing a notification pop up to reveal the time. “Oh shoot, I have to head back.”

“Already?” Jihoon tries not to sound too disappointed.

“Yeah. Sorry. It feels like these lunch hours are getting shorter and shorter every day.”

“Maybe it doesn’t have to be just lunch. We can always get dinner—to talk more about the process and what your next steps can be. How about tonight? Unless that’s too soon?”

You blink back at him, unable to suppress the growing smile on your face. “S-sure. I’ll meet you at your office?”

”Actually, I thought of picking you up at yours?”

With a gentle hum, you nod. “It’s a date.”

So he waits, watching the clock's hands tick until it reaches the hour that indicates the end of the day. He has something he’s looking forward to, giving him all the more reason to take advantage of the extra suits in his office wardrobe for emergencies. Something that has only ever used to be for emergencies, not if he feels like the color navy brings out his eyes more today. But tonight, he has the excuse to look his sharpest, unsure if he’ll ever get this opportunity again.

He can’t help the smile on his face as you walk out of your office building, pushing himself off his car to completely take in your presence as if he hadn’t just seen you hours ago. Resembling someone watching their prom date dramatically descend a flight of stairs, Jihoon feels his chest squeeze as you walk closer before standing in front of him, and every date you’ve gone on flashes through his mind, leading up to this very moment.

“Hi.” he softly greets.

“Hey,” you greet back, taking a step closer.

”Ready?” he asks, and a nod is all he needs before you lose yourselves in the night.

You explore deeper in the center of the city, sauntering the streets aimlessly as you look for a spot to situate yourself, somewhere you could talk and enjoy each other‘s presence without interruption. As if someone heard your pleas, a cafe catches your attention off in the distance, its white fluorescent sign flickering its bold cursive back at you, beckoning you towards it. And as you turn to Jihoon, his expression matches yours, knowing you’ve found just the place.

Once the door swings open, Jihoon is immediately hit with the aroma of freshly ground coffee brewed to perfection. Its nutty sweet scent dances in the air as sweet, fruity notes linger nearby. Nostalgia hits him in an instant, and he recalls a younger version of himself with you by his side feeding him a sip of your devilish concoction of a strawberry mocha with two shots of espresso. The disdain on his face was evident, when he kissed your lips, it was a different world. It was tolerable, or maybe everything you had to offer made him infinitely love you more.

“Oh my god,” he quietly whispers to himself.

“Jihoon?”

He jolts back into reality, your beautiful face warped as your eyes scans over him with concern. “Sorry. I think I got lost in a moment there.”

You curiously narrow your eyes, following after him as he entered the cafe. “Really? What happened?”

“Let’s sit first. What’ll you have?”

After retrieving your drink order, Jihoon glances at the drink in your hand, saddened that you opted for a plain americano over your college usual. It was about every other day that you’d order one, and to this day he wonders how you’re alive and kicking with thousands of calories you consumed from that beverage alone. It seems things have changed since, and he’s unsure whether it's for the better, but it gave him all the more reason to order it for himself. Although he hated it in the past, maybe he'd like it now.

“Blech!” Nope. Still awful.

You muse at his disgusted expression. “Oh my god, Jihoon. What did you order?”

“Don’t recognize it?” He lifts up the drink, licking up the whipped cream from the corner of his lips. “Your famous strawberry mocha.”

“You remember that? You hated that drink!”

“Yeah, but,” he holds the drink close to his chest, as if cherishing it. “You liked it. Why don’t you anymore?”

“It’s not that I don't, it's just…so bad for me.” You grip your Americano loosely, gulping at the decadent visuals of the nostalgic drink in his hand. “I can’t have something like that all the time.”

Meanwhile, Jihoon sips the drink as you explain yourself, making faces as he listens in. You narrow your eyes at him, the corner of your lips turning down before you give him a disciplinary tap to the shoulder.

“Stop drinking it!”

“I paid for it. I’ll do what I want.”

You groan, shoving the untouched Americano and stealing the strawberry mocha for yourself. “There. Now everyone’s happy.”

“Who said I wanted an Americano?” He retorts with a smile, happy to see his previous beverage right where it belongs.

“You definitely don’t want the mocha.”

“I do though.”

You roll your eyes, softly scoffing and giving him a wry smile. “You’re so stubborn. It's written all over your face how much you hate it.”

“But you like it,” he retorts, sipping his new Americano, somehow missing the conflicting taste of his previous beverage.

You cover your hot cheeks with the palm of your hand, eyes pointed away from him as the sound of your accelerating heart pounds against your ear drums. You start to wonder to yourself how this man at damn near thirty years is still as cute as he was at twenty years old.

“You really haven't changed.”

He snorts. “You insulting me?

“Not at all.” Chuckling, you sip your newly acquired drink, the clash of the bitter coffee and sickly sweet fruity syrup battling on your taste buds. It may have been more of your tastes back in college. “So that moment you had. What was that about?”

“Moment?”

“You stopped all of a sudden when we came through the front door. It was like a lightbulb went off in your head or something.”

He softly smiles, taking small sips of his drink, warmth rushing toward his cheeks in contrast to the chilled beverage wrapped with his slender digits. “Something like that?”

You tilt your head, “Hmm?”

He hesitates, avoiding your gaze. “I…just suddenly thought about back then…when we were together honestly. It was nothing.”

You suck in your teeth dubiously, smiling with your eyes. “Sure didn’t seem that way.”

“It made me happy,” he admits earnestly, his voice coated in something reminiscent of honey, so decadent, you feel the strong desire to taste more.

“The memory?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a faint smile, “A lot of things you did make me happy.”

Your lips part as you drink in his response, whatever words you were about to say next dying on your tongue as you take a long nervous sip of your stolen beverage, cheeks ablaze. You watch as the blood rushes towards his cheeks, flushing them a soft pink as he leisurely sips his newly acquired drink, stealing glances at you.

Jihoon finds it nice to divulge his past once in a while, but he doesn’t have many people to do that with, and the person he wants to do it the most with for the longest time was married and out of his life. But even if he did talk about his past, that meant having to confront the obstacles he jumped, the losses that were out of his control, and the pain that he endured only to end up the loser. Now, he doesn’t have to be scared anymore. You’re back. Back in his life and hopefully for good whether it is as a friend, or employer and employee, he’ll take it.

“This was really nice.”

Jihoon hums in agreement. “Yeah, kinda felt like we were back in college again.”

You chuckle, turning to him as you reach towards the steps of your residence. It was a lot different than the dorms from back then. Yet, you can’t help but understand where he’s coming from. “Yeah. It’s funny. You’d always walk me back to my apartment too, even though yours was in the opposite direction.”

“And it was worth it,” he retorts, stubbornly. “Because I got to see you get inside safely. The distance didn’t matter to me.”

“And you wouldn’t take my gas money.” You pout, tugging on his sleeve.

“No, I didn’t.” He shakes his head, accepting your hand in his and finding them naturally interlock. “Not when I can pay for myself just fine.”

“So I would invite you inside, let you have a drink—or three.”

Jihoon chuckles, reminded of his coke zero habit that you’d always indulge with a splash of rum. “And…” he steps closer towards you, closing the distance. “I’d end up staying over longer than I expected to.”

You lightly grasp the lapel of his coat, eyes glossing over his appearance. “And I didn’t mind it one bit.”

Your gaze drifts off to his lips, softly puckering as they part. Your chest heaving, you feel yourself drawing closer. Jihoon’s warmth is a tempting mistress before he holds you in place, startling you as he puts a halt to your movements. Your eyes shoot back at him, rapid panic in your eyes, disappointment seeping through you.

“That might be a bad idea,” he warns, but not backing away.

Your hands creep up his neck. “When have we ever let that stop us?”

He lightly scoffs, able to name once—the last instance you were together. It emerges, memories that he can’t help but twist up his heart that’s been stretched and pummeled until past recognition. He has to be realistic. “We’re a little older now and…you’re still technically married.”

“We’ve spent the better half of a decade avoiding each other because we were scared of the consequences. We don’t have to be scared anymore. I haven’t seen you in years, and I still feel the way I did all those years ago. Tell me you don’t.”

“You know I…” His words die on his lips. It’s obvious what he wants. He wants you. It’s all he’s ever wanted.

Your hands caress over the nape of his neck, and the hairs of his neck stand stiff as goosebumps pebble his skin. “You what, Jihoon?”

His eyes flutter in disbelief, melting against your touch as he succumbs to your warmth, the world around him fading. The only drinks he had tonight night were of the nonalcoholic variety, but staring back at you, he feels drunk, feening for a taste of something else right in front of him. “Want you more than anything.”

When his lips crash against yours, he can feel your heart leap from your chest, air pushing against his lungs. The heat that radiates off your body envelopes him despite the biting cold winds, flustering his cold cheeks as he feels you kiss him back. He takes a deep breath, reveling in the silken sensation of your lips, searing against his as his hand falls into your hair.

He isn’t sure if he knew how it felt to kiss you again, but it was muscle memory. From the way you drag him by his coat collar, slipping through the thick fabric to find the warm body underneath, he knows nothing is coming back from this. And even if there is, he doesn’t want it if it doesn’t have you.

You both barely make it up the steps of the house after hearing how one of you haphazardly closes the automated locking door, and he follows your footsteps to a room of your choosing, knowing he’ll follow you anywhere.

The large coat is tugged immediately off of him, hearing it thud on the ground, you make his sweater follow suit. You grapple at the seams of his dress shirt, gingerly unlatching one button at a time, and Jihoon’s lips find your neck, burying himself in the crook, rendering you speechless as he tastes your flustered skin. Meanwhile, his hands roam over your figure through your clothes before the skirt becomes as useful as his coat as he shoves it down your thighs and lets it fall to your ankles to be kicked aside.

Your flesh spills between his fingers, kneading your ass between his knuckles, and he feels your moan vibrate in your throat against his lips. Jihoon sighs, familiarizing with the ache and longing of your voice as he lifts you from the ground to wrap your legs around his torso, nudging his excitement against lower abdomen.

He presses you against a wall, his hand cushioning the impact to your lower back, he reunites with your lips, devouring you endlessly. He feels for your thighs as he holds you still, dragging his hips against them as he rid himself of his shirt and you of yours, the only thing keeping you apart being his trousers and the underwear scantily clad on your body. The body he’s imagined for years after you left.

“Jihoon, don’t stare.” Jihoon lets out a shattered breath before regaining clarity, realizing that he let his eyes linger longer than he intended, broken from his trance at the sound of your whines.

“A lot has changed since we were last intimate, ” You softly defend, pressing yourself against his body to shield your build, only letting his hunger to swell against the seams of his pants.

“It has.” His lips land on the center of your lips, hugging yours as he slips through and collects the underside of your breast in his palm. With a gentle squeeze, the vibrations of your mewl run a chill path down his spine. “You’ve never looked more beautiful.”

“And you…Fuck,” You cry in anguish, holding his face in your hands, fingers combing through his hair as your chest heaves. “You have no idea how much I wanted to see this gorgeous face again.”

You’ve taken the words right out of his mouth, and hearing them out loud only kindles the fire in his stomach brighter and uncontainable. He can’t take it anymore, he has to have you. In sheer desperation, he maneuvers the unbuckling of his pants, adjusting the waistband of briefs, too frantic to even bother pulling either of them down properly. Instead, his desire springs out from their confines, raging and bold as he grasps himself by the shaft, the elastic hanging by his firm thighs. “God, I missed you. I need to find a condom. Please tell me where one is before I embarrass myself on your floor.”

Chuckling, your hands slide down his cheeks, meeting his eyes that glisten in anticipation as his swollen lips part in an eager quiver. “I don’t want you to use one. After so long I just want to feel you—all of you. Please...”

“You’d let me do that?”

Your fingertips softly dance over his pink cheeks, emitting tingles against his skin. “I’d let you do anything you want.”

“What I want to do…” He lets the tips of your noses meet, and you bite back a premature moan, melting at your flushed skin pressed against each other. “...is make you remember what you sound like screaming my name. Have you feel so much pleasure you’re begging me to stop.”

You take a sharp inhale before your mouth curls in a smug smile, letting your hand the firm touch of chest, pulsing beneath your palm. “How convenient. Our interests align.” You close the gap, tasting the heat and your blended breaths. “I knew I picked a good lawyer.”

“Or I just know the right clients to accept.”

Sliding your panties aside, he feels for your slit, finding your slickness as it satisfyingly coats his fingers. He lets his fingers run over your arousal, gliding across your folds, reacquainting himself with an old favorite pastime, and wedges himself between your folds tauntingly. Your smile drops as you bite your lip to suppress a mewl, stabling yourself on his shoulders, while he invades your arousal and thumbs over your clit agonizingly slow. Your throat tightens at the same time your abdomen tenses, unable to stop yourself from arching your back and leaning into his touch.

Your vision flutters in and out of view, legs tingling as he dips a single digit to penetrate your blossoming walls, the slickness welcoming his thrusts. Your jaw drops slightly, the pads of your fingers pressing dents into his shoulder blades as he curls himself inside you, and you shudder and a whimper exposes your urgency.

“That good?” He gives you a cheeky grin. “Must be if you’re that fucking wet.”

“Shut up,” you lightly retort, only to feel him push it in deeper, holding it inside you before plunging himself into you at a gradually growing pace.

He draws his lips to your ears, his usually gentle voice dropping lower and saying that familiar expression that always made you a little crazy when you heard it. “Make me.”

The finger is joined by another, and he starts playing with your vocal cords as if they were strings of violin, making music that bounces from wall to wall. His toned body pinning you down only taunts you, the lack of mobility only offering you the opportunity to sink your teeth in his shoulder or mark his neck in splotchy love bites. Otherwise, you writhe under his claim, grind your sensitive bud against his palm, and your mind draws a blank, any once coherent thought becoming a jumble of words that doesn’t even come close to belonging in the English dictionary.

Jihoon’s eyes flicker with determination, consumed with unbridled lust, and deep down you revel in it. You weren’t sure if Jihoon had moved on from you since everything happened, and selfishly you hoped that he hadn’t. When your hopes rang true, you jumped at the chance. Perhaps had you done it sooner, you’d see these gates of this heaven earlier, and the angel before wouldn’t any longer just be a wet dream, but a soaking reality.

“I’m gonna cum,” you weakly warn.

“So soon, should I stop?” He teases, only shoving his fingers deeper, reaching past his knuckles.

“But I want to cum on you.” Your bottom lip swelling up in a subtle pout, gripping his form. “I want to cum on your cock.”

His nose traces over yours, his Cheshire grin gracing your flushed cheek. “And you will, because the first time won’t be the last. So, just cum, hmm? Cum all over my hands for me, Angel.”

You brace for impact against the wall, back arching as the moment hits you like a lightning bolt, striking you in erratic shakes, and you clench your legs against his sides. The heat of your climax travels up to your head as it spills out of your body and bucks your hips into his palm.

Jihoon strokes your side, soothing you as he carries you through your moment of weakness. He coos at you, peppering kisses on your face as he savors your faltering shudders then pulls out his fingers and watches how your eyes shift when they vanish past his lips. Biting back a soft gasp, you hear the sound of his gentle moan against his knuckles as his tongue runs across his digits, snaking and sucking everywhere that shined, chuckling and seeing a burst of fire reignite in your eyes.

“Now put it inside me,” you command, panting and clenching around nothing, already missing the presence of his company.

He tilts his head, smirking. “Already? So soon.”

You shake your head, “I can handle more. A lot more.”

Jihoon scans over you, watching everything from the rise and fall of your bare chest to the tears that briefly stain our cheeks. He can feel his heart pounding his ears and throat drying up like the desert as he stares at your kiss-swollen lips, holding your gaze as if he has only begun appreciating the visionary you are for the first time in what felt like forever. Looking at you feels like falling in love all over again. And love makes Jihoon do anything you want.

He fiddles with the hem of your underwear, rubbing the lacy material between the pads of his fingers before pulling them down. He lifts your body slightly off the ground, exerting you against the wall, nudging his knee to hold you in place before aligning himself, licking his lips, seeing your arousal on your thighs as they seep out of you like honey. “You asked for it, okay?”

Your pupils flicker at the back of your skull before looping your arms around his neck, anchoring your legs around his waist as your pussy swallows him between your folds, stretching your walls and spreading your legs wide as your thighs squeeze tightly around him. “Oh, my–fuck…”

There’s only a fraction of him inside you, yet he already has your brain short-circuiting. “Shit,” Jihoon scoffs, dragging his hips in a tight thrust and slamming you hard enough for the vanity table beside you to have a bottle knocked over. “You still feel like you were made just for me.”

“W-wait. Why do you feel so much bigger than I remember?”

His hands caress the underside of your thighs, bouncing you in his grip, as they stiffened in his grasp. “Well, it’s been a while. Maybe you need to get adjusted to my size again. Would you like me to help with that?”

You timidly nod, holding on to his biceps in a vice grip. “Is it going to hurt?”

“Do you want it to hurt?”

“…Yes.”

Snickering, he plunges into your walls, pulsating as he molds you into his shape down to the veins. Your bodies meld into one, not one without the other, and he honors his word. Every second of him buried inside you stings as skin collides, stretching your strained walls, letting you consume the agonizingly indulgent sensation. You swallow the drool pooling in your mouth as his hips continue to snap. You dig your nails into his flesh, forming white crescents, attempting to retain some of your sanity.

Your heart drops the split second you feel his hands leave your body, and you almost plummet to the ground before he slams you against the wall, catching your thighs just before it’s too late and conveniently pushing in deeper. If he cares at all about the mini heart attack he gives you every time he decides to do that, it doesn’t show. No matter how many times you scold him, although, in his defense, they get drowned in the sound of your hunger.

“Hoon…” You weakly jab at him. “Asshole…”

“You like it,” he teases, before thrusting deeper as his lips roughly trace your mouth. “I hear it in your voice, try to be better at hiding it if you want to convince me.”

You anchor on him by the shoulders before he does it again, almost dropping you to the ground before catching you at the last second, ripping ungodly moans from the depths of your throat. Jihoon finds them delicious, almost as sweet as the sound of his name on your tongue. He doesn’t want to stop when you sound that enticing.

And you hate to admit it, but here’s a thrill every time he does it, the way he manhandles you as if you are his to play with. As if you are his. You could get used to that. After years of being forced apart, you’re ready to take on the world with him again.

You rake a hand through his hair, pulling at his bottom lips with teeth before he sharply rams into you, hitting your head against the wall only once before pulling off it to carry you to bed. He drops your bodies on the mattress and revels in your heat as he buries deeper inside you. His hands roam up your arms before they pin down your wrists, lips parting in moans as your legs anchor around him.

“I’m never letting you go,” he softly mumbles. “Nothing—no one will get in my way again.”

“Hoon,” you whisper, eyes looking back at him with awe. “And nothing will.”

Your nostalgia filled pleasure plays like a cinematic movie, and your moans and whimpers are the soundtrack of the night. The way your fingers still curl with every caress transforms the home you use as an escape from the rest of the world into a safe haven, completed with the presence of the man you have loved all your life. Lee Jihoon’s mark on you is something that could never be washed away, and once this whole damned situation is over, you will be eternally his. Just as it is meant to be, as it was always supposed to be.

Your bodies fit together seamlessly, nestled underneath the thickness of the thousand-thread count blanket that trapped you both in its security. Your hand slides perfectly over his, while his firm and strong arms envelop your body as his head knocks against yours. You hear him smile as his heart pounds against your ear, fast and alive even in moments of rest.

“You’re staying the night, right?” you timidly ask, turning your head slightly towards him to meet his eyes. “I want to stay in this moment a little longer. Even if you have to leave.”

He gazes down at you, pressing his lips to your temple, the scent of his sweet breath wafting into your nose as you fight off sleep to be conscious in his presence. “I’m not leaving even if someone tried to pry me off you with a crane. I’m staying with you all night.”

Your heart swells as you tenderly smooth your hands over his backside. “Promise. I’ll wake up and you’ll still be here.”

He grabs your waist tighter, the hum of his voice tingling your cheeks as he speaks. “I promise, Angel.”

You bury your face in his chest, arms looped around his neck, inhaling what you’ve longed for for years. There’s nothing else like his warmth. You’ve passionately love it for years, and being stripped of your

“I feel like I’m dreaming,” you muffle.

You can feel your heartbeat restless against his. It’s as if they’re both catching up with one another, just as you and Jihoon are intimately doing now. All the time you spent married to someone you didn’t love in the slightest, worried about what your parents wanted for you, worried what they’d do to the people you love, what they’d do to Jihoon. All those years wasted when you could’ve been here, simply his. If you had each other, just as you both promised, perhaps there would be more nights like this.

“Me too,” He admits. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

You pull away from his chest to face him, tears blurring your vision as you clasp your hands on his face. “I know I never stopped loving you. I thought of you every day when I knew I never had the right to.”

He strokes your sides, bewitched by your sincerity, and he embraces you. “We were twenty, you were listening to your parents—”

“And at twenty years old, I was still wise enough to know a good man and have a heart when I see one. I could never make it up to you, but just know you’re never getting rid of me, Lee Jihoon.”

He wistfully smiles. “Is this a life sentence?”

“And an afterlife one.”

Your lips crash against his, melting into him before losing yourselves in one another, losing yourselves into the heat of your reunion before you’re overtaken by the night and fall deep asleep in his embrace. Unlike you, however, Jihoon can’t sleep, fearing that the moment he closes his eyes, he’ll be the one left alone. He’s dreamt of nights where he’s holding as close as he is now, breathing in your essence, savoring your skin, basking in your warmth. And the dreams are cruel the moment he opens his eyes and realizes you were a figment of his deepest desires. Experiencing it in person is better than anything his consciousness could come up with.

He moves your hair away from your face, letting his fingertips ghost over the curve of your cheek, and tenderly smiles down at you. Holding his breath, he feels you stir, that saccharine tone of voice ebbing in mumbles as you press closer against him, tucking your legs between his.

He feels as if he can stare at you for hours, relearning the rhythm of your breath, the number of strands of your lashes, creases of your lips. He does not want to miss a single thing. If he is going to have you, it’ll be all of you. If not, then he’d let himself be all yours. He hopes at least you can give him that much. Especially when he’s missed several years of your lives together.

Before he knows it, morning arrives as the sun rises higher in the sky, peeking through the small division of the bedroom curtain, and Jihoon realizes he didn’t sleep a wink. Yet, he does not mind it one bit. And when your eyes pry open to see him still holding you, his smile stamped on your forehead, that it had been all worth it to hear you greet him with sweet words and your lips that taste even better than he last had them several hours ago. It truly feels unreal still.

But now it’s morning, and that means he is to take care of you like he promised himself he’d do if you ever reunited, so he jumps out of bed to make breakfast. Your tired expression chuckles as he enthusiastically asks you over his shoulder what ingredients you had in your fridge. He’s never and has never been much of a cook, but for you, he is willing to put in the effort.

“You never really learned what to put in an omelet, did you?” You tease, seeing him toss sliced cucumbers, diced ham, and cottage cheese in his egg batter.

He shrugs, softly pouting as he tugs you towards to join his side. “I can’t make it as good as you. Sue me.”

“How did you go on living without me?”

The corner of his lips softly jerks up. “I’m wondering the same thing.”

You pull him towards you by his waist, letting your hands glide over his exposed back and settling on his shoulder blades. You inhale the natural aroma of his body, inhaling him and remembering every second of the night you shared. Your memories of intimacy with Jihoon haunted your present day, but images of last night make you feel as if you could finally breathe. “Well, stop wondering. I’ll eat your weird omelets and burnt toast. Just never leave me.”

He strokes the back of your head, fingers threading in your hair. “I should be the one saying that to you, Angel.”

Your smile grazes his skin and your grip on him tightens. “I can’t believe I’m hearing that name again after so long. Now it really doesn’t feel real.”

“Then we can stay in dreamland forever,” He hums, slotting your lips between his with the tilt of your chin.

His arms border either of your sides, pressing you against the counter, parting his mouth wider as his moan vibrates against your lips. Like always, his kisses start sweet before they’re hungry, feverish to taste every inch of you. You feel him lift you from the ground, planting your bare thighs on your cool marble counter as he settles between your legs, hands moving towards the festering, wet heat between them.

“Now I’m feeling like dessert for breakfast first.”

Beneath the shirt that you stole from him to wear is nothing but your vulnerability, coated in the slickness that he remembers was heaven on his tongue, yet sinfully addictive at a mere whiff. He pulls up the hem of the shirt, letting it meet your lips whispering, “Bite it,” before watching you claim it between your teeth.

There, he smooths his hands over your thighs, kissing and tasting the skin before his plush lips aim for your burning core. His eyes shoot up at you before dipping his tongue, letting it run up along your slit before sucking against your folds. You clench your raised hands, shielding the lower half of your face as the sound of his endeavor invades your ears, blood rushing towards you rapidly and fiercely.

“H-hoon…”

He pulls you closer towards him, his moans vibrating against your skin and his tongue slithering inside you as it massages your walls. Meanwhile, the pads of his finger rubbing against your swollen bud, swirling your arousal in circles, the intoxicating scent wafting into his nose before he delves deeper. “I’ve missed this so badly. You have no idea.”

“You’re gonna make a mess,” you blurt out in a moan.

“Get used to it for the rest of our lives,” he mumbles, hungrily devouring you with no remorse.

You feel closer to reaching the peak so fast, your whole body going up in flames until the very last second, and his name is all either of you hear. He still remembers all the right spots, effortlessly bringing you to the tears streaking your cheeks.

Before the moment can last a second longer, your attention is ripped away by the doorbell. Your head falls on his shoulder, hands clinging to his forearms. You groan, bringing you back to reality. “You have to hide.”

He tilts his head with a straight face, sighing. Standing upright, he cups your face to meet his gaze, the warmth of your cheeks so inviting and sees you clasp your hands over his in response. “Am I now the secret lover that has to hide my passion for the woman I love from the world?” he asks dryly, earning him a soft whine.

“It could be him, or worse, my parents. So, to not complicate things any further,” You drag your hands over his bare chest, letting the ripple of muscles stiffen against your palm, instilling your gaze with mischief. “You’re my dirty little secret until the divorce papers are processed. After that, it's you, me, and the end of time.”

He softly scoffs before pressing a chaste kiss on your lips with a smile. “Please get decent. No matter how good you look in my clothes, it’d be best not to look like you just stepped out of my wet dreams for whoever is at the door.”

You grasp at the cotton, enjoying his lingering scent that you hope never goes away. “So, you still dream about me.”

“Angel.”

“Alright, alright.” You interlock your fingers through his before hopping off the counter and returning to the ground. “Help me pick something out?”

You tug him upstairs to your bedroom, giggling like teenagers and trying to get you ready as efficiently as possible with Jihoon’s lips attached to your neck. From last night up until this morning, it’s been nothing short of thrilling. Had the doorbell not rang, you would’ve returned the favor and continued what he started. You couldn’t see how the rest of the day could go wrong. Even if it were your soon to be ex or your parents, you didn’t think they could take away the smile permanently tattooed on your face. You just couldn’t wait to get back to him.

But for now, this can wait. You have all the time in the world to rekindle the flame that had exploded in your bedroom. For the time being, he has to stay hidden, and the first place you think of is your walk-in closet that’s more than enough space for him to hide. And after choosing something decent to wear, you leave him with a peck on the cheek before descending towards the front door doorbell sounds again, hearing whoever is on the other side evidently impatient. As you swing the door open, you mentally strategize for whoever is on the end, but nothing—no amount of courage or time could have prepared you for this.

“Officers, good morning. How can I help you?” The pads of your fingers are pressed against the door, your bottom lip caught between your teeth, and your breath seizes just at the entrance of your mouth.

They ask for your name and your relationship with that man you’ve been trying to sever ties with for the last several weeks—or admittedly, several years. You blink back at them, heart picking up pace as you clutch your blouse. “Has something happened?”

“Your husband, Boo Hyunkwan, was found murdered in his complex today.”

Your eyes shoot open, skin running cold at the break of the news, and you expel a breath of disbelief. “What…? I don’t understand.”

“I’m sure this is shocking news, however, Miss, we are arresting you for the suspected murder of Boo Hyunkwan. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

“Wait–” You’re trembling as you’re put in handcuffs, feeling the cold metal snap and squeeze around your wrists as your panic sets in.

Your head oscillates from one officer to the other, pleading in your eyes as you insist that this is a mistake, asking how this was sanctioned. Then, your main concern dawns on you, and now all that you can think about is the man you left hidden in your closet. You suppress the instinct to call for him, letting his name die on your tongue as you tuck away in the police car.

You had just reunited, and now you’re getting taken away again. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Not now. Not like this.

Jihoon. Help.

The man in question has always respected your wishes, but his curiosity got the best of him, blaming it on the years spent away from each other. He just had to see that you’re okay, maybe get ready to break out in a sprint if the situation calls for it. Careful to not to get caught, he undercuts through the big windows looking out towards the front lawn, peering just over the windowsill enough from your bedroom window to make out the scene outside when sees flashing red and blue lights.

Standing pin straight, his hands plants against the window, watching the scene before him unfold without a say otherwise. Eyes glued to your restrained posture shoved in the backseat of the cop car, and it reeves its engine before leaving your driveway. The man still in hiding could only grit his teeth as your name burns and swells his throat shut, breathing no longer an option.

Not that he has many options at this point.

After meeting your parents and after the engagement…

“That couldn’t have gone worse.” Jihoon loosens his tie, but he’s unable to rid himself of the tightness around his throat.

You fall on the couch beside him, a soft gaze directed at him as you smooth out his collar. “It wasn’t that bad. You were perfect, my parents—”

“Were looking after their precious only daughter. As would I.” Jihoon holds your face in his palms, feeling the heat fester as he brushes his thumbs over the plane of your cheeks. “I would protect this Angel too.”

You clasp your hands over his, your scowl only deepening as you take them in your hands. “They still shouldn’t have treated you like that. They’re a reflection of me. What does that say about me?”

He presses a soft kiss against the tip of your nose, feeling your grip on him tighten. “You’re a product of nature, not nurture. It’s your nature to be beautiful inside and out, Angel.”

“What did I do in my life to deserve you?” You coo, throwing your arms around his torso and pressing your ear to his chest, his heartbeat resonating louder by the second.

It’s soothing. The purest form of truth that not anyone could deny. You don’t need to hear a single song if it means giving up this sound and the body that contains it. But his kind words, the words to match the rhythm of his restless heartbeat. One is not one without the other. Just like you are not yourself without Jihoon.

“Love me. So don’t stop now.”

You let out soft gasp, clinging tighter as warmth fans throughout your body. It’s clear as day. You couldn’t imagine a world with him, not a world where you aren’t miserable. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jihoon has already been nervous about meeting your parents, but having met them just confirms his suspicions. You’re the heir to an empire, while Jihoon’s family is nothing remarkable. He had a good family, a decent home life, but almost nothing to his name. He was painfully ordinary with the passion of being a lawyer, but the passion didn’t make him one. After all, he wasn’t on the path of many currently successful lawyers that paid thousands for their education.

Despite it all, Jihoon knows that he has a future with you in it. For the time being, Jihoon is determined to see it through.

“I assume you know why you’re here, young man.”

The sternness in the older woman makes Jihoon’s blood run cold, even with the hot tea that was provided for him. He knows what this is. He’s watched enough television to understand this is the inevitable meeting that he is destined to face.

“You wanted to discuss your daughter.”

She scoffs, emphasizing her smile lines. She crosses her arms, leaning against her chair before bringing the tea cup to her lips. Now the sudden fear of liquid—or in this case, scorching hot tea—dawns on him. He hopes that this is something you just see in film, and he won’t have to suffer from second degree burns from a soap opera cliche. “I suppose you aren’t daft, perhaps that’s why she likes you so much, but clearly still not smart enough to realize you are not suited for her.”

Jihoon bows his head, the thought of meeting her eyes bringing an irrational amount of fear he never realized he could garner. He tries to swallow it, but it only ends up clogging the words of bravery that he had practiced so many times to win your parents over.

“If you care about her, you’ll walk away. She has a future bigger than this.”

She doesn’t stop for his response and instead throws a thick envelope on the table, the kind you see on multiple cliche dramas with an amount that could change his and his family’s life if he accepts it. An offer he can not dare to refuse.

“$500,000. Should pay your student loans and all of your tuition. Plenty left over for your family.”

Jihoon clenches his fist, biting his bottom lip until he tastes iron. All for you. All for their one and only daughter. They need him out of your life so badly that this money is nothing to them but a hunk of change they can throw to get exactly that. “I can’t accept this.”

“So much pride with so little to show for it.” She stands from her seat, looming over him coldly. “She is arranged to be married. Someone of equal status. You’d understand, Jihan, is it?”

His thoughts are running amok in his head, bouncing off every corner of mind and rippling waves of ache every passing second. Yet, not one of them revealed themselves in front of the woman before him. Cowardice comes naturally in this circumstance, but Jihoon never thought he’d be a victim of it.

“No matter,” she continues, “Break it off as clean as possible. Or better yet, make it hurt, so that she won’t come running back. This will be good for the both of you.”

Jihoon knows that is the last thing he needs to hear. He knows you don’t think this way. You never gave implications you do, but he can’t help but wonder if your mother is right. Maybe what your parents are offering is better. He couldn’t possibly match up their standards, your standards that you grew up with. What can he offer you that a family with generations of fortune can’t? He has no idea.

Maybe…he shouldn’t hold you back. Maybe this arrangement is what you really need and deserve. If he truly loves you, letting you go would perhaps be the last biggest sacrifice he can make for you.

So, he coordinates a date, what he assumes would be your final date. He’d take you to somewhere private, in the nicest place he can afford, and buy you your favorite meal with the money he’s saved up from working his part time job. He’ll give you your happiest day before breaking your heart and the news that you can’t be together. He at least has to give you that.

But you beat him to the punch.

“I know what this is.”

He grimaced, looking up from his dinner, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

Your eyes stare through him, piercing, ebbing beads of sweat down his forehead even when he tries avoiding your eyes. “I know you met with my mother.”

“Angel–”

“I’m not giving up, Jihoon.” You twist the plain gold ring on your finger, thumbing over the band. “I love you too much.”

He desperately wants to trust you, to believe in the words you speak, just as he always has. But doubt gnaws at him, fueled by mounting evidence and a gut feeling he can't ignore. The stakes are too high, the consequences too dire to rely solely on blind faith. In his most vulnerable moments, when fear and uncertainty cloud his judgment, it feels as though your love alone isn't enough to withstand the inevitable.

Present day…

Jihoon charges into the police station, haphazardly dressed in yesterday’s clothes with his shirt untucked and buttoned up until the first two top buttons. Everyone present in the room looks towards him momentarily before turning their eyes back to their current task as if it’s an ordinary occurrence. Meanwhile, the man fueled by panic staggers over to the front desk, running his hand frantically through his hair as he tries settling his nerves to garner the right words.

“I-I’m looking for someone,” he stammers, eyes bulging out of his head and brimming with tears. “She just detained. Her name—“

Before he can complete his inquiry, his phone goes off, only heightening the stress he’s experiencing. Barely mustering the motor skills to retrieve it from his pocket, he glances at the caller ID that immediately grabs his attention. His gaze flickers back at the officer for a moment before he’s fixated on his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

He scurries over to his car, accepts the car, and presses it to his ear. “Hello?”

“J-Jihoon.”

The quiver in your voice brings him to tears. He tries to keep his composure as their warmth streams down his cheeks. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?”

"They said I could call a lawyer.”

He chuckles softly at your flawed reasoning. "I’m a divorce lawyer, my love."

“Even if you weren’t a lawyer, you were the first person I wanted to talk to.”

His heart aches, clutching his phone as he swallows back his trepidation. “What happened?”

“Hyunkwan. H-he’s dead.”

Jihoon tightly shut his eyes, unsure if he heard currently with how disorienting this whole circumstance is. “Hyunkwan…your husband.”

“T-they found him murdered at home, dead for a couple of days according to autopsies.”

Jihoon sighs coming to realization. “The police suspect you have something to do with it.”

“Yes.” You say voice cracking on the other side. He hears the rustling of your clothes, with the undertone of your whimpers barely making it through on the call. “They think I…I’m sorry to be taking business away from you after all the work you’ve done and hours you’ve put in.”

“Never mind that now. Just remember you didn’t do this. You stick to that. Don’t let them bully you into saying anything else but that.”

“But I didn’t do this,” You insist through your sobs. “I really didn’t.”

He frowns, clutching his chest as he leans his forehead against the front passenger door. “I know. I know you didn’t. Just stick to this, okay?”

“Okay…I just got you back. Why is it I have to fight for you all over again?” You softly whine.

His hand presses flat against his car window, steadying himself. “Once I get you alone again, I’ll let you do absolutely everything to make up for lost time.”

“Hoon…”

“Wait for me, I'll get you, Angel.”

The second the call ends, Jihoon walks back into that building with a newfound confidence and looks straight into the officer he spoke with before. “Pardon me, urgent call. I’m here to represent my client.”

In the interrogation room, Jihoon has never been more concerned than he is at that very moment. Even disheveled, you look as beautiful as you did this morning when you woke up together with your tear streaked cheeks and red swollen eyes. He wants to do nothing but take you in his arms, kissing the stress away from your body and distract you with long languid kisses until you’re breathless and he’s the only thing on your mind.

But against his wishes, Jihoon keeps it together, trying to remember anything helpful he learned in criminology to help you with your situation.

After a long 72 hours of interrogation and containment, due to lack of evidence, Jihoon has you released. Now, he watches you in his peripheral view as you sit stiff in the front passenger seat, staring off in the distance, unsure whether there was nothing or a multitude of things on your mind.

The car's interior was thick with silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the engine and the rhythmic thrum of tires against asphalt. Jihoon's gaze flickers repeatedly towards you, his brow furrowed with concern. Your rigid posture and the vacant stare in your eyes boring into the road, painting a picture of inner turmoil that words couldn't quite capture.

He racks his brain, desperately searching for the right words to break the silence, to dissipate the awkward tension that thickened the air. But what can he say? How can he possibly understand the maelstrom of emotions you were undoubtedly experiencing?

It’s been nothing less than a harrowing ordeal of relentless onslaught of accusations, interrogations, and the suffocating confines of a cold, sterile cell. And now, despite the nightmare having come to an end, the dark memory still clings to you, its icy fingers refusing to release their grip.

Jihoon's heart aches in your presence. He longs to reach out, to offer comfort and reassurance, but he fears that any attempt at consolation would only serve to further expose his own helplessness in the face of your trauma. He’s acutely aware that his presence, while a source of safety and security, is no medicine for the bundle of nerves that festers like a million ants in your stomach.

Jihoon's grip on the steering wheel tightens as he struggles to maintain his composure, while the silence stretches on. Each passing second amplifies the palpable tension that strangles his neck, suffocating his being. The once familiar surroundings of the car now felt alien and depressing, the silence a deafening roar that drowned out all rational thought.

“We’re almost home, Angel—”

“He’s gone, Jihoon. He was here, and now he’s gone.”

Jihoon retreats to the silence that once held him hostage, accepting there are no words in the universe that could give you the solace you need right now.

“Sick bastard,” You hiss. Putting your fingers to your lips, you succumb to the habit of biting your nails. The habit that you put a lot of effort into getting rid of, apparently only done in vain. “Even in death, he finds a way to take me down with him.”

“You and Hyunkwan…”

“It was business,” you clear up before taking a beat. “Mostly.”

Mostly.

“I see,” Jihoon responds, keeping a neutral tone, while in his head, he’s running a hundred miles per hour imagining you with a man that isn’t him.

You swallow a lump in your throat, lightly clawing at his leather seats. “We were in the same boat. Two kids forced together by their families because of an agreement made so, so long ago. We got along for a little bit, the only reason why it lasted so long, and then we tried to make it work. At least for the beginning of the second year, but old habits die hard, and he couldn’t give up his playboy lifestyle. Then there was me, who never stopped loving you.”

His chest tightens, each breath a struggle as your confession reverberates through him. Every word, a searing touch against his soul, burns its way into his brain. He feels the weight of your admission pressing down on him. His heart pounds a frantic rhythm against his ribs, its wild beat echoing and taking root in every wrinkle of his brain.

“So he went back to partying, and I spent the following several years alone, surveillanced, controlled, and the person I married couldn’t care any less about me, but that’s fine because the person that really mattered was safe.”

Jihoon readjusts his grip on the wheel, gritting his teeth at the thought of your solitude. He had hoped that you’d find some peace in the unavoidable obligation, but knowing that you suffered in silence is worse than knowing you had attempted to build a romantic relationship with your husband. At least with the latter, you would have some semblance of joy.

“Safe? Angel—”

“Hoon, stay with me for the time being.” You grip an of of his with reach, your eyes glossed in your desperate tears, your cracking voice tearing piece by piece. “I don’t want to live alone in that house.”

“You don’t have to. What about the place you’ve been staying now?”

You shake your head with a deep scowl. “My parents found out about me living there and changed the key code. I’m locked out, but they’ve sent my things to my legal residence. It’s the only place I can stay.”

“How can they still be—after hearing their son-in-law has passed?”

You roll your eyes, obviously used to their aggressive and shameless tactics to get exactly what they want. Just as they always have. “They want to keep the ties to the Boos as long as they can. They can’t do that by being estranged. They’re already furious enough that I’ve been living somewhere else.”

Dilemma becomes a lingering companion, making the lawyer question and challenge every selfish thought and desire to stay by your side when it combats with his logic that dares keep you at a distance. “Wouldn’t it be strange for me to stay there?”

“I need you. I can just tell anyone who asks that my lawyer and I are working closely on this case. I’ll say anything I have to to keep you by my side, Hoon.”

Jihoon's breath hitches as he shifts the car into park, his eyes drinking in the grandeur of your house. It was far larger than anything he had ever imagined, a sprawling testament to a life he felt utterly removed from. A wave of insecurity washes over him, the stark contrast between his own modest upbringing and the opulence before him serving as a harsh reminder of the vast sea that divides your worlds.

He swallows hard, his heart pounding against his ribs as he turns to face you. Despite the trepidation that gnawed at him, his love for you is and has always been unwavering. Reaching out, he pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. "Then I'll stay by your side," he murmurs in your hair, pressing his lips against the side of your head as he feels you reciprocate.

Amidst the uncertainty and the fear, Jihoon makes a solemn vow to himself. No matter the challenges that might arise, he will remain steadfast. He will not falter, no matter the trials and tribulations that lay ahead. With unwavering determination, he pledges to devote every waking moment to fighting tirelessly for your case, and to ensure that you remain by his side. No matter how many mornings and nights it takes, he’ll keep at it relentlessly until you see the light at the end of the tunnel.

After the break up, before the wedding…

Jihoon had been single for his entire life, a lonely existence that spanned twenty years. That was until he met you, an impossibly enchanting presence who immediately bewitched him at a mere glance. The way you love was generous, addictive. Something that would make a man go mad. His life was irrevocably altered from that moment; he couldn't envision a future without you by his side.

The day your relationship ended was a paradox of emotions, as if his heartbreak and logic were at combat. That day had to have been the worst day of his life. It was as if your absence left a gaping hole that made him feel like only a shell of his former self. He was worse than before he had met you. Then he was antisocial, and now he didn’t want to look at another person for as long as he lived. If it were within his power, he would erase it from his mind entirely, but the pain of losing the love of his life was an indelible scar, a torment he wouldn't wish upon even his most hated enemy.

"Long time no see.”

You stand bashfully beneath the sprawling branches of the grand oak tree that dominated the center of the campus park. The same park where you both make a recurring date spot since you insisted on him getting some vitamin D on the especially sunny days, the sacred ground where Jihoon had professed his undying love and asked for your hand in marriage. The last happy memory you had together before it all went to shit.

His head lifts abruptly, drawn away from the pages of the book he'd been staring at without truly reading. The words had blurred into meaninglessness after you'd walked out of his life. His gaze locks onto yours, and for a moment, time stands still, disbelief warring with a glint of hope in his eyes. You offered him a bittersweet smile, the curve of your lips swelling the organ that put him at ruin countless times before gracefully settling onto the grass beside him, the shade blanketing over your presence like the gray gloomy cloud did him.

"Hi," he breathes, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're...you're talking to me."

"That I am," you confirm, your voice gentle and warm.

His brow furrows, and the hope melts off his face, turning the corners of his lips down. "I don't know if your parents, or your...fiance," he says, emphasizing the word that has his voice thick with distaste, "would like that."

The corners of your mouth turn down in a sad smile. and you draw your knees up to your chest, resting your head against them. "No, they wouldn't, but I don't care."

"Maybe you should.” His voice laced with a chilling indifference as he turns his attention back to the dense textbook that lay open in his lap, his focus appearing unwavering.

The sting of his snide remark makes your heart feel as if it’s being crushed, mangled by a hand until it’s deduced to nothing. Nonetheless, you push the ache down, forcing a casual, eased tone. "Funny. It's only been a month, but it feels like an eternity."

He merely hums in response, feigning disinterest while his every nerve thrums at the knowledge of your existence that makes concentration feel like combat against a formidable opponent.

"I'm done avoiding you," you declare, your voice firm.

His fingers pause their rhythmic flipping of pages, his lips twisting into a nervous line, his eyes still fixed on the pages. "Really?"

"Really.”

A flicker of something akin to intrigue passed over his features before disappearing in a split second, replaced by a stone face. "...That's nice to hear," he replies, his voice measured, guarded.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment before you break it, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. "So, what are you studying?"

"Forensic science," he bluntly answers, his voice devoid of any inflection. "The scientific methods used to investigate and examine evidence."

Your lips pucker in feigned curiosity, looking to prolong this encounter no matter how cold he makes himself to be. "How's it going?"

He lets out a sigh, the sound heavy with frustration. His eyes seemed to blur the images in front of him as if the words on the page were swimming before his eyes. "Like my brain developed a severe intolerance for new information.”

A soft chuckle escapes your lips as your gaze lingers on him, his frustration evident in the way he’s now violently flipping through the pages. You took a moment to etch his features into your memory, wanting to remember every detail of how he looks now, what will one day be a passing image that you’d never get to see again. "Too bad you're pursuing criminal law, huh? Any chance you might become a divorce lawyer and take my case one day when it comes?"

Jihoon scoffs softly, his gaze falling to his feet as he goes silent for a moment. That thought has crossed his mind countless times since you had reluctantly agreed to your parents' arranged marriage. Though his expression remains stoic, his words reveal the truth you both had tried so hard to ignore. "In a heartbeat," he grips the book tightly, as if the act would get rid of the ache in his chest. "You know I would."

Your heart hammers in your chest, the determination in his eyes almost overwhelming as he glances at you from the corner of his eye. "Don't," you choke out, shaking your head. "I would never want to take that away from you. Your whole life is centered around being a criminal justice lawyer."

"And you," he lifts his gaze from his lap to meet your eyes with tears that threaten to spill. His hand twitches with the urge to wipe them away. "Criminal justice and you. Angel."

You know there's nothing he wouldn't do for you. And that's what terrifies you. The extent of his sacrifices knows no bounds. He's unconditionally devoted to you in a way that’s almost suffocating, but to be smothered in that love is an end you don’t mind meeting. Jihoon has always considered himself a logical man, but from the moment you met, he's become the epitome of a romantic. "I love you more than anything in the world," you remind, "but don't. Please."

He sighs, his attention returning to his book, his fingers flipping the pages. "I won't," he assures you, "if it means that much."

Except, that is what he fully plans to do.

Present day, a week after the release…

“Hoon?”

Jihoon, his glasses slightly askew, glances up from the cluttered desk, a warm smile gracing his lips as he sees you standing in the doorway. His fingers pause their rhythmic dance across the keyboard, the soft click-clack momentarily silenced as he greets you. "You're home.”

You scan over his workspace he’s made for himself in an empty office of your home, unable to ignore the neverending mountain of documents. "You're still here working on my case?"

A soft smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he plucks off his glasses, his eyes holding yours an unwavering confidence. "Of course. My clients always get the best service."

Your brow furrows slightly. "You haven't been going into your office," you point out. "Won't that be a problem?"

"I've transferred any ongoing cases I had to other recommended lawyers in the area," he reassures, fingering through stacks on stacks of paperwork. "They'll be helping them. Don't worry about me."

“How can I? You’re losing work because of me. Plus, you’re a divorce lawyer. Is this even allowed?”

He pauses, his gaze softening at your concern painted over your features. "You and I both know I am well versed in criminal law just as much as I am in family law. I majored in criminal justice, remember?”

Your eyes narrow back at him as you cross your arms. “Yes, and you went against me and became a divorce lawyer.”

He grins a little too hard, like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar. “It brought you to me, didn’t it? And as for losing work. it's a small price to pay to make sure you get the justice you deserve."

"Isn't this a lot for you to take on? You must have other responsibilities, work, errands..."

His eyes lock onto yours, unwavering and steady. He points at you domineeringly with the pen in his hand as if you’re about to be lectured for being tardy to class. "You're facing a trial for a murder you didn't commit. You shouldn't be wasting your energy worrying about me."

"Hoon—"

"I won't let them take you away from me a third time.” His preservation only grows stronger with your concern, heart heavy as he replays the image of you put in handcuffs, actively getting taken away from him.

"Still, you can't put yourself through all of this just for me.”

"Why not?" His voice rises slightly, kindling a fiery path down his throat. "You didn't do this, and I'm not going to just stand by and twiddle my fingers. Everything we’ve rebuilt, it’ll all come crashing down. Again."

"It won't.” You shake your head with unwavering resolve before you reach his side and gently tug his arm. "I won't let it."

His expression softens, but it does not deter his persistence. "Then let me double my efforts to help you."

“But—" He silences you with a look, his eyes pleading desperately as the air around you wraps around your throat and squeezes it shut.

He gently places the pen on the table, his hand moving to cup the side of your face. His gaze holds yours, filled with a longing that betrays the initial confidence his words carried. His lips tremble slightly, a reminder of the fear that’s taken over that past week as he inches closer towards you.

"It may be hard to believe, but," he whispers, his voice husky as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes hover over your parted mouth, his face drawing closer until your breaths mingle in the space between you, "talking to you through a glass partition and dressed in orange is not nearly as fun as it sounds. Please, Angel," he takes you in both his hands, forcing your gaze on him as your hips meet in desperate pleas, "let me help you."

“Jihoon-” His lips capture yours, clutching you against him as your hands settle over his waist, succumbing to an insatiable lip-lock, burying your mixed bag of emotions as he presses you against the edge of his desk.

He parts from you in heavy breaths before you propel over to reclaim him, the hunger overtaking your logic as you fill your mind with Jihoon and him only. Your ferocity drowns out the softness of his tenor voice as your hands fiddle over his button-down, undoing each one in a hurried pattern before his hands clasp over yours in a forced halt, pushing them down.

Your lips part softly, the air between you heavy with insatiable desire. The intensity in his gaze deepens, a lustful darkness swirling within that reflects your own yearning. You find his presence intoxicating, a high that won’t come down, and he reminds you how easily he can have you succumb to his every whim. It's as if he's peering into your very soul, igniting a fire within you that is not only tempting but threatens to consume you both. He realizes that he needs to be the one in control to prevent that from happening. Especially considering the hunger he fears is already fueling you and threatens his clarity.

“Don’t try distracting me,” he half-jokingly says, his hands tracing the sides of your torso, betraying his conviction. “You know I can’t resist you.”

You snicker, your bottom lip being pulled through your teeth as you throw your arms around his neck, drawing his presence dangerously closer. “Yeah, you can’t.”

“Angel,” he gently warns, breath hitching in his throat as your touch trails down the exposed plane of his chest as it heaves, while the hairs on his neck stand stiff, his lust talking over his reasoning.

“Knock off all the papers off your desk like you want to, Hoon,” your lips ghost over one another, daring another kiss to get lost in. “Don’t you remember? That fantasy of yours where we lose ourselves in each other? You wanna ruin this desk with me?”

“You…” His smug smile grazes your lips as he borders you with his arms, pushing you into a locked cage of his fervent heat that sends your aroused state ablaze. A sweet moan leaves your lips as his thigh parts your legs as it takes residence against your clothed core. “Just don’t know when to quit, don't you?”

Before the moment escalates any further, the familiar sound of the doorbell rings throughout the house, eliciting a frustrated groan from the man in front of you as he clings to your frame. “We need a sign or a scarecrow or something if we keep getting interrupted like this.” He chastely kisses the giggles off your lips. “I’ll get it—but after, no more distracting me.”

Your eyes widen in clear offense before you playfully shove him away. "You kissed me!" you loudly reminded, your head double taking in the incredulity. "And why would you open the door? It's my house."

"Consider it a trauma response," he answers dryly as his fingers gently brush against the back of your head, watching the endearing pout swell your kiss-swollen lips. “I won't take long. Just follow behind me if you're worried."

You huff, crossing your arms and sounding out in a firm and resolute tone, "I was going to do that anyway."

"I knew you would,” he says with a knowing smile.

Jihoon's footsteps trickle down the steps as he follows the incessant ringing of the doorbell, echoing through the house with an urgency that intensifies his irritability. Before he can reach the door, it swings open, revealing a figure who rushes in, nearly colliding with Jihoon in their haste.

"Um, hello?" Jihoon stammers, taken aback by the intrusion.

The individual doesn’t bother acknowledging the man that welcomes him, his eyes frantically scanning the room. "Where is she?" His gaze darts from one corner to another before finally landing on you.

"Seungkwan?"

Seungkwan's face softens as he sees you. He rushes towards you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin resting in the crook of your neck. "Oh my god," he mumbles into your skin, "You have no idea how worried I was."

Jihoon steps back, standing frozen as his fists clenched tightly at his sides, watching the scene unfold before him. Like a knife twisting in his gut, he’s unable to ignore the intimacy of your skinship. The way you lean into the newcomer's touch, how familiar it all is to you. You might as well send a sharp slap to his face.

He prides himself on his self-control, his ability to maintain a stoic facade even in the face of adversity—crucial for a lawyer. But at this moment, he feels powerless, his confidence depleting. He wants nothing more than to stride forward, to pull you away from the stranger's embrace and make it known that only he has the privilege to greet you so warmly. But he can't. He shouldn’t. Instead, he tucks away his jealousy and pride, maintaining a pretense of civility in front of the person who looks at home in your arms.

You gently release yourself from his embrace and place him at your side, his gaze oozing with concern. "It's okay, for now," you reassure him, "but you almost hurt my guest."

Seungkwan's expression shifts to realization as he turns to Jihoon. "My apologies," he extends his hand for a handshake. Jihoon accepts, noting the firmness of his grip which he returns just as boldly. The other man doesn’t waver, only conjuring a polite smile, one Jihoon is all too familiar with in his line of work. "I am her legal guardian."

You roll your eyes. “No, he’s not.”

The young man sulks and childishly pulls at your sleeve with doe eyes, “Yes, I am. After my brother's death, I might as well be.” He clings to you like a fly in a sticky trap. “I booked the earliest flight right after my business meeting and got here as soon as I could. I'm here now.”

You gently push him away again and rest your hands on his shoulders. “I'm an adult. I’m my own guardian.” You glance at the lawyer, hands tied as he witnesses the scene, and you’re suddenly overtaken by a sense of guilt. “Jihoon, this is my brother-in-law, Seungkwan. Seungkwan, this is Jihoon, my…lawyer for the time being. He's staying at the house so we can work closely on the case and get the whole picture.”

Your hesitation to define Jihoon’s presence is clear, but amidst the chaotic rally, it goes unnoticed by the newcomer. He inserts himself between you and Jihoon, acting as a barrier.

"Thank you for taking on her case with such short notice." Seungkwan takes your hand in his, stroking the back with his thumb and staring back at you with an immeasurable warmth as he interlaces your fingers. Meanwhile, Jihoon feels a surge of possessiveness as his gaze lingers on your intertwined fingers, maleficence passing over his eyes as he thinks of the limitless ways he can pry Seungkwan’s fingers off you before snapping every ligament.

"Of course," the lawyer responds calmly, maintaining a stoic composure despite his clenched jaw. "Just doing my job."

“Sweetheart…” Seungkwan's voice drips with a luscious honey as he nuzzles his head against your shoulder, his boyish face etched with a charmingly innocent grin. "Let big brother make all your worries disappear," he coos, gently guiding you towards the staircase, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back. Jihoon, observing the scene from across the room, feels a flicker of irritation twitching at the corner of his eye.

"Kwan, I'm older than you. What 'big brother' are you talking about?" You cast an apologetic glance over your shoulder at the lawyer standing alone in the corner. Seungkwan pouts playfully, his hand descending your lower back, and Jihoon gets closer to resort to violence.

“Well, for the time being, I’m big brother, so anything you need, I can do. Don’t worry your little head over anything.”

Jihoon's body moves mechanically, slowly trailing behind the chattering duo before the door to your bedroom clicks shut. The silence of the room presses down on him, bitterly reminding him of the loneliness he has briefly escaped. The familiar ache of rejection settles deep within him, a long-forgotten companion that he has grown accustomed to evading. There is nothing he can do to change the situation, not without causing more harm than good.

With a heavy sigh, Jihoon turns his attention back to the office and returns to your case, channeling his restless energy into something productive. But even as he immerses himself, cataloging every detail, your image of you leaving returns. The vision of you disappearing from his sight, guided by another's touch, lingers in the back of his mind, and in turn, reopens the throbbing wound once sewed by you coming back in his life.

For the following month, Seungkwan doesn't leave your side, which gives Jihoon plenty of time to develop your case. However, Jihoon can't shake his unease about your brother-in-law. Seungkwan's constant affectionate gestures toward you—the loving gazes, lingering touches, and overly sweet words of affirmation—make Jihoon want to throw himself off a cliff. Or better yet the other man off one instead.

Seungkwan's presence, equivalent to an annoying pest, has made it nearly impossible for you and Jihoon to have any privacy. Not that you’ve tried anything while he’s in the house, both you and your lawyer/lover have you carefully hiding private messages, considering how close he can get to you at any given time. His unwavering presence feels insurmountable, leaving you and Jihoon with no choice but to roll with the punches.

“Sweetheart, let’s get dinner!”

You roll your eyes, barely looking up from your book. “Kwan, I know I’m not working now, but that doesn’t mean I can go out and goof around with you all the time.”

“Boo…that’s exactly what it means!”

You sigh as you gaze at the cracked door that leads to the private office on the same floor. Peering through, you catch a glimpse of Jihoon diligently shuffling through papers, his glasses perched on his nose in a way that makes you swoon.

“Let’s just order in, we can get something for Attorney Lee too. I’m worried he’s not getting any real meals in with all the time he’s putting into my case.”

Seungkwan nods gingerly, “Sure, what’ll you have?”

“One moment,” you scurry over to the door that stands in your way, pushing it open with a knock and alerting the man in the room. “Anything you’re craving? We’re getting lunch.”

The lawyer glances up at you above his frames, readjusting them to fit over his eyes. “Uh, anything. I’m not all that hungry.”

“You must want something.” You look at him expectantly, pressing your lips in a firm line as you scan his appearance, resisting the urge to tear his haphazardly worn dress shirt off him and devour him like a rabid animal. “It could be anything.”

He rests his arms on the desk, pursing his lips in thought. “If anything…I’d like to try your cooking. You’d seem like you have a colorful palette.”

You grin, narrowing your eyes at him in feigned annoyance as a hint of a smile graces his face. He turns back to his work, his teeth biting back a bigger smile.

“Well, I better get started then.”

Too distracted by the alluring dishevel of the man buried in paperwork, you don’t discern the eyes burning a hole in your back. The smile that would be a constant on Seungkwan’s face is visibly misplaced. When you return your attention to him, he quickly conjures one on the spot, acting as if nothing had changed at all.

“Kwan, how do you feel about kimchi fried rice? I’ve been meaning to make use of the kimchi taking space in the fridge.”

Seungkwan nods. “I’m down.” He stands up from the couch and strides towards you, putting his hands behind his back. “Sounds like you’re in need of a partner…a cooking partner that is.”

“That I am,” you nonchalantly agree, briefly shifting eyes back to Jihoon, “I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

“I look forward to it.”

You gleefully consume yourself with your culinary ventures, tasting and scavenging for all your ingredients and giddy that Jihoon requested it after being forced to hide your affinity for another. You aren’t used to the stiff wall he’s built; even starting as a client, he acted more familiar than this. But if you can show your love in any way possible, you’ll do it.

Amidst your joy, Seungkwan busies himself by chopping the vegetables you’ve assigned him, glowering at your back turned toward him while you remain oblivious. You don’t notice how his eyes trail up your body, surveilling you like a hawk. Or him pressing his lips together in restraint when you bend over to pick up something you dropped. He only mutters under his breath, hardly audible with your soft humming that fills the room.

“Hey, Kwan, help me find the sugar. It vanished on me.”

He makes a semblance of a smile. “Sure.”

As he pretends to scavenge for your targeted ingredient, he continues stalking your moves. He takes a sharp inhale when you brush past him, the comforting scent of your skin bringing him. He chuckles to himself, amused by your mounting frustration, savoring the soft grumbles under your breath. Finally, you’re met with triumph as you spot the elusive ingredient tucked away on a high shelf, hidden behind a bulky cabinet. “Found it!”

“Let me get that for you.”

Before you can make way for him, his body presses flush against your backside, and you can feel every detail on him you’ve made contact with. You let out a sharp gasp when he shifts against you closer. The feeling of his presence lingers long enough for you to process your emotions before his fingers grip the sugar jar and place it on the counter in front of you. “How did that get up there? You should put it within closer reach to avoid hurting yourself trying to get it.”

You hum, acknowledging his advice. As you turn to face him, you lock eyes, catching the hint of something in his eyes before he descends his gaze, cheeks undeniably red. Awkwardly, you force a cough and cast your attention to the lunch in progress. “Right. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

That moment replays in your mind, leaving a disconcerting tension that hinders your movements. You are unable to stop yourself from fixating on two qualities of that encounter: the unfamiliar glint in his eyes that makes your stomach churn and the firm sensation you felt when he stood behind you. Despite your feelings, you brush the thought aside. Recalling all the past instances, you should be accustomed to his lack of personal space by now. Perhaps you’re misinterpreting what you think you felt, making excuses for him alone in your head. This could all become a big misunderstanding, and it’d be best to ignore all together to avoid trouble.

As you carefully arrange the lovingly prepared meal on the dining table, grinning to yourself with the placement before calling out to Jihoon. You’re surprised when he turns up almost instantly. "That was quick." Your lips turn up in a teasing smirk, raising an eyebrow. Considering the office is located all the way at the end of the first-floor hallway, it shouldn't be humanly possible to get to the dining room this quickly.

“It…smelled good,” the lawyer bashfully pats his stomach, maintaining his aloof expression. “I got curious, so I couldn't wait. I needed to use the bathroom anyway, and this one was closer than the others.”

“Well, wait no further. Dig in, boys!”

Dinner is seemingly to some, but not others. Seungkwan, emboldened by the seating arrangement, has an idea pop into his head. Laden with unspoken intent, he picks up his own spoon, insisting on feeding you. He makes a thinly veiled excuse of having "too much meat" to eat alone, and every accepted bite makes the corner of his lips turn up higher.

Jihoon, on the other hand, quietly observes. He harnesses a mask of disinterest, but he can feel it crack under the pressure of the underlying tension at the dining table. Inconspicuously, his eyes dart up to survey the air between you and Seungkwan; brief but intense, each glance leaves him with more questions left to be answered. He finds it increasingly challenging to suppress his indignation amidst the seemingly amicable gestures, deflecting his attention to the clinking of utensils and drink glasses as he tries to ignore the incessant hum of their conversation.

He deliberately doesn’t mention the moment in the kitchen—the scene that had you and your brother in law too close for comfort. He doesn’t ask how it rendered you speechless, or confess how it ignited a silent fury within him, causing his hands to ball into fists and his jaw to clench. The tension in that scene stretched on, feeling interminable, until you managed an escape, ducking your head so low that Jihoon fails to catch your reaction, unable to determine your true sentiment.

The lawyer had the unfortunate opportunity to witness the ‘unintentional’ embrace from behind you, and out of all the new memories he’s made, that is one he’d pay to burn to ash. He hates this feeling, this jealousy. This possessiveness consumes him like a famished beast tearing into its feast. Nothing would please him more than ridding himself of the intrusion, keeping you to himself for none of the world to see. Alas, he bites back the lechery, swallowing the lump along with a spoonful of fried rice.

“Jihoon.”

His attention captured by the sound of your voice, he looks back at you expectantly. "Yes?"

Your grin immediately softens his cold demeanor and loosens the grip he hadn't realized he had on his spoon.

“Are you going to give yourself any grace and momentarily take your eyes off work? I’m grateful for everything you’re doing, but I can’t help but be concerned for your well-being.”

Your formal vernacular twists the knife already sunken in his chest, and he can’t suppress the soft sigh of acceptance that makes past his lips. “I’d appreciate it if you don’t act so familiar with me. As your lawyer, there are boundaries we should breach. Thank you for your concern, but it’s superfluous to prolong it.”

“Hey!” Seungkwan finally addresses Jihoon after seeing the color drain from your face. “She was only being nice. You don’t have to act like an ass with your pretentious vocabulary.”

“Seungkwan!” you scold, turning his angry scrutiny away from the man opposite him with a slap on the back. “Calm down. He’s right,” you glance back at Jihoon, picking through his meal with disinterest, hiding the guilt that swallows up his appetite. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help but feel guilty.”

“It’s alright.” He pushes up his frames. “Perhaps, I was harsh. I’m taking this case seriously, for your benefit. I assure you every minute counts.”

“I believe it. Still, you perform best in peak condition right?”

A hint of a smile touches his lips. “I suppose so.”

Seungkwan scoots closer to you, hugging your arm to his side, batting his eyelashes like butterflies fluttering in the wind. His hand falls in your hair, threading his fingers through tangled strands. He draws his lips close to your ear, speaking in a mellow yet effervescent tone that sends even the man opposite of him into shivers. “Let him do his job, sweetheart. It sounds like you’re in good hands. Just focus on laying low with me. I’m sure it’s what Hyunkwan would’ve wanted.”

You don’t have the fight to argue, and the argument ends as quickly as it began, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. It’s the most you and Jihoon had spoken since Seungkwan unexpectedly moved in. The overly affectionate newcomer has effectively blocked all advances either of you make, having this arrangement be a harrowing, sexually frustrating hell to say the least.

Jihoon knows intimacy is impossible under these circumstances, out of the question with the risk of being caught, but he underestimates Seungkwan and his tenacity. His meddlesome demeanor stands like a wall between you and your formerly estranged lover. Seungkwan is a constant, his interference a source of endless aggravation. Every attempt Jihoon made to navigate the situation was thwarted by Seungkwan, who inserted himself in every scenario possible.

And there’s something you are oblivious to that Jihoon isn't: the intent behind your brother-in-law’s eyes. Seungkwan possesses an intense, disturbing gaze that makes the lawyer’s blood run cold. At a mere glimpse, Jihoon could feel the hairs of his body stand on all ends, raising his already made suspicion that he isn’t to be trusted with even a pet rock. The lawyer can recreate from memory that chilling gaze that’s sharp as a blade, as if sketching a portrait of a criminal on the run.

And if it isn’t obvious enough, Seungkwan holds an apparent animosity towards Jihoon, unwavering. Whether it's through necessary legal interactions or simply sharing a space, Seungkwan's hostility is evident. His dislike for Jihoon is palpable and persistent, an enduring tension that time doesn't seem to diminish. The sentiment, unsurprisingly, is mutual; Jihoon harbors an equal measure of antipathy towards the young heir.

However, unlike the childish rival, the older man knows how to pick his fights. He doesn’t let the other man intimidate him more than he already does. A few glares and obnoxious scoffs isn’t enough to deter the lawyer’s confidence. Seungkwan acts like a puppy around you, a shameless, lovesick puppy trailing after his master, and that’s all he’ll ever be. Jihoon knows he’s different. Different in the looks you cast at him or the secretive touches you make throughout the day just out of the other man’s view. You actually love him. Undeniably. Rest assured, Seungkwan, at the end of the day, will be a passing thought after the investigation is resolved; at least that’s what Jihoon tells himself.

It’s like any other day when Jihoon's focus shifts from his work, hearing a cheerful voice say, "Knock, knock." Seungkwan, the man who constantly occupies his thoughts, stands confidently in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Mr. Boo,” Jihoon greets indifferently, “How can I help you?”

"Please, call me Seungkwan," Seungkwan insists with a disarming smile, "Mr. Boo is my father."

“Well, then, Seungkwan,” He barely managed to keep the documents in his hand from falling off the already towering stack of papers on the corner of his desk as he set them aside. “Is there anything you need from me? Is she asking for me?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that.” The young heir closes the door behind him and walks over to the desk with unbridled confidence. “She’s preoccupied with something much more important.”

“I see. Then, what brings you here?”

The plush leather chair behind the imposing mahogany desk creaks ominously under the weight of the man who occupies it. A cold shiver snakes its way down his spine, and the air in the room seems to thicken. The once amiable mask slips out of view before the lawyer’s very eyes, leaving their true dark colors in its wake.

Gone is the casual slouch and the easy smile. The intruder leans forward, his hands gripping the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening with the force of his hold. His shadow falls over the furniture, looming large over the man seated behind it. The once friendly eyes now hold a steely glint, boring into Jihoon, and the lawyer tastes something he’s had before: displeasure with his mere existence, just like your mother years ago, only if she’d had a knife behind her back.

"You need a stern talking to, Mr. Lawyer." Seungkwan leaves no room for misinterpretation as he embodies disdain, spitting the last two words, laden with mockery.

Jihoon’s expression doesn’t falter, his innocuous stoicism is kept strong as he decides to entertain his guest’s obnoxious efforts. “About anything in particular?”

Seungkwan scoffs, narrowing his eyes that look as if they could bulge out of his head. “How about the fact you’re living in this house with a woman you’re not married to? A fresh widow at that.”

“Mr. Boo, I assure you, I’m just doing my job—”

“Then, stay in your lane,” he hisses. “It’s as easy as pushing you into—” Seungkwan cuts off his thoughts as he runs a hand through his hair, expelling the rage building up inside him in deep sighs. “Don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be, Mr. Lee.”

Jihoon feigns ignorance, tilting his head to the side in mock confusion. “I don’t follow.”

“Bullshit!” Seungkwan swings his hands over a neatly stacked pile of papers, startling the once composed lawyer as the pages fan around the room and lie scattered on the ground. The cause of destruction slams his hands against the desk, worn chips of wood falling to their demise. “You don’t think I don’t see the way you look at her? How she looks at you? You’re him, aren’t you? The little ex-boyfriend she gave up to marry my brother and please her family.”

Jihoon gets up from his seat, having heard enough as a scowl threatens an appearance. “You are jumping to conclusions. I am just here to represent her in court.”

“STOP,” Seungkwan shouts from the top of his lungs, face twisted in a grimace, “telling me what I am doing. I know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He backs him into a corner, the lawyer relenting his body to the hostility as he reigns in his own anger, displacing it in his fists before putting an arm between them as a barrier. The corners of Seungkwan’s lips tug up arrogantly, shoving himself against the pathetic excuse of a defense. “I fucking looked you up. You are a measly family lawyer. Now, are you going to stay here and stand in the fate of my destiny, or am I going to have to force my fucking hand?”

“...What do you mean by that, Mr. Boo?” Jihoon treads lightly, his forearm shoving back into his assailant.

“I mean,” he bends his neck forward to peer into the other’s soul, the manic in his eyes gradually intensIfying. “I am not afraid to get dirt under my fingers if you overlook your work lusting after something you can’t covet even in your dreams.”

Now the boy’s gone too far. Jihoon’s pride is suddenly on the line, and he’s quick to defend himself. “Now hold on—”

“Why don’t you,” the menace jabs his index finger into the other man’s chest with every word, “hold on and get a grip of reality, unless you want to find yourself in a ditch becoming worm food.”

The fragments of information started coalescing within the recesses of Jihoons's mind, drawing from the vast expanse of his memories of living in the shared residence. Each piece slots into place, and the picture becomes clear. His eyes flare on as the realization dawns on him.

"Y-you," he stammers, his body going stiff. "It was you. You killed him, didn’t you?"

Seungkwan's lip curls in a sneer, his grip loosening for the briefest moment, a flicker of vulnerability quickly replaced by a surge of aggression. With a forceful shove, he slams the other man, a pained groan escaping his lips as his backside collides with the wall behind him as he feels the bruises etch into his skin. "Congratulations," Seungkwan displays his master class act of sarcasm, "You want a cookie?"

“Why on earth would you tell me this?” Jihoon’s voice booms, proving his strength as he takes the offense, seeing the other’s feet stumble to find the ground beneath them.

“Because you’re not going to fucking say a thing if you want to stay alive. I know people in high places. I can snap you and your lineage in half.”

“She wouldn’t want this—”

Seungkwan palm crashes right by Jihoon’s head, missing him by a hair. “She doesn’t have to know. All you have to worry about, though,” he points at him, “is getting her free. Pin it on anyone, literally. A jealous maid, one of his mistresses, a rival client. My brother has more enemies than you can count with all four hands and feet.”

Jihoon fixes his shirt as the heir pulls away, disgusted as he dusts himself of debris that could’ve deflected on him. “It’s the matter of evidence, Mr. Boo.”

“Make some.” Seungkwan hisses before turning to the exit, satisfied with his threat, and stopping once he’s breached the door and leaving Jihoon with his bidding words. “Do your fucking job. Or I’ll just have to pin it on you.”

Jihoon scans his surroundings; the mess conjured in a fit of anger points right in the direction of the culprit hidden under his nose. A fiery rage burns inside the man as he takes his turn slamming his desk with his fist, raking his hands in his hair as his composure comes crashing down. Never in his life had he met someone of Seungkwan's caliber—rude and demeaning soon-to-be divorcees, sure—but nothing like the monster that marked his territory in that room.

His hands shake erratically as he picks up the fallen documents, crinkling in his hands as he forms fists. A shattered sigh breaks free. His heart hammers rapidly at an unmeasurable pace. Perspiration coats his entire body, seeping through the fabric of his clothes to show stains of his uncontainable rage. All Jihoon sees is red, and it will be a frozen day in hell before he relents you to that psychopath. He just has to be smart, and unfortunately that involves you out of the way. Your case—your freedom is still his top priority, but as Seungkwan so enthusiastically suggested, getting his hands dirty is the only way to do it.

The event goes unnoticed by the owner of the home, cleaning up your own mess upstairs in your bedroom as you shuffle through your things in your closet. You look over all the things you’ve left behind, reacquainting with items that only serve as reminders of everything that’s transpired the last few months.

It should be easy knowing he’s gone now, but it does not take away that he was somewhat present for your early adulthood. Whether you like it or not, Hyunkwan’s death affected you, but more than anything, it worried you about the future to come. And like clockwork, your parents call while you’re in the midst of collecting your thoughts, speaking only of the merger and how it now changes things.

Naturally, as next in line, Seungkwan would take his brother’s place in the executive position, keeping the legacy that was left behind, and it leaves you to maintain close ties. Because as the only living heir left, he holds almost power, it’s only a matter of time before he and his family realizes that your family has no place in the Boo empire. After an appropriate time has passed, and the investigation eliminates you as a suspect, it’d only be right for you to join your brother-in-law as his wife. Only your parents would suggest you plan the possibility of engagement as a future course of action.

Dread washes over you as you speak. You feared this would happen. Your parents, with their incessant need to control every aspect of your life, had taken it upon themselves to arrange your second marriage when the body of your first husband has yet to hit the ground. The fact that they have already booked a wedding venue, without even consulting you, is a testament to how little they care about your happiness.

Despite being a fully grown adult, you feel trapped in a perpetual childhood, your parents' controlling grip as tight as ever. Their actions are a constant reminder that they still see you as a child, incapable of making your own decisions. The suffocating feeling is as strong as ever, reminding you why you are hardly willing to talk to them.

Now, with Seungkwan around your house, your parents must be over the moon at the news. It works very well in their favor. However, you aren’t feeling as keen knowing what that means for your current living arrangement with Jihoon. While you typically enjoy Seungkwan's company, it’s hard to be excited with the weight of possible engagement and lack of opportunity to sate the longing of your reunited lover.

You miss Jihoon desperately, and being forced to be separate only makes you crave him more. You've resorted to unusual comms, using secret signals, and hiding your incriminatingly suggestive messages. The need for discretion and secrecy has become necessary, seeing as carving out any sliver of alone time with Jihoon has been impossible because of Seungkwan's constant presence. This boy is an innocent bystander in all this mess. If anything, you feel bad that Seungkwan got so heavily involved, considering he had just lost his only brother. He must feel so down under that happy facade.

“Are you incompetent or plain fucking stupid?”

The voice, chillingly familiar yet unnerving in its unexpected proximity as you take the route to the stairs, blaring loud enough to be coherent from just behind a tightly shut guest room door. It sends a shiver down your spine, a voice you recognize but can't immediately place.

“What’s it going to take to get some real fucking progress…Yes, I gave him a warning. Are you an idiot?”

Your breath catches in your throat while your feet freeze in place. Every muscle tenses as you strain to decipher the torrent of words erupting from the other side of the door. Their voice is so alive with an intemperate anger, each syllable dripping with bitterness. This is a side of your brother-in-law you have never encountered before, something you’d never associate with the man you thought you knew so well.

You cling to the door, careful to avoid making a sound, and listen as the angry ramblings continue. The words paint a picture of a man who apparently is still a stranger to you, a far cry from the Seungkwan who always was kind and sweet to you as someone who was family only by obligation. You can't help but wonder what you have missed to not know this side of him.

This is the man who always seems to have everything under control and gets everything he wants, now unraveling before you.

Boo Seungkwan, just what is going on inside that head?

Before the proposal…

"The butler did it."

You playfully throw a popcorn kernel at him. "You don't know that!"

"It's always the butler," Jihoon retorts dryly, his voice deep and resonant.

This is one of your many cherished weekends spent with Jihoon. Whether it is curled up with a good book, enjoying peaceful slumber, or as is the case tonight, debating between mystery movies and true crime documentaries, your time together is always precious. Tonight, you were in the mood for a suspenseful mystery, something to keep you on the edge of your seat.

"This is all so predictable," Jihoon sighs, feigning boredom.

"Oh, stop being such a Negative Nancy and just enjoy the movie, will you?" you playfully chide, snuggling closer to him on the couch, seeking to dispel his discontent.

You know, despite his critiques, he’s enjoying this more than he lets on because of your company. As he’s told you before, movie night is never boring with you around. You nuzzle your head into his shoulder, and the clean scent of his soap and his radiating warmth puts you at ease. You feel the warmth of his chin resting on your head; it’s comforting weight making you melt deeper in his touch. His chuckle rumbles through his chest, making his body vibrate pleasantly against yours, and you feel a content smile tug at your lips.

"It's kinda hard to enjoy the movie when the camera keeps zooming in on a naked torso every five minutes," he snorts.

"Sexy suspects make for a sexy murder mystery." you retort, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Whatever they're being paid, it's not enough."

You both continue to exchange witty remarks as the movie progresses, dissecting the plot and playfully mocking the characters' over-the-top reactions. Jihoon's playful commentary and your shared laughter fill the room. The suspenseful twists and turns keep you both engaged, invested even, and you both feel at peace in each other’s presence.

"Huh, so it wasn't the butler."

You shake your head, overflowing with pride. "Nope, everyone always dismisses my most innocent looking one," you reply with a smug grin. "The brother had all the motive, and he played the victim perfectly." You turn to your boyfriend, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “If you were in the midst of a murder crime scene, how would you prove your innocence? Do you think you could outsmart the detective or shift suspicion onto the others?

He scoffs, confidently answering, "I wouldn't need to.”

You raise a brow. "What do you mean?"

"Once you're in the game long enough, that's when the pressure hits," Jihoon explains, crossing his arms and huffing his chest. "They will start pointing fingers, and the 'culprit' will either reveal themselves or look guilty enough just to be guilty. Innocence doesn't matter as much as perception."

"Wow, you're more cynical than I thought," you note with a hint of intrigue. "Is it weird that I find you hotter for that now?"

Jihoon chuckles, his eyes softening as he leans in to kiss you. "You're such a weirdo," he murmurs against your lips, his voice filled with affection, soon reveling in the moans that fill his mouth.

The movie's final scene flickers on the screen, the volume a soft murmur in the background. Neither of you pays it any attention, your lips meeting each other endlessly as his arm clutches your backside, pressing your bodies together. The heat of his body and the steadily growing rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a sense of peace and contentment as the flickering light of the screen casts dancing shadows on the walls, and you bask in its warmth.

"You know," you begin to say in an unserious tone as you pull away slightly, "even if you did kill someone...I wouldn't let you get caught."

Jihoon arches a brow, his eyes twinkling with amusement, and he parts your hair away from your face. "If I kill someone, you run in the other direction. I'm bloodthirsty, remember?"

With playful indignation, you inch away and retort, “Are you saying you’d run from me if I killed someone?"

He pauses, considering your question with mock seriousness. His hands have a mind of their own as he reels you back towards him to hold you in a firm embrace, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Well...you're too sexy to give up to the cops."

You laugh, lightly punching his arm. "Mr. Lawyer! Where is your sense of justice?"

He shrugs, nuzzling his nose against your cheek, "I'm selfish. The culprit can't be that bad if it's you.”

You cup his face, leaning into his touch. "You give me too much credit."

"No," he counters, drags the tip of his nose over the side of his jaw. "I just think I'd be happy to be your accomplice."

You let out a small squeal, feeling his breath tickle the column of your neck. "Oh, you love me so bad."

"Yes," he breathes, his lips finding yours in a kiss that has you explode from the inside, "I do."

The credits roll, and the movie's final notes fade into silence, but the night has just begun. In the dim light of the room, with the taste of his kiss still lingering on your lips, you move even closer to each other, melting into one another until it drowns out the next movie that automatically plays. It isn’t any mystery what other exciting events transpired that night.

Present day…

Jihoon has devised a plan for the impending evening. He just needs to get Seungkwan alone for just a moment to coax him to the point of threats, putting him into a compromising situation that could be documented and subsequently utilized as irrefutable evidence. The absurdity of the situation isn't lost on Jihoon; he’s never felt more like a cable show cliche. All the late night viewings of crime shows from childhood up until now has caught up with him, and finally he’s making use of their unorthodox, bizarre methods.

Ever since that unnerving confrontation with Seungkwan in the confines of the office, Jihoon had been grappling with a rising tide of unease. And he’d had just about enough images of this psycho trying to get cozy with you when he was present. It’s about time Seungkwan gets exposed for the person he really is and keeps your name off the docket.

Seungkwan stands before the lawyer in the secluded area of the house, hardly occupied by anything but dust and untouched furniture. The young man’s usual sunny disposition is replaced by an air of annoyance. His arms are crossed tightly across his chest, and his brow is furrowed. "Okay, I'm here," he says flatly, his voice laced with impatience, "What is it?"

Jihoon moves cautiously towards the other man, feeling his heart in his throat. His eyes stay ahtead, nervously aware of his phone tucked discreetly into his pocket, perfectly positioned to capture the scene in front of him. He clears his throat, "There's something I'm failing to understand," he begins, his tone measured but firm.

Seungkwan's response is sharp, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he lets out an arrogant scoff. "You mean like work ethic?"

His gaze locks onto the other man's face. "I just want to know…why and how?" His tone remains polite, but an undeniable edge that makes the young heir’s intimidating mask reveal an irreparable crack.

“What are you talking about, Lee?”

Seungkwan's face contorts with a crooked smile. His eyes narrow as he glares at Jihoon. The question that hangs in the air, although vague, conveys its meaning and its clear intent of the response it is to receive. Seungkwan's jaw clenched, his body language screaming his contempt. He knows exactly what Jihoon is insinuating, and the mere suggestion is enough to make his blood boil.

The lawyer simply smiles, satisfied to know he’s hit a nerve. “My curiosity is just piqued. It’s not every day I come across a murderer.”

The other man cocks his head to the side, smirking. “Takes some balls for you to say that to me.”

Jihoon shrugs. “Just color me curious.”

“Why? Want to peer into the eyes of a dead man?”

It’s like taking candy from a baby. “You know that well, don’t you? Second hand at least. The same hands you like to get dirty.”

“What are you getting—Wait a minute.” Seungkwan storms over to the other man only to see him take a full step back.

Suddenly more alert, the younger man's eyes narrow, suspicion etched onto his face as he scrutinizes the other. With a sudden burst of movement, he lunges forward, gripping the man's forearms in a vice-like hold. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and he can practically see beads of sweat forming on his enemy’s forehead. "You're hiding something," he accuses, his voice laced with certainty.

Jihoon strains against the other man's grip, his mind racing. He knows Seungkwan's reputation for pushing boundaries, but this is a blatant disrespect for his personal space. "Mr. Boo—”

However, Seungkwan is relentless. With a deft maneuver, he reaches into Jihoon's pocket and extracts his phone. A triumphant smirk curls his lips as he sees the recording app displayed on the screen. "You must think I’m a moron?"

He throws the phone on the ground before crushing it under his heel. Jihoon stares blankly at his evidence as it gets repeatedly smashed, the deafening sounds of the other man’s stomps rendering him speechless. Seungkwan grabs his collar, eyes wide with an indecipherable fury. “Plan on joining my brother for the case? How passionate. You must really want an early retirement.”

“Is anyone here?” Your voice echoes from the hallway, and the aggressive man is bitterly forced to release the other.

“Just in this room, sweetheart. Wanted to discuss something with Mr. Lee here.”

You appear at the door, swinging it open to peer inside. “I heard a noise and thought to check. No matter how many times I walk through this house, I always find something that takes me by surprise.”

“That’s alright. We were just enthusiastically discussing current events. Nothing to concern you with, just boring man interests,” he eyes the man he just previously attacked, “Isn’t that right?”

“...Yes. All is fine, Miss.”

"Yeah, but I hear something really loud, like stomping? Smashing?" you persist, your brow furrowed with concern. The sounds are so distinct, you couldn't have just imagined it.

Seungkwan pauses, his expression thoughtful. "Hmm, strange," he muses, feigning deep contemplation. "Perhaps it is an animal—"

"Oh my god, someone's phone is destroyed!" You rush over to the scene of the commotion, where an unsalvageable device lies smashed beyond recognition. "Does this belong to either of you?"

Seungkwan's face takes on a look of feigned realization. "Ah, that," he chuckles, "Perhaps we've acted more aggressively with our quips than we realize. That, my dear, belongs to—"

"It's mine," Jihoon interjects, his voice flat. "Someone probably must've stepped on it repeatedly when we got in the fight."

"Fight?" you repeat, your voice rising an octave.

Seungkwan waves his hand dismissively. “Oh, sweetheart, he’s joking. You are just too gullible—”

"Yeah, we fought." Jihoon shoved past his assailant forcefully, his eyes blazing with defiance as he took his place beside you. "Seungkwan has something he's hiding from you, and before you—"

He takes your hand, grasping it affectionately, leaving you momentarily stunned. Before you could utter a response, another voice cut through the tension.

"Mr. Lee. This game of pretend is going too far. We had only discussed humorously if any of us happened to be the murderer. All in good fun." Seungkwan’s voice is firm, touched with disapproval, as the light started slowly leaving his eyes.

"Kwan? What—"

"Don't believe a word he says, Angel." Jihoon's voice was low and urgent, holding your hand firmer and taking the initiative to step in front of you.

Your eyes widen at your pet name, your heart momentarily stopping to take everything in. "Jihoon—"

Seungkwan's sweet, innocent facade wavers. "Angel," he repeats, feigning ignorance. The word lingers on his lips like a bitter taste before he clenches his jaw. “Does this collaboration go deeper than described, sweetheart?”

You gently wave your hand, gesturing for him to calm down. “Seungkwan, calm down. We—I can explain, but tell me, what is it both of you are talking about? What fight?”

Seungkwan's jaw clenches. "I told you, sweetheart. It's nothing," he repeats, his voice strained.

“No, stop changing the subject! What are you hiding from me?”

Jihoon's arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he watches Seungkwan's agitation grow. "He's been lying to you, Angel," Jihoon's voice is low and cautious. "He knows exactly what happened to his brother."

“Hyunkwan? What—”

Seungkwan’s menacing laughter echoes throughout the vast room. “You’re really pushing my buttons right now. Instead of the theatrics, I suggest you stick to your day job.”

"Seungkwan," you intervene, your voice trembling with disbelief, "you couldn't have possibly..."

"Of course not, sweetheart," he insists desperately, keeping up with his ruse, "As if I had anything to do with my own brother's death. That's preposterous! It's a farce. This lawyer you hired has clearly lost his marbles."

"Jihoon would never lie to me. What aren't you telling me?"

"...Jihoon,” He looks aimlessly in the room with a sardonic smirk. “ You’re on a first-name basis, I see."

"I trust his intuition," you assert firmly, "More than anyone else."

His expression hardens, a wounded note creeping into his voice, "How... how can you say that when... you have me?"

Jihoon had about enough. “He killed him, Angel.”

“Shut. Up.”

"Seungkwan," you stammer, the truth lodging in your throat like a large pill. It's hard to swallow, but like you said, Jihoon would never lie to you. "You...you killed—"

Seungkwan smoothly cuts you off, "You're really going to believe this stranger over me, darling? And for an accusation so far-fetched? Don't stoop to his level of intelligence, sweetheart."

"Stop patronizing me," you retort loudly. "Did you or did you not kill your brother?"

"I didn't!" Seungkwan's voice booms, intensity burning within his eyes. You can see the sincerity in them, the desperation for you to believe him, but his composure momentarily shatters, and instead you feel a shiver run down your spine at the raw emotion in his voice. You look from Seungkwan's furious face to Jihoon's grim expression, your heart pounding loud enough for everyone to hear loud and clear. At a disadvantage, he uses the moment to take a deep breath, self-sedating. "Of course."

"Boo Seungkwan," You take a deep exhale. "Tell me the truth. Did you or did you not kill Hyunkwan?"

Seungkwan laughs, but it's hollow and devoid of humor. "You're kidding yourself if you believe any of this crap—"

"Don't make me ask again," you warn, your patience wearing thin.

“You might have to, Angel,” Jihoon interjects, muttering in your ear, “Looks like he won't quit.”

"STOP... calling her angel, you insufferable swine."

“Seungkwan!” you exclaim, heart shatteringly so.

Seungkwan's eyes narrow dangerously at the man in front of you. "All you've done is get between me and my darling here. How many times do I have to so kindly remind you?”

Jihoon scoffs in disbelief at how he can keep lying. "Did you give that same kind of mercy to Hyunkwan?"

"You rat ba—"

"Stop it, you two," you fiercely interrupt.

"Fine.” With a defiant glare at Jihoon, the accused grabs your hand and tugs you towards him, leaving Jihoon standing alone, losing his confidence seeing you follow after Seungkwan.

Seungkwan's touch is gentle yet firm, his hands gliding over your shoulders and then up to your head, fingers threading through your hair. His gaze holds a tenderness that sends shivers down your spine, but it also ignites a blind fury in Jihoon's eyes.

"I’ll tell you. All of it," Seungkwan's voice is low and steady, "And maybe then you'll understand where I’m coming from."

Jihoon takes a step forward, "Angel-"

"Enough, Jihoon." You turn to face him, your expression stern, "Seungkwan has something to say. Don't cross the line."

Jihoon's heart sinks. You have never spoken to him that way before. The sting of your words is sharp, the disappointment in your eyes even sharper. A sense of dread settles in his stomach, and he feels as if he can die in a hole.

"Kwan," you gently take his hand, "I'm listening."

"Thank you, sweetheart. You've always been so understanding." His voice is colored with a subtle desperation, a plea for absolution masked by affection.

"You're very important to me," you respond, your voice trembling slightly. "Anything you have to tell me, I'll handle it with the same care I've always shown you."

"You really are the embodiment of love..." His voice cracks, the facade of calm crumbling. "...which makes this all the more difficult to admit." He pulls you into his embrace, your warmth melting the harshness of his prior mood. His forehead rests against yours, his breath hot against your skin. "I did it," he confesses, his voice barely audible.

His eyes, glistening adoration now joined by teary guilt. "I killed him."

Your breath hitches in your throat, your lips parting in a silent gasp. "Kwan..."

"You know I would treat you so much better than my brother ever could..." He drowns in his twisted conviction. "I love you...enough to kill."

"How could you—”

"It was the only way," he insists, his grip tightening on you. "And now nothing can stop us from being together."

Your silence, born of bewilderment, is unreadable. Yet, a flicker of triumph dances in his eyes, quickly replaced by a softer emotion as he misconstrues lack of protest with immediate acceptance. "Absolutely nothing," he murmurs.

He cups your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. His breath mingles with yours, his lips hovering tantalizingly close. His surroundings melts all around him, leaving only the intensity of his delusion that crosses the line with obsession. Just as his lips brush against yours, a single word shatters the spell.

“Except.”

Seungkwan's soft chuckle sends a shiver down your spine. His breath caresses your skin as he tenderly whispers, "Except what, my love?"

"Me." You meet his gaze with an icy stare, your voice devoid of emotion. "I will never love the way you love me."

"...What?"

Before he can comprehend the full extent of your rejection, the door to the room bursts open. A wave of armed officers floods the space, their weapons trained on Seungkwan. "Put your hands up!" they command, their voices echoing through the room.

Seungkwan's eyes widen in panic as he raises his hands in surrender. You take a step back, putting distance between yourself and the man who has held you captive in his twisted affection. As the officers close in on Seungkwan, you can't help but feel a sense of relief wash over you. Liberated to be free from the clutches of a man that suffocates you with his ‘love.’

“Sweetheart—”

“Stay where you are, Boo Seungkwan. You have the right to remain silent,” the officer continues, unfazed by Seungkwan’s pleas as they run through the whole spiel necessary. The click of the handcuffs echoes in the tense silence, stealing his free reign.

“What the hell is this? Did you do this, Lee?” Seungkwan spits, his gaze burning into Jihoon.

You take control of the conversation before Jihoon can argue. “No, he has nothing to do with this. I did.”

“My love…WHY?!”

"How did you know?" Jihoon asks softly, his gaze gentle as the hardened exterior he puts up to hide his true sentiment dissolves.

"I heard him," A hint of a smile touches your lips as you meet his gaze. "When he didn’t know I was listening, I heard everything. So I set this up. For definite proof."

With swift, deliberate movements, you begin to unbutton your dress shirt. The room is plunged into a shocked silence, the only sound the rushed soft rustle of fabric as your fingers work their way down the buttons. Several eyes, including Jihoon, instinctively avert their gaze, some faces visibly more affected than others. A wave of murmurs ripples through the room, but one voice unexpectedly rises in alarm.

“Sweetheart, stop that right now!” Seungkwan commands in a cracking voice, choking through his tears.

You ignore him, your fingers stilling on the buttons as your attention is turned to the person most shocked from your abrupt actions. "Look at me, Hoon."

Jihoon's face flushes crimson as he reluctantly relents to your request, staggering with bulging eyes from what he sees. He laughs humorlessly, not believing the extent you took, but of course you did. "You seriously-"

A mischievous grin spreads across your face as you carefully detach the thin wire discreetly taped to the fabric of your camisole, protecting your exposed skin from the cold, hard hardware. "It's not a coincidence the police know exactly when to come in," you declare triumph.

Jihoon's expression shifts from disbelief to begrudging admiration. "I should've known," he mutters, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Expected of a true crime junkie."

"But that's one of the many things you love about me, isn't it?" With a teasing grin, you hand the recording device over to a nearby officer before rushing into Jihoon's open arms and surprise attack him with a slap to his shoulder, eliciting a dramatic wince from him. "That was incredibly stupid of you," you scold, "What if he had actually hurt you?"

"Speak for yourself," Jihoon lightly retorts. Yet, he hesitates, the dejection he felt from your harsh act lingering. However, slowly and surely, he matches your relief and gently pulls you closer by the waist. "You don't know what could've gone wrong getting so close to him like that."

"But nothing did," you counter cheekily, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

The officers tighten their grip on Seungkwan's arms as he struggles in their clutches, his gaze locks onto your figure, which is turned away from him. "Sweetheart," he chokes out in desperation, "How could you?" Tears well up in his eyes, blurring his vision as the pain in his chest spreads throughout his entire body.

You pause, your footsteps faltering for a moment before you step away from Jihoon, who stands a few feet away, cautiously observing your movements. Your face remains impassive, masking yourself with indifference, concealing the turmoil if it existed. "You have to pay for your crimes, Mr. Boo Seungkwan.”

Seungkwan's shoulders slump as the reality of the situation sinks in. "Hyunkwan was awful. You despised him just as much as I did. I just gave him what he deserved."

Your eyes recover a glint of something akin to understanding, momentarily softening the harsh twists of your features. Your eyes meet his as you concede with soft sincerity, "I do understand that you care about me, and for that, I am truly grateful."

Your eyebrows dip slightly as you continue, taking a deep breath, and your expression shifts, a shadow falling over the planes of your face. Your mercy is indiscernible, and you are unrecognizable. “But to do that to your own brother..."

"I did it for you!" Seungkwan roars, his voice echoing through the room as he struggles against the officers' restraints. "I did it for us!"

Your gaze hardens. "It got me arrested," you remind him sharply. "There is no us. You were my brother-in-law, whom I found solace in and confided in. I thought you were my friend, Seungkwan."

Seungkwan's eyes widen in disbelief. "We're more than that," he insists, his voice trembling with suppressed anger, "We are meant to be together! We were brought together by fate, don't you see it? I should've been the one set up to marry you, not my brother! I love you."

You shake your head slowly knowingly. "No..." you murmur, "You love coveting what was your brother's: his house, his company, love and attention from your parents. And you used me as a pawn. I don't ever want to see your face ever again."

Seungkwan's patience snaps. "Why are you behaving like this? We are-"

"Alright, Richie Rich," one of the officers interrupts, his voice gruff and impatient, "Time to go." They tighten their grip on Seungkwan and begin to lead him away. His protests fade into the distance as the officers escort him down the hallway, A wave of relief washes over you as Seungkwan's voice disappears. Finally to yourselves with nothing to interrupt you. You turn to Jihoon, your face breaking into a radiant smile as you throw yourself into his arms ."I missed you.”

His breath hitches in his throat, and your confession burns his skin as his arms tighten around you. "Now, I'll never give you the opportunity to feel that way again."

There amidst the flashing lights blaring from nearby windows and adrenaline finally dying down, you shamelessly melt into each others’ touch, comforted knowing there’s no one that can’t take this away from either of you.

It isn’t long after you’re relinquished from your suspect status, and you hear about the aftermath of the case. Seungkwan’s parents, devastated by the monster they raised and remorseful for the late Hyunkwan, refuse to pay his bail. The weight of their son's crimes presses heavily upon them, their hearts aching for the son they lost and the one they failed. However, despite the turmoil the brothers have caused, you hold no animosity towards the Boos. They had been caught in the web of their youngest son's dark, twisted deceit. With a heavy heart, you choose to leave them be, allowing the couple in misery to retreat from the wreckage of their lives without further retribution.

And the Boos’ continued cooperation derived from the guilt and gratitude, along with their descending reputation, your parents no longer find it necessary to push you into another marriage. You sense a lingering bit of regret as they finally surrender your autonomy, unsure of whether it's because of the horrifying situation they've forced you into or their unwillingness to let you go. You don't dwell on it and instead revel in your time well spent with Jihoon, using every given opportunity to make up for lost time.

Your relationship reaches new heights as he moves in with you. Leaving behind the dark vibes of your previous lodging, the new place feels quaint and cozy in comparison. It’s as grand as anything your parents would have provided, and that’s perfect for you. You envision yourself building a family here, reminiscing in the new memories you make over a warm meal or under the warm glow of the television—just as you dreamt it would be with him. Everything falls right into place. Days are shorter, nights are longer, and every second of it feels as if you've fallen for him all over again. You couldn't ask for anything more. Your heart feels so full.

However, there is one last thing you need to do to truly feel at peace. Something you know will gnaw at you if you delay it any further.

“Hello, Seungkwan.”

You speak sternly into the metal receiver attached to the wall beside you, connecting you with a beloved former relative. Your deposition translates well over the call, but Seungkwan still looks at you with a sense of yearning, visibly battling the betrayal that stands in the way of the joy of your visit.

Seungkwan smiles grimly. "My love, you look well. How disappointing."

Lacking sympathy, you retort with a roll of your eyes and a wry smirk. “I just wanted to bid you a final farewell in jail. Someone has to, not like your parents will.”

His forced smile wavers, the corner of his lips twitching involuntarily with suppressed anger, and any semblance of warmth portrayed by a congenial smile. "How incredibly thoughtful of you," he says through gritted teeth.

"Generous of me, isn't it?" You reply with mock sweetness, your taunting not lost on you. "Well, I've done what I set out to do. I'll take my leave now. Brother."

"Hey!" Seungkwan's voice explodes in the tense silence, his composure shattered. His eyes blaze with indignation. "You think you can waltz in here like it's the zoo? I'm not an animal exhibit."

"Could've fooled me, considering you couldn't control your bloodlust like a filthy animal."

His face contorts with rage, gripping the phone in a vice, and he speaks over you harshly. "You're not innocent in all this, sweetheart. Your boy toy will realize that soon enough."

You scoff, your confidence unwavering. "He won't, because you're the one behind bars. You're the murderer."

His laughter is hollow, mirthless. "Don't play with me. You wanted him gone just as much as I did. You even conspired with me, even if it was in jest... You and I both know it."

You firmly cup your hand over the receiving end of the phone, responding to his threats sharply, with no room to argue. "But he never will." You cross your arms with a defiant tilt to your chin, chuckling disparagingly at his loose temperament. You find it easy to add fuel to the fire. "Orange always was your color."

Desperation seeps into Seungkwan's voice, a plea replacing the earlier malice. "You can't do this to me—"

"Good bye, Kwan. Enjoy your life sentence."

With those words, you cut off communication, slamming the metal phone receiver against its cradle, letting it echo in the small, sterile room as you turn to leave. Seungkwan's enraged screams follow you, muffled by the thick glass and quickly silenced by the guards escorting him away.

Now, there’s your peace.

#thediamondlifenetwork #DHLCollab #svthub #woozi smut #seventeen smut #lee jihoon smut #seventeen woozi #woozi #lee jihoon #seventeen #seventeen jihoon #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #woozi x you #woozi x y/n

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chososdiscordkitten · 1 year ago

Text

Ex-Husband Gojo

artist: yunonoai on twt

Synopsis: Gojo as ur ex-husband trying to win you back („• ᴗ •„)

Pairing: Gojo x Fem!Reader Content: no use of y/n nor mentions of readers appearance, THERES PLOT IN THIS ONE!! Mentions of pregnancy and getting back together again, seducing(?), fingering, spanking ONCE, reader gets folded like a chair, multiple orgasms, cream pie, aftercare(?)

(a.n) underlined text is a link incase u need a picture of the position :>

MDNI

You could never hate Gojo, even if you had been divorced for a year- pretending to barely tolerate him when you saw him.

But you knew in your marrow- you could never hate him. The only man in your life for the past 7 years, father of your child, and provider of anything you could ask for.

The divorce didn’t even affect Gojo- even as he was signing the papers, he still looked at you like you hung the moon and the stars.

“Give my wife whatever she wants.” he directed his divorce lawyer, earning an exasperated sigh from your lips.

Everything your own lawyer asked for, he shrugged.

The house? “Take it.” he scoffed, looking at you with all the love in the world.

Child support? He didn’t even blink. Satoru offered to give you money every month. As long as you didn’t work and stayed at home to care for his son.

Forget the cars or the cabin in the mountains you would go to in the winter to ski. None of that bothered Satoru. He would give you whatever you requested as long as it made you happy.

It only made your head pulse- the way the divorce lawyers were looking at you like you were some kind of horrible villain. Divorcing a seemingly loving husband who would give you anything and everything you asked for.

That was until you asked for sole custody of your child, knowing he barely had time when you were married; how would he find the time as a single father?

“No,” he said sternly, in a deeper tone—now taking this seriously. “50-50, or nothing.” he threatened, a dark aura looming over his figure as you caved.

You asked for a divorce, not because he never gave you enough— that was never the problem. Gojo loved giving and had more than enough to offer, especially to his wife and child.

The issue was, two years into marriage, he knocked you up. It wasn’t a problem though. Married, old enough, and stable enough to welcome a child into the world.

Satoru was present a lot more for those 9 months you were growing his child. Ignoring the responsibilities of his demanding job.

Nine months of pure bliss. Moving into a house, painting your child’s nursery together. Shopping for clothes, going through Satoru’s unbelievably long list of baby names- 90% of which you said ‘no’ to.

The two years before you were pregnant, you were aware of how demanding Gojo’s job really was. You knew he would be gone more often than he was present.

And it didn't bother you. If it made Satoru happy and he still returned to you at the end of the day- you didn't mind.

But during those nine months of growing his child, you thought the rest of your lives together would be the same. You thought he would be present more often than not.

And when you were pushing his big-headed child into the world, it was almost like a switch flipped in Satoru’s mind. As though he looked down to the child that was undeniably his, lily white hair—the same shade as his, and bright blue eyes, just like his father's. Gojo saw the future in the boy he held in his hands.

Gojo never told you, but that day, he realized he had to work harder, to give you and his son the best lives you could have.

He distanced himself, making sure to leave as much space between you and his work as he could. This led to you wondering if he just didn’t find you attractive anymore, or if the domestic cookie-cutter life wasn’t enough for him.

Had he told you the truth- maybe the divorce would have been avoidable. But Satoru saw this divorce settlement as you throwing a fit.

Deep down, it hurt him. It pained his heart even thinking that you would consider leaving him, but he allowed you to sign those papers.

It only meant he would have to make you fall in love with him all over again.

You scoffed at his demand of 50-50 custody, knowing you saw him two nights a week when you were married. Not even being able to fathom how he could handle having your son 50% of the time.

But Satoru surprised you in that area. Always being on time to pick up his kid from your doorstep, giving you a big hug every time he would see you. Even kissing your forehead when he would leave.

You didn’t think anything of it- he invested so much of himself in your marriage; it was instinct by now.

But when you’d be at the park with them, watching him hold the little hand of the mini Gojo that looked identical to him. Smiling with a soft warmth, Satoru may have always run out of time- constantly. But it was undeniable that he was a fantastic father.

When he ran into an acquaintance from work, he still introduced you as his lovely wife. So often that you stopped correcting him, knowing he would only start complaining if you did.

Even if the law saw you as a single mom. Technically, divorced and with a 5-year-old toddler on your hip.

Satoru still looked at you and saw his wife. Mother of his child, homemaker, and the only person that helped him heal- the person who gave him the privilege of being a father.

In his eyes, you were still his. Didn’t matter if you were divorced or not; the marriage dynamic was still present between you two.

Of the two of you, Satoru was the one who was least embarrassed about the little slip-ups. Late nights after you put your toddler down to sleep, wine glasses in hand as you recalled memories from married life.

9 out of 10 times, it always ended with Satoru’s lips crashing into yours, greedily slotting his tongue past your lips as his hands pulled you to straddle his thighs.

Nights ending with being cuddled up together, undressed and on the bed you didn’t replace when he moved out. And mornings being awakened by the smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen.

Walking down the stairs with puffy eyes, “Your mama always sleep in this late?” you heard Satoru speak from the kitchen, followed by a little laugh your son chimed.

Nodding your head disapprovingly with a smile, watching your child pull Satoru’s ear to his lips, letting out a small ‘tsk’ at what his child whispered into his ear.

The sight was always heartwarming, knowing things could’ve been like this all the time if things were different.

And every afternoon, when Satoru would practically be forced out of the house- came the talk of “This can’t happen again. It’s confusing for him-” Only for Satoru to kiss your cheek.

“Won’t happen again.” he would smile, knowing that declaration was a mere tool to end conversations like these. Knowing as long as you allowed it- mornings like these would keep happening.

There was still a lot- almost too much love, between you and Satoru. You knew this couldn’t continue, branching out and thinking of ways to not be so involved. Being all too aware of the fact that, for the past 7 years, your life has only been your husband and your son.

Ex-Husband.

That only proved your point- Satoru slowly started embedding the idea of calling him your husband again, that even in your own mind you still referred to him as such.

You knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. To continue entertaining the potential of getting together again. You considered it at first, if he was such a changed man and all he needed was to be reminded of what he lost to change his ways, would it be so bad to get back together?

But the slip-ups and nights shared together in each other's arms were too good to be true.

You feared that the same thing would happen if you allowed him fully into your life again. He would show you the best parts of him at first, then go back to neglecting his responsibilities to you and his child.

So when you asked Gojo to babysit for one evening. Instead of asking you why, he asked his 5-year-old son. Who came running up to him, pulling Satoru's hair to whisper another secret into his ear- barely legible and full of amused giggles: “Mommy has a date.”

Satoru must’ve heard wrong- it almost sounded like his son said you- his wife, had a date with someone other than him.

He tried getting more information out of his son, playfully asking who, where, and why. But the little man only scoffed, saying that you only said you had a date, and that’s why Dad had to watch him that evening.

And on the day of, Satoru showed up at your doorstep looking offensively good. Fresh haircut and his hair half dry, a white t-shirt that was entirely too tight, and gray sweats- with nothing under them (slut). And to top it all off, your favorite cologne spritzed onto his chest.

You opened your front door- you furrowed your eyebrows in disbelief, eyeing the man before you. You hated when he would purposefully show up on your doorstep looking fucking scrumptious. It was too tempting.

And as he always does- he pulls you into a rib-crushing hug, ensuring you get a face full of his scent. Kissing the top of your head as you loosely wrapped your arms around his waist. “You look gorgeous,” he murmured against your scalp, pulling away from him and scoffing.

Walking back into the entryway of your house, hearing him step behind you and close the door- “I thought I told you to come at 7.” you muttered, trying to shake off the invading thoughts of the apparent print in his sweats.

“I wanted to see you before you left.” Satoru mumbled behind you, following you up the stairs of his house and listening to the TV playing your child’s favorite cartoon.

You only hummed in response to the excuse as to why he was here a whole 2 hours before you were to leave.

While you were showering, Gojo sat on the couch supervising his son, who was asking any question that popped into the little man’s mind. Questions the child would ask you, but refuse to think you were telling the truth. So he would ask his Dad, and believe him instead.

You found it frustrating that your child believed Satoru more than he believed you- but endearing that he would always run things by his father.

All the while, answering the little questions his toddler asked- Satoru wondered if you still had that bad habit of leaving the bathroom door unlocked while you showered.

But Satoru knew he had to take a more subtle approach to the delicate situation at hand.

As he heard the sound of the shower halting- thanking the noisy plumbing the house had. It always let him know you were stepping out of the shower from wherever he was in the house.

He rose from the couch and grabbed his child from the floor. “Let’s go see what mommy’s doing.” Gojo smiled as he hooked his hands beneath his child's arms, hearing happy laughter from the little human in his hands as he ran up the stairs.

Satoru always liked watching you get dressed, even if it was to go see another man. He enjoyed watching the care you put into your appearance.

He walked into the humid restroom, his eyes catching the half-way-done zipper of your dress. “Zip me,” you murmured, looking into the mirror as you applied your makeup.

Satoru placed his child on the ground and walked up behind you, his eyes catching the clasp of your lace undergarment. He furrowed his eyebrows, realizing it was one he hadn't seen before.

He lightly placed his hand on your hip, his face too close to your shoulder, as his fingers slowly worked up the zipper. Gojo’s thumb caressed your clothed hip, giving you a light squeeze before letting go of the zipper.

Pressing your thighs together slightly and trying to ignore the warmth of his hand.

So as he sat on the edge of the bathtub, his child bouncing on his lap, watching you with an adoring gaze, enjoying the angle he had of you slightly bent over the sink. “Where’d you say you were going again?” squinting his eyes as you swiped away any misplaced makeup on your cheek.

“Out.” you scoffed, knowing if you told him the truth he would only start whining at you.

So he flashed his eyes to his son, “Do you know?” he whispered, watching his son hold back a laugh as you rolled your eyes.

As much as you disliked being the bad cop in most parenting scenarios, your child always took his side- always told him the truth when he’d ask.

“Mommy has a date.” he giggled, only for you to look to your side and squint your eyes, “Traitor.” you murmured, watching Satoru’s jaw fall in feigned shock.

“A date?” he pursed his lips, looking at you sadly. “You asked me to watch my child to go on a date?” his tone was full of sarcasm, watching you nod your head ‘no’ as you looked back into the mirror.

“It’s just dinner-” you muttered, trying to avoid his harsh gaze on your profile. “Besides, I’m sure you have your fair share of them.”

Satoru gasped your name, placing his hands on either side of his child’s head and covering his ears.

“You accuse me of cheating in front of our child? I only have room for one woman in my heart.” he scoffed, placing a hand onto his chest- almost as though he found offense in knowing you could- but he never would.

“It’s not cheating, we aren’t married anymore.”

He pulled his hands from his child’s ears, eye twitching at your declaration. “Who is he?” he asked, tone more severe as his child played with his hands. You sighed, “I have a right to know-” he started- earning for you to look at him with an irritated expression.

“Just a parent from his school.”

Satoru squinted his eyes. He knew he couldn’t ask you to homeschool his child- ‘socialization’ and all that. But now, Satoru had to worry about you being pawed at while dropping off his son at kindergarten.

In some attempts to not show he was starting to get pissed off, “If you were into single dads- you have one right here~” Gojo grinned, watching the grimace on your face churn from his attempt at flirting.

“That’s not it, but thank you for that.” you scoffed, curling your eyelashes and feeling his eyes pierce your skin.

“So what is it?” he hummed, wanting to know what this man had that he didn’t.

With a sigh you rolled your eyes, hearing your child slide off his lap and patter out of the bathroom. “I don't wanna talk about this anymore.” you muttered, sensing Satoru rise from the tub's edge and shift behind you, placing his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I wanna know who you’re replacin’ me with,” he whined in your ear, causing you to scoff and look down to the sink.

You were used to Satoru clinging to you- showing his affection to you even if you weren’t together anymore.

Satoru pressed his hips onto your slightly bent bottom, his lips barely grazing your ear, “If this is about your needs- I’m here for that too, y’know.” he whispered into your ear. Making sure you could feel his print against your bottom as he pressed himself closer to you.

Your breathing increased slightly, parting your lips as his hands around your waist squeezed you tighter. “You don’t have to look for anyone else-” he whispered, lips pressing onto the shell of your ear as you closed your eyes.

“I’m here whenever you need me,”

Mentally battling the temptation with every whisper into your ear, his breathing grazing your skin, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface.

Satoru was about to murmur another temptation into your ear. Until your child's crying voice echoed through the bathroom walls. Rushing out of the bathroom and finding your son on the ground of your bedroom- Tiny droplets of blood oozed from his little knee, with fat tears leaving his blue eyes.

Satoru wasted no time scooping up the crying child from the ground, hushing him with small assurances that it was okay.

Though it was only a scrape- it was enough for Satoru to convince you to call up this, ‘Fellow parent from school’ and tell him you had to cancel. Setting no reschedule day as Gojo purposefully called out to you- “Honey, where are the band-aid’s?~”

And with that, Satoru got what he wanted. Your date was canceled, and the man backed off.

After too many treats and much-needed coddling from his father, your son dozed off in Gojo’s arms as he walked up the stairs, exhausted from the sobbing. Placing him onto the little race car bed he built- recalling the day Satoru helped you paint the bedroom.

You settled onto the living room couches and thanked him for being here. “M’sorry if you had any plans.” You sighed, looking at the well-favored man before you.

Gojo scoffed, “No plans are more important than you.” with a slight smile on his lips.

“And your son.” you clarified with a warm grin.

Satoru looked down at your hands. “And my son.” He repeated your words, reaching for your hands and holding them in his. Scooching the tiniest bit closer to you, “Thank you,” he muttered, caressing the backs of your hands with his thumbs.

“For what?” looking at him adoringly.

Gojo blinked his eyes as he engulfed the sight of your expression. Looking back at him with the same look you had when you were still married. “For bein’ a good mom,” he whispered, slowly inching closer to you.

“-nd a good wife,” he whispered, watching your eyebrows furrow at the proclamation, cheeks tingling from hearing him call you that. Parting his lips as you leaned in closer to him.

The corner of his lips curled up ever so slightly, “Why did we ever get divorced, hmm?” he whispered, darting his gaze from your eyes down to your lips. Trying to recall the last time he tasted you- finding it offensive that he couldn’t even remember.

You gulped slightly, watching his eyes go half-lidded as he leaned closer to you. You blinked your eyes closed- feeling the last of your reservations dissolve in your mind as you pressed your lips against his.

Satoru’s eyes half-lidded as he watched your eyebrows pinch up- letting go of your hands as he traced his fingertips up your arms. Lightly swiping his tongue against your bottom lip, parting your mouth to grant him entry.

Your hands making their way to his torso- feeling the thin fabric of his shirt beneath your fingers. Sighing as his tongue pressed against yours, his hands trailing to your back.

Pulling you closer to him as his fingers reached the zipper of your dress. Soft hums of appeasement rumbling onto his tongue. Tugging down the zipper slowly as your hands found the bottom of his shirt, tracing your hands beneath the fabric.

Your fingers grasping against his carved torso desperately, your thumb lightly caressing his happy trail. His hands slipped past the opening of your dress- sprawling against your back.

You pulled away- looking into his eyes. His cheeks flushed and lips puffy. “We can’t-” you breathed, hoping he would have the strength to put a halt to this. You swallowed- mouthing another ‘we can't.’ before pressing your lips onto his again.

Letting a soft moan slip your lips as he pulled the top of your dress down- feeling the light grazes of his fingers against your skin. Placing his hand on your side, sliding up your torso and cupping the underside of your laced breast.

Feeling a twinge of anger once he felt it was a bralette- only a thin layer of lace separating his hand from your soft skin. Even more when he remembered why you would be wearing this.

Tracing his thumb over the little peak beneath the lace, giving it a soft swipe. Earning a light hum to leave your lips onto his.

And to check- just to be sure he wasn’t getting mad over nothing; Satoru pulled his lips from yours. Placing damp kisses onto your cheek. Peppering them down your neck, soft sighs and moans leaving your lips were heard as hymns to Satoru’s ears.

Making sure to pay extra attention to your collarbone, taking a few seconds to suck harshly on the skin. Even if you didn’t wear your wedding ring anymore- this was his way of showing any other men that you were claimed- that you were his.

His hands shifted your hips to sit correctly on the couch, slumped with your dress bunched on your thighs. Satoru trailed wet kisses to the swell of your breast, lightly pressing his tongue onto your laced nipple and swirling against the fabric, coaxing a light moan to fall from your lips.

Though your eyes were closed, Satoru's grip on your waist told you that he was furious. Had you opened them, you would have seen his jealous eyes looking back at you.

Satoru hoped he was wrong- hoped you wouldn’t do this to him. All but praying he wouldn’t have to do what he had to if he was right.

His hands hooked onto the bunched-up fabric of your dress, shifting it down your thighs and pulling it from your body entirely before he pulled his lips from your tummy.

Looking down at the matching lace panties- soaked as they were, he had never seen them. Gojo’s eye twitched as he looked back up to you, unwilling to come to the fact that you bought- and wore this for another man.

Satoru liked thinking he was a patient person, calm and collected when he had to be. But the way he rose himself from the ground, manhandling you to flip over and bend your knees on the couch, made him realize he held no more patience for you nor your attempts to make him jealous.

Your hands held onto the back of the couch firmly, keeping yourself up as Satoru’s hands landed on your hips. Groping the malleable skin as you whimpered, pressing your bottom back to the growing erection in his sweats.

“You wore this for him?” he mumbled behind you, slipping his thumb beneath the thin band of lace. Exhaling, feeling yourself soak your panties even further.

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands in shame- knowing whatever you said now would only make him more bitter.

Murmuring something- quiet enough for Satoru not to comprehend. He huffed a smile, “What was that?” he teased, pressing his bulge against your bent bottom, pushing you further against the wall.

“Tell the truth.”

You looked back slightly, peering at the crazed man behind you. Biting your lip and facing the wall, “I did.”

As a reward for your honesty, Satoru gave you a firm spank against your bottom. Causing you to jolt forward with a soft whimper.

“You’re that needy?” Gojo teased, caressing the warm skin of your bottom, soothing the sting. “That you have to cheat on me?” you exhaled- not wanting to admit how attractive it was that he was scolding you for something he shouldn’t be.

Taking his hands from your hips and hooking them onto the sides of your panties, slipping them down your hips to be greeted with your soaked cunt. Glistening with the taste he craved from the minute he moved out.

But even if his mouth watered looking down to your core, he couldn’t bring himself to kneel before you- knowing if he let things go your way, this little farce of divorce would stay in your mind.

No, he had to teach you a lesson, even if he had to pound it into your foolish brain that you were his.

So as the tips of his fingers grazed your soaked lips- avoiding the bundle of nerves that he was sure was throbbing from how wet you were.

Circling the tips of his ring and middle finger on your entrance as you let out breathless whines. “I just missed you,” whimpering as you reached a hand back to the one that held your hip in place.

The words enticed Gojo to dip the very tips of his fingers into your cunt- “Didn’t wanna tell you.” you moaned, admitting the truth he had been wanting to hear for far too long.

Closing your eyes as he slowly inched his fingers into you. Satoru smiled, feeling your walls welcome him in, too tight to have been recently fucked. So he knew you must be telling the truth.

Grasping onto his hand, the tips of his fingers prodding into the spot he quickly found every time.

Your hand that held you up trembling as he lightly curled his fingers. Letting out breathy moans, earning Satoru to smile to himself, “Who knows how to please you like me, hm?” he let out the thoughts from his lips without permission.

You whined as he pumped his fingers into you with a slow ease. Whimpering softly as he watched with dim eyes. “Who else but me?” he pressed, feeling your grip against his hand tighten.

“Need you inside ‘toru-” you whined, the hand holding you up gripping the edge of the couch violently.

Gojo remembered the last time you called him that- biting his lip from the nickname you used to call him when you were still married. And you must’ve known how his mind reels whenever you called him that- or else why would you say it in that tone?

All but begging for his cock with every light spasm your cunt did around his fingers.

Satoru was pleased with how pliant you were in his hands, satisfied enough to pull his fingers from your cunt. Quickly removing his shirt before placing his messied hand over his sweats, softly palming himself as he looked at your core-

Gojo was so sure at that moment- that there was no god- the closest thing to it was what lied between your legs. Pulsing- begging for him to bully his pained cock into it.

He pulled his hand from his bulge, shoving down the loose band of his sweats and freeing his cock. And as you suspected- no briefs.

Placing a hand onto his base and lightly tapping his leaky tip onto your ass, causing you to whine.

Gojo started thinking about how he wanted you- now that you were compliant and needy before him.

He backed away in the slightest. Kicking off his sweats before moving you to lie back onto the couch. Settling his hips between your thighs. Soaking up the desperate expression you wore as small whimpers left your lips.

The tip of his cock sliding up and down your cunt- refusing to give you what you ached for.

His forearms held his torso up as your hands latched behind his neck- legs spread and waiting for him to plunge himself into you. Only Satoru looked into your bleary eyes with a smile, “You wan’me inside?” he huffed- watching your bottom lip quiver, lowering himself close enough for your lips to brush against his.

“Tell me 'nd I will.” he grinned against you- watching your eyes close, trying not to cave to his demands. Biting your lip as he pressed his tip against your entrance- teasing you in the slightest.

You breathed a light whimper, blinking your eyes open and staring into his power-crazed ones. “Please-” you whined, “Put it inside ‘toru.” the tone you took only made Gojo’s ego boost- smiling with parted lips as he slowly pressed past your entrance.

A light whimper rumbled from his flushed lips as your hands pulled his neck closer, pressing your lips onto his. Breathing in every whimper, he exhaled onto your tongue as he eased himself into you.

Being able to feel that you hadn’t fucked anyone recently- That you were faithful to him. And this was all just an attempt to rile him up, which only made him even more eager to burrow himself into you further, ‘You’ve been good. That’s what you deserve,’ he thought as his tongue danced with yours.

The light sting from the stretch makes you huff out a pained whimper- inching himself deeper till his hips were flush to your thighs. His tip easily found the sweet spot he seemingly had exact coordinates to.

Satoru placed his hands on your hips, slowly raising himself with your legs locked on his waist. Holding onto your back as you lightly ground your hips flush against his.

A lazy, sloppy version of a lotus position, pulling away from his lips as you trailed a hand to his hair. Looking into his hazy eyes as his hand assisted your hips.

Small moans leaving your throat as your lips brushed against his. Not even attempting to kiss him, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep a pattern from how deep he was hitting inside of you.

A light sheen of sweat coating your forehead as Gojo relished the look in your eyes- just fucked out enough to let the mask slip. Looking at him with love-filled eyes, your bottom lip quivering as your head threatened to tip back.

Your nose scrunched lightly, neck curving back with a low groan. Not wanting to leave space between you- Satoru placed his lips onto your exposed neck, humming muffled whimpers against your skin as your bottom lip trembled.

Words forming on the tip of your tongue as you ground your cunt against him. The position so full of intimacy, it made you forget you were doing this with your ex-husband.

Puffing out a light breath, smile forming at the corner of your lips- sinking into the mouthwatering pleasure you incited with every small thrust.

“Fuck, I love you.” you moaned mindlessly. But the words rang through Satoru’s ears like church bells, words he hadn’t heard in far too long- even in the past slip-ups. You always held your tongue, making sure to not plant that seed in his mind.

Gojo almost came when he heard your proclamation, inching you back with his lips attached to your neck. Easing your back onto the arm of the couch, planting a foot onto the ground as your hands kept a tight grip on his neck. Satoru dragged his hips from yours with a loud schlop coming from between your legs.

Pulling his lips from your neck, he looked at your expression—pinched eyebrows and eyes shut tight- showing him you were close. So close, he could hear it in your sighs of content.

Satoru leaned down to your ear, huffing a warm breath against your cartilage. Shoving his cock back into you- bottoming out too quickly, earning a whine from your lips. Wasting no time before repeating the movement. Setting a speedy pace with a low whimper.

Sliding your hands up his forearms, landing on his biceps as he quickened the pace- riding himself up an orgasm.

“Lemme make you a mama again-” he huffed into your ear, his tip nudging your sensitive spot with every thrust- you moaned his name in response, so close your brain would have short-circuited had you tried answering.

Satoru grunted with a smile, thinking of the words he was about to say. “Marry-” he groaned, feeling your cunt suck him in with every pull he did, “me again.” he whimpered, his thrusts pushing you up further.

Taking a long lick at your ear- urging you to answer him. Pulling away from your neck, placing his hand on your jaw lightly. “Huh?” Satoru grinned. “Marry me again baby.” Watching your eyes crack open- bearing your teeth softly as you felt the warmth in your tummy over fill.

Pressing his parted lips to yours sloppily- pulling away, and watching your eyes threaten to roll back. You started nodding your head ‘yes’ in his hand frantically- your walls flexing around his speedy cock as he felt you come undone.

Your nodding agreement was all Satoru needed to lose the rhythm of his thrusts. Sloppily pushing into your clenching cunt, his whining muffled by his bottom lip being tucked between his teeth.

Your lips started babbling soundless pleads- ‘please, please,’ and to Satoru’s ears- you were begging for him to fill you. Fill you till he didn’t have anymore to give.

And as a loving and obedient husband- that’s what he did.

With one loud grunt- he spilled himself into you- his thrusts slowing, not as long strides, but he made sure to push his seed deeper into you. Keeping that declaration of making you a mom again.

A low whine left your lips, feeling his warm spend coat your walls with every twitch his cock made inside of you.

So full, you were sure his proclamation would come true. And he came a lot- as though he was saving it up just for you.

Heavily breathing as he slowed his thrusts, pressing his forehead to your temple. Trying to catch his breath as he came down, feeling your heartbeat against his own chest- racing and pounding against his sternum.

Soft kisses planted on your face, your hands easing their grip on his sides. Satoru's hands slid down to your hips, raising himself to his knees and looking down to where you were still connected.

A low gulp bobbing in his throat, knowing he would have to pull out eventually; And dreading it. Thinking of a million ways to keep you filled and plugged with his future offspring.

And as you finally could steady your breathing, Gojo yanked you down from the arm of the couch. Back landing flush against the cushions with a soft grunt. Looking at him, all but asking what he was doing.

Till Satoru pulled himself out of you, hoisting your hips up from the couch with two strong hands. “Sator-” you tried saying, only for his arms to hug the crease of your thighs, bending you in half with your legs flailing in the air.

All the pressure was placed onto your shoulders as Satoru latched his mouth onto your messied clit. Keeping his eyes parted and watching your expression churn. Placing a hand onto his forearm- bracing as he greedily lapped at your neglected clit.

Mentally- this was to give his seed a better chance of taking. Hips in the air- all of the cum he had just pumped into you had nowhere else to go but deeper inside of you. And to also get a taste of you- even if remnants of his cum mixed with it. Satoru didn’t care, as long as he got to taste you.

Huffing out all the air you could, puffs laced with moans. Your hands gripping harshly onto Gojo's forearm, leaving minor crescent-shaped marks on his skin from your nails.

Basically folded in half, your hips started writhing in his grasp- overstimulation creeping up your spine from his vigorous tongue.

Spasming in his hands- trying to warm you were close, but it only came out as more ragged whimpers. Clenching your teeth with your eyes shut tight- unable to see the starved expression looking at you as Gojo unraveled you.

And once Gojo felt your clit tremble between his lips- he knew it was too soon to let you back down; he needed to keep your hips aimed up as long as he could.

Satoru watched your bottom lip tremble as he continued the movement with his tongue. Your hips trying to shimmy from his grasp- but he held you up with two strong arms that had a mission.

Abusing your overwhelmed clit as your eyes screwed together tighter- white spots infiltrating your closed vision with desperate moans. The top of your head bumped into the arm of the couch as he pushed you into a firmer bend.

Your entrance squelched against his chin as he pulled another orgasm from you- more ragged whimpers littered with his name falling from your lips.

You huffed- feeling his mouth go unbothered from the third orgasm he had given you. “Please ‘toru-” you whimpered, cracking your eyes open and looking at the crazed man holding your hips. Satoru pulled his lips from your cunt- looking at you with a smile.

Half his face soiled with your arousal and a glimmer of his seed on his chin. “Just one more-” he egged on, looking at you with dazed eyes. “Jus’onemor-” he cut himself off by placing his lips back onto your clit.

You only sighed a whimper, allowing him to get his fill.

Satoru lapped at your puffy clit, his eyebrows pinching together as his cock sent signals to his mind- the same signals that he was close to an orgasm. Untouched and so close just from pleasing you- from hearing your pretty sounds.

Gojo started to whimper lightly- whimpers that vibrated against your cunt and caused your moans to slur into higher-pitched puffs of air- trying to pull through another orgasm. Taking your lip between your teeth with harshly pinched eyebrows, puffing through your nose with muffled whines.

He closed his eyes- feeling the knot formed in his tummy snap as your knuckles turned a lighter shade, just from how hard you clawed at his forearm. Feeling a warm spurt onto your bent spine as you tried to focus on cumming.

It took very little time for Satoru to gift you a fourth orgasm, a small tear falling from your closed eye as you aimlessly shifted in his grasp.

Satoru sloppily licked at your cunt- cleaning up the mess on your clit with a softer tongue, parting his eyes and looking at your expression. Slowly easing his grasp on your hips as he unfolded you, placing one last kiss onto your cunt, earning a spasm from your hips.

He eased your hips back down onto the couch, watching your fucked out expression breathe in as much air as you could- trying to catch your breath.

Uncaring if the mess he spurt onto your back messied the couch- you always complained about how ugly it was anyway.

He lazily laid himself atop you- placing the side of his face on your collarbone as your hands rested on his shoulders, rubbing small circles on his skin. Grunting softly from how easily he laid his entire body weight on yours.

You parted your eyes, trying to blink away the post-orgasm haze. Even if you had showered a few hours ago- Satoru’s bath offer sounded like heaven.

It seemed to take no longer than a few slow blinks. Easing into the clawfoot bathtub Satoru chose specifically for times like these when he bought the house.

Sighing softly as his arms held you close, his palm gently sprawled against your lower belly and your back pressed to his chest. Avoiding the conversation that needed to be spoken about.

Knowing it would never be spoken if you shoved it off, jettisoned aside to be talked about later.

“Satoru?” you hummed, placing the back of your head onto his chest.

He sighed, closing his eyes and nodding his head 'no'. “I don’t wanna talk about that right now.” he huffed, feeling your hand clasp his beneath the water. Interlocking your fingers with his and closing your eyes.

“If we don’t talk about it now, we never will.”

Satoru smiled. “Then let’s never talk about it~” he scoffed.

You furrowed your eyebrows, trying to make sense of the meaningless words he babbled into your ear earlier. “You really wanna marry me again?” you asked- unsure if they were just words he mindlessly spouted at the moment- or if they had any meaning.

He scoffed, “What kind of question is that?”

Inhaling as though you were about to speak- “Course I wanna marry you again,” he hummed. Rubbing your belly softly, “nd make you a mom again.”

Pulling his hand from your tummy with a scoff, causing small ripples in the water. “Be serious.”

“You have no idea how serious I’m being right now.”

Your lips pulled to the side, mulling over his proclamation.

“You still love me?” he asked, looking down at the side of your face.

Turning your neck slightly, you peered your eyes up at him with sincerity filling them. Furrowing your eyebrows, you tried not to admit it, but- “Of course I still love you, ‘toru.” You mumbled. Heartfelt words that rang true in your heart.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.”

“Then marry me.” he whirred, watching your hand pull his left one up from the water. Your eyes admiring the wedding band he hadn’t taken off.

You stayed silent, holding his ringed hand in yours. Satoru would be lying if he said seeing your ring finger empty didn't hurt.

Your silence gave Gojo his answer, “Why not?” he whispered, hearing a ragged sigh from your lips. “I still love you- you. You still love me-”

“M’scared.” you mumbled. Feeling your shoulders tense against his chest with a small ripple in the water.

Satoru let out a half-laugh from his chest. “Of what? I’ve been good, haven’t I?” he grinned, his playful tone invading your ears.

“You were good when I was pregnant too.” you quipped, dropping his hand into the water and recalling the days he started slipping through your grasp.

You sniffled lightly, “nd look what happened.”

Satoru bit his tongue. Knowing if he started defending his baseless actions, this would end up being a fight.

“I spent so long wondering if it was me- if I was the problem.” you scoffed. “I don’t want to let you back in just for the same thing to happen.”

Satoru pulled you closer with a sigh, “It won’t happen again.” he whispered into your ear, “I promise.”

You huffed air from your nose, making Satoru think you didn’t believe him. “I’ll even write it into my vows this time.”

A small laugh left your lips, “You won’t miss single life too much?” you played, feeling his head rest against yours.

“Not once have I felt single since you signed those papers.” he grinned.

You pondered his offer, pretending to actually consider the option before you.

Satoru softly kissed your ear, “C’mon- I’ll be such a good husband~” he whispered.

It wasn’t as though you ever really felt single either- That one year spent apart was still full of love and a marital dynamic.

The rest of the night was spent in the same bed Satoru built after you moved into the house, cuddled up just the way you had longed for since he moved out.

The following day, Satoru couldn’t wait for his son to fully wake up- he walked into the hazy child's bedroom and asked if he wanted a little brother or sister.

All smiles and beaming eyes in the kitchen- telling his son that his plan worked. He made you fall in love with him, and he was finally your husband again.

And as you watched your husband and your son giggle with each other in the kitchen, you smiled. Warm cheeks from the thought that Satoru actually thought you stopped loving him at some point.

But then again, you never really fell out of love, did you?

I loved writing this sm.

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vigilante-3073 · 6 months ago

Text

Law & Medicine

James Wilson x Female Attorney Reader

Summary: James Wilson has a secret relationship and House finally discovers it.

TW: Dating, rude comments, House being House.

James Wilson had a secret and House was determined to figure out what it was. House figured that Wilson had been keeping this secret for quite a long time. At first he had been careful, but now he was starting to slip up.

Wilson had changed. It wasn't anything extreme, but he took more time for himself and had started to become more secretive. Normally, it was not an issue, but now that House seemed to be fighting for Wilson's time, he knew there had to be something big going on.

Originally, he hoped that whatever was distracting Wilson would blow over. House almost thought that it did, but then he noticed that Wilson started avoiding him.

House planned on going through Wilson's phone when he left it in his office like he usually did, but it wasn't there. Wilson had started keeping his phone on him at all times and even stepping out of the room when he received a phone call.

His emails showed nothing besides some conversations with his divorce attorney, but he should have the woman on speed dial after three divorces. House was sure that they even exchanged Christmas gifts with how much money he brought to their law firm.

House was at a loss and when he finally got ahold of Wilson's phone it was more of the same. He did notice that Wilson had a chain of text messages with his attorney which made him reconsider his earlier dismissal of the emails.

House looked up the woman online, she was a certified divorce attorney in New Jersey that worked for a reputable law firm. It just seemed strange to him that there had been recent conversations despite Wilson having been divorced for years. It was always possible that one of his ex-wives had dragged him through a legal tar pit again, but it was highly unlikely.

Wilson had separated from his wives amicably and none of them harbored any ill will towards him. House reached out to Sam, Bonnie and Julie individually in order to figure what attorney they used in their divorces.

None of the woman used Y/N L/N.

...

Wilson stepped into his office and sighed when he saw House laying on his couch, "Can I help you with something, House?" Wilson asked. He took off his lab coat and sat down at his desk, opening one of his files.

"I know your secret, Wilson," House stated, bouncing his cane on the ground beside himself.

"What secret?" Wilson asked, flipping the page in his folder.

"You've been keeping secrets from me and I got curious. A simple search through your text messages and emails told me that you're speaking to a lawyer," House said.

Wilson looked up at him, "You went through my messages?" He asked incredulously.

"Of course I did. I also called your ex-wives," House said.

Wilson scoffed, shutting his file and tossing his pen down on the desk, "Why? Why would you do that?" Wilson asked.

"If one of your ex-wives were raking you over the coals again, I wanted to know. But none of them had ever heard of this divorce attorney before," House stated.

Wilson sighed, running his hands over his face in frustration, "Why do you need to know everything that goes on in my life?" He questioned.

"You were avoiding me," House said.

Wilson shook his head, "I can't believe you called my ex-wives. That is just- I don't even know what to say," He said.

"Who's the attorney and why do you need one?" House asked.

"If I tell you will you leave it alone?" Wilson asked.

"Depends on what the answer is," House said.

"Her name is Y/N and we're engaged," Wilson admitted.

House sat up, looking over at his friend, "You're engaged to a divorce attorney? Have you learned nothing? That's like taking a crap in the middle of your dinner table, you just don't do that," House said.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you!" Wilson exclaimed.

"I'm not wrong and you know it. This marriage is gonna crash and burn like the last ones, but this time she's gonna take everything. Lawyers are sharks and you're chumming the water," House said. He stood up from the couch and limped over to the doorway.

"You should know better, Wilson. Come find me when your marriage falls apart," House said, stepping out of the office and slamming the door. Wilson huffed, shaking his head before returning to his paperwork.

...

Wilson was working in his office, filling out some paperwork in patient files when his phone buzzed on the desk. He set his pen down and picked up his cellphone, smiling when he saw the message notification on his phone.

Y/N: 'Hey, I'm meeting a client at PPTH and was wondering if you want to meet for lunch after. Let me know.'

The smile quickly fell from his face as he called her, raising the phone up to his ear. Wilson could feel his heart speeding up in his chest as the line rang. There was a soft click as Y/N answered his call.

"Hey, you," She greeted softly.

"Are you here?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah, I just walked in. Why? Is everything okay? " Y/N asked.

"Can you just meet me in my office? I think a friend of mine might be trying to mess with me by hiring you and I just need to be sure," Wilson said.

Y/N let out a small laugh, "You work with people who would do something that juvenile? " She questioned.

Wilson sighed, "Unfortunately... Just stop by my office before you go there, okay?" He requested.

"I'm on my way up, I'll see you in a minute," Y/N said.

"See you in a bit," Wilson said, hanging up the phone and tossing it down on the desk.

Wilson sat in silence for a moment as he debated what he was going to do if House was really doing what Wilson thought. If he was, there would definitely be some serious consequences.

Maybe he could mess with his piano or replace his Vicodin with laxatives or maybe even destroy his guitar. It would definitely be cathartic to smash his guitar to smithereens after having his privacy violated.

A soft knock sounded on the door of his office, "Come in," He called.

Y/N opened the door and stepped into his office, "So, who do you think is screwing with you?" Y/N asked, sitting down in the chair in front of his desk. She crossed her legs, setting her briefcase on the floor by her feet.

"Gregory House," Wilson said.

"That's my client," Y/N replied.

"My god, he's crazy and he can never let things go... He thought I was being secretive and he went through my phone and computer. He found our messages and called my ex-wives to figure out if they knew you. Then he told me not to talk to him until our marriage fell apart," Wilson rambled, gesturing wildly.

Y/N listened to him silently before standing up from her seat and grabbing her briefcase.

"I'm going to go talk to this douchebag and I'll meet you back here in under an hour, okay?" Y/N questioned.

"He doesn't need a lawyer, Y/N," Wilson stated.

"I'll handle it, honey. Just stay put," She advised, Wilson nodded.

Y/N moved around the desk, leaning down and giving Wilson a quick kiss before making her way out of his office.

"This isn't going to be good," Wilson mumbled to himself.

#james wilson x you #james wilson x reader #james wilson imagine #james wilson #james wilson x female reader #gregory house x reader #gregory house #house imagine #house md #house md imagine

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absurdthirst · 1 month ago

Text

Two Pikes, One Bed {Marcus Pike x Ex-Wife!F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: Awkward encounters, Marcus is a sweetheart, mentions of breakups, mentions of therapy, there was only one bed, mentions of drunken sex, unresolved feelings, fingering, rough sex, flirting, nipple play, showering together, cream pie, after care, feeeeelings, protective reader, communication

Comments: Send to a conference, your luggage is lost by the airline and you find out that the hotel has cancelled your room reservation because why would there be two Pikes? Leaving Marcus to offer to share his bed with you. After all, your divorce was amicable.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Marcus Pike MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The hotel is nice but not too fancy, typical government accommodations when the higher ups are trying to get you to comply with their shitty demands i.e going to this stupid training conference. You sigh as you walk up to the desk, tapping your fingers as you give the receptionist your name. "Pike?" She frowns in confusion, "but I just checked in a Pike." You frown, "how - I just got here-?" You ask but then you hear his voice. "I'm so sorry. You didn't write down the room number and-?" Your eyes widen as you turn your head, "Marcus?" You gasp, setting eyes on your ex husband for the first time in years.

Marcus freezes for a split second before he says your name, surprised but not completely upset to run into you. As far as ex’s go, you might have the friendliest relationship, the divorce lawyer amazed at how amicable you both had been in your breakup. Marcus had been heartbroken, but he had understood that you were at different points in your life. He opens his arms for a quick hug, the desk clerk forgotten for a moment. “What are you doing here?” He asks, pulling back to look at you. You look annoyed, the little crease between your eyes is there, a sure sign your day was not going as planned.

“Got sent to this boring conference and I don’t know why. I guess because I’m the only single, childless agent we got.” You snort and admire how he’s aged. He was always devastating handsome, you’d describe him as cute, but now, he’s sexy as fuck. A little broader with a beard that has your stomach twisting. The sex between you was fantastic. Your relationship was perfect…until you decided to go different directions. “You got stuck here too?” You ask, wondering if he’s gotten married again. You haven’t spoken for years, both amicable but not friends. He nods, scratching his jaw, and you turn back to the receptionist who clears her throat. “I’m so sorry. There’s been a mistake. Our system thought the booking got duplicated and, uh, we only have one room under the name Pike.” You nod, annoyed but understanding, “I’ll just get another room.” You say and Marcus frowns, concerned about your accommodation. “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s - we are fully booked for the conference.” You huff, “then I’ll find another hotel.” She shakes her head, “everything is booked up. I’m sorry.” You close your eyes, stomach twisting at the news that you don’t have a room to sleep in. “Shit.” You murmur, trying to figure out what to do.

Marcus tuts, looking around. “Where is your luggage?” He asks, making you sigh. “The airline lost it.” You sound almost defeated, proving things really hadn’t been going your way. “Shit.” He hisses, knowing how much that sucks when it happens. He has taken to just using a carry on when he could get away with it for just that reason. “Listen…” he shrugs slightly. “Since we don’t hate each other and are probably the friendliest divorced couple ever-“ the clerks' eyes widen, realizing the relationship now. “Why don’t you stay with me?” He offers. “At least until a room opens up.”

You know this isn't ideal but you sigh, knowing you have no choice. "Wouldn't your new wife be mad?" You tease, testing to make sure he's not re-married. He snorts, "single as a pringle." You chuckle, nodding at him, "then yes. Thank you, Marc." You murmur, squeezing his hand. The receptionist nods, making another key for you. "Then that's settled." You let go of Marcus's hand, "good thing I have a pair of panties and a makeup bag on hand." You smile, trying to make light of a stressful situation. You're sharing a room with your ex husband.

He chuckles. “I’ve got some extra boxers and t-shirts.” He offers. “You used to steal them all the time to sleep in when we were married.” Giving you the key had also told Marcus his own room number so he guides you towards the elevator. “What about you? I’m not going to have an angry boyfriend coming for me, am I?” You had said you were single, but he finds it hard to believe you aren’t at least dating someone. You are still just as gorgeous as the last time he had seen you. You always had men falling over you, even when the two of you were together. Marcus hadn’t been jealous, he had been proud you had chosen him.

You shake your head, “single as a Pringle.” You repeat his earlier phrase and he chuckles. “As a man, I gotta say my gender is crazy.” You snort, “well, you divorced me.” You remind him and he sighs, “I filed because you wouldn’t do it, even though you wanted to.” You lean against the wall of the elevator after he presses the button for the right floor. “We both wanted to.” You remind him, tilting your head, “and it was the right decision for both of us. We wanted different things.”

He could argue that, but he doesn’t. “So did you end up where you wanted?” Marcus asks, curious about what you’ve been doing. He knows that several conferences are going on in town, but you had said ‘agent’. What three letter agency did you join? He knows several speakers are from joint tasks forces with other agencies. Even the famed Javier Peña from the DEA is speaking. That’s the only one he’s really interested in.

You nod, “FBI.” You answer, “cyber division.” You reveal and his eyebrows raise, making you smile at how he looks just like the young man you married. “Me too. Uh, art crime.” You aren’t surprised by his job involving art but the FBI agent status surprises you. “Wow. I didn’t know - didn’t think you wanted - I always figured you’d be an art gallery owner or something like that.”

He shuffles as the doors to the elevator open and he motions for you to go in first. “After we- uh, split up, I needed a little more focus.” He admits, rolling his bag inside with you and pressing the button for the tenth floor. “Here I get to appreciate art, pay my bills and make sure others get to appreciate it too.” What he didn't say was that he had originally joined because of all the cases you had talked to him about when you were together. How it had proven a point in his own mind about how you could have stayed together. How he could have been what you needed, even if kids had been off the table at that time. Back then, it had seemed like such a deal breaker, waiting to have children, but he was just as childless now as you had been together back then. “I’ve got a great team.”

You smile, “that’s great. I’m so happy you found what you wanted to do.” You are a little bitter about it to be honest. Marcus was always a dreamer, wanting to have the perfect life, and at the time, the perfect life was you at home raising his kids while he painted and started a gallery. It was an impossible dream and you had to be realistic. It appears he had that reality check but it was too late. “Do you have any kids?” You ask, knowing he said he’s single but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got a kid or two.

His smile is a little bittersweet and he shakes his head. “No kids. Never made it back down the aisle or had a slip up.” He has thought about that several times in the middle of the night when he’s gone through every mistake he’s ever made. “Funny how things work, isn’t it?” He doesn’t mention being engaged to Teresa.

You snort, unable to help it. You know that he has always wanted kids and to be pushing forty without them has your stomach twisting with the irony that your marriage ended for that particular dealbreaker. “Me neither.” You answer despite your feelings on the issue changing over the years. “Never remarried.” You confess, “ironic, huh?” You say as the doors open and you step out into the hall.

“Yeah.” The room is honestly just a few doors down from the elevator so it’s just a matter of opening the door and waving you inside. “After you.” He insists, knowing that you always enjoyed the first look at a new room, wherever you are staying. “I didn’t ask, but there should be a safe for our weapons, if you brought yours.” He had, but that was because he had left directly from the office to make his flight. Unsure if you carried, being in cyber crimes.

You nod, “always bring it especially when I’m alone in a hotel room.” You confess, “it’s in my purse.” You see his eyebrows raise, “believe it or not, we do a lot of raids in cyber.” You chuckle at his disbelief, pulling your gun out of your purse so you can put it in the safe. “Safety first, Agent Pike.”

He chuckles, leaving his bag near the door and opening the closet to reveal the safe. “Perfect.” He reads the instructions and hums. “It’s a four digit code. What about using our old anniversary?” He suggests. “Or is that weird?”

You wrinkle your nose at the idea, finding it strange, but it’s not a bad thought. You both know the date. “Kinda, but it works.” You nod, watching him hesitate for a second before he punches the code in. Your guns are soon secured and you set your purse down, “one bed.” You observe and there’s no sofa, not even a chair in the corner. Marcus turns to look at you, “you comfortable? I can sleep on the floor.” He offers and you shake your head, “no. No. We are adults. We used to share a bed every night years ago. We can handle it.” You murmur, looking down at the sheets. “God, our anniversary seems like a distant thought. Our wedding day. We were kids really.” You remember how excited you were, dressed in a white wedding dress you’d found at a thrift store, flowers in your hair, and Marcus wearing an ill fitted suit he borrowed from a friend. His hair was longer then, more suited to a bassist in a band. You were young and in love. Nothing seemed impossible. You’re not that person anymore and neither is he, for one, his suits are perfectly fitted to his form.

“Yeah we were.” He admits, smiling softly at the same memory. “But it’s not something I’ve ever regretted.” Even if you didn’t stay together, he won’t ever say it was a mistake. “We never got to have a honeymoon, unless you could that weekend we had our apartment to ourselves when our roommates were out of town and we ordered take out.” He laughs, remembering how grown up you both had felt. You were broke, living with roommates had been the only way you made it through college, but it had been the best of times in his opinion.

“Sooooooo, what now?” You ask, unsure of what to do with your ex-husband. Normally you would go down to the hotel bar and have a drink, or stay in your room and order room service but you don’t want to infringe on his plans.

“Food and a drink.” He laughs. “I think today you deserve a stiff drink or three.” He knows he needs one, especially if he’s going to be in close proximity to you. Not because you annoy him, not because he doesn’t want to be around you, but because he knows old memories will come up. There were some bitter arguments, but there were also some times that he will never forget, that he cherishes.

You grab your purse, walking towards the door, and open it, feeling him behind you as he grabs the edge. The elevator to the lobby is quiet and you are soon seated at a small table in the bar area, looking over the menu. “Oh they have pork belly tacos. You used to love those ones we’d get from the food truck down the street.” You smile at the memory of getting tacos and heading to the park to eat your tacos on a ratty old blanket.

“Yeah.” He’s surprised that you remember, pleased that you seem pleased with yourself as you stare at him expectantly. “Then why don’t we have a plate to share?” He suggests, tapping his own menu. “They also have poke nachos. Unless you decided you don’t eat sushi?” It was rare that you were able to afford it when you were together, but you used to moan about the cheap ass sushi from the grocery store.

You smirk, “I love sushi. Ever since I could afford it, I go out with my friends and have it.” You reveal and he chuckles, “me too. Feels like such a luxury compared to our broke college days.” You nod and set your menu down, looking at the waiter when he comes over to take your order. He seems to pay extra attention to you, leaning in closer, and you ignore it, not interested in flirting after such an arduous day and with your ex-husband sitting opposite you.

Marcus is aware of the waiter flirting with you, but he doesn’t reach for your hand. Knowing that it’s not his place to claim you, even if you are still as beautiful as the day he had met you. When it’s his turn to order, he shoots the waiter a knowing look. “I’ll take a Michelob Ultra, pint.” You hadn’t ordered food, just your drink, so he tacks on the appetizers. “And we’ll have the pork belly tacos and poke nachos to share please.”

The waiter looks between you for a second and nods, writing down the order. He strides off after offering you a soft smile and you tilt your head, looking at Marcus who chuckles, “you still got it.” You frown, “still got it?” Marcus nods, “your entire - you have this way about you. Makes everyone notice you.” You bite your lip, flustering slightly, “I’m not twenty years old anymore. I’m sure he’s just after a bigger tip.”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Guarantee if you didn’t want to share my room, you could go home with him.” He predicts, smirking slightly. “I always knew I was the luckiest son of a bitch in the room when you were beside me.” He glances around the restaurant. “Three other men are looking over here right now, wondering why the hell you are sitting with me.”

You snort, glancing around until you look back at him, “and there’s three women wondering what the hell you’re doing with me when you could be sitting with them. Maybe we can just admit we were a hot married couple back in the day and we still look good together.” You tease, smirking at your ex husband.

“We were.” Marcus winks at you and watches as your smirk widens slightly. “I won’t deny that. Hell, everyone was jealous of us back then.” Until the conflict started, when your visions of the future didn’t align and you didn’t know how you were going to move past it. “So what station are you out of?” He asks, curious to know about your career. You were always so much smarter than he was, driven.

“Seattle.” You confess, “I needed a total change of pace and I like the rain.” You reason and Marcus nods, “I’m in D.C. I’m, uh, I’m a department head.” He reveals and your eyebrows raise, “look at you. Agent Pike, department head.” You declare with an impressed tone.

He flushes slightly, feeling a little foolish for being so pleased to bask in praise from you, but in a way it’s fitting. You had fought mainly about stability, about what direction your lives were going to take and he feels like he’s done that. He’s solid and dependable. A leader. “I have a great team.” He admits. “They bust their asses on our cases.”

You nod, loving how he talks about his team when your own department head can be a bit of an asshole. “So no wife. No kids. Are all the women in D.C idiots?” You ask, knowing what a great personality your ex-husband has despite your marriage ending. It never ended because you fell out of love with him. It ended because you wanted different things and you couldn’t come together to work it out.

“Now, don’t judge them too harshly.” He jokes. “I just moved to D.C a year ago.” He admits. “I’ve been burying myself in work and getting the team exactly how I want them.” He doesn’t add that he had decided to take time off from dating and get a little therapy. Wanting to really work on himself before throwing himself back in the deep end. “What about you? I can’t believe that you are still single.” He admits. “No man wants a beautiful, career driven woman in Seattle?”

You sigh, tapping your fingers on the slightly sticky table, “I mean, I’ve been on dates. Had boyfriends…but no one came close to proposing. I have been so focused on my career, on making something of myself, and I totally forgot I’m supposed to be living life at the same time.” You confess, “I have…I’ve missed a lot because I focused on work.”

He nods slowly, knowing you had been focused on forging a path for yourself. “That can happen.” He admits, leaning back slightly when the waiter comes back with his beer and your cocktail.

You’re a little relieved he’s not said “I told you so” and rubbed your face in it but you watch him as he sips the beer. His neck tilted and your stomach twists. “How’s your mom and dad?” You ask, knowing they weren’t your biggest fans after the divorce but they loved you before.

He smiles, shrugging slightly. “Retired. Dad complains that there’s not enough time for all the projects mom creates for him.” He has always admired his parent’s relationship, even if his dad’s grumbling makes him laugh. “They moved to Florida. Terrorizing the locals with their bad driving and early bird dinners.”

You giggle, "I'm sure your mom loves it. She hates cold weather. I'm glad they are happy and still together." You knew they would be but modern marriage is hard. "I missed them." You confess, glancing across the restaurant until your eyes find his, "I missed you. It was hard. Going from seeing you every day to never. You were my best friend."

He swallows harshly. “Yeah.” Glancing away, he takes another sip of his beer. He sighs. “Sorry I never called.” There had been the perfunctory promises to keep in touch, but he had never reached out, knowing that he couldn’t move on if he was still talking to you. “It- it was just better if I didn’t.” He admits quietly, looking back at you with a serious set to his face.

You nod in understanding, knowing you likely would've given in and led the life he wanted, ending up resenting and hating him. You couldn't do that to either of you. "It's okay." You promise, reaching out to touch the back of his hand without thinking. "It was for the best." You reassure him, "I- I don't think either of us could've moved on if we kept in touch."

Marcus looks down at your hand on top of his and wonders if he ever did move on. It wouldn’t be fair to you though, you have the life you always wanted. “Then it’s good that we didn’t.” He says after a moment, clearing his throat first. It might have been a bad idea to do this.

The truth is on the tip of your tongue but the waiter returns with your food, setting it down on the table, and he turns towards you. "Let me know if you need anything else, anything at all." You offer him a polite smile, your hand withdrawn from Marcus's and you look down at the food after the waiter strides off. "This looks delicious." You groan, having been traveling most of the day and you are starving.

“Better than the sandwich they offered on the plane.” He agrees, reaching over to pick up the appetizer plates and sets one in front of you. “Shit, he didn’t bring your wasabi.” He frowns, looking at the plates. You always loved extra and he could swear he ordered more. “I’ll go ask for some.” Before you say a word, he’s jumping up and hurrying over to the bar to ask for some.

Your heart flutters that he remembered such a small detail and you take a sip of your drink to smother your smile. "He's gonna bring it over." Marcus says as he sits back down and you look at him in a way that he ducks his head like he used to. "You're too good, Marc." You smile, shaking your head softly and taking a taco from the plate in front of you.

He smiles softly and reaches for a taco for himself. “You always loved having extra.” On the rare occasions you had been able to get sushi, he had given you his wasabi since you couldn’t afford to buy those expensive little tubes. It was funny to him now every time he opens his fridge and sees one in the little condiment rack on the door.

You dig into your food, a comfortable silence between you like you just saw each other yesterday and definitely not acting like a divorced couple. You pass him a napkin without him asking and he squeezes lime over the nachos without asking. You are still in sync and that scares you a little. He is still so goddamn handsome and you know tonight will be a little awkward sharing a bed with him but you have no choice.

“So do you still carry a toothbrush in your purse?” He asks, smirking slightly. “Or do you need to find a drugstore?” You probably have a car, but maybe you had taken a taxi. He picks a wonton chip with a beautiful slice of salon on it and adds a little edamame pea on it too. “This looks so good.”

You nod, loving the food, and you smirk at your ex. “Still carry a toothbrush. I have my toiletries thank God but no clothes.” You sigh, shaking your head, “damn airline just had to lose my suitcase.” You huff, “and I came from work so I’m wearing the right clothes but I need to borrow one of your shirts.”

Luckily he can blame the groan that escapes his lips from the bite of the poke chip instead of what the real reason was. The thought of you wearing one of his shirts is incredibly sexy. Back when you were married, it was mostly band t-shirts, but in one of his button ups? God, his cock twitches right here at the table. “Sure.” He manages after he swallows. “I always carry extras, in case I spill something on my shirt.”

You smile at him, "thank you. Honestly, you've saved me. I don't know what I would've done without you, baby." The nickname slips out before you can think and your eyes widen, "so-sorry. I, uh, old habits die hard." You choke and he nods, waving his hand despite his stomach twisting. "It's fine...sweetheart." He adds with a wink that has you giggling and soon you finish your meal with jokes and stories of your past, settling into a comfort you've only ever felt with Marcus.

“You want another?” Marcus asks, ready to call the waiter over when you finish your drink, but you shake your head. “God no, I can’t get drunk here.” You huff. “Still get so horny.” Marcus nearly chokes, remembering how you would always beg him to fuck you when you got home from partying or a gig he had been playing. They always gave you his free drinks and he never minded. “Okay.” He agrees, knowing that he could use another beer, but he won’t if you are ready to close out. “Then why don’t we switch to water or we can close out?” He offers. “I know you probably want to soak in a bath after today.”

You chuckle, “you know me too well. I, uh, I think I’m gonna head up to the room, have a bath. You can stay if you want, have another beer. There’s some women eying you across the bar.” Marcus snorts, “you just want the room to yourself.” You smirk, “caught me.” You hold your hands up, “stay, I’ll be fine.” You promise, not wanting him to feel obligated.

“How about I come upstairs with you and get you the boxers and shirt and then I’ll take a walk back down here so you can have that privacy.” He offers with a small smirk. “Or… you can go through my bag. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”

You nod, knowing it’s a lack of privacy but this is Marcus. “If you’re okay with that?” You ask and he nods, “use what you want.” He offers and you reach across to squeeze his hand, “thank you.” You reach for your purse, “let me pay for dinner. Least I can do.”

“No.” Marcus shakes his head. “My treat.” He insists, reaching for his own wallet. “You can buy dinner tomorrow night.” He wants to pay for this, wanting to treat you a little after wishing that he could have when you were younger.

You sigh, knowing you won’t win this argument. Marcus is as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. “Fine. My treat next time.” You promise and he smiles, nodding at the deal. “I’ll be heading up to the room then. There’s no rush.” You promise, even if your stomach twists at the idea of him down here flirting with other women. Which is insane since you’ve been divorced longer than you were married. He nods and you stand up, grabbing the key card to make your way back to the room. When you’re inside, you sit down on the bed and wonder how the hell you're going to ignore the fact that your feelings for Marcus never died, you apparently just hid them deep inside your heart. “Fuck.” You murmur, rubbing your cheeks before you stand up to run the bath.

“Fuck.” He mutters as he sits back down. This is complicated, too complicated. You’re his ex-wife but he wishes that wasn’t the case. Somehow, you had both ended up in the FBI, as crazy as that sounds. Your paths were much closer aligned than you ever believed and he wonders how he hadn’t seen that before. His idealist views had caused him a lot of heartache over the years, but losing you might be the worst of all his mistakes.

You sigh as you relax in the bath, enjoying the warm water, and you wonder how you’re gonna handle sleeping in the same bed as Marcus. Trying to relax, you close your eyes until your skin wrinkles and eventually you get out of the bath, wrapping a towel around your body. You make your way over to Marcus’s case, feeling bad going through it but you need his shirt and boxers. You’re just about to drop your towel when the door opens.

Marcus whips around, “shit, sorry!” He had thought it would have been plenty of time. Grabbing the door handle, he’s throwing the door back open. “I- uh, just open the door when you’re dressed.” He calls before he’s rushing back out, trying to banish the memory of your body wrapped in a towel from his mind.

You freeze, fingers hovering over his suitcase, and you wonder why he ran off. He could’ve just stayed and closed his eyes. With a sigh, you pull his boxers and t-shirt on, loving how soft they are. You bring the material to your nose and shit, it smells just like him. You take a moment to compose yourself and make your way over to the door. “Sorry. I thought you’d knock.” You offer, letting him inside now that you’re dressed.

“I should have.” He admits with an apologetic gesture. “I forgot how long you could soak in a bath.” He closes the door behind him and walks over to his suitcase to pull out fresh boxers and a t-shirt for himself. “I’ll just jump into a shower and let you relax a little longer.”

You nod, watching him rush into the bathroom, and you sigh, hoping things aren’t awkward between you now. You turn the TV on, smiling when you see an old episode of Buffy. You used to watch this together. You settle against the pillows, waiting for Marcus to come back out.

Marcus stares in the mirror for a second and shakes his head. It’s going to be fine as long as he doesn’t act like a jackass and make you feel uncomfortable. “Just don’t be a weirdo.” He huffs to himself.

You are anxious when Marcus comes back into the room, you watch him move some of his things around until he approaches the bed. In the lamplight, he looks so handsome and your heart flutters at how much he still looks like his younger self. “Buffy is on.” You gesture to the TV, “unless you wanna watch something else.”

“No, that sounds good.” Marcus shoots you a smile and moves to the closet to hang up his suit. “We used to plan our night around new episodes.” He snorts as he recalls those nights. There was nothing better than staying home with you to watch a new Buffy episode.

You giggle at the memory, “those were the days. When my biggest worry was passing my finals and how my hair looked.” You smirk, watching Marcus come over to sit on the bed. “You wanna put your phone on to charge?” He asks and you nod, leaning over the edge to grab your phone from the nightstand, leaning back to hand it to him.

He’s got a multi unit charger, perfect for you since your charger was in your luggage. He sets both phones down and waits to see the screens change. “Have to admit, I miss the days when I wasn’t accessible twenty-four hours a day.” He huffs playfully. “Sometimes you just don’t want to talk to anyone.”

You sigh, shifting to lean back into the soft pillows, “tell me about it. And don’t get me started on social media. I miss the days where I didn’t have to see everyone’s perfect life posted all over Instagram.” You confess, “and I don’t even wanna talk about online dating. It’s hell.”

Marcus winces. “You couldn’t pay me to get on a dating website.” He shakes his head. “Can’t even imagine how many unsolicited dick pics you get.” He doesn’t understand why some men think that will interest a woman. But then again, he is single. “All the shit on Instagram is lies. Made up to appear perfect because no one is gonna post about the toilet clogging up and the dryer breaking.”

“Exactly.” You gesture with your hand, “no one is gonna see the bad times. Only the good times. If we had Instagram during that time, people would’ve thought we were the perfect couple. They never would’ve known what was happening behind closed doors.” You bite your lip, reminded of the arguments you had between you at that time.

Marcus sighs softly. “Yeah.” He frowns slightly, trying to ignore the urge to apologize. The past is just that. Both of you were stubborn and refused to compromise. Hopefully his maturity with age will help a future relationship if it happens.

You shuffle to lay down, hand on your stomach as you watch the show, not needing to stay anything else to Marcus. You both know you made mistakes but right now, you’re sharing a bed because of necessity.

Marcus flips the covers back on his side of the bed and climbs in. “Oh shit, I remember this episode.” He huffs, smirking slightly. It was a nice memory, especially when you had jumped him after it.

You suddenly remember that night this episode aired, making you bite your lip, and you turn your head to look at him. “Spike was especially hot this episode.” You recall, “this was like my porn.” You joke, turning your head back to the TV.

“I wasn’t dumb enough to complain.” He snorts. “Even if you were thinking about a fictional character, I was the one reaping the benefits.”

You chuckle, “it was never about the fictional character. May have gotten me horny but I was hot for you, my husband, and I wanted you to fuck me. Not him.” You clarify, “I wanted you.”

He smirks, looking over at you. “Good to know.” He jokes. “Stroke my ego a little more and I won’t be able to get out of the room in the morning, my head will be so big.” It’s a good fucking thing he’s under the covers because your words have already given him a semi. “We always excelled in that part of our relationship.”

“Yeah. We did, didn’t we?” You giggle, “you remember that time you fucked me in your truck next to the baseball game while you were on the bench and then you went back and hit a home run?” You giggle at the memory, the way you struggled to get his cock out of the tight pants but you rode him until you both came.

“Why do you think I hit the home run?” Marcus snorts. “Still think about that every time I play a game of softball.” He joined a co-ed league to get a little bit of socialization that wasn’t in a bar and he giggles a little every time he’s up to bat. “Coach was pissed I disappeared but I think he figured out why. The guys called you Homerun Honey the rest of the year.”

You grin, proud of that fact, “made sure you kept your scholarship too. Even if you weren’t gonna go professional, at least it kept you in school.” You remind him and he nods, “didn’t hurt that you looked damn sexy in the uniform.” You smirk, turning to look at him.

“Those were the days.” He groans, rubbing a hand down his softer stomach. “Definitely don’t have that body anymore.” He misses it, but honestly? He’s too lazy to spend hours in the gym.

“Nah. You’re still hot, Marc. ‘Dad bods’ are in and I personally think they are sexier than a six pack.” You confess, biting your lip as you watch him rub his belly.

“Shit.” Marcus belts out a laugh. “Got the bod before I ever became a dad.” He rolls his eyes and looks over at you. “This is because of my dedication to pancakes and a little too much take out. Thai and Chinese are my go to, so you know it’s alllll noodle heavy.”

You giggle, “you have always loved a Pad Thai.” You hum, “and for the record, pancakes are the best.” You grin, loving how he hasn’t changed despite the years between you. “I personally love a man you can cuddle who doesn’t want to be in the gym all the time. There’s too many guys in my office who are obsessed with the gym.” You roll your eyes, making Marcus snort.

There’s a flirtatious nature to your banter that would make it so easy for Marcus to reach over for you. Honestly, a want on his part, but he doesn’t want to ruin this by misstepping. He’s loved your easy conversation and getting to see your smile has already made the conference for him. “Nahhh.” He shakes his head. “I prefer to exercise outside of the gym.”

You chuckle, knowing what he’s alluding to, “you always did.” You shift a little closer to him unconsciously and turn back to watch Buffy. “Shit, forgot how much this show makes my heart pound. Look.” You grab his hand without thinking, bringing it to your chest between your breasts. His eyes widen at where you’ve placed his hand, feeling the hard thumps of your heart that you suddenly realize are less to do with the show and more to do with the man you’re watching it with. He swallows harshly, dark eyes on you as he doesn’t pull his hand away. You stare back, eyes flitting down to his lips, and you squeeze his wrist. He’s certain you are going to push his hand away but you don’t. You slowly move it down from your chest, down your stomach, until his fingertips brush the boxers you’re wearing. His eyes are on yours, searching for answers to questions he doesn’t verbalize but you give him your response by pushing his fingers under the elastic so he’s touching your mound.

It’s probably a mistake. He knows this, but he reads the desire in your eyes, your chest heaving under the anticipation of what he will do. You’re not bare now, it’s different from the smooth skin you use to insist on. The soft curls protectively cover your sex and he groans, lunging forward to press his lips to yours while sliding his fingers lower to press against your clit.

You know this equals disaster, perhaps devastating to your amicable divorce but you want him. You moan into his mouth, allowing his tongue to slide between your lips, and you caress his chest. Your hand tugs his shirt up over his stomach, exploring the softer skin and you whimper when he expertly starts to rub your clit.

His cock hardens as he shifts, turns towards you and presses it against your hip. His hand delving deeper into the boxers as your legs widen, giving him more access. It’s been so long since he’s slept with someone and even longer since he’s touched you, but he still remembers what used to do it for you. Hoping that you still love those things.

You moan when he rubs your clit like he used to, still remembering how to touch you. You whimper against his lips when his fingers slide lower to drag through your slick coated folds, "fuck, Marc." You moan, sliding your hand lower to squeeze him through his boxers until you dip your hand under the elastic so you can squeeze his semi.

He’s always loved how you call him Marc, you’ve been the only one to ever do that. He drags his lips down your jaw. “So fucking beautiful and wet.” He groans into your skin. “What’s got you so wet, baby? You horny? Need someone to fuck you until you scream?”

He always knew exactly what to say to make you desperate for his touch. "Fuck yes. Please baby. I need you. You got me this wet. You did this to me." You confess with a whine, squeezing his cock. "I - fuck. I need you to fuck me." You plead, all dignity out the door when you are dripping for your ex-husband.

He twitches in your grip, loving how you are begging him. “Thought I was gonna have to jerk off in the bathroom after you fell asleep.” He admits, pressing two fingers into your pussy as he nips your jumping pulse. “So fucking sexy. Wearing my fucking boxers. Wanted to just strip you down and make you cum.” He gets to now, but there is so much that he wants to say to you, needs to say to hear those moans that have haunted his dreams.

His words already have your walls fluttering around his digits, and you moan, starting to pump his hardening cock. He pumps his fingers at the same pace. "I rubbed my clit in the bath thinking about how you used to fuck me, wondering how you'd fuck me know." You confess, breathlessly.

He hisses, pushing up so he can use his other hand to push up the soft t-shirt covering your tits. “However you want me to fuck you.” He growls, leaning down to wrap his lips around your nipple and his teeth sink into the tender flesh with just enough pressure to make you gasp. He’s gained some stamina, and has become a little more confident over the years, but he will always give you what you want.

You cry out, your free hand coming up to tangle in his hair, and you whimper his name when he sucks on your nipple. "Shit, baby. Need you to fuck me hard. Need you to show me what I've been missing all these years." You demand, continuing to squeeze and pump his cock until you release him so you can try to tug the material down. His cock springs free and you wrap your fingers around him again while his fingers curl inside your pussy.

Both of you seem desperate, ravenous for each other. He groans and soothes the tip of your breast with his tongue. “I- fuck-“ he hisses when you squeeze him again. “Let me-“ he hates to pull away, but he’s got to get you naked. “Condom?” He manages after a moment.

You shake your head, "I have an IUD. I'm clean. Got tested after my last boyfriend a few months ago. It's up to you, baby. I trust you." You promise him, lifting your hand to cup his cheek and you let go of his cock.

Marcus groans. You had been so worried about getting pregnant when you were married that he had to wear condoms all the time. It was rare he got to feel you and just you around him. “I’m clean.” He swallows harshly and pulls his fingers out of your pussy so he can strip both of you down. “I don’t want anything between us.”

You nod in understanding, "me neither." You let him pull his shirt over your head and he's quick to whip down the boxers, leaving you completely exposed to his dark eyes. "You too." You demand, your hand coming up to squeeze your own breast while you watch him pull his shirt over his head and soon his boxers are off. "Fuck. Missed this cock. The thickest I've ever had." You murmur, reaching down to squeeze him again.

“That’s because your pussy is so tight.” He smirks, his hand stroking your thigh. “Fuck baby, I’ve fucking missed this view.” Spread out and wet for him, desire lighting up your eyes and making eager to slide inside you. “It’s been awhile.” He admits. “Do you want me to eat you out first?”

You shake your head, "no. No. I don't care if you cum and I don't. Just wanna feel you inside me again." You demand, letting go of his cock to grab his hip, "please, Marc. Fuck me."

He can’t deny you, not when you beg him like he’s the only man in the world. Hooking his arms under your legs, he brings them back, exposing your core as he settles between your thighs. “Fuck. You want it hard?” He asks, double checking to make sure and he groans when you nod frantically. “Please.” You beg, giving him permission to wreck you. He can’t wait another second to be inside you, lining up and snapping his hips forward to bury his cock deep.

Your cry has to be heard by the room next door but you don’t care. It stings a little as he stretches you out, like he always did, but you don’t care. You moan, tilting your head back into the pillows as he fills you up in a way only he has ever been able to. “Fuck, you feel so good.” You moan, eyes fluttering closed as your body tingles from his touch.

It’s like coming home, his eyes slip close and he moans your name. Groaning when your walls clench down around him possessively, like you’re afraid he’s gonna pull back. “Best fucking feeling the world.” He grunts, leaning in to kiss you again.

Your hand comes up to cup his cheek as he devastates you with his kiss. Tongue sliding against yours like he's ravenous and you eagerly respond, sliding your hand up to tangle it in his hair. Your legs wrap around his hips, sending him deeper as he pulls out and pushes back into you without missing a beat.

There’s a passion between you, a fire that ignites and threatens to take over. Every thrust of his hips is encouraged, praised by the moans and whimpers you pour into his mouth. Making him greedy for more as he fills you again and again. “Fuck.” He hisses. “So goddamn tight.” His praise is breathless as he hammers into you. “Best pussy I’ve ever fucked.”

His words have your walls fluttering around his cock, loving the praise. “You feel so good. Baby. No one has ever made me feel like this.” You confess, “no one ever fucked me like you can.” Your hands slide down his back to his ass, pushing him even deeper on his next thrust.

You encourage him to go harder, faster. Every time your nails dig into his ass, he snaps his hips forward with just a little more force. Wild and unrestrained, he’s panting and puffing a little harder than he would have when you were married but he doesn’t give up. “Fuck baby, rub your clit.” He orders. “Need you to cum for me.”

You obey, your hand sliding up his back while the other snakes between you to rub your clit. You watch his face, wrecked and jaw clenched as his nostrils puff. Fuck, he looks so sexy. “Marc. Fuck. Need you to cum for me.” You plead, so close and it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart. His full name is a cry that leaves your lips as you soak his cock, squeezing him like a vice in your body's attempt to get him to cum for you.

“Shiiiiiiit.” Marcus hisses, gritting his teeth as he tries to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight. Squeezing him like a fucking gorilla grip glove around his cock and milking him of his own pleasure. Your name falls out breathlessly, almost worshipfully when he stiffens, cock throbbed deep as he paints your walls with his release.

You gasp at how he feels when his hot seed fills you spurt by spurt. Your eyes closed as you grip his shoulder, your fingers resting on your stomach as you ride the wave of your pleasure. “Shit.” You mutter, trying to catch your breath.

He chuckles, collapsing down onto his elbows to be closer to you, kissing you with a series of soft and lingering pecks. Still buried inside you as if he never wants to pull out. “I think we needed that.” He agrees.

You nod, kissing his chin while you run your hands through his hair, “absolutely.” You smile, feeling dizzy with resurfaced feelings. “That was - wow. Like old times but better if that makes sense?” You question and he nods, “I know what you mean.” You sigh, “I don’t think I can move.”

He smirks proudly. “Then lay there.” He hums, finally shifting off of you and rolling to the side of the bed. “I’ll get you a rag.” His hand reaches over and caresses your hip gently. “You need some water too?” He asks, thirsty himself after that.

You nod, feeling thirsty now that he’s worn you out. He returns moments later with the rag in hand, cleaning you up and handing you a bottle of water from the mini fridge. “Thanks babe.” You smile, taking a few gulps and collapsing back onto the bed.

He smiles as he watches you starfish on the bed, still just as dramatic as before. It’s nice to know that hasn’t changed. “Fuck.” His eyes light up at the sight of his cum starting to drip out of your pussy, creamy and thick as it slides out. “That’s fucking sexy.” He admits, kneeling on the bed, intending on cleaning you up.

You giggle, “didn’t get to see that too often when we were married, huh?” You ask and he shakes his head, “my pregnancy anxiety was insane then but I didn’t want to be a cliché and get pregnant, ruin everything I worked hard for and give it all up to be a stay at home mom while you got to chase your dreams.”

“I get it.” He hadn’t back then, but he can also admit that he was a little selfish himself when you were married. So obsessed with this idealized future he hadn’t really believed your wants for your life. His eyes flicker back up to you. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs before he looks back down to start carefully wiping you clean. “I should have compromised with you more.” He is upset at himself for not being mature enough to have this conversation years ago, but that’s the realistic part of growing up. Wisdom that comes with age, things that his parents had tried to council you both on but neither of you had listened. “We made the choices the thought we had to.” He muses softly. “At least we didn’t stay together and resent each other until it exploded.”

You sigh, watching him shuffle off the bed to toss the rag into the bathroom and when he slips into bed, you curl into him, hand caressing his chest. “Exactly. Or have a kid and explode. We did the right thing.” You nod, breathing him in. “But I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t realize it until I saw you because I’ve buried it, but no one was you Marc.”

Marcus closes his eyes, letting your words burrow into his heart and it serves as a soothing balm to almost everything. “I missed you too.” He admits, his arm around your body tightening slightly. “I hoped you were happy, but I could never look you up.” He snorts, thinking about how easy it could have been. “I didn’t want to see that you had remarried.” It would have changed the memory he kept of you. “Didn’t want to hate some poor bastard I didn’t know because he got to have you.”

“I never looked you up either. Didn’t want to be like a psycho stalking her social media and comparing us.” You confess, tracing the moles that scatter his skin. “I didn’t want to hate some bitch I didn’t know because she got to have you.” You echo his words, tilting your head to look at him, “it’s always been you. Now I know that.”

He sighs softly, knowing that this has just completely complicated your lives. “It’s been you too.” He admits. “I knew that when we divorced.” He shoots you a deprecating grin. “But it’s not like I was going to chain you to our bed.”

You chuckle, “might like that now, but yeah…we did the right thing for us back then. I know you hated me for ruining our marriage. I was the one who wanted the divorce, if we are being honest.” You confess, caressing his arm.

“I never hated you.” He huffs, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Upset, heartbroken, but never hate.” He sighs softly. “You’re right. I would have pushed you into having a baby. It’s one of those things that my therapist made me face.”

“You went to therapy?” You ask and he nods, “yeah. For more than us. I had a lot of shit to figure out.” You lean in to kiss his chest, “good for you. The irony is I’m ready now. I would love a kid or two and I don’t have a husband or anyone I’d want to have kids with.” You confess, “well, except you.”

“And I’ve accepted that kids might never be the cards.” He chuckles. “How’s that for paradoxical?”

“Shit.” You giggle, “talk about coming full circle.” You sigh and caress his chest, “I guess if it’s meant to be, it’s meant to be.” You declare and he nods, squeezing your shoulder and you curl into him. You want to enjoy tonight in case he wakes up tomorrow and regrets everything. You want to breathe him in and feel all of him while you can.

He knows it’s getting late and he sighs again. “We should get some sleep.” He murmurs softly. “The conference starts and we need to be ready for a full day of lectures and schmoozing.”

You nod, shifting so he can pull the covers over you, making you sigh as you close your eyes. “Goodnight, Marc.” You breathe him in and within moments you’re asleep.

****

“Time to get up.” Marcus hums, rubbing your back as he looks at the clock. His phone alarm is about to go off, but he’s been awake for about twenty minutes. Finding that he didn’t need as much sleep when he had probably had the best rest he’s had in years.

You whine, not wanting to be woken up when he’s so comfortable to sleep on, and you pull him close again, “Marc. Noooo. Wanna stay here. Fuck the conference.” You complain and he chuckles, “we can’t baby. You’re gonna need to be there.” You huff, opening your eyes and you nod, “fine. Fine. I’m up.”

You never have been a morning person and he grins to find out that seems to have not changed. “We can get ready and then go down to grab some coffee and breakfast.” He knows coffee will sweeten the deal.

You groan, “coffeeee. You know me too well, Marcus Anthony Pike.” You shift to sit up, “and I need one of your shirts.” You remind him, shuffling from under the covers and you’re naked still from the night before. “Unless you wanna shower with me?” You tease, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“I think we would get to the coffee faster if we showered together.” He grins, reaching out to slap your ass playfully. “Or later, depending on how you press up against me.”

You squeal when he slaps your ass and you pout, “I can be good.” You promise, “I won’t make us late.” You reassure him, “unless you want to be.” You tease as you disappear into the bathroom and turn on the shower, waiting for him and he doesn’t disappoint before his hands find your waist as you check the temperature of the water.

Marcus ducks his head, scattering kisses along your shoulder. “You want coffee or an orgasm?” He asks, smirking when he slides one hand up cup a breast.

“Can’t a girl have both?” You tease, covering his hand over your breast, and you turn your head to kiss his jaw. “You gotta pick.” He orders and you step into the shower, grabbing his hand to pull him in behind you, “come on baby.” You order, turning around to grab the body wash.

He laughs, finding it hilarious that you chose the coffee. “That’s my girl.” He shakes his head and grins. “Do you want me to wash your back?”

You nod, spinning around, and his hands caress your back, washing you off, and you hum, leaning back into him. "Fuck, you always lathered me up so good." You murmur, closing your eyes as you lean back against him.

He hums, his semi twitching. “You make it sound so dirty.” He coos playfully in your ear. “When I’m just cleaning you up.” He has enjoyed this, falling back into a routine with you as if you hadn’t spent years apart.

You love how his hands feel over your body and you press back against him, reaching back to wrap your soapy fingers around his semi hard cock. “You always do a good job. It’s a compliment, Pike.”

“Fuck.” He grunts, hands sliding around the front of your body and soapy hand cups your pussy. “Are you too sore from last night?” He asks huskily, not wanting to fuck you if it would be too much. You had been wet, but he knows it had stretched you out when he had just pushed inside.

You don’t care even if you are a little sore. You want him. “Fuck me. I’m fine.” You promise, squeezing his now hard cock in your soapy hand. “Please baby.” You aren’t above begging for him and he slides his hand lower to push two thick digits into you. “Feel okay?” He asks and you nod, turning your head to kiss his jaw.

He’s not even a little ashamed of rocking his cock into your hand. Moving his hips at the same pace that his fingers curl up inside you. “Fuck baby, always so fucking horny around you.” He bites down on your pulse. “Can’t fucking believe I get to touch you again.”

“We definitely don’t divorce because the sex wasn’t good. We had plenty of it. Corner store knew your name from late night condom runs.” You tease breathlessly as he withdraws his fingers. You shift to press your palms against the wall, looking over your shoulder at him. “Better be quick, baby. I still want a cappuccino.”

“Shit.” He quickly washes the soap from his cock and presses behind you. Knees bending to get positioned before he’s stretching you out again. Slower this time so he doesn’t hurt you, but it’s just as perfect.

“Fuck. You feel so fucking good.” You pant, resting your forehead on the cool tile as water slides down your back. Marcus grips your hips, giving you a second to adjust as he slowly rocks into you.

“Baby, you feel like heaven.” Marcus praises, pressing kisses to your shoulder as he rolls up onto the balls of his feet every time he thrusts up into you. “Perfect pussy, perfect woman.” He closes his eyes, those feelings that he had tried to deny for so long have been set free but he can’t push you. He can’t try to steamroll you again, so for now, he just focuses on making you feel good.

His words have your heart pounding and you whimper, grinding back against him. “God, I missed you. Missed this. No one has ever fucked me like you do.” You confess, “no one has ever made me feel like you do.” You know this is moving insanely fast, but it’s Marcus. “Fuck, Marc. I want you.” You moan into the tile and he kisses your shoulder, “you have me.” He promises and you turn your head to look at him, “and you have me.”

That could mean so many things, but for now, he just leans in to kiss you. The pace is slow and steady, making sure neither one of you slips and you feel every inch of his cock scrubbing your walls. His hands cup your tits, weighing them and squeezing them before he pinches and tugs gently on the nipples. Loving how you moan into his mouth.

You moan into his mouth, hands slipping on the tile but he keeps you upright as he slowly fucks into you. He squeezes your tits, pinching your nipples just how you like it, and you love it. He knows exactly what you need. “Fuck baby. Feel so good.” You pant, gripping his forearm to drag his hand from your tit and slide it down your stomach until his finger brushes your clit.

He groans into your ear and follows your lead. Knowing that you want to cum, he presses his fingers against the sensitive flesh and starts to rub in tandem with his thrusts. “You want to cum, beautiful?” He huffs in your ear. “Want to feel your pussy soak me. Hear you cry out in this shower. You gonna moan for me?”

How can you deny him when he asks you like that? This Marcus is more confident and cocky, and that sends you over the edge. You cry out as you clamp down on his cock within a few swipes of his fingers on your clit. "Fuck! Marc!" You squeal, nearly slipping but the hand on your hip keeps you upright.

He growls your name, loving how you clamp down around him. You always push him towards his own orgasm because of how tight you are. “Fuck, baby.” He pumps into you frantically and within a half dozen thrusts he’s pushing deep and filling you up.

You lean against the cool tile, trying to catch your breath, and you reach behind you to run your fingers through his wet hair. "So goddamn good." You pant, loving how he twitches inside you as he rides his high.

“Perfect.” He agrees, smiling as he presses his face into the juncture of your shoulder and kisses the skin gently. “Just because it’s you.” Pulling away, it’s time to clean up again. Needing to shower quickly before jumping out to get ready for the first day of the conference. He hands you a shirt. “Maybe the airline will find your luggage today.”

You snort, “I hope so. I had my best underwear in there.” You confess and Marcus raises his eyebrows, “for myself. I can treat myself.” You remind him, “but I do kinda like how your shirt looks on me

He smirks, wagging his brows at you. “You do look good in it.” He compliments. “Too bad you have to wear the rest of your clothes with it.” He’s fallen back into flirting with you outrageously.

You smirk, loving how he flirts with you. It’s like you’re back in college, and you flirt back, “I know, but later you can take them all off.” You promise, pulling on your pants and you tuck in his shirt as best you can. “Good thing I have my jacket and heels with me. I was gonna change into sweatpants. That would’ve been a disaster for me.” You see him struggling with his tie so you step over to him, taking over to knot the material perfectly.

He smirks slightly. “Bet you would still be the sexiest agent at the conference.” He watches you closely, admiring the way you bite your lip as you adjust his tie. “Thank you.” He murmurs softly when you smooth the material down his chest.

You pat his chest, “come on Agent, we still have time to grab a coffee.” You wink, slipping on your heels and you grab your purse, looking back at your ex husband as he shrugs on his suit jacket. He looks sexy as an agent and you’d love to see him in action.

****

The conference is predictably boring but Marcus sitting beside you, his thigh pressing into yours, has your stomach twisting. When lunch is called, you make your way through the convention center and notice Marcus freeze. “What’s wrong?” You frown, turning your head to see him staring at a man and a woman.

“Shit.” He had hoped that he wouldn’t see them, but he’s not that lucky. Even worse, the man turns his head and recognition and something close to smug satisfaction flashes on his face before he whispers to the woman beside him. She turns and immediately starts his way, making his stomach curdle and he doesn’t have time to say anything to you before she’s approaching. “Marcus.” Her tone is sugary, polite even though it was rare Teresa ever was anything more than blunt. Except maybe where her feelings were concerned. “Teresa.” He nods politely and glances behind her. “Jane.” Thomas Jane smiles as he wraps his hand around the woman’s waist and leans in. “Haven’t you heard Pike?” He asks. “She’s Agent Jane now.” Marcus had heard, but he hadn’t reached out. “Congratulations.”

You frown, sensing a past between the three of them and you're not dumb. You figure that Marcus was dating this woman and now she's with the pompous asshole who is looking at Marcus like he just bested him at a game of poker. "Nice to meet you, Agent Jane." You introduce yourself, "Pike?" Jane's eyebrows raise, glancing at Marcus and Teresa, who frowns at you. "You're the first wife?" She guesses and you nod, "one and only." You tease, winking at Marcus to help him relax a little.

“Oh!” Teresa gives a startled smile as she leans in. “He’s never done anything but say good things.” She promises. “Said you had the most amicable divorce ever. Must be true, considering you are friendly. How ironic you are both agents!”

You nod, "I know. We ended up on the same path. Then bumping into each other here." You smile at the woman, "he didn't mention you yet though." You tilt your head at Marcus, wanting to protect him when he is clearly irked by their appearance. "Guess he didn't have anything to say about you." You shrug.

She has the decency to look embarrassed. “We broke up a year ago.” She admits and her husband squeezes her hip gently. “It looks like things worked out how it’s supposed to be.”

You tilt your head, "apparently." You turn to Marcus, "come on, Marc. Let's get lunch. I'm starving." You say, reaching out to wrap your hand around his arm. He nods, looking at Teresa and Jane, so mad that she wouldn't marry him, wouldn't have kids with him, but she's doing it for Jane. You stride off, leaving a shocked Teresa in your wake and you wait until you're out of sight to speak to Marcus. "I'm guessing that was a bad breakup?" You ask, wanting to help him.

He snorts. “We were going to move to D.C together.” He explains, a little embarrassed. “She was my fiancé and she called me from the plane.” He twists his head and looks over his shoulder. “She chose Jane.”

You wince, "she's fucking crazy if she chose him over you." You shake your head, "and I'm sure you just wanted to give her the world." You sigh, knowing how he is, how he goes all in. "Well, she will regret losing you. I know I did."

“No.” He shakes his head. “She won’t, but I don’t care even if she does.” He admits, shrugging slightly but he shoots you an embarrassed look. “I’m just sorry you found out that way.” He murmurs, reaching for your shoulder gently. “That I had been engaged. It was stupid. Rushed. I was moving to D.C and I had just thought-“ he snorts out a laugh. “Now you know why I decided to seek therapy.”

You shake your head, reaching for his hand to take it in yours. “You’re entitled to a past, Marc. I have one too. You owe me nothing.” You promise, “but I hope you’re better off without her and happier now.” You squeeze his hand, “I’m happy we literally bumped into each other again.”

“I can’t believe that I’m here with you.” He admits with a soft smile. “You- you are what made me become an agent. What motivated me to become who I am now.”

Your heart flutters at his words and you know you still love him, still want him. You never had a bad marriage or divorce. You wanted different things. He wanted kids and you wanted your career and yet here you are, both on the same path without even knowing it. “I love you.” You blurt out, “I want to try again. I want to try us again.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” He asks, even as that soft smile turns into the wider, happy grin you have always loved. “Because I might have developed bad habits you hate.” He teases playfully. “Snore.”

You roll your eyes, “you’ve always snored. I’m sure we have changed but who you hasn’t changed. I love you. If I think about it, I never stopped loving you.” You confess, “I want to be your wife again one day but let’s see where we go.” You caress his chest and his grin slides into a frown, “we are literally on opposite sides of the country.” His reminder is like a bucket of ice water. “Shit. I, uh, we could try long distance? Or I could transfer?” You suggest, willing to risk moving across the country for Marcus. The sacrifice you should’ve made for each other all those years ago.

Marcus’ brow furrows slightly. “You would be willing to transfer?” He asks, stepping to the side so others can pass you to get to the buffet the conference organizers had set up for lunch. His gaze is focused on you. “You- you said that you loved working in Seattle. Are you sure?”

You nod, “I’d be willing to transfer. I love working in Seattle but this is D.C. Headquarters. I am willing to move. I should’ve compromised back then and I’m willing to compromise now. I love you. I know you’ve changed and so have I but I can’t let you go again.” You tilt your head, cupping his cheek, “baby. If you don’t want this, just tell me.” You order softly, “but if you want this, I can get my own apartment. We don’t have to move in together if you want to take it slow.”

“No, I just-“ he wants this with everything inside him. “I don’t want to screw up again.” He admits softly. “I always push for what I want and I lost you because of it. I don’t want to do that.”

You shake your head, “I’m all in if you are. If it doesn’t work, then it’s truly over. I know it will though. I love you. That’s never changed. I’m all in if you are. I’m ready now. For all of it.”

He licks his lips. “I’ve never not been in when it comes to you.” He confesses softly. “I’ve always loved you. Always. Even when I gave you the divorce you needed.”

You don’t even care if people see you when you cup his cheeks, bringing his face to yours to kiss him. Your heart pounds and you love how he’s still the man you married. He’s just more established and definitely sexier. “I’m in. I’m in.” You promise, “I’m yours if you want me. I always have been, even if I didn’t know it.”

“I want you.” He promises, closing his eyes and smiling. “Always want you baby.” He opens his eyes and leans back in to press his lips to yours again. He doesn’t care who sees you, sees him. “What do you want to do?”

“Well first I wanna get something to eat and then I want you to take me to the bathroom and fuck me.” You smirk, “and then we are gonna deal with the rest of this conference before we plan the rest of our lives.” You know this would sound insane to most people but this is Marcus.

He chuckles softly. “That sounds like a perfect plan for us.” He agrees, completely in awe of you and getting a second chance with you. He had ended up right back where he was supposed to be all along, with you.

****

“MJ, baby, you gotta eat your blueberries.” You sigh, giving your son a look he knows too well. “I don’t wanna.” He whines and you chuckle, “you can’t eat the pancakes without eating the blueberries in them.” You shake your head and the baby begins to cry in your arms. “Ssshh. It’s okay, sweetheart.” You coo, pulling down your tank top so she can latch on.

“Blueberries are nasty.” He huffs, making Marcus chuckle as he sets down a plate of pancakes and eggs in front of you. “Let me get you some more coffee.” He murmurs, leaning down and kissing your lips before lowering more to kiss his baby girl’s head as she greedily nurses. “You liked blueberries last weekend.” He reminds his son with a grin as he moves back to the coffee maker to refill your cup. “You said they tasted blue.”

You giggle at your husband, yes, your husband for the second time. The officiant had chuckled when he found out he was marrying you for the second time. You had your son not long after. All within 18 months of you moving to D.C. “They taste icky and I like red.” Your son pouts, looking just like his father, and you chuckle, “if you eat all your blueberries, maybe we can go out and look at that new monster truck you like?” You reason with the little boy who nods, nose bunched as he spears the blueberries on his plastic fork. You look up at Marcus with a smile, winking at him when he sets your coffee down. “Lemme take her while you eat.” Marcus offers now that your little girl has gotten her fill. You nod, sliding her into his arms and you tuck your breast away. When Marcus sits opposite you, your daughter in his arms and your son between you, you realize this is where you were always meant to be. It took you a while and a few diversions to get there but you’re here now. “I love you.” You mouth at Marcus and he winks, making your heart flutter. He was always meant to be yours.

#pedro pascal #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike smut #marcus pike imagine #marcus pike the mentalist

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hollyskywalker · 4 months ago

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Ghosts Don’t Knock

It was an offhand comment that helped Dick realize his brother had no clue.

Jason didn’t want his help. He made that abundantly clear when Dick jumped into the fray of the fight. “Go to the manor and play house or something!” his little brother had grunted before knocking one of The Penguin’s men out with a swift punch.

Half an hour later the two found themselves sitting on a rooftop overlooking the streets of Gotham. Jason had calmed down somewhat. Fist-fighting a few dozen goons was probably therapeutic to him or something.

Dick was just glad Jason didn’t seem to be planning to run off. Not yet at least.

He took a deep breath, preparing for the upcoming conversation. “What you said earlier…”

Jason huffed. “What about it?”

Dick bounced on the balls of his feet, a nervous gesture giving away just how reluctant he was to ask. “You do know…I mean- I assume you did your research on- what I mean-”

“Spit it out, Dick.” Jason grunted, eyeing the fire escape and, okay, Dick probably should get to the point before Jason takes off but this has been a painful subject for a long time now.

Here goes nothing. “You do know we’re children of divorce, right?”

Silence.

Jason didn’t move but Dick saw the flicker of confusion in the boy’s- man’s eyes.

“We assumed you knew, but maybe we shouldn’t have but you seemed to know a lot about what we’ve done- or haven’t done I suppose- after you- since-” Dick’s rambling cut short when Jason turned to face him fully.

“The fuck you mean divorce?”

Dick smiled half-heartedly that probably looked more pained than anything. “Mum left dad.”

Jason blinked and Dick waited patiently as the younger one processed the information.

“I-” for the first time since he came back Jason seemed speechless. “Fuck.”

Dick frowned a little disbelievingly. “You really didn’t know? It was all anyone seemed to be able to talk and write about for ages. She moved out and served dad the papers through her lawyer. You haven’t-” He hesitated. “You haven’t gone to see her yet?”

He’d been back from the dead, or Red Hood was, for months now. Jason was always more a mama’s boy and she claimed not to have any favorites but her smile was always softer when directed at Jason.

Jason shook his head. “What happened?”

“Life,” Dick said.

The end of yours, he didn’t say.

To say Dick was confused would be an understatement. He’d thought that the first thing Jason would after getting back to Gotham would be to seek her out and have an ugly-cry-worthy reunion.

Did she even know Jason was back?

Bruce might have told her, but the man was also a trainwreck when it came to her. She turned the serious, stony batman who struck fear into criminals into a bumbling schoolboy with the hint of her smile.

Now Jason was the one shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably.

“Is she okay?” he asked quietly, and for a second Dick saw his little brother from years ago. The one Dick would tease about clinging to their mother’s skirt like a little kid. It’s all so familiar that he had to take a deep breath, nostalgia creating a pit in his stomach.

“Define okay,” Dick shrugged. “After…” He stopped himself, cringing at his own words. “She stayed in your room for a couple of months. Slept on the floor I think, didn’t let anyone touch or change anything. Then one day she just…I don’t know. It was too much, I suppose. Said she was staying at her parents’ place for a bit and that she’d come back but she never did. She kept in contact with us ofcourse but it's not the same.”

Jason inhaled sharply through his nose and Dick realized that he’d been actively avoiding her. All it took is typing in her name on any platform and the divorce would be the first result to come up.

Silence stretched between them, heavy and unmoving.

Dick let it go on for a couple of minutes before it started to bother him and he spoke up again. “According to studies the divorce rate for grieving parents up to 72% is, depending on factors like coping mechanisms, and support systems.”

Jason scoffed but there was no real bite to it. “Well that explains it.”

“You should go see her.” Dick insisted.

“Dick.” Jason said, with a tone like he was being unreasonable for even suggesting it.

“She probably still thinks you’re dead.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed warningly. “Dick.”

“What? You don’t want to go see her? She’s your mom. She loves you and she never stopped grieving-”

“Dick-”

“She deserves to know. If anyone deserved to know that you’re back it’s her. She probably won’t even care that you’ve thrown dad’s no-kill rule through the shredder-”

A harsh shove to his shoulder shut him up. He knew he was pushing it and was probably lucky it wasn’t a punch to the face but it had to be said.

“Shut up.” Jason spat. He turned back to the view of the city, shoulders drawn tight.

“Jason,” Dick’s voice had a scolding hint to it.

The man sighed, sounding world-weary. “Ofcourse I want to see her,” he said. “I just-”

Dick nodded like he understood. He didn’t, but he could try to see it from his point of view. She spent most of their time as Robin fretting over them and fully agreeing with Bruce’s rules in fighting crime. Jason has stepped and spit on those rules without hesitation.

What Jason didn’t know and Dick did was that her second son’s death changed her. He knew that Jason could burn the world down and she would still welcome him back home with open arms.

“Go see her.” Dick said firmly. “I’ll text you the address. It’s not even a half hour’s drive from here.”

Jason looked hesitant, “I don’t know.”

“Just trust me,” Dick insisted a little bit desperately.

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Her mind went blank the moment she walked into her living room and saw her dead son sitting at her dining table.

It’s amazing what the mind can conjure up, she decides. It’s not exactly how she thought he would look like in his early twenties but it's close.

The white tuft of hair for example. She has no clue how her mind came up with that but he looks so delightfully real that she doesn’t care.

The scars from wounds she hadn’t patched up were placed randomly and she realized her mind was cruel to show him with a J on his cheek.

He looks out of place in the cozy space. Not that he could ever be out of place in her home but more in the way of being unfamiliar with a new space.

She guessed the trick her mind was playing on her would stop some time soon. Perhaps she should listen to her therapist about medication…

“Mom,” the hallucination said.

Oh wow, it was really realistic. It sounded exactly like him, only his voice was deeper and there’s a pinch to his face like the sight of her pained him. Which was ridiculous. He’s dead. His pain has ended, his suffering over, in a better place now or whatever bullshit people told her in an effort to console her.

This wasn’t good for her. She had to buy groceries and cook. It was important to take care of herself, or so her therapist kept insisting.

“You’re not real.” She said simply as she walked into her kitchen. She opened the fridge to see if she had to add anything to her grocery list. Tomatoes, orange juice, maybe some dessert…

“Mom,” the hallucination said again, softer this time and sounding so sad that it broke her heart.

She shook her head and continued her list. She was out of eggs, which she would need to make the quiche recipe Alfred had recommended she try.

She could still see the hallucination in her peripheral vision. It was slowly walking toward her, wary, like she was some stray animal he was trying not to fright. Well consider her frightened. The hallucination should be gone by now.

Maybe she should call Dick tonight before he goes on patrol. He has experience with hallucinations. Maybe he’ll know some tricks to-

A hand pushed the fridge closed, which was weird because hallucinations should not be able to do that. They also shouldn’t be able to smell like Jason, only with a hint of gunpowder and something metallic like blood and-

“Oh god,” she squeezed her eyes shut.

She could feel the air shift as he moved closer and hear his steady breathing as if he was real and alive and in front of her.

Slowly, she opened her eyes and they immediately welled with tears. Until now she had only seen him in the corner of her eyes, her mind playing tricks on her when she was somewhere that reminded her of him which was just about everywhere-

“I’m so sorry,” the hallucination (?) whispered.

He looked so much like Jason it hurt. Only his eyes are different now. They’re more green than blue. Why would her mind change his eye color? They were just fine the way they were. Maybe-

She reached out without realizing. The tip of her finger accidentally brushing his skin.

Impossible.

She felt like was was going to pass out. “You-Wh-” she stammered. “You’re real?”

“I am,” he nodded quickly. “I am and I am so sorry mom-”

She was drinking in every detail as he apologized. She didn’t know why he was apologizing. He had done nothing wrong. He was taken from them, murdered in cold blood. She had seen the footage. A 15-year-old boy writhing in his chains and screaming for mercy that never came. He’d deserved none of it.

And now he was here.

She reached out again, just to be sure, and once again made contact with real warm skin. He stopped his rambling apologies and stared at her wide eyed.

She managed a wobbly smile, “You’re all grown up.”

Confusion flickered across his face, then something but heartbreakingly soft and ruthlessly fierce. Then he hugged her so tightly her toes lifted from the floor for a moment.

Her baby was home.

#jason todd #batmom #past bruce wayne x reader #dick grayson #batfamily #saw many versions of batmom seeing jason after he came back and decided to give it a try #family reunion #sorta #red hood #platonic batfam

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nanasrkives · 4 months ago

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Navigation : midnight records the starlight EP the jjk EP

"A TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE" — Gojo Satoru

a/n : how i love gojo angst, but i think i did a bit too much with the angst now i cant stop crying content : HEAVY ANGST NO COMFORT. no jujutsu au. exes to strangers. failed marriage. bittersweet ending. 5k + words.

Three years after the divorce, your apartment still felt temporary.

It wasn’t small, but it never grew into you. The curtains were beige when you moved in and stayed beige, not because you liked them, but because you never cared enough to replace them. The furniture matched, vaguely. Nothing was uncomfortable. The plates were clean. The sink never filled. You paid your bills on time, and no one ever slept beside you.

It wasn’t a sad life. Not exactly. It was just simple. Predictable. Like living in parentheses.

You still worked in the same neighborhood—same train line, same bento shop across the street that started giving you discounts you never asked for. You saw friends when it was convenient. You spent holidays answering texts instead of writing cards. And eventually, the ache faded into background noise, something you didn’t notice unless you really stopped to listen.

The marriage had ended with less drama than you thought a marriage should. No yelling. No infidelity. Just… unraveling. Two people who had once clung to each other with everything they had, slowly loosening their grip.

You knew Satoru had loved you. That was a fact that you never questioned. And you had loved him back just as much. So much that it scared you. But loving someone isn’t the same as knowing how to stay.

The divorce paperwork had been signed in a small office with laminate floors and a malfunctioning air conditioner. You’d shaken hands with your lawyer, smiled at the clerk, walked out into the sun and waited for it to feel different.

But it never really did.

You told yourself Tokyo had grown too loud. Too fast. Too full of versions of yourself you no longer recognized. The convenience store near your place still carried his favorite energy drink. The sushi place where you’d once celebrated an anniversary now offered takeout, and you’d stood in line with your headphones in, pretending the door hadn’t made your chest tighten.

So when the opportunity came—something peaceful, something out of the city—you took it. A small town near Kyoto. Clean air. Slower days. A job that paid less but asked less too.

You didn’t call it running away. You called it starting over.

The morning of your departure, the train station was crowded. Snow had blanketed the platforms in a layer of hush, muting the city into something that almost ressemblant to a desktop wallpaper. You arrived early. Not because you were worried about missing it, but because leaving deserved space.

You stood under the flickering schedule board, watching orange text scroll across black, your suitcase handle warm in your palm from holding it too tightly.

Kyoto — Local Express, platform 5. Delayed due to weather.

You exhaled. Took a sip of vending machine coffee that tasted vaguely like metal. Adjusted the strap of your bag.

The air smelled like cold and concrete and faint electricity. You closed your eyes for a moment and told yourself, again, that this was good. Necessary. Yours. You didn’t feel ready. But you were leaving anyway.

When the train pulled in, it hissed like something alive. The snow had begun to cling to the windows, softening the edges of the world beyond the glass. As you managed to avoid bumping into people and lost tourists, you stepped into Car 3 with a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

The air inside was warmer than the platform, but not by much. Dim overhead lights buzzed softly above your head. The heat hadn't fully kicked in, and everything felt hushed—muted by the storm curling against the windows. You walked past the first row of seats, tugging your suitcase behind you, the wheels ticking softly over the gaps in the floor.

12B.

You found it. Aisle seat.

You shifted toward the aisle, ready to lift your suitcase onto the rack before settling in, your mind already drifting toward the hours ahead—how long the delay would be, whether you’d be able to sleep, whether the train would feel as empty inside as you did.

Then you looked up. And the world shrank.

He was sitting in the window seat beside yours, legs stretched out a little too far into your space, earbuds in but not playing anything. A book in his lap. A coat slung over his arm. Hair damp from the snow.

Gojo Satoru. Your one and only ex-husband.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was looking at the window, his reflection more visible in the glass than the scenery outside. His profile was the same—still sharp, still boyish in ways that never fit the depth he carried. You hadn’t seen him in years. Not in person and definitely not this close.

You blinked. Then he turned and your eyes inevitably met.

It was barely a second, but you felt it—the recognition. The flicker of old muscle memory. He froze just slightly, not dramatically, just enough to let you know that he hadn’t expected this either.

However he quickly regained his composure and threw you a half-smile. Soft. Careful. Not forced, not bitter.

“Hey,” he said, as if this were something normal. As if you hadn’t once been everything to each other. Your voice caught in your throat, dry and brittle.“…Assigned seating?” you asked. He lifted his ticket slightly between two fingers, his shrug casual. “Apparently.”

You glanced at your own ticket. 12B. Confirmed. You almost laughed, not because it was funny—but because it seemed like a cosmic joke. After years of living in the same city without crossing paths, after carving your life into a shape that no longer included him, here he was. Gojo Satoru. Assigned to your side on a snowbound train the day you decided to finally leave it all behind.

There were empty seats nearby. You could have asked to move. You could have walked away. But you didn’t. You lifted your suitcase onto the rack, took off your coat and finally sat down.

And now it was the two of you. Next to each other, with nothing but a folding arm rest and three years of silence between you.

The first twenty minutes passed with a kind of awareness that gave goosebumps. You stared out the window, watching the city peel away in soft layers. Buildings gave way to trees. Power lines dipped in and out of view. The snow grew heavier, thickening along the glass until the landscape blurred into smudges of white and grey.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

Not until the train passed by a rusted red torii gate on the edge of a small town, half-buried in snow. You remembered it from the dozens of trips you used to take together, escaping Tokyo for the weekend. Cheap inns. Local food. A private laugh between strangers.

“That gate still looks like it’s about to fall over,” Gojo muttered, voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure if he meant to say it aloud. You glanced at him. He wasn’t looking at you, just out the window, same as you.

You swallowed. “You used to try and convince me it was haunted.” A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You believed me.”

“You used to say it whispered your name.”

“It did. I stand by that.”

You huffed out a laugh. He didn’t, but you saw the breath catch in his throat. For a second, it was easy to forget the 3 years between you. The divorce. The paperwork. The apartment that stopped feeling like home before either of you had the courage to admit it.

For a second, it felt like being married again. Not the falling apart. The better part.

The train bumped lightly over a set of old tracks. You shifted in your seat, pulled your coat tighter around your shoulders. He spoke again, quieter this time. “You still drink that weird jasmine milk tea?”

You turned to look at him fully now. “I haven’t in a while,” you said. “They stopped selling it at the convenience store near my place.” He nodded, like that meant something. It probably did.

You hesitated. “You still forget to eat until noon?”

“I’m improving. I usually make it to ten-thirty now.”

A small silence.

Then—“You were the only person who ever noticed that about me,” he added.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to that. It wasn’t a compliment. Not really. It was just something said aloud. Something true. You looked down at your hands, then out the window again. Snow. Forest. Empty road running parallel to the train.

“We really thought that was going to be it,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “The whole life.” Gojo didn’t flinch. He just nodded. “We dreamed like everything would fall into place—like love would be enough to hold it all up.” You let out a quiet breath. “I think about that sometimes. How we were so sure.”

He looked over at you, eyes softer than you remembered, older too. “We were sure,” he said. “That was never the problem.”

You didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

Outside, the trees blurred in white streaks, their bare branches dusted in snow. The train hummed beneath your feet, a constant low sound that had long faded into the background.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting in silence this time. Five minutes? Fifteen? It didn’t matter. It never had with him. Even before the end, Gojo had been the only person you could be quiet with without feeling like you needed to fill the space. But this silence had weight. Not comfort. History.

When he spoke again, his voice was different, lower, measured. “I almost texted you last year,” he said. You looked at him slowly, your heart skipping for reasons you didn’t want to name. “Why?”

He shrugged, but it didn’t feel careless. “Your birthday. I remembered. I even had the message typed out. Just… never sent it.” Your mouth felt dry. “What were you going to say?”

He gave a soft laugh, bitter around the edges. “Something stupid, probably. ‘Hope you’re doing well.’ Like we hadn’t built a whole life together.” You didn’t answer right away.

You thought about your last birthday. It had rained. You’d spent it alone, not because you didn’t have options, but because it was easier that way. You’d bought yourself dinner, answered a few texts, and gone to bed before midnight. No candles. No cake.

You hadn’t expected him to remember. But somehow, knowing he had—that he’d typed your name again, even just with his thumbs—it hit harder than you wanted it to.

You turned toward the window again, leaning on the arm rest. “I didn’t know what to say to you,” you admitted. “After everything.”

“I didn’t either.”

“Isn’t that the worst part?” he added. “We spent years talking about everything. And when it ended, we didn’t know how to say goodbye.”

That landed somewhere low in your chest. Right where the love still lived, buried under layers of routine and resignation. You whispered, “We never actually did.”

Gojo didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. Because you were right, you’d never said goodbye, you’d just… stopped.

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together. It was a posture you hadn’t seen in years, but one you knew. The one he always took when he was thinking too hard—when he wanted to say something that might not land softly.

“I used to think it was timing,” he said, eyes fixed on the table between you. “That if we’d met later—or earlier—maybe it wouldn’t have fallen apart.” You didn’t interrupt. “But it wasn’t timing,” he continued. “It was us. The way we loved each other. We threw everything into it like that would make it last longer. Like if we just gave it more, it wouldn’t collapse.”

You nodded once, slowly. “We loved like it was a solution.”

“And it worked for a while,” he said, voice almost wistful. “God, we were happy.” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Yeah. We really were.”

It wasn’t denial. It was memory. You had been happy. Genuinely, stupidly, safely happy. There had been Sunday mornings with pancakes that never turned out right. There had been toothbrushes beside each other in a cup. There had been warmth—the kind that settled under your skin and stayed there, even in silence. The kind you didn’t question, not once.

He’d hold you in the middle of the night like it was second nature, like sleep only counted if you were tangled together. Some nights you didn’t sleep at all. Just stayed tangled in each other, whispering sweet nothings, loving each other so hard it felt like its own kind of fever.

There had been days when just being near each other felt like proof you were still safe. You were in love. So deeply, so achingly in love. And still, it hadn’t been enough.

He leaned back, his hands running through his hair. It was a movement you recognized instantly. The way he used to touch his face when he was trying to hold everything in. “I think we didn’t know how to stop giving,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I stopped knowing how to ask for space. You stopped knowing how to need me without apologizing.”

You looked at him, and in that moment, he wasn’t Gojo Satoru, the man who broke your heart. He was just the person you once knew better than yourself. And maybe still did.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you admitted. “You were so much. You were always so much.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was the problem. I never learned how to be without trying to be everything.”

Silence stretched again—but not the kind that asks to be filled. The kind that comes after a wound is finally named. You glanced down at your hands. “I kept thinking, if I could just love you right, it would all settle. That we’d stop spinning.”

He blinked and then looked at you, really looked for the first time since your divorce. “You did love me right,” he said. “We just didn’t know how to live inside it.”

After a moment, he train began to slow, the wheels dragging against the track, almost reluctant, as if the journey itself didn’t want to end. Outside the window, snow had turned everything into a blur of white, the world outside vanishing under the weight of winter.

The silence between you had settled into something familiar, the kind that only grows in the presence of years shared—too many words left unsaid and too many spaces between you to ever be filled.

You were nearing your stop. You could feel it—the finality of it, thick in the air. The train pulled into the station, the sign outside blurring as the train slowed to a stop. Everything seemed slower now, like time was dragging its feet on purpose.

You stood first. He rose with you. He pulled your suitcase from the rack without asking. You didn’t thank him. You didn’t need to.

The doors slid open with a low hiss.

The cold hit first—sharp and clean. You stepped off together, shoes crunching lightly against the snow-dusted platform. The sky above was a pale wash of gray, open and quiet. No announcements. No crowds. Just you, him, and the breath you were both trying to hold in.

You stood next to each other, but neither of you moved. That awful moment—the one that comes just before a final goodbye—stretched between you like a second heartbeat. And then, he asked so quietly you almost didn't hear it, “Do you regret it?”

The way he said it made your stomach twist. It wasn’t just a question. It was an invitation. To say no. To say yes. To say anything before this moment slipped away. It was the kind of question you only ask when it means now, and then, and always.

Do you regret it when you look back?

Do you regret it sitting here, knowing this is the last time?

Will you regret it tomorrow, once the door closes?

His Adam’s apple bobbed once, too sharp, like his body was trying to hold something in—something that had nowhere else to go. You didn’t look away. You glanced at him. His jaw was tense.

The sting hit your eyes before you could stop it. That familiar pressure. Heat gathering under your lashes like your body knew this was the last time it would be near his. “No,” you said. “Never.”

Then, before you could ask him the same, he answered anyway—soft, wrecked, true, “Me either, you were everything to me.” It knocked the breath out of you. Not like pain. Like closure. Like love wrapped in grief. You didn’t say anything else. You just stepped into him.

And he didn’t hesitate.

His arms wrapped around you instantly, like memory. You buried your face in his shoulder, and he held you like he knew exactly how long he had left. It wasn’t a hug meant to comfort. It was a hug meant to end something. Properly.

You held him tight. Long enough to burn it into your skin. Long enough to make sure you’d remember this version of him—not the one you divorced, but the one who once knew your body like it was his own home.

You finally pulled back from the hug, reluctantly, but you didn’t step away. Not yet. Your chest pressed against his just enough to feel how still he was. How hard he was trying to stay steady. The air between you was cold, but the space you occupied together was still warm. Still familiar.

And then—gently, like he’d done it a thousand times before—he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered at your cheek, hesitant, reverent. He cupped your face with both hands. And you let him.

You closed your eyes as his thumbs brushed softly under them, stroking the skin just beneath, like he was trying to catch the tears before they ever had a chance to fall.

You didn’t cry. But god, you wanted to.

You reached up, almost without thinking, and placed your hands over his. Just held them there. Anchored him to your skin. Your touch wasn’t pleading. It was quiet. Final. Like you were giving him permission to hold you one last time. To remember.

Neither of you spoke for a moment.

Until he did, his voice was soft. Steady. But behind it, something fragile. “Live a good life for me.” You nodded, lips trembling—not from fear, but from love that had nowhere left to go.

Then, gently and honestly you answered “You too Satoru. I’ll always be glad I got to be married to you.” That was it. That was everything. Eventually, he dropped his hands, and you stepped back. The space between you filled with cold air, and you didn’t try to close it again.

You turned, picked up your suitcase, and walked. Not fast, but forward. And when you reached the end of the platform, just before the stairs, you stopped. Only for a second. You didn’t look back. You just let the tears come, slow and full and quiet.

Not because you wanted him back. Not because it was wrong. But because what you had was real.

And real things are the hardest to leave behind.

2025 © NANASRKIVES. / do not copy, repost, edit, plagiarize, or translate any of my works on any platforms, including ai.

TAGLIST (OPEN). / @sojumica @buckcherried @arwawawa2 @itsmeaudrieee @andysteve1311

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fiamat12 · 3 days ago

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Thanks for sharing @kathynyc17, and I wouldn't worry about A. It's unlikely you'll give her an idea she hasn't already thought of 🤦‍♀️. Rest assured, there's an end date, and hopefully, NYC will bring a rebirth as it were, but for now, we wait, *sigh* 😞

Whilst obligations are active, the goal seems to be to contain A. When Lukola launches, the jig is up, and it won't matter as much if at all. But they can't launch until obligations are over. You see the conundrum? Yes, they'd have to sue A for breach of contract, esp. if reputational damage toward L could be attributed to her, HOWEVER - and Legal Anon has explained this before - it opens their private business up to the public, which is exactly what the NDA aims to avoid.

For that reason, some NDAs have a provision that states the parties won't sue but rather mediate any disputes. That may be what they agreed to, which is why we've seen what seems to be several renegotiations (i.e., when we suspect A was leveraging bullying claims, etc.).

It doesn't matter how much money you have, it just buys you a better lawyer. Look at Amber Heard-Johnny Depp, Justin Baldoni-Blake Lively, even P. Diddy (blech). All of them are extremely wealthy and all of them have been publicly dragged. Ethan Slater & his wife had an NDA in their divorce, and he & Ariana still got dragged.

In Lukola's case I don't believe it's half as scandalous as any of those examples but the risk is still high when dealing w/ a loose canon. And if you return to what was at stake post world tour - S3 ratings and baby Newts - it will save you alot of confusion.

Today was rather chaotic - alot of doubts and jumping ship, but I haven't and won't waver. Knowledge is power as the saying goes, and you are free to think & feel whatever you wish, but please keep it off of my blog if you're against my 3 non-negotiables. And if you follow or support wild theories about Lukola rebranding or privacy/ Lukola toying w/ fans, we have nothing to discuss... 🤷🏻‍♀️

#all in time time will reveal #adjacents out #lukola in #literally mom and dad #nyc bound

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hearteyes4logan · 1 month ago

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pack a bag — fa¹⁴ fernando alonso x childhood fem!reader requested by @valeelavvale

word count: 854 words! fluff, slight slowburn

Image found on Pinterest!

synopsis: you just finalised your divorce with your husband..

note: i hope this is generally around the JIST of what you asked for babes.. forgive me if IT IS NOT 😭

You don't cry the day your divorce is finalised.

Sitting in your lawyer's office, you sign your name where they tell you to and pretend like the pen isn't shaking slightly in your grip. Your now-ex doesn't show up, not that you expected him to. He didn't care.

The room felt too bright, too quiet. It all felt too clean for how much your life just ended and restarted in the same breath.

You go home, kick off your shoes and stare at your phone. It's almost instinctual, like muscle memory, and you text him.

You: Hey.

He replied in minutes, like he was waiting for it despite the time difference in location.

Fernando: Hey. Is it true? It happened?

You wait. You're not sure for what. Then..

Fernando: Pack a bag. Come with me to Spain or wherever I'm going next. I'll send you the flight info. Don't say no.

You met Fernando Alonso when you were six years old.

He was loud, messy, sun-tanned and always barefoot. You were quieter, more cautious, but you always followed him. Back in Oviedo, he once pushed you into a lake and said, "Oye, no se aprende quedándose seco." (Hey, you don't learn by staying dry.)

He's been pulling you into chaos ever since.

When you were fifteen, he kissed your cheek at a summer festival in the city and avoided you for two days out of embarrassment. His older sister would always tease you about and you always remembered rolling your eyes and laughing. You never told him you wanted more.

Life drifted, He went to race, you went to university. You dated other people. So did he, but he always texted on your birthday. He always called when things got bad. And now, with everything burned to the ground, he's the first person you run to.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

When you see him at the airport in Madrid, he's waiting just past the security doors, a hoodie thrown over his shoulder. Still Fernando, but quieter around the edges now. Maybe older. Maybe better.

You don't say anything.

He pulls you into his arms, and that's enough.

He doesn't say sorry. He doesn't ask how you are, He just squeezes you, hand flat against your spine, thumb brushing up and down in a rhythm that used to calm you down when you were fifteen and couldn't breathe before exams.

When he pulls back, he smiles softly.

"You look the same."

"You don't.." You say. "You look calmer.. Maybe a little greyer.."

He snorts. "Don't lie to me and please.. I look great for my age."

You grin — the first real one in weeks.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

The first few days are quiet.

You follow him to Spain, then Monaco, then Austria — the F1 calendar blending with old routines. He lets you sleep in, bringing you coffee in hotel mugs and throwing you his Aston Martin hoodie when the paddock wind gets too cold.

Everyone thinks you're just his old friend.

They don't see the way he watches you when you laugh. They don't see how you sit shoulder to shoulder in hotel beds, knees touching, and head thrown back in fits of laughter.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

It's after a long race, one where things didn’t go his way. He’s exhausted, soaked in sweat, lying flat on the hotel floor with his arms spread out like he’s surrendering to the ceiling.

You’re sitting on the couch, legs curled under you, sipping water and watching him breathe.

“Did I mess it all up?” he asks.

You pause. “The race?”

He shakes his head. “Everything. My life. Yours.”

You set the glass down. “You didn’t mess anything up, Fer.”

“I should’ve told you years ago,” he says, eyes still on the ceiling.

You go still. “Told me what?”

He turns his head slowly to look at you. And then it’s there — in the space between his mouth and yours. That truth that’s been sitting in the air since you were kids. That thing he never said.

“I was always a little bit in love with you,” he says softly. “Even when we were stupid. Even when you married him. I stayed away because I thought you deserved something steadier. Safer.”

You kneel beside him. You touch his face. His eyes flutter shut.

“You think I ever wanted safe?” you whisper.

He opens his eyes. You’re close now. Your breath is his. Your hand is on his jaw.

You lean down and kiss him like it’s a promise — slow, steady, grounding. Like he’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.

And when he kisses you back, it takes you back to when you were fifteen. The giddy little version of Fernando, as he kissed your cheek, realised what he had done and began to run away.

The next morning, you’re wrapped in his arms in bed, the sun peeking through hotel curtains, his fingers tracing lazy shapes against your back.

“Where to next?” you ask, sleep in your voice.

He kisses your shoulder. “Anywhere. Everywhere. Just don’t stop packing bags.”

You smile into his skin.

“I won’t. Not if it’s you.”

#fernando alonso #aston martin #spanish #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #f1 one shot #f1 fic #character x reader #reader insert #x reader #female reader #fanfiction #hearteyes4logan #spain

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astrolook · 3 months ago

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#2 The Astrology About Your Difficult Placements & Turning Them Into A Career Opportunity - Rx Edition

Here's Part 1

Note: This post is based on my personal observations and patterns I've noticed over the years. It's important to understand that no single placement in a chart can determine whether someone is “good” or “bad,” a success or a failure, or even something as extreme as a criminal. Astrology is complex, and the entire birth chart must be considered as a whole. What we often label as "difficult" placements can actually become powerful sources of strength if we choose to approach them with awareness, effort, and a growth mindset. These placements aren’t curses, they’re invitations to evolve. This post is based on Vedic/Sidereal Astrology.

Astrology is a lot like Google Maps, it shows you possible routes to your destination, but it’s still up to you which path to take. It can guide, not dictate. That’s why I find it disheartening when some astrologers deliver overly negative interpretations that leave people feeling helpless or afraid and making serious life decisions based on it. Every placement holds multiple possibilities, some more challenging than others. With awareness and the right mindset, even the toughest placements can become powerful tools for growth.

These placements don’t doom you, they challenge you to rise.

Saturn Rx in 10th - Had to work twice as hard as others to get half as far. You'll reach further, just not in a straight line. Unemployed or underpaid, in some cases.

On the bright side, this is a good placement to start you own damn business later in life after 27. Any business, policy making, construction, architecture, independent consulting, freelancing, etc.

Mercury Rx in 3rd - You second-guess your thoughts before they even finish forming. Social anxiety in a house that loves communication. Speech delay, in some cases.

On the bright side, this is a good placement for writing, podcasting, editing, musician, research analysis, journalist, UX design, AI expert, etc.

Saturn Rx in 4th - Not a soft childhood. Emotionally distant parent. Abandoned by their parents or grew up in foster home, in rare cases.

On the bright side, this is good placement and often creates people who build emotional homes for others like therapists, healers, realtor, real estate agent, psychologist, home renovation, child care, trauma coach, homeless shelter, etc.

Venus Rx in 2nd - Self-worth isn’t something you inherited. You had to earn it dollar by dollar, compliment by compliment.

On the bright side, this is a good placement for luxury branding business, voice acting, model scout, jewelry design, financial consultant, insurance agent, dealerships, hairstylist, dermatologist, etc.

Mars Rx in 6th - Invented burnout. Obsess about work but doesn't know how to properly channel the pace. All or nothing. OCD, in some cases. Accidental death in workplace, in very rare cases.

On the bright side, this is a good placement for crisis management, IT consultant, fitness coach, nutritionist, ENT specialist, neurologist, etc.

Mercury Rx in 8th - You read between the lines before the lines are even written. You’re suspicious of surface-level anything. Says something and does the opposite. Hides real opinions to avoid judgement or criticism and keep to self.

On the bright side, this is a good placement for filmmaking, pianist, guitarist or any musical instrument careers, jailer, UFO researcher, criminal lawyer, occultist, financial advisor, sex therapist, etc.

Saturn Rx in 7th - Dating or relationship is minimal or non-existent. Unconventional partner - smart worker, older or wiser but young at heart. Career/partnerships picks up in late-20's.

On the bright side, this is a good placement for own business, CEO/Chairman, managerial positions, divorce lawyer, govt jobs in a far away place, contractor, industrialist, brand consultant, bio-tech researcher, etc.

Jupiter Rx in 11th - Outsider among outsiders. Tough to find your "people". Changes lives behind-the-scenes. Lonely at times.

On the bright side, this is a good placement for tech startups, humanitarian work, social reform, activism, game development, digital media, advertising, astrology, etc.

Jupiter Rx in 5th - Joy is earned not given. Has to fight for personal freedom, in some cases. Luck comes later in life after 27.

On the bright side, educator, creative writer, freelancer, web or app developer, speculative writing, children's media, performance arts, YouTuber, comic artist, etc.

Wanna go deeper into the layers of your placements? DM me for a complete astrology reading or a 5 year/8 year marriage report or synastry reading🌙💬 and check out my pinned post for pricing + details 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐

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georgiapeach30513 · 11 months ago

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Two Good Reasons, Part 4

Summary: it is time

Pairings: Andy Barber X Reader

Rating: mature

Warnings: language, sweet Ransom, difficulties with divorce, Scott, difficult conversations, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 8.1K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Ransom,” the man rolls his eyes as Andy walks into his office foyer. Ransom was trying to talk to you, well, you are trying to talk to him about his messages from when he was in court. Of course your annoying boyfriend or whatever he is would come in and interrupt. “I need to speak to your office manager,” you playfully snort, while Ransom’s face falls flat. His eyes narrow at Andy. “Please.”

“I don’t want this to become a habit,” he tells Andy more than you. You aren’t the problem. Andy’s distraction and wandering eyes are the problem. “In fact, I never saw you venture this way much at all unless we needed to discuss a case. And now, you can’t stay away from my part of the office building.”

“It seems a fair trade off since I, the district attorney, come to your office for meetings. If you’d prefer, we can start conducting the meetings on the other side of the building.”

“Five minutes.”

“Ten.”

“Eight,” Ransom counters before Andy gives a nod, and holds out his hand for you. Leave it to Andy to start inserting himself now. You follow him down the long hallway before he’s dragging you into his suite, and on back to his office. His office is more your typical lawyers office, while Ransom’s is immaculate and more ornate. Stark difference between the two best friends, or as they call it, colleagues.

Andy pulls you in for an embrace, in lieu of a kiss. His thick arms wrap around you so tight, and you sink into him. It had been a particularly rough night. Night’s before your babies go to Scott’s for the weekend often are. It’s a pure terror and worry about what could happen, especially given the last time.

“You seem tense,” he says as he pulls back. “Your messages indicate that as well.”

“You’re almost too observant, you know that?” It was his job to be observant, but you aren’t one of his cases.

“And you’re avoiding my question.”

“It wasn’t a question, Andrew, that was a statement,” he sighs, pulling you back into him. Andy starts swaying the two of you to nonexistent music. Resting his face in the crook of your neck. He inhales your sweet scent deeply. If only things concerning Scott weren’t stressful, you could fully enjoy this moment.

“You can trust me to tell me,” he ends his words with a quick kiss on your sensitive skin. This is Andy, you could trust him. He’s not just any man, he’s your Andy. You just fear he’s going to try to fix everything, and unfortunately you didn’t see this being fixed.

“It was a rough night,” he hums, letting you know he is listening, but wants more. “It’s Scott’s weekend, and every time it’s his weekend, I’m left wondering how present he’s going to be. If his stupid bimbo will be there. Will they go against my wishes and she brings her damn cat around my baby? Will he come back home to me, and I have to go through his breathing treatments again? I fear that his apartment isn’t as safe for him. That cat is just one allergy, but what if my baby eats something, and Scott or Taylor don’t react fast enough?”

Your breath is so ragged as you cling to him. When was the last time you had someone just be there? Even if Andy couldn’t fix anything, just having that support is comforting. Scott was there, but was he ever there just for you? Andy doesn’t have to say anything, there’s nothing he can do. But him just being there means everything. Just to have a support system in what feels like years is a relief. Realizing you didn’t have that when you and Scott were together makes you feel stupid. You stayed, and you didn’t have this.

“Doe, I’m sorry,” he doesn’t have to be sorry, but there is a tone in his voice that shows you how sincere he is. “Tell me what you want me to do, and I will.”

“Could we just go to your place?”

“Your place is closer to Scott’s though, isn’t it?” It is. But…, “Wouldn’t it be better to be at your place in case of an emergency? We could get there faster?” True, but you didn’t want him to know that you didn’t sleep in your room. You didn’t care if Andy stayed at your house all weekend, but the embarrassment is already hitting that he’s going to see you avoid going into that room.

“You’re right,” of course he’s right, but your feelings aren’t wrong. They were right, too. Too soon your phone vibrates, and it’s probably Ransom telling you that eight minutes is up, and yes, you know. But you needed this moment, and little talk. Grabbing your phone, you answer it quickly, “Hello?!”

“Mrs. Huffman,” you hate that name with a passion, “Umm, I’m calling because it appears that someone forgot to pick up the kids.”

“What?” Anger laces through your one word question. Today is your late day working. Because you said you could. And Scott forgets the kids?

“Yeah, I know you said that it was Mr. Huffman’s day to get them this morning, but he’s not answering his phone,” you glance up at Andy who is looking at you with so much concern. “Can…”

“I’ll be right there,” she thanks you before you hang up the phone. “Scott didn’t pick up the kids. But…”

“Just bring them back here,” he’s joking. He’s got to be joking. “Listen, it’s Friday, Ransom doesn’t have any cases, and neither do I. We give that to the second ADA. Afterwards if Scott still hasn’t reached out, we’ll go take them to get dinner, and soft play. Audrey seems very concerned with that.”

“Andy…”

“Come on, let’s tell Ransom. You gotta get the kids,” obviously you had to get them. It’s bringing them back here that’s got you a bit paranoid. “It’ll be fine. They’ll be fine. We’ve got a fridge stocked with snacks. While you’re gone I’ll put any snack that Suede is allergic to up in a basket, and out of reach of him. And don’t you dare ask why I’m being nice. You need it. Go on, run and get the kids, I’ll let Ransom know what’s up.”

Standing on your tiptoes, you give him a chaste kiss in thanks before going to get your things, while Andy goes back to Ransom’s part of the office building. His friend and colleague glares at him. “I send you off with my office manager, and you return solo.”

“Scott forgot to pick up the kids,” Ransom groans, “She’s going to get them.”

“Today was her late day.”

“And she’s bringing them back here,” another groan. “Would you quit being so dramatic? They’re good kids. You won’t even notice them.”

“You’re getting involved,” Andy’s mouth curls up into a smile. “I told you not to get involved. This is the very opposite of not getting involved, Andy.”

“What was she supposed to do? He didn’t get her kids, they have to be picked up, it has to be her.”

“That’s not what I mean at all. I would have let her go, I’m not a monster,” he takes a slow calculated breath as he stares at Andy, “She’s the one, hmm? The one that got away. The one that made you never truly connect to other women? The reason that Penny or Melanie or whoever never worked out. You’re doing whatever you have to to make sure that she doesn’t get away again?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Ransom gives Andy one of his famous eye rolls. “I’m not a child. I know her, she knows me. So yeah, things are moving fast-ish. No, we haven’t slept together again. She needs friends. Her family isn’t anywhere near here, and even if she wanted to leave, she has this divorce,” Andy makes it sounds so much simpler than it is. Or maybe it’s because it is exactly this simple.

“Okay, Romeo. I’m just saying. She’s bringing them back here?” Andy smiles, nodding. He has to fix the snacks, and make sure everything is safe for Suede. “I don’t do kids.”

“Send them to my office if you have to,” Ransom was all bark, and no bite. He had no doubt that everything would be fine. And you wouldn’t be put in a bind. Yet, another thing you can add to your growing list of why Scott didn’t deserve full custody of your children.

Andy leans into Ransom’s waiting area, smiling to himself as you hold a slowly drifting asleep Suede in your lap. His face squished up against your chest while you type, and Audrey colors something on the floor. Laying on her belly with her tongue sticking out, and her knees kicking around. Andy clears his throat, and Audrey looks up at him with the biggest grin, “Andy! I wanted to see you.”

She leaves her coloring book behind as she jumps up from the floor and walks over to him, and Suede’s eyes burst open, “Na Na! Peas?” You can’t hide how happy you are for their excitement. Suede wiggles out of your arms, and Andy picks both kids up, and you gulp. Scott never quite gave you the tingling millions of butterflies in your belly just to see him hold onto your kids.

You aren’t sure how something can be both wholesome and sexy all at the same time. But the way his thick arms flex as he holds them has you feeling things, and the way he smiles at them has those butterfly wings flapping aggressively in your belly. Moments like these are so sweet and simple, and mean the world to you.

The way he gives each one attention, and not just your talkative girl. Asking them how their day was, and listening intently to every nonsensical word, and um that comes out of your baby boy’s mouth. He isn’t even looking at you for approval, he’s just being a normal father figure to them kids. This is how greetings with them after their day should be. When Audrey tries to interrupt, he tells her to wait her turn, looking at you to make sure it’s okay to correct her behavior and you nod. You hope that this isn’t an act, and you don’t feel it is. It’s natural.

How is it that a man that had no biological ties to these children can appreciate them more than their father? Scott wasn’t a terrible husband, when it was just the two of you. But his lack of involvement as a father was laughable. You were the woman, you were the one that took care of the house, and the children. All you wanted was a partner. Staring at Andy now makes you realize how wrong you chose, and just how long you made excuses for Scott.

“Andy,” Audrey finally gets his attention when Suede finishes. “If daddy doesn’t pick us up tonight, can you go eat with us? Mommy said we can eat at the pizza place, and and and go to soft play.”

Andy smiles. He starts to answer, but is distracted by a chubby little hand laying flat on his beard, and he turns to look at Suede, “Chess, pease,” you turn around quickly. You promised yourself that you’d never let your children see your emotions, but your chest fills with so much warmth and love. Feeling everything all at once. Suede only touched two people’s cheeks like that, and both you and Audrey are present. It’s like he has chosen another comfort.

You were told it could be a way for him to show comfortability and vulnerability, but he never did that with his dad. He never stayed in his dad’s arms for more than a few minutes before he was trying to reach towards you. Visiting Scott was the hardest on Suede. “Doe?”

“I’ve got to take something to Ransom. I’ll be back,” you grab some stupid piece of paper, and retreat from this. Trying to work through the emotions. On one hand you are a bit jealous that Suede found comfort in someone that isn’t you. On the other hand he had a man in his life that he trusts, and it is Andy. Your Andy.

“I need a snack.”

“Chess!”

“How does broccoli and ranch sound?” Audrey curls her lip, and Suede shakes his head no. “Well, I have you to know, that Sloane went and brought you back some safe food. And even apples.”

“Mmm, Appies!”

“With sun butter?” Andy nods, carrying the two of them to the break room. He looks back at you, and your back is still turned to him, still looking at a blank piece of paper, still bothered by something that transpired, and he can’t think of what. However, the kids were hungry, and they had to eat. He’ll come back and ask you about this later.

“Come on, it’s snack time, and then,” he lowers his voice, making it only audible for just Audrey and Suede, “I hear there’s a book about a little French girl in Sloane’s desk, you should ask her for it,” Audrey covers her mouth with her hand, giggling while she looks at Suede.

They sound so happy. You didn’t ask or beg Andy to spend time with them, he came to see them. He made sure that the unsafe foods were away from Suede. He was telling them secrets about the office. If you didn’t already have feelings for Andy that bordered on love — you’d have them now. You hated to admit that you still harbored feelings for him, but you did. And moments like these just made that blossom and get bigger until parts of you that felt so alone and hopeless, now feel like there was light at the end of the tunnel.

There was a hope that not only did your children not have to suffer, but you didn’t either. The feeling is like a hug. Simple, warm, loving, comforting, and the best thing in the world. It’s what a family should be, and should feel. Everyday is a new realization that you didn’t have these moments with your family.

“What are you doing?” Ransom asks, attempting to walk out of the door. “I don’t do tears.”

“It’s nothing.”

He blows out an exasperated puff of air. “Nothing doesn’t make you look so — weepy,” his voice is so flat, seemingly disinterested. “But if I can offer you some advice, you should trust him,” you furrow your brows as you look at him. There’s this part of you that doesn’t want to interrupt Andy and the kids, but you want to watch them. “He’s always wanted a family, and from the sounds of it, you’re the only woman he wanted it with. He doesn’t want to fuck it up, so he won’t. So let your walls down, and enjoy the moments. You’re used to his stubbornness and protectiveness, so…”

His voice trails off. He didn’t need to finish the sentence. So he won’t change. So there’s his flaw. So you’ll have to continue to deal with it. So now there’s little people for him to protect. “Oh, and Ray agreed to take your case,” that gets your attention. You straighten up. Ray would make a huge difference for you. Scott even mentioned Ray a few times during your marriage. “So…I don’t know, go make sure Barber isn’t poisoning the allergic one.”

That’s about as soft as you are going to get with Ransom, and you know it. But a quick little break to make sure ‘the allergic one’ is not being fed something he shouldn’t have, would not hurt. Ransom meant well, and you’re so thankful for him. But not as thankful as Audrey jumping up and down at Andy’s feet, while he holds Suede, squinting as he reads the ingredients on the back of a box.

“It’s a safe food,” you answer softly, and he lowers the packet of fruit snacks to Audrey. Suede gives him a little pout, but Andy is quick to grab his own pack, and open it for him.

“Go ask Sloane for her book,” he tells the two of them before they run off, and you immediately circle your arms around his waist. You couldn’t help a hug, and a quick peck to his lips, “What’s this for?”

“For being you,” his lips turn up in a smile, and he reminds you of the way he looked when he was younger. There were more freckles that dotted over his nose, and more wrinkles around his eyes. He is thicker in the best way, a luscious full beard, but the best parts of him are still the same. “I’m serious. You’re amazing with them, and I thank you for learning.”

“You gave Sloane a list of safe foods, didn’t you?” Nodding you stand on your tippy toes for another too quick kiss. Seeing him reading the back of that box was oddly sexy. You don’t regret not telling him that Sloane made a quick trip to the store, and you need to pay her for that. You could look at this man reading the ingredients daily because it was…breathtaking. The older you get, the more things of attractiveness changes. This wasn’t one you saw happening until it did.

“No word from Scott?”

“No. I’m sure he’s in court or something. I get used to not relying on him,” Andy searches your face, contemplating how to respond to that. You shouldn’t have to be used to it. That shouldn’t be normal. “It’s fine.”

“How often was it just you and the kids waiting on him?” You shrug. You didn’t want this conversation. You didn’t want to dwell in the past. Didn’t want to think of how much you let things slide with Scott because you felt you needed to make your marriage work, and he was still the one that stepped out on your family.

“I should really make sure the kids are okay,” if Andy could wrap you in a tight cocoon and make you see what you deserved, he would. He wants you to see your value to his life because to him you and the kids were not a burden. You know you’re a good mom, but did you know you are a good partner?

“I’m going to guess we’ll have the kids for dinner though,” we. He loves hearing you say we, especially when they’re involved. If he could fully take Scott out of the equation, he would. Not only did he not deserve them, or your kindness, Andy didn’t mind having them always around.

He definitely didn’t mind people making comments about what a beautiful family he had. Or even that his son looked just like him, and how he’s so good with them. He didn’t want to correct them. People never questioned it because that’s exactly what you were becoming. He knows he should slow down, and not get too attached or ahead of himself. Not growing up with a father himself, he’s always craved a son where he could be the dad that he wanted.

He sighs, it would only be a matter of time before Scott completely lost interest. Men like him only wanted to use the kids as a weapon for you. He was using custody as a way for you to worry. Asserting his dominance wherever he could. Prick. He’s an asshole. He just hopes that Scott sees who has been spending time with his kids, and just how happy they are, and their mama.

—

Ransom slumps down into his chair, hands reaching towards a file on his desk when he hears tittering, and he bends at his waist to look under his desk, “What are you doing down there?”

Audrey giggles, popping another fruit chew in her mouth, and then a third hand points at the book that’s in her lap. Suede peeks his body around his sister’s smiling up at the man, “I’m not doing a very good job at reading. There’s lots of words.”

“Chess.”

Ransom smiles, nodding his head, “You like to play chess?”

“No no, that um — that’s how he says yes. He says it a lot. It’s easy for him. Tell him Suedey.”

“Chess,” his hand presses over his mouth and he giggles, having to sit up and hold his tummy with how much he is laughing. They are cute kids, even if Ransom doesn’t do kids.

“See, mister. He loves it. Do you think you can read this book for us,” the barely visible smile on Ransom’s face fades, and his head slightly shakes no, “I can’t read, and my mommy is working, and,” she crawls out from under the desk, laying the book on the shiny wood of Ransom’s ostentatious desk.

“Do you think mommy can take us to Paris one day?” Audrey places a hand under the desk, helping her brother up, and Suede places two arms up to Ransom. “He wants you to hold him. You can say no,” Ransom takes a moment to ponder before lifting the toddler up into his lap, but Audrey stands beside him, opening up the book to the first page.

“It has a lot of words,” her finger drags under the words, and Ransom stares at her curiously. Even though she is tiny, you can see her squinting, and sounding out a few of the letters. Reminds him of his childhood, a boy too young, forced to be above children his age academically. “Would Andy take us to Paris with mommy?”

How is he even supposed to answer that? He could put a bug in Andy’s ear that she wants to go to Paris. He could ask Andy to take her to a French restaurant, but he can’t possibly say that he would take them and their mom. “Do you like Andy?”

“Chess.”

“Uh huh. Mommy smiles when he’s around,” the little girl turns to look at Ransom, and he’s shocked by how much she looks like you, especially in the eyes. The exact shape, and even the different flecks of colors. “Is Andy like Taylor is to daddy?”

“I don’t know what that means,” he turns his head to see the little boy smiling at him. He lifts his chunky little hand, and slightly touches his cheek before moving it back down to his lap and giggles at Ransom. “What do you mean by your question?”

“I think Andy wants to kiss mommy,” it is a simple enough sentence that holds a lot more weight than she realizes. Ransom smiles, shrugging at her. “She didn’t smile with daddy like she does with Andy,” Audrey turns to look at Ransom, smiling at him, and then her brother. “I like him, too. But can you read this?” Her little chubby finger taps on the book a bit aggressively, “I’m sorry, booky. Please, Ansom?”

“Ransom.”

“I said that.”

“Ann!” Suede throws both arms in the hair, and giggles. “Ann!”

“Is he always like this?” Audrey covers her hand with her mouth, giggling again, and she nods. “Fine. Let’s read the Paris book,” he clears his throat, making both kids giggle once more. “In an old house in Paris that was covered in vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.”

“Ran,” opening the door, you stop abruptly, and all three of them look up at you. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were. Come on, we should leave Ransom alone,” all three pout. Even Ransom, confusing you immensely. He told you he didn’t do kids. He didn’t hate them, but didn’t want to be around them. And now he’s reading to them with Suede and his sticky fingers in his lap.

“They're fine. Maybe bring some popcorn in here or something?” Audrey shakes her head no. “Why not?”

“We’ll choke,” she deadpans. “Those scratchy things in the middle. Andy buys us the puffy ones, so we don’t have to worry about choking.”

“Does he? That Andy sure does try to make life easier,” clearing your throat, Ransom looks up at you smiling. “We’re reading about the Paris girl. I think Audrey and Suede deserve macarons.”

“Suede can’t. There’s eggs,” Audrey beat you to it. She is his little keeper, and so protective of him. You are sure she keeps Scott in line with him, even if it isn’t her job. “Mommy, did daddy call?” You shake your head no, thinking she’s going to be sad. “Oh yay! So Andy is taking us to pizza and soft play for sure?”

“We’ll see. Read your Paris girl book. It won’t be long until it’s leaving time. And behave. You want me to leave the door open, Ransom?” He shakes his head, and shoos you out the door. You did not see this happening. Ransom said he didn’t care much for kids, and here he is being all sweet and loving with yours. You wouldn’t tell him, but it suited him, even if it was just as the fun uncle that could give them back at the end of the day.

Even though Scott brought you out here away from your friends and family, you feel the need to give him a quick and silent thank you. It brought you to Andy, and now it appears you are growing an inner circle. People to rely on. People you can trust with your kids. People that don’t look at them like a burden. People that cared. What felt like your world had ended, just ensured a new start that you needed.

“Suede,” your little boy quickly sits down in his seat, offering a sweet smile to Andy. He had already been told once not to stand up in the seat. Andy’s voice is soft, but stern enough that Suede knows he needs to keep his bottom in the seat. “Thank you.”

“Chess,” he holds up his hand out for Andy who fists bumps him in return. Blinking his eyes hard at him before smiling up at you. Leaning in for a hug.

“Was your dinner good, buddy?”

“Chess,” Andy questioned you with the pizza at first, until you told him about this place that was very accommodating for Suede’s allergies. Suede turns to look at Andy, but his eyes go upwards instead. A moment of unease flashes in his eyes, and he leans into your body, “Mama, no.”

Following his eyesight, you catch Scott freeze, seeing the back of Andy’s head, and Audrey sitting beside him. He never looks like he's in a good mood, but now he’s completely unsavory. “What’s going on?”

“Daddy,” Audrey looks at you, and then up at Andy, her happy face now looking sad. “Uhh, Andy is taking us to soft play.”

“Daddy is really tired, and they’re closed. I need to talk with you outside,” he gives a point towards you. Of course he needs to talk to you. Showing up unannounced, and Andy is with you. His nostrils flare a moment with the impending anger that’s lighting up his face. Talk really means he wants to berate you.

“It’s not closed, we saw it. Andy said…”

“Audrey,” while he doesn’t yell, his voice raises, and you grit your teeth. Friday night, and they were looking forward to fun. Leave it to Scott to be a disappointment. Again. Wiping your hands on your napkin, you grab up Suede, handing him over to Andy.

“What the hell are you doing?” Scott turns to look at you as Andy pulls Suede out of your arms. It is becoming harder and harder not to want to scream at him, especially when he uses foul language in front of the children.

“You wanted to talk to me. So Andy can stay with the kids,” the man that has spent every single evening with you and the kids, stares up at you. His free hand rubs up your thigh, and he offers a sad smile, “I’ll be right back,” and his eyes move over to Scott, nodding his hey.

Oh he’s angry. Not nearly as angry as you are for his five hour late pickup. Didn’t even tell you he was coming, just showed up. You can see how angry he is as you follow him to the parking lot. You don’t like to compare the two, but Andy would never deny fun for the kids. He had a long tiring day as well.

You’re barely out of the restaurant when Scott rounds towards you, “What the hell are you doing?”

“Feeding our children dinner since you were late.”

“I was working, and you know exactly what I mean,” you blink slowly. If he wants to say something, he can, but you won’t be offering up any information. “Fucking Andy Barber? The damn DA, is this some competition,” you scoff, there was never a competition. “And you left our kids with him.”

“So you wanted them to hear you talk like this to me?” Scott sighs. You knew he wouldn’t answer the question. You’re always the one that is wrong, while he’s always the one that is wronged in some way. “What do you want to talk about?”

“You sure did move on fast?” You laugh at him, shaking your head as you turn to walk back inside. The audacity. He was moving on and the two of you were very much together. You didn’t have a say in the matter when he was laying underneath the damn babysitter. “Did you ever love me?”

“You were the one that cheated, Scott. You came home early, so you could fuck our babysitter in our bed. Did you even think about me? Or about how our daughter would feel? Suede is too young to understand, but Audrey knows you left her mom to be with the babysitter. Love was never our strong suit though, was it?” The stronger your love for Andy grows, the more you realized Scott and you had been going through the motions. Was there ever any love?

Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him. If this is the only conversation he wants to have, it’s useless. You’re doing nothing wrong. You hadn’t even slept with Andy since that first night. And even if you did, you two were legally separated and going through a divorce. “Suede could be older and still wouldn’t understand.”

“What did you say?” don’t turn around, and don’t look at him. He makes you sick.

“You heard me,” no, you’re not quite you did.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“He’s never going to be as advanced as Audrey,” if it wouldn’t hurt your case for custody, you’d claw his eyes out. If he wants to blame you for the marriage failing, you don't care, but to say one damn thing about your child is another thing. “You coddle him.”

“I hate you,” always your fault. Suede’s ‘delays’ as Scott called them, will forever be your fault. He was supposed to be his ‘boy’ and now he looks at your son like he’s a mistake. A failure. And he’s two.

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart. Now let me get my kids from your dildo.”

“Why are you so mean to him? Why do you put so much pressure on your son? He’s a baby.”

“No, he’s not,” you have to look at him now. You need to understand why he can’t just be happy with who Suede is, instead of trying to make him who he wants him to be.

“He just turned two. He is a baby. He wears diapers, his vocabulary is improving, but he is a baby. If you — if you don’t want him why do you insist on full custody? Why do you rip him out of my arms, crying, if you don’t want him? You don’t even like him. I’m not even sure you like Audrey. This a damn power grab, you’re using my babies as a weapon to hurt me. Just leave him with me and…”

“Go on, say it. Andy. Is he enjoying the bed that I fucked that baby boy in you in? You want to act like he’s so fucking grand. Sloppy damn seconds,” you take a deep breath in, wondering how he views you as sloppy seconds but not himself. Or even if Taylor is someone’s sloppy seconds. Pig. “Just trying to replace me because I left you. You even went after a goddamn lawyer,” of course he’d hit you with low blows, and as much as it infuriates you, it hurts more how he is with your baby.

“Answer the questions. You’re changing the subject, and I’m talking about our son. If you don’t want my baby, and he’s so difficult with his allergies, and his separation anxiety, then leave him with his mom!”

“You created a monster! Taylor can’t even deal with him most of the time because all he says is ‘chess’ or ‘my mama at’. Separation anxiety? No, you baby the boy, and made him rely on you so you think it’ll give you a leg to stand on with custody. Audrey was never that difficult, hell she was potty trained at his age. She’s starting to read now. And he’s…”

“He’s a fucking baby, Scott! Just let him stay with me, please!” You’re not above begging when it comes to your children, especially if Scott is getting them when he’s angry.

“No. Because if he stays with you then Audrey — you know how she is with her brother. They don’t like to be separated,” it’s always about the easy child. His pride and joy. The one he whispered to her about how she would become a lawyer someday. Another thing that annoyed you, pressure on a four year old. “They both are coming with me, as per our agreement. So let me get my kids.”

“Can you at least take them to the soft play, and trampolines for thirty minutes?”

“What is the damn deal with soft play? That’s all they ever want to do.”

“Because they’re kids, and they have fun! They want to play with their dad, is that such a wrong thing?” You turn into the restaurant, watching Andy calmly talk to your world. Such a beautiful picture in contrast to what their parents are doing outside. Suede lifts his chubby little hand, and holds it against Andy’s cheek, petting his beard. He waits until Andy smiles at him before pulling it away, and he snuggles into his chest. That was a father’s love. Not whatever the hell Scott is doing.

Despite what Scott wants to imply, there’s nothing wrong with Suede. His learning is delayed compared to Audrey’s, but from his doctors to his teachers, he is just a normal little boy. There’s a sadness that wraps around you knowing that Suede has more comfort with Andy than his own father. A man he’s known his whole life is nothing compared to the man that he barely knows.

“Does Andy play with them?” you look at Scott, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a sadness in his eyes, but it flares back into his competitive composure. If he is so concerned with Andy and the kids, he’s the only one that can fix it. It wasn’t Andy’s problem.

“We both do,” you answer solemnly before opening the door to the restaurant. You aren’t going to listen to him bully you or speak ill of his son anymore. You want him to suffer with the reality that his son is already replacing him with a man that is paying attention to him. You and Andy hadn’t been doing, whatever this is, long, and already Suede treated him like his father.

“Come on,” you try to smile as you reach for Suede. “It’s time to go to daddy’s house.”

“Mama, no,” this is the part that breaks you every time. Hearing him beg you not to make him go to his dad’s grinds your soul in half. You hate thinking that he may blame you, may think you’ve abandoned him. So instead, you just don’t look into his eyes.

“Audrey, grab your coloring sheet if you want to,” she reaches for her sheet as you grab up Suede, and she and Andy scoot out of the booth. Andy has never been part of a switch between you and Scott. It’s also why you preferred he picked them up from daycare. The extra hours with you made things difficult for them to leave. It’s him leaving you that seems to be the issue.

“Mama, no,” you can’t even meet his eyes as he touches your cheek. You know Scott didn’t hurt Suede. You also know he didn’t enjoy him or appreciate him, and with Audrey it is nonstop pressure to read, and write, and whatever thing he felt like she needed to be ahead for. Audrey has to be the best academically, and judging by the earlier conversation, he has no faith in Suede.

“Mama, pease!” He sniffles, cuddling into your chest, and you kiss on top of his head. Bit by bit part of your heart crumbles. The part that you gave your children, and it’s every other weekend. Audrey grabs Andy’s hand as you walk back outside. Getting an eye roll from Scott as soon as he sees Andy with his prized possession. His daughter. “Mama, no,” the first sign of his cries, broken words. “Me tay.”

“It’s stay, Suede. And you can’t stay because it’s my weekend,” Suede screams as Scott pulls at his body. Trying to take him from you. “Suede, enough!” He pulls harder, and his voice reaches a screeching high, shattering that part of your heart as his body shivers from anguish.

“Mommy will get you Sunday.”

“You’re only making this worse,” you hate him, and it has nothing to do with what he did to you, it’s what he’s doing to your children. “Suede, you’re fine,” you bite your tongue, holding back your own tears as he kicks. Thrashing around while Scott buckles him in, and one name on his lips. Mama. Over and over it tugs at your heart. Your baby needs you, and you can’t comfort him without causing more of a scene.

It’s one of the hardest things that you have to do. Ignoring him because it can get worse. You kneel down in front of Audrey, and she jumps into your arms giving you the biggest hug, “Will you make sure that Suedey is okay when you get in the car?”

“Yes, mommy. I’m sorry.”

“Baby, it’s okay. I’ll see you Sunday before supper, okay?” Audrey nods before she walks to her side of the car, getting in her seat herself, but Scott goes to buckle her. She extends a hand over to her crying brother, and more pieces of your heart break.

“Can you text or call and let me know when he calms down?”

“Yeah,” Scott answers shortly, closing Audrey’s door before he goes to the driver’s side. “Guess we can’t go to soft play with a baby that won’t stop crying,” bastard. Blaming Scott’s mistakes on Suede.

“I’ll take them Sunday,” Scott glares at Andy, and you are just numb. The teachers told you that while Suede was sad when his dad picked him up, there was no crying. You hate him for making you hear this. “Doe, let’s go.”

You’re not a person that wants to get even very often, but if you could make him feel like you did right now, you would. And if it is the fact that Andy already said he’d take them out Sunday after pickup that makes Scott hurt, so be it. It kills you to hear his muffled cries still. The fact that he had a good day, and evening, only for it to end with him in so much turmoil only hurts worse. You give a silent prayer that he can soothe himself soon. Scott never liked long crying sessions. He wasn’t patient enough to handle it.

“Your place or mine?”

“I don’t care as long as you hold me,” he opens up your car door, and you jump in, finally letting your tears cascade over your cheeks. You’re thankful you thought to leave Andy’s car at the house because you wouldn’t be able to drive right now. Everything in your body aches. Your his mother, and you couldn’t hold him until his tears stop. He is crying for you, and you have to walk away from him.

“He’s so mean to my baby. I don’t know if he hates him or if he’s ashamed of him,” you suck in a ragged breath, trying to calm your tears. “Suede’s always had health issues. He was born too early, it was a difficult pregnancy, his allergies were caught before he was a year old, now they’re talking about his vision, but he’s just a baby. And he’s usually so happy and full of light, but I think Suede knows that Scott doesn’t love him like he loves Audrey. Why are my kids the ones that have to suffer?”

“Audrey soothes Suede, but she’s a baby herself. She shouldn’t have to. They don’t have fun with their dad. And I don’t know how I could have been so wrong in a father for them. I just — I don’t care about me anymore, I just want them to be okay, and I fear that Suede is just forgotten there. A mistake,” god you hate reliving that day. That moment when that asshole murmured he was a mistake.

“What?” Andy’s voice is so hard. It’s a dangerous timbre.

“He said that Suede was a mistake,” you rest your head on the back of the seat. “It was that day that whatever I felt towards Scott was completely erased. I hated him and it took four words for me to hate him. My kids aren’t mistakes. They’re my everything, and if I have to feel this gut wrenching pain, so they don’t have to, I don’t care anymore. I’ll deal with Scott, but that — that is so hard to deal with, and it makes me feel so small every time because I can’t fix it.”

His hands grip onto the steering wheel too tight. His eyes staring out onto the road before taking a deep breath. He removes a hand, and places it on your thigh. You don’t smile, but you pick up his hand and hold it with both of yours. Weaving your delicate fingers in his, while your right hand clings to his so tightly. He didn’t have to say anything, but you know he’s offering to be your strength.

“I’m tired of this constant fight, and this constant fear that my baby is going to be forgotten, and neglected, and do you know what happens to unattended children? They get into things. Certain things he can get into could kill him,” your breath stutters in your throat. “I don’t think that they let them use the phone to call me as much as they want. It’s just another way to separate us. I call every day. Multiple times a day. Scott maybe calls every other day..”

Lifting up his hand, he kisses over your knuckles. “I just wish I could talk to them before bed, so I knew that they were going to sleep without tears in their eyes,” he kisses your knuckles again as you pull into the driveway. Another long weekend, but this time you didn’t have to spend it alone. Even a little bit of a distraction will help.

“Thank you,” your voice is so hoarse as Andy gets out of the car. He opens your door, undoes your buckle, and lifts you up into his arms. Letting you koala around him as he carries you into the house. It’s the most comforting gesture. Days like this walking is difficult, and he takes that responsibility from you. His comfort couldn’t change anything, but it can give you comfort and support when you just want to stare at nothing.

“I want you in something comfortable in five minutes, and then we’re going to be lazy on the couch the rest of the evening. Audrey told me she was sad because she wanted a slumber party with me, you, Suede, and Ann,” he smirks as you lift your head off his shoulder. Of course he’d get a kick out of Audrey asking him to spend the night.

“Ann?”

“I think that’s what they’ve decided to call Ransom. Go on. Get comfy. I’m just wearing sweatpants, and a t-shirt,” perfect clothes to cuddle him in. Your eyes get heavy just thinking about it. Drop offs like that are draining, and you want to sleep until you get to see them again.

“Old and worn in?”

“It’s the only way to wear it. Go on,” reluctantly you walk away from him. Opening up your bedroom door, and freeze. It’s the same time every time. That stupid blonde girl with her hands firmly on your husband’s chest while her body sucks him into her. No condom. You thought you had been seeing things, but he confirmed it. No condom. And lucky for him, he didn’t transfer anything to you.

So many things you couldn’t forgive him for. He is selfish. He’s disgusting. And you hate him. You hate that he’s the one that is in your kids’ life, and you don’t even know if there will ever be a time that you don’t hate him. You sigh as those thick arms wrap around your waist, and you lean your head back on his shoulder.

“It’s where you caught them,” Andy doesn’t ask, but you nod your head. You hate coming into this room. Everything about it reminds you of that day. He lit candles. There was soft music. And he was staring up at her like she was a goddess. His hands gripped her hips so tightly. Did he ever look at you liked that?

Andy’s lips pepper kisses down your jaw. “When was the last time you slept in here?”

“The night before it happened,” he lets you go. Starting to pull off the clothes from the day. His fingers glide over your skin like the strokes of a paintbrush. Getting you completely naked before he bends down, and pulls out his shirt from the day, and slips it on you.

“Grab you some panties, or don’t,” there’s something so solid in his voice as he walks over to the bed, and yanks off the duvet. Tossing pillows to the side of it. Ripping at every linen that you split tears on as you made the bed one last time. Ending with a pile of bedding, and then he grunts, pulling the mattress off to the side.

“We’re going bed shopping this weekend,” you gasp as you look at him. “Either we get you a new fucking bed, or we buy a house. What do you want to do?”

Kiss him. Make love with him. Why was getting rid of the bed so simple? That makes perfect sense to remove the bed. “Andy, I…”

“I already told you I was going to marry you. And when I do, I won’t be living in this house. But temporarily I need you to sleep in a bed. So, are we going bed shopping or buying a house this weekend?”

“Bed.”

“There’s my girl,” he grins, and you take a few steps to close the gap between you. Wrapping yourself into his warmth. “When you can’t do that anymore, I will be there. I hated that, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through. He’s a callous man, but he won’t win. I may only be a step dad to them, but,” he stutters. Pulling you even closer to him. “I love them, just like I love you. I will fight for both of you, and I understand court order. So I have to be productive where I can. And this is where I start, making sure you get good sleep.”

“Thank you,” you whimper, and he lets you melt into him. Soaking up his scent, and his strength. You needed him, not as another parent, but him. Just to be with you. “I love you, too.”

You let all those walls tumble down because you can’t continue to keep them up. You are one person, and you’re tired of fighting, and this isn’t a fight that was worth it. Why can you not love Andy? Why should you not just let him in, and trust him the way that you did Scott? Because being strong for your kids was making your other walls weaker. Instead of putting up boundaries from Andy, you want him inside your walls as added protection.

“We’ll buy a bed,” you laugh. It’s silly, but it’s freeing. Freeing to admit to yourself and to Andy you love him. You want him, and you don’t have to pretend anymore.

“And a dog.”

“No.”

“There’s dogs that detect allergies.”

“No.”

“Fine, when we buy us a house that we both, and the kids adore, and it has extra space just in case,” you look up at him and how adorable he is with his hope. You couldn’t have kids, but you wish you could give Andy at least one biological child. “We’ll buy a house. After the divorce. Deal?”

“You got a deal.”

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