#and did not even imply he was going to. it was just pulled from their asses and/bc Yuri never even said Flynn's name there

[duskbornraven]

Veteran, Doctor, Wedding Date

Never in my life have I finished a sex scene in writing. This fandom has broken me. There is a second part in the works for the actual wedding, because I am weak willed when it comes to him.

Paring: Jack Abbot x f!Reader

Warnings: mdni, sex with plot, female reader, Oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, general teasing, implied age gap.

Summary: Weddings take up a lot of time, especially when you're dating the best man.

Word Count: 4k

It had been too many years since Jack had been to a wedding. Let alone asked to be in a wedding party, but when one of your best friends asks you to be his best man you can’t really say no. Even harder when said friend oh so politely reminded him that he could bring his cute new girlfriend. 

So here he was, sitting on the couch waiting for you to get home. The TV was on but he wasn’t really watching it. Anticipation weighed on him. He knew first hand that people got weird about weddings. There was an unspoken weight around them, and he hadn’t asked anyone to be his date to anything in what felt like an eternity. 

He still managed to fall asleep on the couch, and was startled awake when he heard the familiar click of the lock. Snapping his head up to a dimly lit living room, bathed in the flickering light of the TV. Pushing himself more upright, the fog of sleep still fighting to pull him back under. 

With a groan he scrubbed his face, forcing himself to wake up, so you could have this conversation. Watching you kick your shoes off, braced against the door to avoid overbalancing. “Did you make it upstairs at all?” You were still facing away from him but he could hear the smile in your voice. 

“I did, thank you.” His mock indignation getting a laugh from you, making your way over to throw yourself down on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out with a continent sigh. 

“What’s on your mind?” You tapped his leg with a toe, leaning up to get a better look at him. “You’re burning a hole in the wall.” 

“I was asked to be in a wedding later this year.” Jack turned himself on the couch to face you “And, I was wondering if you would be my date.” 

He knew the answer before you even opened your mouth to speak. Your eyes lit up as you pushed yourself the rest of the way into a sitting position. The way you beamed at him, practically glowing in the low light of the room. “Of course I will.” Your excitement was hardly concealed. 

You leaned forward kneeling on the couch, braced on his shoulder, to peck him on the cheek before leaning in for a lingering kiss. His head tilted back slightly to meet your lips. A hand wrapped reassuringly around your arm to keep you balanced, the other coming to rest on your hip. 

You pulled away, looking down into his eyes, unable to keep the smile from your face. Watching his face soften as he took you in again. A grin slowly spreading over his own tired features. Letting you settle back on the couch beside him. An arm draped over the back of the couch, fingertips just brushing against your shoulder. 

“Didn’t really have a plan if you said no. Considering my backup date would have been the groom.” You pushed him away lightly, moving yourself more than him with a scoff. 

“Do you know when it is yet?” You chose to ignore his comment. ‘I’ll make sure to get some time off from work.” 

“Not yet, he’s supposed to be getting a hold of me about that since it’s going to be a scheduling nightmare. I don’t know how they’re going to get by without us for a night.” His hand left the couch to run through his hair absently. 

“Do you maybe want to finish this conversation after you get a nap in old man?” You pressed a kiss to his temple ignoring the look he shot you. 

“You know I do a pretty decent job keeping up with you last time I checked.” It was hard to read his expression in the low lighting but you could catch the way his head tilted almost like a challenge. The faintest hint of a smirk still plastered to his face. 

“You do. But have you considered I’m using you as an excuse to take a nap and get some quiet time with my boyfriend for once?” You challenged him back, trying your best to keep a straight face. 

Wordlessly he hauled himself up. Then turned to offer you a hand, helping you to your feet. Once you were upstairs it didn’t take long for you to drift off, an alarm set for an hour in the future. More importantly, Jack’s arm wrapped securely around you and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. 

Months passed quietly, comfortably between the night he asked you to come with him. He had steadily been pulled more and more into the planning and preparation. Which meant less sleep and less time with you. 

Jack still made the effort, still made sure he caught you to kiss you goodbye and was home to kiss you before work if he had to be out. But between your work schedules and the approaching wedding date you hadn’t had time for much outside a quick kiss here or there. 

And it was starting to get the better of both of you. 

When the time came to actually go get fitted for a suit he found you waiting for him in the bedroom, laying on the bed still only in a stolen shirt that had once been his, watching him emerge from the bathroom. He stalled in the doorway taking you in, laying on your back, your bare legs bent to let your feet plant on the bed. 

 “Don't you tempt me, I can’t be late to this one.” With effort he managed to pull his focus to getting dressed, aware you were watching as he zipped up his jeans. 

“I wasn’t trying to.” But he saw the way your eyes also lingered, dragging themselves over his half naked body. 

“And hypothetically if you were, I’d make it up to you tonight.” He leaned over you pressing a kiss to your lips. Melting into your touch as your hands skated over the planes of his chest before looping around the back of his neck, letting you pull him in closer, his weight pressing you further into the bed. Your hand tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened. Weeks of want and frustration just below the surface as the heat between you. 

Shattered by the ringing of his phone from the bathroom. 

Pulling away his head hit the mattress, breathing heavily against your neck, pressing a trail kisses along your jaw before slowly pushing himself upright. Reluctantly you let him push away from you, almost aching as the warmth of his body left yours. Not missing the way he adjusted the growing bulge in his jeans before hearing his frustrated voice from the other room. “Yeah, be down in a minute.” 

You sat up on the bed watching him as he pulled a shirt over his head, glancing over at you still watching him. “Not trying to be tempting?” 

“Maybe a little.” You didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Then I’ll have to see if I can’t return the favor when I get home.” He leaned down again, capturing you in another searing kiss that was unfairly short lived. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” 

You listened to the front door slam behind him. Still perched on the edge of the bed listening to the sound of wheels on pavement. It had been too long since the pair of you had been home for more than a few minutes, even on his days off it felt like he was helping with something these days. 

Which was fine most of the time, but you missed him, missed finding him asleep on the couch when you got home from work. Or getting to sleep in with him on your days off, the weight of him on top of you. The way you would find yourself casually reaching out to touch him when you spread out on the couch together. 

You forced yourself to get up and move, heading for the shower to at least make an effort to start the day. By the time you had made yourself a meal there was an unopened message from Jack. A mirror photo of him, half changed into formal wear. Pants unzipped and shirt unbuttoned, his face was mostly covered by the phone itself but you could see the hint of a smirk playing across his features. 

You stood there, frozen for what felt like an eternity starting at it. You finally backed out to and were about to type out something when another photo started to load in. Now fully dressed, with his arm around a groomsman, like wasn’t sending you thirst traps from the dressing room. You debated not giving him the satisfaction but you were pretty sure he knew it had worked.

You reacted to the messages and asked how it was going. Saving some of your decency hopefully by not openly showing he had gotten under your skin. It took a few minutes for him to reply. 

Good. Getting dinner and drinks after this but I’ll be home right after. 

You started to type back a reply, scrolling back to the first photo, the too pleased expression on his hardly visible face. The fact that you almost had him before he left replaying in your head. It was hard enough making the time with your schedules and now he was so busy. And this man had the audacity to tease you like that. 

If he wanted to play that game you could play that game. Phone in hand you scrambled back up the steps, an excited fluttering in your gut. There was one thing that would give you the unfair advantage, the shirt you had to stop stealing. After you had moved in you had been granted access to his old shirts. Jack insisted that he didn’t care what you stole, as long as he got it back. 

But he did, he just hadn’t known it. You had dug out one of his old shirts from the army. Had picked it because of its age, it felt like a piece of him when you missed him. That morning you woke up with your alarms as usual, rolling out of bed before the sun. Half awake you had stumbled your way downstairs to make coffee as the front door swung open, the familiar sound of shoes on the hardwood letting you know Jack had made it home. 

A moment later the footsteps stopped, freezing in the doorway to the kitchen behind you. The feeling of being watched buzzed in the back of your head, prompting you to turn. There he had stood, frozen, eyes focused solely on you. Suddenly feeling very naked you had turned to face him. 

You had been late for work that morning, and every other morning you had mistakenly decided to wear that particular shirt to bed. As exhausted as he was when he came home he always seemed to find the energy those mornings. It had become a pattern, so much so that you had given up wearing it, almost forgotten it existed. Until now. 

It took some digging to find. Buried under newer clothes, newer memories but where you had expected to find it. Embarrassingly enough the sight of the shirt alone was enough to make you feel warm. Memories associated with the way the fabric felt bunched in your hands resurfacing. 

You looked around like someone would catch you undressing in your own home before changing into it. Like the man who once wore it it had softened slightly with age, still sturdy but not as stiff as it had once been. It felt like an extension of Jack, a piece of his past made tangible. Maybe that’s why you had always loved it. 

You kicked your shorts off for good measure before positioning yourself in the mirror. The fabric covered just enough to make a point, the tiniest hint of bare skin showing in the reflection. 

Filtering through the photos until you landed on one that was perfect. Mimicking his own smug expression, phone held to the side, making sure to capture your back in the mirror. Completely innocent on a first glance, if anyone other than Jack saw you it would seem like a sweet picture from his girl. 

You hit send and retrieved the shorts, slipping them back on. Your phone dinged twice in short succession before you even had them all the way back on. 

That’s evil. 

I’m coming home. 

You had him, but you knew that before you even sent the picture. The second the idea popped into your head you won this little battle of wills. You wanted him home, but not at the cost of something important. Something he might regret missing. 

Stay, be with your friends. I’ll see you tonight. 

Fine. But you’re not changing. Be home as soon as we’re done. 

Battle won you settled yourself on the couch, determined to distract yourself, to make the time move faster while you waited. 

Say one thing for Jack Abbot, he’s a man of his word. He got dropped off around eight, a few drinks in and had practically pushed his ride into the truck when they got to the parking lot. The flush of liquor warming him in the cool night air as he made his way inside. 

You had been on his mind since he left, the weeks of pent up frustration slowly building to this moment. It took no time to spot you in your usual spot on the couch, half focusing on a movie, half looking at something on your phone. He settled heavily onto his spot on the couch, watching but not watching the TV. Far too aware that you were slowly sliding yourself closer to him.

“How was your night?” You spoke first, glancing up from your phone, finally making contact with his leg at the other end of the couch. 

“Good, I'm ready to have my weekends back.” He glanced over at you, a hand resting on your shin, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the exposed skin. 

You hummed in agreement, going back to your phone. Pretending that you weren’t aware of the way his eyes were watching you. Ignoring the slow press of his body against yours until he was pressed into your side one arm pinned beneath his weight. A hand skating over the fabric of the stolen shirt. 

Holding himself over you, meeting you in a slow, desperate kiss. Groaning into your mouth when you pulled him in closer, beer still lingering on his tongue. 

He pulled away to press kisses along your jaw, just catching the whispered “missed you” that escaped you with a heavy sigh. 

He stilled above you for a moment, pausing before he spoke, whispering against your jaw “How much?” 

You squirmed under him watching a hand slowly slide up your leg, brushing at the hem of your shorts. When you didn’t answer right away he spoke again. “Because I know how much I’ve missed you.” The faintest scratch of teeth along the shell of your ear. “Missed this.” 

Heat radiating from your skin against his touch, fingers dipping breath the fabric of your shorts and inching along the soft skin of your thighs. Mouth claiming the sensitive skin just over your pulse. You could feel a twitch of a smile against your neck when a moan escaped your lips. 

His free hand abandoning your thigh to instead slide beneath your shirt, thumb teasing the elastic of your bra, leaning away to watch your expression. To take in the way your breathing caught as his hand pressed into your soft skin, savoring the way you felt against him.

“I’m going to need you to work with me.” And his arm was around your shoulders, pulling you against him, rolling himself under you. With you helping he was able to mostly pull you solidly on top of him, if not a little awkwardly. 

“Better.” He sighed, adjusting himself slightly beneath you. Hands wrapping around you to capture you in another kiss, more desperate than the last. His hand tangling in your hair bucking up against you chasing the fleeting friction against you. 

The groan you got in response to your own desperate grind against him sent a jolt of arousal through your body, adding to the pooling heat between your legs. Your desperate movements doing nothing to relieve the ache, if anything it made your movements more desperate against him. 

Jack clearly felt the same way, hands pushing down your shorts, thumbs hooking deftly in the elastic of your panties, sliding them both down your thighs, supporting you as you kicked them off entirely. Your hands travel down, fumbling with his belt for a second before managing to undo his jeans and helping him tugg them off. 

He didn’t miss the way your eyes lingered on the damp patch of cloth staining his boxers. Watched as his cock twitched under your gaze. Hands pull you forwards again, pressing his clothed erection against your own soaked cunt. Still not enough but his deliberate grind pulled a broken moan from you, head falling forwards into the crook of his neck. Mindlessly chasing the sensation, grinding down against him. 

“Someone’s eager.” His voice thick with need as he bucked against you again. Dragging that fucking shirt over your head, nipping at the exposed skin he could reach. 

It was nowhere near enough, the drag of cloth doing little to ease the ache. Pulling away to be able to practically tear away the last of the fabric separating you. Swallowing thickly at the sight of him, settling back between his thighs. 

Keeping eye contact as you leaned in, licking a hot stripe from base to tip. That earned you an exhale that was dangerously close to a growl. Jack’s eyes didn’t leave yours, pupils totally blown as he watched you take his tip slowly in your mouth. Watched you even as your eyes fluttered shut, slowly inching your way down his length. With all the restraint in the world he kept his hips still when he felt the brush of the back of your throat. 

A hand brushing hair out of your face, settling at the back of your head, letting you feel the faint scrape of nails against your scalp with the swirl of your tongue and you began move, setting a pace just restrained enough to not be a tease, but not nearly enough to get him to break. Swallowing thickly around him, losing yourself in the weight of him, the increasingly desperate noises coming from above you. 

Pulling away enough to meet his eyes “Who’s eager now?” Pressing a kiss to his tip before taking him to the base again. Settling into the same steady rhythm, watching him come undone under you. 

“So fucking pretty. Can’t help it” It came out raw, almost unrecognizable as his voice. Still watching, eyes locked on the way your lips parted around his cock. Watching as you squirmed into the fabric beneath you, trying desperately to find your own relief. 

A tug from the hand still half tangled in your hair got you to pull away with an obscene pop, slightly breathless and lips swollen. Becking you forward again, sliding backwards to sit more upright against the arm of the couch. 

Those familiar hands guided you down, firm hands pressing your hips against him. Not letting you take him yet, a slow teasing thrill running through you again as he dragged between your folds. Letting up to let you set the pace, hips pressed to yours, matching your pace as you finally were able to chase away your own desperate need. 

The frim press of a thumb against your clit made you almost come undone. Hips stuttering against his as preassue built at your core, back arching arching. His other hand skating up your back, skilled hands unclasping your bra in one fluid motion, another piece of clothing discarded somewhere in the dark room. 

It was like you were being consumed by flame, burning hands teasing hardened nippels, rolling them lightly between practiced fingers. Another circling your clit, helping you come undone grinding against his leaking cock. Your breathy moans echoed in desperate shaky breaths beneath you. You were barely holding on, hips jerking erratically against his. 

“Let go.” That was all that it took. His voice was raw and quiet, strained with need. 

The building crescendo of tension snapped, stilling against him,hands braced against his chest as pleasure wracked your body, fluttering against him as you came, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer. Slumping forward, breathing hard. Your breath is almost too warm against the sweat collecting on your bodies. 

Jack kissed you again, slow, tender, letting the tremors run their course against him. Completely still beneath you. Cupping your face and grounding you again as you came down from the high or your orgasam. 

Pulling away, a thin line of saliva still connecting you briefly he adjusted beneath you again. He rolled against you again, a moan falling from your lips. Pushing against his chest you were disappointed to still find the cloth of his shirt, damp with sweat and very much in the way of wandering hands. 

Your hand slid under the hem, sliding it up. Reaching back with the other to stroke him before taking a breath and sinking down onto him. Jack’s head falling back exhaling through his teeth as fluttering walls gripped him, pulling him in. “fuck”

You clenched around him when your hips met. Hangs tightening their grip on your hips grinding into you. Hungry eyes glued to where you met, watching as you started to move, lifting yourself to ride him. 

You knew he wasn’t far from his own release. What little composure he had held onto was already cracking, his hips jerking erratically against yours. Already sensitive and moving at your own reckless pace once you adjusted, nails biting into skin. His thumb returning to circle your already over sensitive clit. Fatigue battling pleasure as heat sparked through you once again.  

A pathetic whine escaped your mouth, bracing against his shoulder, almost frenzied in your movements as pleasure wound tight once more. The room falling silent other than the sound of your labored breathing. Focusing solely on chasing senestion, watching the man beneath you coming undone, jaw clenched and breathing hard as you rode him.

Your second orgasm ripped through you. Your walls spasming around him slumping forwards bonelessly onto his chest. Arms circled you, hips snapping against yours, breathing ragged in your ear. 

A your name tumbling from his lips his hips stuttered against yours, finishing inside you, leaving you feeling impossibly full. You stayed like that for a minute, both breathing heavily. Still riding the high of your climax. 

“Shower?” You offered, pressing a slightly breathless kiss to his forehead. He nodded wordlessly, reaching past you to offer you your discarded clothes and helping you get off him without making a mess of the fabric below you. 

Waking the next morning you felt heavier than you had the past few nights. Blinking slowly you realized that you were pinned, your legs tangled with Jack’s, his arm thrown over your shoulders. The weight of him was almost alien the past week. Extra heat tangled around you along with the sheets. 

Moving slowly you tried to extricate yourself, tossing and tuning would likely wake him and you were awake enough. You managed to free your legs from the sheet and were slowly pulling out from under him when the arm around you flexed, pulling you closer. 

“Stay.” He murmured, arms tightening around you, shifting to press a kiss to your temple. “Just a little longer.” 

You let him pull you into him, the warmth of his chest at your back, the steady pulse of his heart against your skin. The comforting scent of him filling your lungs with each breath. It was hard to resist letting your world become Jack Abbot for just a little longer. 

[4linos]

already gone pt. 2

kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: to the world, you’re the perfect couple: the rising athlete and the woman who stood by him. but behind closed doors, something is shattering. the MLB offer. the agent. the betrayal you never saw coming. now your home is no longer a refuge, but the battleground where truth and love fight for survival.

warnings: angst, emotional distress, implied infidelity, trust issues, miscommunication.

wc: 8086

[already gone part 1]

The ache in your head was the first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes. A deep, dull pounding, as if your thoughts from the night before had hardened into something physical, a weight pressing against the inside of your skull. You winced, pulling the blankets tighter around you, wishing for a moment that you could sink into the mattress and disappear.

But reality wouldn’t let you.

You didn’t know how long you’d been awake, just that the light creeping in through the window was gray and cold, that strange shade that comes just before sunrise. It felt too early, and yet too late. Sleep hadn’t come easily the night before. You remembered lying there, turning from one side to the other, tangled in sheets soaked with quiet, bitter tears.

The confrontation with Seungmin kept playing in your head over and over, like a broken reel. His voice, raised. Yours, breaking. His lies, half-formed and crumbling the moment they left his lips. And then the door, slamming shut behind him. The silence afterward had been deafening.

You sat up slowly, careful not to make too much noise. The last thing you wanted was to wake Minjoon or Iseul, not yet. You needed a moment. Just one moment to yourself. Some air, some quiet. Some clarity.

Your feet hit the cold floor, grounding you instantly. You moved on instinct brushing your teeth, washing your face, tying your hair back. Each motion was mechanical, like your body remembered how to go through the motions even when your mind didn’t. You tugged a hoodie over your tank top, one of Seungmin’s old ones that still smelled faintly like his cologne, and padded softly toward the nursery.

First Iseul.

You peeked into her room, and there she was, your baby girl a bundle of calm in her crib, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her tiny fists twitched now and then, as if she were dreaming. You stepped in just long enough to check her temperature with your palm, to make sure she hadn’t kicked her blanket off. Satisfied, you backed out slowly.

Then Minjoon’s room.

He was on his side, one leg flopped over his stuffed tiger, his chubby cheek pressed into the pillow. The nightlight cast a faint orange glow across his small face, and you felt your chest twist in that quiet, aching way it always did when you looked at him. So small. So unknowing.

So safe, for now.

You shut his door with the care of someone handling glass, and only when you were back in the kitchen did you finally exhale.

You brewed your coffee in silence. No background noise. No morning show, no baby monitor, no cartoons. Just the drip, drip, drip of the machine and your breath, slow and steady. You sat down at the kitchen table, wrapping both hands around the mug like it was the only warmth left in the world.

Then you opened your phone.

You didn’t plan to. At least, you told yourself that. But your fingers moved like they already knew where to go. The browser opened. You typed in her name.

Madison Lee.

You stared at the results, heart thudding a little too hard, a little too fast. The headache throbbed behind your eyes, but you ignored it.

Her LinkedIn was the first link. Clean, professional. UCLA graduate. Top-tier agency in L.A. Negotiated major sports contracts, specifically with international athletes looking to transition to the MLB. All of it lined up.

You moved to her Instagram next. Public profile.

Your breath caught the moment her photos loaded. She was beautiful sharp-jawed, clean lines, bright white teeth. She wore heels and tailored blazers like armor. Her captions were neat, professional. “Proud to represent some of the best in the game.” “Another day, another diamond.” Posing with athletes. Posing at dinners. Posing at events.

You scrolled faster.

The deeper you went, the more your stomach curled in on itself. There was one photo, taken two months ago that made your blood run cold. It was from a private dinner, tagged in Busan. Madison was smiling, wine glass in hand. The caption was simple: “Celebrating hard work paying off.” The comments were vague. But one of them… one of them was from Seungmin’s teammate.

“You two make a good team.”

Your throat went dry.

You stared at the comment for far too long, your mind rushing to connect dots that weren’t supposed to be connected. You remembered Seungmin’s deflections. The way he tripped over his words. The quiet “it wasn’t like that” before you’d even asked him what “that” was.

You hadn’t accused him of cheating, not then. Not even now. Not really. But somehow, he had still gotten defensive. Still shaken. Still ready to deny something before you could name it.

And now this.

The way he never told you about her. The way he downplayed everything. The way he didn’t mention the U.S. deal until it was practically out in the open, a secret dragged into the light by a journalist.

And this woman. This sleek, powerful, picture-perfect agent. She was everything Seungmin never mentioned.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You told yourself to stop. Told yourself to close the app. To let it go. But your heart had a different plan. Your fear did. Your instinct, the one you had learned not to ignore since becoming a mother.

You clicked on Madison’s tagged photos.

One showed her seated next to Seungmin at a conference panel, his body angled slightly toward her. Another, taken from behind, showed them walking together through an airport terminal, not holding hands, but close enough. Too close, maybe.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your vision blurred and you blinked, chest tight.

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands when a tiny voice broke the silence.

“…Mommy?”

You froze.

Minjoon.

You turned slowly, eyes finding his small figure at the edge of the hallway. He stood there in his blue dinosaur pajamas, rubbing one eye with his fist, his hair a messy puff. His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“What you doin’?”

You blinked again, your phone dropping face down onto the table with a soft thud. The sudden reality of his voice so innocent, so real was like cold water down your back.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood, wiping your face quickly with your sleeve, hoping he hadn’t noticed your red eyes.

“I’m just… having coffee, baby,” you said softly, crouching down to his level. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head. You nodded, reaching out to cup his cheek. His skin was warm. Solid. Comforting.

He looked at you for a moment longer, his eyes filled with a curiosity you didn’t know how to protect him from.

“You sad?”

Your heart splintered.

You didn’t answer him. You just pulled him into your arms and held him close, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice thick. “Mommy’s just tired.”

He didn’t respond. He just curled into you the way he always did when he knew something was wrong silent, present, offering comfort in the only way a two-year-old could.

You held him like that for a long time, your coffee growing cold on the table behind you. Madison’s face still staring out from behind the locked screen of your phone.

But in that moment, none of that mattered.

Because your little boy was watching.

And you didn’t want him to learn what it looked like to fall apart.

Not yet.

The knock-off hotel alarm clock glowed dim red in the half-dark, the numbers shifting sluggishly from 5:41 to 5:42 while drops of water slid from Seungmin’s hair and pattered onto the threadbare carpet.
He had taken a five-minute shower on the coldest setting the rusty pipes could manage, hoping the bite of frigid water would shock the exhaustion and the shame, out of him. It hadn’t. His head still throbbed, his eyes still burned, and every breath still tasted like the silence that had filled the house after he slammed the door.

He toweled off in jerky, impatient motions, the towel snagging on the thin chain of the wedding band he’d looped around his neck at some foolish hour of the night. Too raw to keep it on his finger, too terrified to take it off completely.

The room smelled like industrial soap and last night’s cheap coffee. His duffel bag lay open on the bed, half-packed: a spare pair of jeans, two t-shirts, a hoodie that still smelled faintly of your laundry detergent. He shoved his travel-size toiletries kit on top, then hesitated, palms braced on the mattress, head hanging.

Go home, he told himself.
Say you’re sorry, really sorry, no excuses, no half-truths. Just beg her to let you talk.

But every time he tried to picture the conversation, Madison’s name pushed in like static.

Three months of avoiding her calls, her emails, her marketing decks promising “seamless transitions” and “lifetime earning potential.” Three months of pretending he could outrun that night in the Los Angeles hotel bar, pretending the almost-kiss hadn’t happened at all.

It had happened. Quick, sloppy, drunk on victory and adrenaline after scouts bought a round of champagne. She’d leaned in, laughing at something he barely remembered saying, and before he could dodge, her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. He’d flinched back so fast he nearly toppled his chair. She’d apologized smooth, professional, but the gleam in her eyes told him she wasn’t sorry at all.

He should’ve fired her on the spot.
He should’ve called you from the lobby, confessed everything.
Instead he buried it because you were six weeks postpartum, surviving on ninety-minute sleep cycles and sheer determination. He told himself you didn’t need another worry. He told himself it was one slip. It would blow over. He could fix it later.

Only later never came. And the silence turned into omission, and the omission into a lie so sprawling he’d lost track of all its edges.

Seungmin scrubbed both hands over his face, then yanked the zipper of the duffel shut. He slung the strap over his shoulder, grabbed his phone and room key, and headed for the door.

The screen lit up just as his fingers closed around the handle.

Madison Lee – Incoming Call

The name glared at him like a warning flare.

His thumb hovered over Decline.
Then stupid, reckless curiosity he hit Accept and lifted the phone halfway, not bothering with the speaker.

“Seung? You finally picked up.” Madison’s voice was syrup-smooth, a practiced mix of concern and authority. “I was starting to think you’d ghosted me for good.”

“It’s six in the morning,” he said, voice rough.

“In L.A. it’s one p.m.,” she answered breezily. “Look, I know things exploded online yesterday. I wanted to check in, see how you’re handling the press.”

Press. As if the fallout were a headline problem and not a marriage imploding.

“I’m fine,” he lied. He rubbed the knot forming at the base of his skull. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Seungmin.” The shift in her tone was almost imperceptible, businesslike turning coaxing, coaxing turning possessive. “We had momentum before you went dark. The Padres and the LA Dodgers both asked for new videos. If we get them preseason tapes this week, your offer numbers stay strong.”

“It’s over, Madison.”

A pause, a single beat where he could almost hear her recalibrating.

“Over?” she echoed, polite disbelief layered over steel. “The KBO is wrapping. You’re twenty-six, you’ve got prime velocity, and you’re about to start losing leverage. Over is not a strategic—”

“My marriage might be,” he snapped. “The contract can wait.”

Another pause, this one brittle.

“You told me she supports your career.”

“She does.” His throat closed. She did. Before I broke it. “But she also deserves the truth, and I haven’t given her that. I’m not signing anything until I fix what I can at home.”

“Seung—”

“She’s more important than baseball,” he said, and the second the words left his mouth he realized how painfully, perfectly true they were. “And she’s definitely more important than a contract built on secrets.”

Madison exhaled, an annoyed puff disguised as a sigh. “I understand you’re emotional right now. But you need to think long-term. Opportunities like this don’t sit on shelves.”

That familiar, silky persuasion the same tone she’d used that night in L.A. before leaning in. Guilt flared hot in his chest.

“This call is over,” he said, and hit End before she could respond.

For a moment he stood motionless, phone slack in his hand, heart hammering. Then he shoved the device into his back pocket, yanked the door open, and stepped into the hallway.

6:07 a.m.

The corridor smelled of disinfectant and stale cigarettes. His sneakers squeaked on the cheap vinyl tiles as he jogged toward the elevator, duffel thumping against his hip. In the chrome doors he caught his reflection, hair still damp, eyes rimmed red, hoodie askew. He looked like a man who’d spent the night running from ghosts and found them all waiting in the morning.

No more running.

He thumbed a rideshare request with shaking fingers. Twenty-four minutes to the house. Long enough to practice the apology again and again until the words stopped sounding useless.

But words, he knew, wouldn’t be enough. He would have to show you, prove with every action that the silence was finished, that the truth, unvarnished and ugly, was finally on the table.

The elevator dinged. He stepped inside, pressing L, knuckles white around the strap of the duffel.

As the doors slid shut, he whispered into the empty space, half-prayer, half-promise:

“Please let me still be her home.”

He rehearsed the truths, over and over, until the rideshare pulled to the curb in front of the house quiet, blue-gray in the dawn. Lights were off except one faint glow in the kitchen window. He imagined you there, a mug between your palms, the kids still asleep upstairs.

Please open the door, he prayed silently, stepping onto the walk.
Please let me tell you everything.

The sun hadn’t fully risen when Seungmin stepped inside your home.

The door creaked slightly as he opened it, just enough for the morning light to creep over the threshold and land across the living room floor in narrow slants. He held his breath for a beat as he closed the door behind him, the silence of the early hour wrapping tightly around him like gauze. There was no welcome. No warm light. No scent of breakfast or soft hum of music like there used to be when things were okay.

But the house wasn’t silent.

The first sound that hit him was the tiny, sharp cry of Iseul raw and distressed, unmistakably the kind of cry that had lasted more than a few minutes. It had that edge to it, the exhausted kind that said she had been fighting sleep for a while now. The second sound, softer, more familiar, was the rustle of Minjoon on the couch, feet kicking at the blanket around him as his favorite cartoon played on low volume. The third sound unspoken, invisible was the throb of emotion in his own chest.

Seungmin set his duffel bag quietly by the door, his movements slow, deliberate, like approaching a wound he wasn’t sure how to treat. His eyes found you immediately.

You were pacing the living room, hair pulled back hastily, dark circles beneath your eyes, one hand clutching Iseul against your chest while your other rubbed her back in practiced, instinctual circles. Your lips moved every now and then hushed words, gentle reassurances, but your eyes looked blank. Not empty. Just… spent. Like a body operating entirely on instinct. On routine. On the kind of fatigue only a mother running on fragments of sleep could understand.

He wanted to crumble then and there. He didn’t deserve to walk into this into you, carrying the weight of everything on your own again. And still, you did. You always did.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the stillness.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look up right away.

But when you finally did, your eyes flicked to him in a way that made his heart ache. Not startled. Not angry.

Just… tired.

“Iseul’s been crying for over an hour,” you said, your voice thin. “She keeps waking herself up.”

He nodded, already moving toward you, his arms out. “Let me.”

You hesitated, gaze locking with his for a fraction of a second longer than he expected. Not because you didn’t trust him with her. But because this was the first time he was this close to you in days physically, emotionally. After everything. And he knew you were wondering whether you’d even be able to stand it.

But finally, wordlessly, you passed Iseul into his arms.

The baby girl fussed as the transfer happened, her cry catching in her throat, but the moment she settled into his chest, the crying slowed. His hand cradled the back of her tiny head, and he swayed slightly on instinct, rocking side to side in that barely-there rhythm she liked. Her hiccuping breaths began to slow.

“She missed you,” you whispered, voice fraying around the edges.

Seungmin pressed a kiss into Iseul’s forehead and closed his eyes.

“I missed her more,” he whispered back.

He glanced at Minjoon, who hadn’t moved from the couch but had clearly noticed his dad’s arrival. The little boy looked over with sleepy, cautious eyes, milk bottle in hand, stuffed tiger tucked into his lap. His cartoon was still playing in the background, but Seungmin could see the tension in his small shoulders.

Guilt rose again like a wave.

“Hey, Min,” he said gently.

Minjoon gave him a half-hearted smile but didn’t speak. Seungmin wanted to go to him, to kneel down and wrap his boy up in his arms too, but this moment wasn’t about repair with the kids, not yet. First, he needed to repair what had been broken with you. The children needed stability. Trust. They would get that once he gave it to you again first.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, finally looking at you again. “Please?”

You looked at him then, really looked. The dark shadows under your eyes, the exhaustion carved deep into your features, the subtle bite of suspicion still lingering behind your gaze, it all told him exactly what kind of damage he had done. You didn’t nod right away.

You looked back at Minjoon. At the clock.

Then back at him.

Finally, you said, “Okay.”

-

He followed you to the bedroom after he handed Iseul back to you, now dozing lightly against your chest, still sniffling now and then. You laid her down carefully in her bassinet by the window and checked twice to make sure her pacifier was in place before turning back to him. You sat down on the edge of the bed, your hands resting in your lap, unmoving.

He stood for a long moment, unsure where to begin. The truth was ugly. The silence, worse. But nothing could be worse than watching the way your fingers were trembling now as you waited.

So he sat, hands resting on his knees, and breathed once before diving in.

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But he saw your shoulders tense.

“I know,” you said after a pause. “I never said you did.”

“I know,” he said back, guilt crawling into his voice. “But I acted like someone who did. And I need to tell you why.”

You looked away, staring out the window.

He continued.

“Three months ago… after a showcase game, Madison tried to kiss me.”

You flinched this time subtle, but real.

“I didn’t let her,” he said quickly. “I swear. I pulled away, told her it was inappropriate. But I didn’t fire her. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t come clean, and that’s where I screwed everything up.”

You inhaled sharply, but still said nothing. Your silence screamed louder than anything.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought I was protecting you. You were still recovering, you weren’t sleeping, the kids were barely giving you a moment to breathe—”

“And you thought I couldn’t handle the truth?” you interrupted quietly, looking at him now, eyes sharp. “You thought I’d break?”

“No,” he whispered. “No, I just… I thought if I told you, you’d see me differently. Like I’d let it happen. Like I’d opened that door. And I didn’t. But I—, I still didn’t tell you. And that’s just as bad.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy.

“I felt like I was being pulled in two,” he went on. “One side of me wanted that contract—so badly. I wanted to prove I was good enough. That I could play with the best. But the other side of me…”

He trailed off, voice cracking.

“The other side of me didn’t know how to chase that dream without hurting you. And instead of being honest, I started lying by omission. I thought I could balance both. But the second I hid Madison’s attempt to cross a line, I was already letting it fall apart.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and he could see the pain etched deep into your features.

“She wasn’t just your agent, Seungmin,” you said, voice shaking. “She was part of a secret you were keeping. That’s what hurts. Not the kiss that didn’t happen. Not the job offer. It’s that you made choices without me when we promised to do this—life—together.”

His eyes welled up. “I know.”

“Do you?” you asked. “Because you left. You didn’t talk. You didn’t fight for us last night.”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “I was ashamed. I kept thinking… if I didn’t say anything, maybe it would fix itself. But I’ve been lying to myself too. And I can’t anymore. If you hate me, if you don’t forgive me, I’ll accept that. But I had to tell you. I have to be the man you and the kids deserve.”

You didn’t respond right away.

You stood up slowly, walked over to the window, and wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked out at the pale morning sky. He didn’t follow. He just waited.

Finally, you said, “I don’t know what this means yet. I don’t know what comes next.”

Seungmin nodded slowly, his voice almost a whisper. “Whatever you need. However long it takes.”

He stood, stepping closer, slowly, like you were a cliff edge he was terrified to fall from.

“Let me help again,” he said, gently. “With the kids. With the house. With you. I don’t want to be a visitor in this family. I want to come home.”

Your breath hitched.

You turned toward him, tears brimming now, but still not falling.

“I want that too,” you whispered, voice cracking, “but I need to believe you again. That’s going to take time.”

He nodded, one tear finally slipping down his cheek.

“I’ll wait,” he said, softly but with conviction. “I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

And for the first time in days, maybe longer, you nodded back.

The off-season came with quieter mornings, slower afternoons, and a noticeable shift in the atmosphere of the house. Not peaceful, exactly because healing wasn’t immediate, and the weight of everything that had happened still lingered in the walls like a draft you couldn’t quite seal up, but there was space now. Space to breathe. Space to try again.

And for Seungmin, that space meant relearning his role in his own home.

He was always a good father. Attentive when he was around, gentle, patient. But “when he was around” had become a luxury during the season. Days blurred into flights, games, hotel beds, away stadiums, and practice fields. FaceTime calls with Minjoon that ended with the toddler smashing the screen in frustration because it wasn’t the same as a hug. Missed milestones, first steps, first words that you had recorded and sent to him with a bittersweet caption and a quiet ache behind your smile.

But now, the Lotte Giants were done for the year. The glove had been hung up. And for the first time in months, he wasn’t just a guest who dropped by with gifts and apologies. He was home.

And he was trying.

You noticed it right away. The way he hovered behind you during breakfast, watching how you made Minjoon’s pancakes into small shapes to make eating fun. The way he squinted when you measured out Iseul’s formula and checked the temperature of her bottle on your wrist. The questions that followed you around the kitchen like a soft echo:

“Do we cut the apple slices like that so he doesn’t choke?”
“How many ounces is she drinking now?”
“Does Minjoon still hate that one blue cup?”

There was hesitation behind all of it, a nervous energy that said he didn’t want to screw anything else up. Not even the smallest task. And even when you didn’t answer too tired, too wary, too heart-heavy, he found ways to try.

It was endearing, if not occasionally clumsy.

One particular night, you had just put Iseul down in her crib after a feeding, and the house was finally quiet except for the faint sound of Minjoon’s toothbrush scraping across his tiny baby teeth. You leaned against the hallway wall outside the bathroom, arms crossed loosely, head tilted as you listened.

Inside, Seungmin was kneeling on the bath mat in his hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, watching Minjoon brush his teeth with great concentration.

“Okay, buddy,” he said gently. “That’s good! You got the top teeth. Now get the bottoms. Can you say bottoms?”

Minjoon garbled a half-word around the toothbrush and grinned.

“Yeah? Okay! Cool. Um—after this, what do we do next?” Seungmin asked, clearly unsure but trying to make it sound fun. “Do we put your pajamas on now?”

Minjoon frowned like Seungmin had asked if he wanted to eat spinach for dessert.

“No,” the toddler mumbled, pulling the toothbrush out dramatically. “Mommy do face.”

Seungmin blinked. “Mommy… what?”

“Mommy,” Minjoon repeated very seriously, pointing to the towel hanging on the hook. “Mommy wash face. First. After brush. Then jammies.”

You bit back a laugh and pressed a hand to your mouth.

Inside the bathroom, Seungmin stared at the towel like it was a final exam question in a language he didn’t study.

“She washes your face?” he repeated. “After brushing?”

“Yah,” Minjoon replied, nodding with the unwavering confidence of a two-year-old whose world made perfect sense.

Seungmin let out a soft, amused huff and reached for the towel. “Okay, okay, little boss. Face wash it is.”

You heard the soft sound of water running, then a wet towel being wrung out. A moment later, the giggle of Minjoon as Seungmin dabbed the warm cloth over his cheeks.

“Is this how Mommy does it?”

Minjoon nodded again. “Warm, warm.”

“Warm. Got it. Anything else, Mr. Routine Expert?”

“No soap,” Minjoon added decisively.

“Noted,” Seungmin said, and your heart ached just a little. He really was trying.

The small exchange warmed something in your chest that had long been locked in ice. It didn’t erase the tension. It didn’t undo the past few weeks. But it added a softness to the air. A reminder of who Seungmin used to be and who he was still trying to become again.

He carried Minjoon out of the bathroom a few minutes later, the toddler now wrapped in spaceship-themed pajamas, holding tightly to his little stuffed tiger. When he saw you standing by the wall, Seungmin gave a sheepish shrug, like he’d been caught cheating on the test by asking the kid for the answers.

You smirked, arms still folded. “You let him boss you around?”

Seungmin met your eyes, and for the first time in days, his smile came with no walls. “If it means doing it right… yeah. I’ll take the help.”

Your smirk faltered slightly as your gaze lingered on him holding your son with such care, with such openness. You nodded, voice quiet. “That’s good. He’s… routine-oriented. He likes things a certain way.”

Seungmin shifted Minjoon in his arms and gave you a slow nod. “Just like his mom.”

And the look you gave him in return wasn’t soft, exactly. But it wasn’t cold either.

Progress, in its rawest form.

He carried Minjoon off toward the toddler bed without another word, and you heard him whispering a story about a dinosaur who played baseball and forgot his bat. It was silly and charming and full of nonsense, but Minjoon was giggling by the end of it. It filled the quiet of the house in a way that you had missed more than you’d realized.

You stayed leaning against the wall long after the house had gone quiet again. Long after Seungmin had tiptoed back down the hallway and passed you with a tentative glance. Neither of you said anything. He didn’t try to reach for your hand. He didn’t try to fix everything all at once.

But that night, he didn’t sleep on the couch.

Not because everything had been healed.

But because you’d left the bedroom door open.

-

The room was dim, bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. Outside, the early winter wind tapped against the windows rhythmically, brushing dried leaves along the glass like it was trying to soothe the tension inside.

You were propped up against the headboard, knees tucked under the blanket, phone in hand but not really reading anything just scrolling through article titles, social posts, bits of news that couldn’t quite penetrate the fog in your head. Your mind was elsewhere. Stuck somewhere between the memory of Madison’s name on that leaked article, Seungmin’s broken explanations, and the sharp echo of your daughter’s cry the morning after it all came crashing down.

Beside you, Seungmin sat on his side of the bed, legs stretched out under the covers, a respectable distance between your bodies as if he was afraid even the smallest touch might rupture the fragile stillness you’d managed to build over the last few days. He’d just come out of the bathroom in his familiar gray cotton pajamas, towel drying his damp hair like he always did before bed. It used to be a comforting routine, watching him pull the towel away from his head, ruffle his still-wet hair, and crawl into bed beside you with a sigh of relief and whispered complaints about practice. But now, even that normalcy felt like borrowed nostalgia.

He hadn't said anything yet, and neither had you.

But he was watching you.

Not the way he used to, when he'd sneak glances because he couldn’t help it, because loving you had always come as naturally as breathing, but in the way someone watches a candle flicker in the wind, terrified of the moment it might go out.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low. Raw. The weight behind it made you stop scrolling before he even finished the sentence.

“What happens next… with us?”

You didn't move. Not right away. Your thumb hovered over your phone screen before you let the device slowly drop to your lap, its glow disappearing into the folds of the blanket.

He turned more toward you, though he didn’t close the space between you. His gaze dropped briefly to his hands fingers fidgeting, like he needed to do something with the nervous energy. When he looked back up, he exhaled through his nose and said, “Because I can’t keep pretending like we’re okay when we’re not. And I know it’s my fault that we’re not.”

You swallowed, jaw tightening.

“I was wrong not to tell you,” he continued, his voice thick. “About the MLB talks. About Madison. About… everything. I just—” He paused, eyes glossing over for a second before he caught himself. “You’d just had Iseul. You were barely sleeping. You were already carrying everything. I didn’t want to add more weight to your shoulders.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” you finally said, voice hoarse and sharp around the edges.

He nodded quickly. “I know. I know that now. I was trying to protect you, but I wasn’t honest, and I made it worse. And when everything blew up, I—” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I’ve never been this scared before. Not even when I tore my shoulder. Not even when I thought I’d never pitch again. This… you and me… the kids… this is what matters.”

Silence stretched, thick and heavy between you. His words hung in the air like a trembling branch.

“I don’t want Minjoon and Iseul to grow up in a broken home,” he added softly. “I know I’ve already cracked the foundation, and maybe you’ll never be able to forgive me for lying, but if there’s any way to fix what I’ve broken, I want to try. I need to try. Because I don’t want to lose this.”

Your chest ached at his words. There was desperation in them, but there was something else, too earnestness. A sincerity that you recognized. A part of the man you married that had been buried beneath months of silence, distance, and secrecy.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, the blanket sliding with you, and looked at him for a long time.

“You weren’t just protecting me,” you said, voice quieter now. “You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d leave you if I knew what she did. You were afraid to look like the bad guy, even if it was just a kiss that she tried. You didn’t cheat, Seungmin, but you lied. You let that woman stay in our life after she crossed the line, and then you covered it up like it wouldn’t matter.”

He winced at your words. But he didn’t deny them.

“And what hurt the most,” you continued, blinking back the sting behind your eyes, “was that you made that decision alone. You stopped trusting me to handle the hard things with you. That’s what broke me.”

The room went silent again.

You looked down at your hands, turning your wedding ring absentmindedly on your finger.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered. “I don’t have the answer. I know I love you. I know I don’t want to lose what we built. I don’t want our kids to feel this tension either. But I can’t just… go back to normal like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Seungmin said, voice low and steady. “I just want a chance to rebuild. Even if it takes time. Even if it’s slow. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. Then, after a long pause, you slowly shifted your weight and lay back against the pillow, turning to your side to face away from him.

“Then don’t leave again,” you murmured. “Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m angry. You stay.”

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it.

And after a minute or two, the bed shifted gently as he lay down too. Still not touching you. Still giving you space. But he was there. In the dark. Quiet and present.

It started with a note.

Folded twice, written in Seungmin’s tidy handwriting, and left by your favorite mug on the kitchen counter one early, quiet morning. You found it while reaching for your coffee, your eyes still heavy from sleep and your arms sore from holding Iseul during one of her longer crying spells the night before.

You stared at it for a long second, cautious.

Then you opened it.

“Take the morning off. Dress warm. No kids. I’ll handle breakfast, diapers, tantrums, and all. Please. just trust me.
– S.”

You blinked at the page. Once. Twice. Your first instinct was suspicion, what was he doing? What did he plan? Could you trust it?

But it was followed, surprisingly, by a quiet sigh of curiosity.

It had been weeks since he started rebuilding slowly, like a man afraid of stepping on glass. Weeks of learning the kids' routines, of showing up even when you were too angry to acknowledge him, of sleeping on the edge of your shared bed and never asking for more than what you were willing to give. You saw it in the way he watched you with exhausted, apologetic eyes. You saw it in how he parented: fully, wholly, learning how to care for Minjoon and Iseul like he should have all along.

Maybe… maybe he was ready now to do more than apologize.

You moved through the motions of the morning cautiously, your heart beating too loudly for the silence of the house. The kids were already downstairs with him, Minjoon’s giggle echoing faintly from the living room, Iseul’s soft baby babble cooing in between. You trusted him with them, of course you did. It had never been about the kids.

It was about you.

You took a shower. Got dressed in something warm, a long wool coat, scarf, your gloves tucked in your pockets. Then, stepping carefully through the kitchen, you spotted another note next to your keys.

“There’s a driver waiting. Just follow the instructions. I’ll see you soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, but curiosity won out.

The driver was polite, quiet, and refused to tell you where you were headed. You stared out the window as the city passed you by, watching the buildings give way to open spaces, the grey of winter brushing along every surface like a forgotten memory. Thirty minutes later, you pulled up to an empty baseball field.

A public park, technically, but the field was immaculately maintained. You stepped out of the car slowly, hesitant, confused.

And there he was.

Standing near the pitcher’s mound, bundled up in his hoodie and warmup jacket, hair ruffled by the wind. A single bench sat nearby with a small thermos of coffee on it. Yours. The same hazelnut syrup you loved. The same milk-to-coffee ratio he had memorized long ago.

He waved when he saw you, and you didn’t wave back. But your feet moved anyway.

“What is this?” you asked, as you came to a stop a few feet away.

Seungmin’s breath fogged in the cold morning air. “A place I come to when I need to remember who I am. And… who I could’ve lost.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say.

He took a deep breath. “This is the first field I ever threw a ball on. Before the scouts. Before the league. Before the Giants. My dad used to bring me here. Just me and a bucket of balls. He’d stand where you’re standing now and say, ‘Show me who you are, Seungmin.’” He chuckled softly. “I never knew what he meant back then.”

Your lips parted slightly, but the words still wouldn't come.

“I lost myself this season,” he said quietly. “In the pressure. In the silence. In trying to be everything for everyone except the people who matter most. I thought I could control it all what to hide, what to protect you from. But the truth is, I was afraid. Of failing. Of losing you. Of not being enough for the kids.”

The wind blew gently, carrying the soft scent of pine and earth.

“I’ve been talking with the MLB agent,” he said, not flinching this time. “Madison was out of the picture the moment she crossed that line. But I should’ve told you. I should’ve come to you first. I didn't, and I will always regret that. I’ve declined their offer. Formally. I told them I wouldn’t uproot our life, not without your trust. Not without your voice in the choice.”

Your eyes widened. “You… declined it?”

“I did,” he nodded. “Not because I’m giving up on my dream. But because I forgot the first dream I ever had, us. This family. You and me. Minjoon, Iseul. I don’t want to go anywhere they can’t follow.”

You felt your hands tremble slightly in your pockets.

“I’m not trying to win you back with some big gesture,” he continued, stepping a little closer. “I’m showing you that I meant it. When I said I’d do anything to rebuild this. I’ll work as hard as I did to become a pro. Every single day. I’ll be here. Not just for the kids. For you. Because I love you.”

Tears welled up behind your lashes before you could stop them.

The wind, the cold, the weight of everything, it all collapsed into that one still moment. And you realized: he meant it.

Not just the words.

The action.

The choice.

For so long, you had been the one to make the sacrifices. You had been the one to carry the weight of parenthood, of loyalty, of silence. And here he was finally choosing you, even if it meant risking his own legacy.

“I hate that it took this for you to get it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “But I believe you.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t touch you. He waited.

And then you took a step closer. Just one. But it was enough. Enough for him to know he was forgiven, if not fully, then at least with the promise that one day, you would be.

And for the first time in a long time, you saw your future again.

Together.

-

The house was still when you both got home. Not quiet in the lonely way it had been in the days after the team dinner no, this was a different stillness. The kind that settled after a storm had passed. The kind that let you breathe again without choking on the silence.

Minjoon was fast asleep in his little bed, the soft hum of his nightlight casting gentle blue shadows on his blanket. Iseul had tired herself out after a long afternoon with Seungmin’s mom, and she lay curled in her crib, the tiniest fist tucked against her cheek, her chest rising and falling peacefully. You stood for a long time in the doorway of her room, your arms folded against your chest, watching the little miracle you had brought into the world, twice now and wondering how your life had shifted so drastically in such a short time.

Seungmin stepped behind you, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t touch you, but his presence was warm, grounding. When you turned your head just slightly and caught his eyes in the soft light, something unspoken passed between you mutual exhaustion, yes, but also something tender. Fragile. Real.

When you both made your way to the bedroom, neither of you turned on the main light. Just the small lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in amber glow. You took off your coat slowly, the weight of it replaced by something heavier in your chest. You felt raw. Exposed.

Seungmin changed quietly into a plain white T-shirt and sweats, moving through the room with an uncertain hesitance, like he didn’t want to do anything to break the calm that had settled between you.

You slid under the covers, and after a moment, so did he. For the first time in weeks, the distance between you was gone. Your bodies weren’t pressed together, not yet, but there wasn’t that cautious gap anymore. You were facing each other. Close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Seungmin looked at you the way he had when you were young and newly in love like you were both everything and the thing he could never quite believe he deserved.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “About rebuilding. About choosing us.”

You nodded, your fingers curling into the blanket. “I know.”

He reached for your hand beneath the sheets, and this time, you didn’t pull away. Your fingers threaded together with his slowly, and a soft breath left him relief, maybe. Or hope.

“I don’t deserve how much you’re still willing to give,” he murmured.

“You broke my heart, Seungmin,” you said softly, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. “But you’ve always held it, even when I didn’t know you were.”

His eyes welled, and before either of you could say another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t perfect.

It was real.

Warm and aching and full of tears that escaped down both your cheeks. His hand cradled your face gently, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held too tightly, and you kissed him like the ache in your chest could be healed by the shape of his mouth. It was the kind of kiss you give when words have run out, when all you have left is the truth inside your chest and the hope that the other person still wants it.

And then, suddenly, you broke away sniffling, crying harder now and smacked his chest with the side of your fist.

He blinked. “W-What—?”

You hit him again, softer this time, frustration and heartbreak rolling off you like a wave.

“You gave it up,” you cried, your voice cracking. “Your dream. You gave it up, Seungmin. For me.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, mouth parting in protest. “But I thought—”

“I never asked you to do that!” you snapped, even as more tears ran down your face. “I was mad you didn’t tell me, I was hurt, but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to give up everything you’ve worked for. You love baseball more than anything, and you were finally about to reach that next level. And you just—” Your voice faltered. “You gave it up like it didn’t matter.”

He sat up, slightly, hand still gripping yours as he searched your eyes. “It does matter,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But you and the kids… you matter more.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you let go of that dream,” you whispered, tears falling silently now. “You’ll regret it. One day, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually you’ll look at me and wonder what could’ve been. And I can’t live with that. I won’t.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Just the sound of both your uneven breaths, the way your hands trembled together.

Then he reached for your other hand and held both in his, warm and steady.

“If I call them,” he asked gently, “if I tell them I made a mistake, if I take the offer… would you come with me? Would you follow me?”

The question hung in the air like a single note.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your heart pounding with something new and terrifying. You opened your mouth and closed it again, trying to form the words. You imagined the move. The packing. The loss of familiarity. The kids adjusting to a new world. You imagined yourself in a place where you knew no one, far from your support system, away from the life you built together.

But then you imagined him on the mound, beneath the bright lights of a stadium you’d only ever seen on TV. His name on a jersey that echoed the legacy he’d worked so hard for. And you standing in the stands with Iseul in your arms, Minjoon bouncing on your hip, cheering for their father.

You saw it.

You saw him.

You saw you, a different you, maybe, but a braver one.

And you nodded.

“Not at first,” you said, voice soft and sure. “I’d stay here with the kids while you got settled. But I would come. Once we’re ready… I would follow you.”

Seungmin stared at you for a long moment, something deep in his chest breaking open with relief, with emotion, with love that hadn’t diminished despite all the cracks.

He leaned forward slowly, brushing his forehead against yours. “That’s all I need.”

And in that quiet, broken, slowly-mending space, the two of you sat, still holding hands, tears still drying on your cheeks and for the first time in weeks, you felt something other than fear.

You felt hope.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[already gone. taglist: @piscesrising01 @troublemaker02 @bearseuming @hanniebunch @ready2readnwrite @mbioooo0000 @puppymsworld @linosgrape @devoured3him @chaosandcandies @itvenorica124 @bonesawce @maddy24207 @vixensss]

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms ..]

[chimerafeathers]

#MIRAAAAAAAA #Mira #Siffrin #augh. She's so #she's so important in so many ways #hey op do you have any thoughts on how Mirabelle's first response to Sif knowing what her papers are is GRABBING HER SWORD #because that stunned me the first time it happened #and something about it pings as related to me here but I'm not quite sure what yet (via @cellar-whales)

YES ACTUALLY i was thinking about this scene too while i was writing!! just didn't have a great place to bring it up. but. i think it's an extension of her instinctual reactions (negative, aggressive, defensive) versus her needing to consciously choose to be trusting and interpret people's actions as friendly. in combination with her feelings about being teased, it was making me wonder if she's been directly bullied in the past (and how badly?), or if she's just always on edge about that being what's happening because she has trouble telling sometimes, and that's not her natural way of connecting with people.

she's gotten more comfortable with it lately! she even teases back and plays up the drama—i think a lot of her instances of being gently patronizing (ex. "Siffrin, you're so talented! You know so many things! Congrats, Siffrin!" during the tutorial, "It feels like we tamed a wild animal, doesn't it?" at the dictionary) aren't so totally sincere and more her way of getting in on the joke, since everyone else is comfortable with teasing each other in similar ways. she's trying to be playful—Siffrin realizes this in repeat tutorials, actually!

but when it's aimed at her, it's...uncomfortable. Don't tease me, Siffrin. she KNOWS (reassures herself, again and again) that this is friendly behavior, it's affectionate, it's not mean or hurtful (but what if it is)

so Siffrin is poking at these papers that she's really, existentially, long-term stressed about, on a day where she is really, short-term existentially stressed about possibly not having a future to worry about at all, and how the FUCK did he know what these papers are, actually, did they invade her privacy and snoop in her things somehow??? (yes, in fact, sorry about that Mira) how did they know? is he going to mock her for this?????

and then. Siffrin says something that implies that they don't REALLY know as much as she thought they did, so maybe he just caught sight of them while she was lost in thought looking at them here and made some assumptions, and is really sincerely offering to help her out because he cares about her, and mayyyyybe it WOULD be nice to get someone else's opinion since she's so lost here, and Siffrin is so worldly and experienced so they MUST know more than she does about this, right? (well. about that.)

my friend pointed out that she got really anxious in the tutorial situation about fighting Sadnesses, but didn't hesitate to pull her sword on a human being who's also her friend. he suggested that in the Sadness situation, the confrontation hadn't actually started yet and she was anxious in anticipation of it, while in the papers situation she felt like she was already IN the "combat" part of the interaction. i think it's also that...she probably hasn't had a lifetime of constantly fighting Sadnesses, which as far as I recall did exist pre-King, but not nearly as pervasively. but she has likely had a lifetime of specifically human conflicts and anxieties, and all the knee-jerk defensiveness and fear that come with that.

so maybe her recent months of constantly being in survival mode in a very physical, combat-oriented sense, plus her instinctual "THIS PERSON IS BEING MEAN TO ME AND I NEED TO PROTECT MYSELF FROM THAT" reaction, combine to having a combative defense response to interpersonal conflict. and since she's SO stressed, all that happens before she has a chance to talk herself down. end result.....drawing a weapon on a friend! oops!

i really love how intensely Mirabelle reacts to act 5 Siffrin botched friendquest.

Isabeau is mostly operating out of concern and, eventually, hurt. he already knows something’s up before Siffrin gets to him. he knows something truly awful must be wrong for Siffrin to be lashing out like they are, and as soon as he can’t handle the situation anymore, he leaves and asks (with strained cheer) for time apart to cool off.

most of Bonnie’s anger comes from being upset and afraid that Siffrin would willingly put themself in danger for no reason, when that’s exactly why they’ve been so unsettled since the eye incident. they hate that Siffrin values their own life so little, they hate that they’re the cause of any pain or loss for him, and here he is, putting himself in that situation AGAIN. on purpose. it’s loud and explosive, but it’s familiar, too, being “hated” by Bonnie for this reason.

Odile pushes, and keeps pushing, until her concern overwhelms Siffrin and they strike where they know she’s most vulnerable. she gets physical, just for a moment, grabbing his collar before controlling herself and letting go. her fury shuts down into cold detachment, and she walks away.

but Mirabelle—dear, sweet, gentle, loving Mirabelle, “the most wonderful being on earth,” with her secret “ruthless side” that largely involves lightly badmouthing people behind their backs and then apologizing—slaps them. immediately.

and then COMPLETELY RENOUNCES THEIR FRIENDSHIP.

not just “we’re not friends anymore,” but “we were never friends in the first place.”

that’s!!! pretty extreme!!!!

of course, she ALSO starts by asking what’s wrong. something must have happened for him to act like this. but as soon as Siffrin brushes her off, she jumps past that line of questioning and dives headfirst into re-evaluating everything she thought she knew about them as a a person.

if he could say something like that to her and not see anything wrong with it, then she was wrong to treat him as a friend, wrong to read camaraderie into his teasing, wrong to think they must care about them all under their aloof demeanor.

that’s how Mirabelle phrases it—“I was wrong about you”—but i think that there’s a hidden layer of I was right about you, too.

she talks about the way they tease her like she had to convince herself that he was doing it in a friendly way. she says they talk like they “know better than her” like that’s a thought she’s had for a LONG time.

“Always soooo mysterious, Siffrin, always talking as if you're better than me! As if you know me!!! But you don't, Siffrin!!! You're just as lost and useless as I am!!! So stop!!! Talking!!! As if you know me!!!!!!”

none of this comes across as a new, sudden way to view Siffrin for her. it doesn’t shock or confuse her. it makes her angry, defensive, almost like she was waiting for something like this to happen at some point. the feeling of resentment, frustration, jealousy, being patronized and condescended to—this is something she’s been actively pushing down and rejecting this entire time, but they’ve given her ample reason for it all to boil to the surface. violently.

Mirabelle’s kindness is not inherent or easy. it’s a choice she’s making. she treats Siffrin warmly because she gives him the benefit of the doubt—refusing to act based on anxiety-fueled, cynical speculation, and reassuring herself that his actions are driven by care and friendship even if she can’t quite see it.

“I was wrong about you” doesn’t mean she always and without question believed them to be a fundamentally kind, caring person from the beginning—it’s that her first, colder instincts were right, and she was wrong to convince herself otherwise.

never mind that she asked what was wrong at first. she barely gives them time to speak in their own defense, to explain what they really meant by what they said. all of her suppressed doubts and frustrations are getting aired out now, now that all the trust she’d so deliberately placed in him has been betrayed. her pain feels bigger than this singular moment, so when she hurts him back, she makes sure it extends back through the entirety of their relationship for him, too.

“You're awful. You're not my friend, not my ally, not anything. You never were.”

like the others, she goes back to the clocktower and tells Siffrin not to come back until later. but there’s a finality to the way she ends this confrontation that isn’t quite there with the others. Isabeau and Odile reach their breaking point and remove themselves from the situation, asking for space to cool off but still somewhat leaving the door open for Siffrin to tell them what’s really going on at some point. Mirabelle is the only one who tries to fully cut ties—after everything else she says, her “I don’t want to see you until tonight” reads to me somewhat as “I don’t want to see you anymore unless I have to.”

I can’t wait to never see you again.

even back at the clocktower, Mirabelle doesn’t really defend Siffrin’s place in the party when Odile suggests leaving them behind out of concern for their trustworthiness on the most important day of the journey. Isabeau and Bonnie protest out of sentimentality and faith in Siffrin’s abilities and connection to them, and Mirabelle agrees, but…

“I agree, but... B-But would he even agree to come with us, still? Maybe they won't even come back tonight...”

she doesn’t say much outside of that. maybe the stutter and hesitation here are signs of regret about how things happened, but she lacks Isabeau and Bonnie’s confidence that Siffrin even wants to come back to them in the first place. she doesn’t trust that their bond was real anymore. maybe it never was in the first place, or maybe she broke whatever was there herself.

and she’s still mad when they finally catch up to Siffrin at the King! and she makes sure Siffrin knows that—after saving them, assuring him that he no longer needs to fight, that they’re all there for him. she still cares, of course she still cares—she’s still hurt, too, but they can figure that part out once there’s less world-ending stuff going on.

she’s the first to say that they all reserve the right to still be angry at Siffrin later—and that they’ve already forgiven him.

she’s also the first to say we want to stay with you, too. it’s not just you.

she was wrong! she thought they didn’t care but they care so much, it’s overwhelming, it’s world-ending.

i think she’s gonna be wallowing in guilt post-canon the moment she remembers what she said and did TO SIFFRIN and not just what Siffrin said to her. especially now that she knows Siffrin’s exact hangups, and especially especially if she figures out what Siffrin was trying to say.

they put themself through hell out of loneliness and fear that none of the others cared about him the way he cared about them, he was going insane from repetition and exhaustion and hunger and trying to keep them all safe and together, and all they did in the midst of all that was say something kind of mean to her one time (that turned out to not even be MEANT to be mean it was supposed to be HELPFUL they just SAID IT ALL WRONG) and she SLAPPED THEM? and told him that they WEREN’T FRIENDS AT ALL??? how could she!!! she should have known better!! what they said hurt a lot but still!!!

so when they eventually manage to try to talk about it, they end up almost in, like, a guilt competition.

Mirabelle apologizing for how she reacted, that she shouldn’t have yelled or hit him, that she doesn’t want to be the kind of person who acts that way out of anger and she’s sorry that she made Siffrin expect that reaction from her, she should have known better and believed in him more and they only messed up like that because they were losing their mind in a time loop but what’s HER excuse—

and Siffrin going nononono stop I deserved it—(HUH DON’T SAY THAT NO YOU DIDN’T)—and that he should never have said such awful things to her, ever, and she was under so much pressure already with the weight of the country and everyone’s lives and futures and her religion and their whole party counting on her to do this impossible task because she’s the only one who can, all this unbearable expectation and hope crushing her, and they KNEW that but they thought they could skip to the ending as though her feelings didn’t matter at all, like helping her wasn’t as important as saving a little time—

until they’re just. in tears together, apologizing for all the horrible things they did in between complimenting each other’s strength and kindness and resilience and how much they admire each other and saying that no, everything you did was completely understandable, actually, the only one who sucks here is me. which neither of them will accept coming from the other!!

they’re so similar, in ways they couldn’t really understand, before.

warm, affectionate, perfect Mirabelle, the resolute hero, a beacon of compassion and hope for all those around her, who wears her heart on her sleeve, her fear making her courage shine all the brighter—nothing like the insignificant, forgettable Siffrin, too terrified to be known, too fragile to touch, too selfish and disgusting to bear letting go.

cool, mysterious, unflappable Siffrin, the worldly traveler, as charming and silly as they are confident and skilled, who brushed off losing an eye like it was nothing, accepting the risks of this journey with barely more than a shrug—nothing like the anxious, stagnant, underserving Mirabelle, a fraud and a nobody crumbling under the weight of a mission too important to be entrusted to someone like her, doubting herself, doubting her friends, doubting her mentor, doubting her faith, too weak and brittle to bend and change the way the world needs her to without breaking.

not worth bothering others with their problems. they should be able to handle this alone. stay positive, stay calm. breathe in, and out.

they’ll struggle with it, still—the hiding, the minimizing—but now, they understand each other a little better. they can hold each other accountable for what they leave unsaid.

it’ll get easier, eventually. they have plenty of time.

[dannyriccsystem]

45 with lando and oscar?👀

DOUBLE THE PLEASURES LIKE DOUBLE THE FUN!

1K SPECIAL - OP81 + LN4

Threesome

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, Oscar, seems oddly possessive lately. It’s putting a rift in the team, so you come up with a solution.

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

WARNINGS: Threesome, Smut, double penetration, implied Landoscar, slight hint of hate sex

FEATURING: Oscar Piastri x Reader x Lando Norris

NOTE: MEEEEEEEEEEEOWW. Also I didn’t do a great job with this one but. It’s not awful…

SOMETHING HAD BEEN BOTHERING OSCAR ALL DAY. He was quiet. Too quiet. Sure, the guy usually kept to himself, but around you he was considerably more open. However, right now Oscar seemed somewhat icy. He finished qualifying, landing at pole position. It should have been a major celebration, but Oscar wasn’t having it today.

You walked up behind where he sat, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the top of his scalp. He grumbled under his breath. “What’s on your mind?” You asked softly, hands smoothing out the front of his shirt.

“Nothing,” He replied shortly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, that’s clearly not true.” You pulled back from him and walked around the sofa, seating yourself beside him. Oscar’s gaze drifted away and he gave a cold shrug. “Love, please talk to me.”

“Have you ever noticed how touchy Lando is?” He asked, still avoiding your gaze. You tilted your head in confusion. Was this jealousy, or discomfort? You had never seen your boyfriend jealous before. He was always so calm and collected, trusting you fully. But this was different, because it was his own teammate. Someone he knew personally.

“No? I think he’s just friendly.” You shrugged. Oscar sighed.

“No, it’s not that. He’s always so excited around you— Too excited. I don’t know, maybe I’m overreacting but it feels like he’s expecting more from you.”

“Hm. Well, unfortunately for him, I’m not interested in anyone but my boyfriend.” You leaned in, planting a firm kiss on his lips. He smiled against you, seemingly satisfied with that.

You thought that would be the end, then. But it wasn’t.

Of course it wasn’t.

You could notice the bad blood on Oscar’s part over the next few days. Every time Lando said anything, he was met with a rather bitter response from his teammate, or even a sarcastic eye roll. One day you even walked in on them arguing, and that was just your breaking point.

“Enough!” You yelled out, catching both of them off guard. They looked towards you, frozen in place. “I’m sick of you two acting all weird. What is going on?!”

“Well, Lando clearly has a thing for you!”

“Yeah, you know what, Oscar? I do!” Lando yelled back, standing up. Your eyes widened, and your gaze flew to your boyfriend, who was nearly seething. You had never seen him angry before. “I liked her way longer than you did!”

“Are you fucking-”

“Oh my God. Both of you, shut up!” You huffed, throwing your hands up in the air. “Clearly you need to work this out somehow. Like…”

The room fell silent as you slowly smirked, your gaze shifting between the two of them. They stared at you, and then at each other.

YOUR GRAND IDEA WASN’T WHAT YOU EXPECTED. Of course they both agreed: Lando would get one chance at a threesome, one chance to impress you, and then after that he’d just have to move on. Except in your head you weren’t exactly imagining yourself sandwiched between the two of them, Oscar instructing his teammate on how to pleasure you.

You were lifted up, your legs on either side of Lando’s hips. Oscar held you up from behind.

“Idiot,” Your boyfriend seethed. “You can’t just shove it in, you have to go slow…” You leaned back against him, his strong arms supporting you. He pressed a kiss to your scalp, muttering, “You’re doing so good.”

“Sorry,” Lando mumbled. He held your hip, his other hand slowly guiding his cock to your entrance again. He pushed the tip past your folds, which were wet with Oscar’s saliva already. He bit his lip to stifle a groan as he gently slid his way in. You moaned, tossing your head back with a giggle.

“Feel good?” Oscar asked, his hands reassuringly squeezing your breasts. You nodded while forcing your eyes open to look into his. He still seemed somewhat pent up, like he was waiting to get his anger out too.

“Shit, it’s tight,” Lando grunted, sheathing his length all the way inside your hole. You whined, your hands grabbing onto his shoulders to anchor yourself. Oscar still held you up, his hands wandering over your naked body.

“Go slow,” Oscar instructed. He placed his chin atop your head, watching with a calculating gaze as Lando began to thrust in and out. You whined, your body instinctively pressing back against Oscar’s chest. “I got you,” He whispered, pressing kisses along the back of your neck.

“Faster,” You choked out. Lando looked up, his eyes seeking out Oscar’s instead of yours. Your boyfriend nodded, and he picked up the pace. With every thrust, your body grew more and more weak to his touch. He definitely wasn’t as good as your boyfriend, but Oscar knew his way around by now. He knew every little sensitive spot that made you melt. Which is why you tilted your head back, eyes droopy and mouth agape.

“Hm?” He hummed, brushing a strand of hair, damp with sweat, away from your forehead. You pulled him down for an upside down kiss.

“I want you inside me,” You stuttered, barely able to get the words out. Lando continued his movements, oblivious to your side conversation. He just needed that quick pleasure, desperate for release.

“Are you sure you can handle two, love?” He stared at you with adoration. For a moment, you completely forgot about the other ministrations happening below you. You nodded weakly, and Oscar shrugged. “Alright.”

He shuffled out of his pants and boxers, slowly sliding in his cock beside Lando’s. It took a bit of patience, waiting for your hole to stretch out enough to fit his length inside. He held you softly, whispering words of praise in your ear nonstop. Your whole body shuddered, your first orgasm of the night washing over you just as Oscar squeezed his way in.

It felt incredible. For you, for Oscar, for Lando. The room immediately got loud with moans from all three of you. Lando was getting close, but he continued pushing because he wanted to outlast his teammate.

“You feel so good, love,” Oscar whined in your ear. Lando grunted in agreement, pulling your body closer to him. Oscar helped push you forward, your arms wrapped around Lando’s neck. Your chests were pushed together, and your boyfriend’s chest was flush to your back.

“I think I’m gonna-” Lando spluttered, his statement cut off by a deep, guttural groan.

“Come,” Oscar instructed, locking eyes with his teammate. Lando looked to him for approval. “Not inside, stupid.” His teammate fumbled as he pulled out. Your hand stroked him, helping the poor guy release onto your stomach. You giggled, your mind completely cock drunk at this point.

“Osc,” You cried out as he continued to fuck into you from behind. Lando was rubbing his softening cock against your bare thighs, still propping you up from the front.

“I’m close,” He whispered, his pace growing more rough. You came first, and Oscar helped you ride out your high before he spilled deep inside you. He pulled out, his cum dripping from your hole. You collapsed, and he slowly scooped your weak body into his arms, laying you down on the hotel mattress behind him. “You did so good, baby.”

Lando, without even being instructed to, ran off to get a towel to help clean you up. Oscar laid beside you, holding you close to his body as he peppered your face and neck in soft kisses. You hummed in delight.

“He didn’t do too bad.”

“Yeah?” He massaged your sore hips, kneading the muscle with his strong hands.

“Yeah.”

“Well maybe we can invite him again sometime.” Seems like your boyfriend went from jealous to needy in the span of an hour.

[dior-luxury]

i recently found your writings and IM IN LOVEEE could i request a childhood friends ace x reader? like them growing up super super close and just slowly realizing that the thoughts plaguing them at night about the other arent so platonic anymore and oh this isnt the little kid i used to play with but someone that i might really wanna go out with. if possible maybe a little suggestive but its okay if youre not comfy with it >:D

Childhood Friends

( ✧ ) ────── childhood stories . fluff - gn!reader .

- [𝐜𝐡.] Ace Trappola

- [𝐩:𝐬] Slow Burn . Friends to Lovers . Childhood Friends . Mutual Pining . Emotional Realization . Suggestive Content (mild—touching, implied desire, kissing, etc.) . Tender Moments . Internal Monologue / Angst-Lite . Fluff with a hint of spice

Note: Hope you enjoy this story anon!! I've gotten back to writing as I usually did~ (*°▽°*). There are also very, very subtle mentions of Ace having subtle freckles (which I head-canon him on) so hopefully your not mad about that!

You and Ace had always been inseparable.

Back in your hometown—far from the twisted mirrors and strange academies—he was just Ace. The kid who used to sneak sweets from the kitchen and share half with you, grinning with sugar on his cheeks. The boy who’d tug at your sleeve, race you down dusty roads, and defend you against schoolyard bullies with that smug, reckless grin only he could pull off without getting smacked.

Your childhood was colored with the rhythm of his laughter, late afternoons sprawled in fields of swaying grass, and fireflies that lit your path home after long days of nothing and everything. You could talk about the stars with him like they belonged to the two of you alone. When you scraped your knee, he was the one who panicked first but patched it up the fastest, his hands clumsy but careful.

Back then, you never questioned the way you leaned into him without thinking. How he'd throw an arm around your shoulders and it just fit. That was just Ace.

Time, though—it plays tricks. You blink and suddenly the summers don’t stretch on forever anymore. Suddenly, he’s a little taller. His voice is deeper. His smirks hit a bit different now, curling at the edges with something heavier. His touches linger just a second longer than they used to.

The weird thing is, it’s not even just him.

Somewhere along the way, your thoughts started tangling, too. You found yourself looking at his hands—not just because they were big and familiar, but because of the way the veins traced up his arms when he stretched. You’d hear his laugh echo behind you in the hallway and feel your stomach twist, like you were on the edge of something you couldn’t name.

You’d wake up at night thinking about how his hoodie smelled after a long day—something warm, just a little like spice and smoke—and wonder what it would be like to be pressed into his chest, not like a joke or a fall, but on purpose.

Those thoughts crept in like fog. Slowly. Silently. And you kept brushing them off. After all, this was Ace. Your best friend. The idiot who once cried because a bee landed on his lunch, who still stole your fries when you weren’t looking and claimed it was “interest.”

But then came NRC. And everything cracked a little wider.

Ace was never one to hide what he was thinking, not from you. But sometimes now, you caught him watching you when he didn’t think you’d notice. Eyes tracking the curve of your smile, the shape of your mouth when you were lost in thought. He’d get quiet in those moments, for just a heartbeat. Not like him at all.

And the way he’d flirt with others? That had always been Ace’s thing—loud, playful, shallow. But lately, those jokes didn’t sit right in your chest. Especially when his eyes flicked to you right after, like he was trying to get a reaction. Like he wanted you to say something.

He leaned against your desk one evening, cocky grin in place, arms crossed like he was just waiting to be challenged. “You know, you’re kinda cute when you get all serious like that.”

You didn’t look up. “If you’re trying to flirt, you should work on your delivery.”

“Who says I’m trying?” he shot back, but the way his voice dipped on that last word, rough and low, sent heat crawling up your spine.

It wasn’t just teasing anymore. Not really.

Then came the moment that changed everything—small, stupid, simple. You had fallen asleep in his bed after a long night of studying. Ace came in late from his dorm duties, saw you curled up there, and didn’t wake you.

Instead, he slid in beside you.

It wasn’t weird at first. You’d crashed together before. But this time, the silence between you was charged. Every brush of his leg against yours felt intentional. His breath was warm on your neck.

You shifted, half-asleep, pressing your back against his chest. And when his arm came around your waist?

He didn’t pull back.

You both pretended to still be asleep when his fingers curled softly against your stomach. Pretended it didn’t mean anything when you sighed and leaned closer, fitting together like muscle memory—but deeper now. Rawer.

And the worst part?

You didn’t want to move.

You didn’t talk about it the next morning.

Ace was already gone when you woke up, and the bed was still warm where he’d been. No smug teasing. No cocky remarks. Just a folded blanket and the ghost of his arm still wrapped around your waist.

But he looked different that day—more reserved. His usual loud presence was still there, but he wasn’t throwing jokes around the same way. His eyes kept flicking to you, quick, like he was trying to solve a puzzle in your face.

You avoided the talk for days. Both of you did. Until it felt like walking around a fire you refused to admit was already burning the floor beneath you.

It wasn’t until a week later, late at night again, that it finally cracked open.

You were both in his dorm, again. Some lame excuse about studying, again. Cards and papers between you on the bed, but no one was really focused. Ace had been unusually quiet, his legs stretched beside you, leaning back on his hands. You could feel his gaze. It had weight now.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, voice low. “Can I ask you something kinda… I dunno, maybe dumb?”

You looked up at him. His eyes met yours and didn’t flinch away this time. “Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about… like, how weird this’s been getting?”

You blinked. “What’s this?”

He ran a hand through his hair and gave that little laugh—the nervous one, the one that only ever came out when he was being too honest for his own comfort.

“You. Me. That night. The way you looked at me this morning when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. It’s like—we’re not kids anymore, y’know? I look at you and it’s just… not the same.”

The words hit harder than they should have. You swallowed.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I’ve been trying not to say anything. Thought maybe I was just imagining it.”

Ace leaned in, elbows on his knees now. “You’re not.”

He let the silence stretch again, eyes dropping to your lips before darting back up. He wasn’t smiling. Not like usual. There was heat in the way he looked at you—raw and wondering and maybe a little afraid.

“I think about you too much,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it. “Like… not the way I used to. Not just the ‘we’ve-been-best-friends-forever’ kind of way. It’s worse now. Or… better. Depends how you look at it.”

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.

His voice dipped again, just a little rougher. “You ever think about kissing me?”

Your heart skipped so hard you thought it stopped.

“…Yeah,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

That was all it took.

He moved slowly, like he was giving you a chance to pull away. His fingers brushed your jaw, thumb grazing the curve of your cheek as his face came close—close enough to count the freckles on his nose, to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin.

And then his lips were on yours.

It was hesitant at first, unsure—until it wasn’t. His mouth pressed against yours with more pressure, more heat. A little desperate. A little hungry. Like he’d been waiting for this longer than he was willing to admit.

You kissed him back with everything you had.

When you pulled away, breathless and a little dizzy, he rested his forehead against yours. His hand stayed on your cheek, thumb stroking soft circles.

“Well,” he breathed, “that confirms it.”

“Confirms what?” you asked, your voice shaky with leftover adrenaline and something deeper, something softer.

He gave you that grin—real this time, but laced with something sweeter than his usual smirk. “That we’re completely screwed.”

You laughed, and he kissed the sound right off your mouth.

Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was scary.

But in that moment—with his fingers trailing down your spine and his lips brushing your neck—you knew one thing for sure:

Ace Trappola wasn’t just your childhood friend anymore. He was something else now. Something more. Something yours.

And gods help you, but you wanted all of it.

[apricustar]

hii jd! in your kitchen scene post you mention that buck and eddie are incompatible on how they handle emotions and communicate and stuff which on some level i understand because we’ve seen how their conflicts play out but i was hoping you could maybe explain? no pressure you just explain things in a way that makes sense to me ❤️

hi nonnie <3 thank you so much for this—i’m really touched you asked, and i’m happy to explain! (the og post for anyone wanting to read)

when i say buck and eddie are “incompatible” in how they handle emotions and communicate, i don’t mean that in a hopeless or negative way. it’s not that they can’t work—it’s that they move differently, shaped by their respective pasts, and sometimes that causes them to be emotionally out of sync.

buck is an internalizer; this is where we see people misunderstanding and mislabeling him as selfish. he turns inward and attributes whatever is happening around him to something he did wrong. even when it’s not about him, he makes it about him—not out of ego, but because that’s what he was conditioned to do. a good example of this is in season 5, when chimney leaves to find maddie. buck is grappling with several layers of guilt, fear, and self-blame:

he’s holding residual guilt over maddie leaving—he knows exactly why she left, but he's telling himself: i should have seen it sooner. i could have done more. i could have prevented this.

he’s also feeling responsible for chim leaving—not because anyone says it’s his fault, but he’s the one sitting in the firehouse absorbing the silence, the grief, the shift in dynamic. and because buck reads emotional atmosphere like weather, he interprets that silence as blame.

and underneath all of it is the deeper fear—one that’s lived in him for years—that he’s the problem. again. that his presence hurts the people he loves. that he ruins things just by being there.

so no, buck doesn’t think he made maddie or chim leave, but he feels like he failed to stop it. like he should’ve known, should’ve fixed it, should’ve held things together better than he did—and because he couldn’t, he assumes everyone resents him for it. no one says it’s his fault—but buck feels it like it is. because blame—even misplaced—gives him something to hold. it gives him a reason, a narrative, a way to make sense of loss. if it’s his fault, then maybe there’s something he can do to fix it. maybe next time, he can be enough to stop it from happening again.

eddie is buck’s opposite: he externalizes. when something hurts, he pushes it outward. he doesn’t always know how to sit with his emotions, doesn’t always have the language to explain them—so it comes out sideways. it comes out as frustration and misdirection.

buck takes on other people’s emotions and makes them his fault; eddie takes his own emotions and filters them through the people around him. buck internalizes distress. eddie displaces it. buck thinks, “what did i do?” eddie doesn’t say it outright—but what slips through is, “why aren’t you showing up for me the way i need?” and neither of them knows how to say that out loud.

so when eddie lashes out, it’s not usually about the thing he’s saying. he’s not lying, exactly—but he’s not telling the full truth either. the fight in the grocery store during the lawsuit arc? when he says,“you’re exhausting”—that’s not really about buck. that’s eddie talking about himself. he’s exhausted: christopher is having nightmares about the tsunami and shannon, eddie’s been arrested, and above all—buck hasn’t been around. eddie's been holding everything together by himself and it’s too much, but he doesn’t know how to say that, so he says something cruel instead.

same with sob stories this season where he tells buck if he's going to make him choose between chris or him, he'll lose every time. buck never asked him to choose. never implied that was the case. but that’s what eddie feels like he’s choosing between: buck, LA, the life he’s tried to rebuild—and the terrifying pull of leaving it behind to fix what’s fractured between him and his son. eddie’s not mad at buck—he’s overwhelmed and scared. and once again, it comes out wrong.

and the thing is—they both mean well. they’re both doing their best with the tools they have, shaped by upbringings that didn’t teach them how to be vulnerable safely. buck wants to be enough. eddie wants to be understood. but the way they express those needs can make them miss each other entirely. they love differently. they cope differently. they react differently.

but what makes their relationship so beautiful is that despite these differences, they keep trying. they don’t give up on understanding each other—even when it’s hard, even when it hurts. where one falters, the other finds footing. where one pulls away, the other stays close. they meet each other—perhaps not perfectly or cleanly, but truly.

love is not easy; it’s not effortless. it’s something that requires work—something that asks for patience, grace, and the willingness to try. you keep choosing your partner, again and again and again, even when its hard. and that’s what buck and eddie do. in all their messiness, all their misfires—they keep choosing each other, keep trying with one another, keep showing up—because even when they miss each other in the moment, they never stop trying to find their way back.

[steddie-island]

Four Ring Circus

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest May Mayhem bingo prompt: Marriage of Inconvenience and for @steddiebingo round 1 prompt: Surprise Rating: M | WC: 943 | Tags: Steddie, implied Gareth/ Jeff/ Unnamed Freak, Las Vegas wedding, drunken shenanigans, crack fic For full list of tags see ao3! | Divider Credit

One of Eddie's rings is missing. It's the first thing he notices when he wakes up, is the lack of the weight on his finger. He cracks an eye open, groans and immediately covers his face with his arm to hide from the blinding sunlight. "Fuck—"

There's movement to his left. He gets flashes from the night before— teeth against his throat, his own digging into the hard line of a collar bone, his fingers surrounded by tight heat. Right, he didn't go to bed alone. And whoever he went to bed with is still there with him, warm and heavy against his side.

"Eddie?"

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.

Eddie knows that voice, is as familiar with it as he is with his own, or Jeff's.

"Stevie?"

There's a groan and a warm face buries itself against the crook of his neck. "Shhhh. Turn it down."

Whatever happened last night, at least Steve feels just as terrible this morning. Though, now that he remembers whose mouth was on his dick last night— Steve, Steve, holy shit it was Steve!!— he's feeling less awful with each second. He drags his hand over his face, which reminds him that his ring is gone.

Only when he opens his eyes, it isn't gone. It is, but there's still a ring on his finger. A simple gold band, right where his skull ring had sat before.

Oh goddamn fuck.

"Steve." Eddie's wide awake, much to the disapproval of the marching band in his head.

"Shhh—"

"No, Steve." Eddie shakes him, pushes him a little away, until he can dig Steve's hand out from beneath him and search for—

"Fuck." Eddie whips the blankets off, doesn't care that he's still naked or that Steve is looking at him like he's ready to throttle Eddie with the nearest object. "Did we get married last night?"

"What?" Annoyance is still plastered in every line of Steve's face. He opens his mouth, blinks, and then Eddie watches as it comes rushing back to him, too. He lifts his hand to see his own matching gold band. "I… We didn't… did we?"

Eddie feels like he's three seconds away from a panic attack, which is not how he'd wanted getting Steve in his bed to go. There was a massive difference in getting Steve into his bed and fucking marrying the guy.

"Fuck." Eddie digs through paperwork strewn over the hotel table alongside their empty bottles from the night before. He doesn't even have time to worry about his liver, can barely spare it more than a thought as he keeps digging through every piece of paper he can find.

"It's in the refrigerator."

"What?" Eddie asks without stopping his search.

"The marriage certificate." Eddie looks up and watches the way Steve presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "We put it in the refrigerator. Something about it being… cooler in the morning."

That sounds exactly like something Eddie would say, three sheets to the fucking wind. He opens the door of the mini-fridge and— bingo. There it is, tucked into the little freezer slot. Eddie pulls it out, finds the license and certificate both there, on top of a pack of cigarettes— what the fuck did we drink last night?

Eddie had laughed when Wayne told him not to get married in Vegas, and now here he is. Sweaty, hungover, married to one Steve Harrington.

Er, Steve Munson, if the signature on the marriage certificate is correct.

"Ah, fuck." Eddie stands, nudging the fridge closed with his foot. "Jeff's gonna kill me. Gonna kill us."

"What makes you think he didn't go get himself married, too?" Steve asks. He still hasn't gotten out of bed, is still sitting there with both hands in his hair.

"That's not happening until next week." It's why they're here in the first place, a happy little sendoff for Jeff while they still had a few minutes to breathe.

"This wasn't supposed to happen at all." Steve slips out of bed and Eddie can't help the way he watches Steve's back, then his ass as he finds his underwear and gets them pulled up his thighs. Even hungover Steve's still the most gorgeous person Eddie's ever seen. He delights at the bruises he hadn't been able to see before on Steve's hips, a dark one on the back of his neck, several lighter ones down his spine. His cock gives a twitch of interest as his mind wanders to all of the other places and ways he could mark up Steve's body.

Before he can even think to move and actually do something about it the door on the other side of the room opens up. Eddie actually squeaks as he brings the paperwork still in his hands down to try to cover himself as much as possible— not that they haven't all seen each other in various states of undress before, being on the road and sharing a bus for as long as they have.

"We have a problem," Jeff says. He gives a tug and that's when Eddie notices the silver cuff around his wrist. Gareth is attached to the other end.

"Did you two—"

Jeff hangs his head and holds his uncuffed hand up, showing off his own gold band. "Yep."

"To Gareth?" Steve asks.

"Yep." Gareth holds his cuffed hand up. "That's not the only problem, though."

Eddie raises his eyebrows. The whole situation is so fucked he almost forgets to keep himself covered. "What is, then?"

Jeff and Gareth exchange a look before looking back at Eddie. "Dougie's handcuffed to the bed, and I think we flushed the keys."

[rogerswifesblog]

New perfume

My Masterlist

Summary: you got yourself a new Parfum, after seeing some interesting TikTok…

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A/N: hi:) I’m really sorry for not posting. I can’t promise when I’m gonna update any of my wips, for now I just wanna try to write some short one shots and drabbles again.

Warnings: none? It’s rather fluff, implied smut maybe

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

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After watching a few TikTok’s you couldn’t stop yourself from buying something new.

It wasn’t something necessary.

Not even the slightest.

But at the same time you couldn’t stop your curiosity.

Would pheromones really work like they did on all those TikTok’s?

Would it even affect a super soldier?

Only a few days later you’ve received your package. Just a small little carton, Steve didn’t even ask what it was, being so used by you buying always some random little decor or things for yourself.

Your first thought was to use the perfume immediately-but then you decided otherwise.

You waited till you finally went shopping together, walking along the aisles with scented candles. “Steve could you please go and grab a shopping basket?”, I smiled at him, pecking his cheek. He nodded, immediately grinning at the gentle kiss.

After his back disappeared behind the shelves you took out the little perfume bottle and sprayed the sides of your neck and your wrists, bringing your hand to your nose you’d thought a strong sweet smell would hit you but….you couldn’t barely feel the new scent.

It wasn’t bad, like a simple body mist…you thought It would be better.

Well, maybe you got scammed, maybe you used an untrusted website, who knows.

Just when you put away the bottle Steve appeared around the corner, smiling brightly at you, “here you go”, he grinned, holding out the basked, inside a small plush teddy bear holding a heart with "I love you”. Chuckling you stood on your tippy toes to give him a peck on his cheek and-

He sniffed your cheek. “You smell good”, the bond mumbled, making you smirk. “I’m sure it might be also because we’re surrounded by the scented candles”, you smiled at your boyfriend, not believing he’d smell the pheromones since the smell was too faint in your opinion.

Slightly confused he turned to the shelf, grabbing one of the baby pink candles, smelling it. He repeated this action a few times, grabbing various candles in different colours, with different scents and- he placed his hands on his hips. “No. It’s not the candles”, he leaned down to you again, this time smelling your neck.

“Wow, it’s-wow, new perfume?”, he mumbled in your neck, pressing his nose further against your skin, sniffing you. “Yes, Steve, careful I’ll trip-“, I chuckled when he leaned his body more against you.

“It’s amazing-why didn’t you use it before-“, he was interrupted by his own loud sniffing as he breathed in the smell, grabbing your wrists when you lifted your hand to his face. “It’s with pheromones. I just bought it a few days ago…saw it on tiktok”, you explained while watching him press his nose against your wrist.

“I think I’m getting a boner”, said Steve suddenly, his face turning a dark red as he looked down at himself.

And he was right. He had a big tent in his jeans, “oh god Steve behave yourself”, you scolded him quietly, watching as he grabbed the basket, holding it in front of himself.

“We’re going home-“ “it’ll go away in a few seconds Steve-“, he rolled his eyes at my words. “Yeah I know but I wanna go home. Now. I want us to go home to do things that I don’t wanna say out loud”, he raised his eyebrows, making you understand his intentions. “You’re such a dork-“ “you bought pheromones, what can I say, they’re affecting me.”

Grinning, you walked with him to the exit but before you left, you pulled him to a cashier. At his scolding gaze you shrugged. “I want that teddy bear”, you winked.

Moments later you sat in the car, with Steve in the passenger seat, which was a rare sight.

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Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated! My inbox is always open, tho I can’t promise when I’m gonna start writing more again<3 but if I’ll like an idea I might check it out and think of something :)

Taglist: @rogersbarber @hawkeyes-queen @felicity-lemons-thoughts

[howlettsangel]

— party 4 u

tags/warnings: worst!logan howlett x f!reader, mostly fluff, age gap (reader is turning 25), mentions of drugs, roomie/bsf wade wilson, reader is lowk emotional and its so cute, light kissing/first kiss butterflies iykyk, logan is literally just old and needs a smooch

a/n: ty my glorious kings @blah-blah-bee and @sandy-balls123 for being my ghost writers and helping w/ this fic. its super rushed tbh even though it took me forever, but so be it. enjoy!!

wc: 2.2k

"Do you think he's on the way?" you asked Wade with anxious curiosity.

"I think you should stop worryin' your pretty head and focus on this magnificent birthday party I worked so hard to throw you, princess," Wade said in an attempt to lift your spirits. He knew you must be going over just about every worst case scenario.

It had been just over an hour since everyone arrived, the apartment you and Wade shared packed with every friend you could name. (which wasn't very many to begin with). Vanessa, Peter, Yukio, Negasonic Teenage Warhead, Laura. Hell, even Dopinder managed to RSVP.

But no Logan. He was the reason you threw a party, and he didn't show up.

The worst part of the situation wasn't even the fact that he physically wasn't there, it was that he told you he would come. You had seen him days before you had even set a date for the party, and he promised you that whatever plans were thrown together, he'd be there to celebrate you. Those weren't his exact words of course, but it was implied in his grunts of agreement.

It made your stomach churn the longer the party went on without him there. Wade tried everything to distract you and pull you away from the metaphorical window where you fantasized about Logan showing up with a boombox to confess his undying love. John Cusack style. And it had worked for the most part. His absence was slowly becoming an ever present thought inside your head.

No matter how many presents you opened, karaoke songs you sang, or lines of coke Wade and Althea tried to convince you to snort, your thoughts remained the same.

What could he possibly be doing that was more important than your birthday? Who could he possibly be doing— No. You weren't gonna go down that road.

By the time everyone had left at the end of the night, it felt miserable having to clean up the remnants of streamers and beer bottles. It felt as if you had a permanent hole in your heart from him not showing up. You had wanted to call— you had asked Wade at least 20 times by now— but he insisted that it wasn't any use. Along with a couple short remarks on how he planned to murder the man.

There was eventually a knock on the door, an unexpected sound this late at night. You had gone off to your room to get ready for bed, so Wade just told you he would get it. As the door flung open, the face he saw quite literally befuddled him.

"Logan?" Wade whisper yelled to keep his words out of your earshot. Logan's face furrowed in confusion at the look he got from the merc, his fist tightening around the bouquet he brought.

"What are you doing here?"

He gave the man wide eyes, searching his appearance for an injury or any sign of emergency. That was the only reasonable explanation for the unexpected visit. Much to Wade's surprise, Logan seemed rather... put together. He wore a nice button down with a work jacket to keep out the cold, his neck scented with a musky cologne that you rarely caught him wearing.

"Fuck do you mean what am I doing here?" he scoffed, the knot between his brows only tightening. "She ain't having a party anymore?"

Wade went through what seemed to be his own form of the five stages of grief just hearing that question leave his lips. Confusion, shock, and then a whole lot of oh shit he thinks he's early.

"Party? Peanut, it's 10:30," he pointed out, and that's when Logan finally realized. "Did you even read the invite?"

Honestly? Logan hadn't bothered to read the invite you gave him. All he saw was the pretty pink lettering of your name on the card and the fact that you even thought to invite him in the first place. No he finds out you wanted everyone to show up at a certain time?

From the inside of the apartment, the men heard your voice call out.

"Wade? Who is it?" you called out while you made your way into the front room. As you stepped out of the hallway, you barely had any time to process the sight of them in the doorway before Wade was pushing Logan inside to greet you.

For a moment you froze. No, longer than that. You stared right at him from across the room, your hair messy and your pajamas wrinkled, your appearances contrasting with each other. It made you feel so many things at once: anger, surprise, but you felt this overwhelming sense of relief. You had wanted to see him all night. That was your birthday wish.

Wade decided it was in his best interest to leave the two of you alone, nudging Logan just a few feet closer to you so that you could stand face to face. When Wade had left the room, it gave you a chance to process the situation, to focus on the man that was pissing you off and giving you butterflies all at once.

"Why are you here?" you muttered. Your arms were crossed tight over your chest, like you were shielding yourself.

"Seems like that's all anyone wants to know these days," he grumbled back with a tone that seemed half amused and half guilty. The longer he looked at your expression, the anger in your eyes directed at him, the worse it got.

"Thought you were still havin' a party."

"I was. Three hours ago," you shot back at him, matter-of-factly.

Parts of you felt bad for being angry at him, but it wasn't your fault he showed up late. He was competent enough to read an invite if he wanted to show up so badly. Silence hung in the tense air between the two of you until you broke it again.

"Are you gonna give me those?" you asked and glanced down at the flowers in his hands. He gave a small grunt at your attitude before holding them out to you, his grip tightening around the bottom. There was a small bow tied to keep it in a bouquet, the stems covered in a bit of dirt like he had pulled them straight from the ground.

"Did you get these from next door?" An involuntary smile creeped up on your face when you recognized the messy flowers he had in his hands. The neighboring building had a couple gardens outside and guaranteed, if you peeked outside, you would be able to tell someone tampered with it.

"No," he lied, looking at you with embarrassed shock. You tried to force away the smile you had, but your efforts were fruitless. His thoughtfulness and the fact that he still managed to make you a birthday bouquet warmed your heart like never before.

"Sure." You sighed before turning towards the living room. You made your way over to the couch to sit, Logan right at your heels with your birthday present in hand.

His guilt ebbed away the longer he was in the apartment with you. There was an awkward distance between your bodies on the couch. Logan placed the box on the cushion for you to see. The wrapping job was shitty, which was too unexpected from him, and the paper was a holiday print even though your birthday was in the springtime.

"Very... festive," you teased, glancing over at him as you brought the box into your lap. He gave you a gruff laugh beneath his breath, gesturing to it for you to unwrap it.

"Just open the damn gift."

You carefully ripped off the paper, opening up the box once it was out of the way. Inside there was a book with your initials scratched across the leather cover in messy handwriting- Logan's hand writing. Flipping it open, you saw a couple photos scattered across each page of the scrapbook: silly selfies you had forced Logan into, pictures of you that he had taken for you, and even group pictures with friends. Each and every one had you in it with a scribbled caption below it.

"You made this?" you mumbled to him, never tearing your eyes from the pages. Logan nodded over at you, scratching the back of his neck as he tried to gauge your reaction.

"I tried," he admitted. "Laura helped."

You looked up at him, your palms still resting over the pictures. The effort he had put into getting you a gift, let alone taking the time to make one for you; it made every ounce of anger you had towards him from earlier seem insignificant.

Exhaling a heavy breath, you felt tears build in your eyes. You couldn't explain why, but all of the emotions and all of the anxiety you had while waiting for him to come to your party came rushing back at once. He had tried to come. He hadn't forgot about it, or went off with some pretty broad you could never compare to (which was definitely what you thought he was doing).

When Logan saw your tears though, your irises glossing over, he panicked.

"Hey, hey, what's with the tears?" he questioned, quickly trying to decipher your emotional outburst. His hands went instinctively to turn your face towards his, cupping either side of your face like he had done it a thousand times before. "You hate it don't you?"

"No, no, I love it," you choked out, trying to wipe your tears before it got any worse.

"Then what's the matter?"

For the long seconds that you hesitated, all you could imagine yourself doing was telling him all about how angry you were at him for being late and how you just wished he was there for your stupid party. Which really wasn't that stupid but now that you were thinking about it again, it felt insanely stupid.

"Why did you have to be late? I waited forever because you were the only person I wanted at my party and to see on my birthday and then you didn't even come after I had made all these plans just because I thought you would be there like you promised me–"

You were startling to ramble, a few tears managing to slip down your flushed cheeks that Logan quickly swiped away. His eyes never broke from your intense contact, not even when you were done and sat there a little winded from the force of your outburst. Logan was a little stunned to say the least. He didn't open his mouth to speak, the two of you stuck in a moment of tension that felt heated with new emotions. Ones both of you have experienced too many times before but never attempted to acknowledge.

In his eyes, you were the prettiest girl he's ever seen. No, not even pretty, beautiful. Even when you were pissed at him and yelling at him like you were planning to strangle him (you had surely thought of it), no one would ever compare to you.

"Well? Say something, don't just sit there and act like you didn't hear a word I said," you scolded, your voice still raised and a bit squeaky from crying.

"No," he mumbled, but before he could give you enough time to yell at him again, he kissed you.

Really kissed you.

His lips moved tenderly against yours, his palms still cupped around your entire face as he gently tugged you closer. Your eyes widened for a moment before reciprocating, and you scooted even closer to his body.

It was a first kiss that gave you butterflies, one that was more anticipated than any other kiss you'd had. Both of you had spent months pining over each other in secret, and only now that he was sitting there, kissing you like a starved man in your apartment, did you finally see his feelings for you.

With a few gentle pecks, he let you pull away to catch your breath. You melted into his body when one of his hands moved down towards your waist. His thumb stroked the skin of your midriff, as if coaxing you to speak.

"What was that for?" you exhaled, feeling a small smile start to form across your lips. You couldn't hide it, not after that.

"My form of an apology," Logan mumbled in response to you, tucking a few strands of your hair that fell out of place in the heat of the moment. His eyes had softened as he admired just how pretty you were, smiling like you were on cloud nine. In reality, it was hard not to forget all about the party.

"Well I'm still mad at you," you huffed softly with a gentle shove to his shoulder, which he could tell was playful in nature, "but we can take a rain check on that argument."

"You just want an excuse to yell at me another time."

"Oh, hush," you giggled, pressing your lips against his again and tugging him even closer to you on the sofa. There was practically no space between you, but then again, why would there be?

Logan knew that things were only going to go up from here, and each kiss you gave him ingrained that deeper into his mind. He was clinging to every bit of your affection, his old heart beating for you and only you.

He would never miss another birthday, and he would always party just 4 u.

tags: @ellaynahowlett @ellaynaonsaturn @sweetverine @nymphoniah @cruel-as-sin @mcrdvcks @manipulatour

[whiskey-tango-matcha]

Ambiance (M, allergies)

Idk who I turned into the past two days, but somehow I bestow upon you all allergy sneeze porn with absolutely zero plot lmaoo. Uhhh, I don't write many allergy fics! I've maybe written 3 my entire life, so if it sucks that's why. In it, Mark is given the task of setting out flowers that he's super allergic to on the tables at work and that's literally it. The rest is sneezing hahaha.

Welp, I hope you guys like this, it was certainly a fun write, though I feel a little weird putting out a fic that has no drama in it at all lmao. Would love to hear how you feel about it! Hope you like sneezing HAHAHA.

On with the show!

CW: Male snz, allergy snz (from flowers), some mess (more implied than explicit). 2.2k words below the cut.

Ambiance

The moment Mark stepped through the back kitchen doors, Elijah swooped in like a hawk and handed him a comically-sized bouquet. “I have a project for you,” he said, distractedly.

Oh, you have got to be shitting me, Mark thought. From behind the bouquet, he tried to make his voice as light and joking as possible. “Does it have something to do with the… mountain of flowers?”

Elijah snorted. “How’d you guess,” he said, tapping something into his phone. The GM let loose an exasperated sigh, shoved his phone into his pocket, and regarded Mark with a look that suggested his patience, even at ten in the morning, was running thin.

“We’ve gotten three reviews in the past week saying that we don’t have enough ambiance,” Elijah rolled his eyes. “I swear to god, it must be those women who came in last Sunday and were pissed that we didn’t have bottomless mimosas. Anyway, I’m sick of seeing two-star reviews, so we’re ambiance-ing the fuck out of this place. You’re on flowers, Greyson is hanging fairy lights. I’m replacing all the lightbulbs in the lamps at the tables with those dark-as-fuck ones so no one can read the fucking menus.” Elijah held his hands up, as if in surrender. “You get the picture.”

Mark nodded slowly, his nose twitching inadvertently. “Are these, like, a vase at the host stand type deal, or…?” Elijah shook his head as he pulled out his phone.

“Three per table,” he explained, typing once again. “I switched out the stick-things we had as centerpieces for little vases.” He glanced up from the phone briefly, then furrowed his brow, concerned. “You good?”

Mark opened his mouth to respond, but instead wrenched into his shoulder. “NTSHH! HRRSHH!” Keeping his eyes closed, Mark took a moment to gather himself. Don’t, he thought, an internal warning to all of his systems. You are fine. Keep it together.

“Bless you,” Elijah said, an eyebrow now raised. “You feeling alright?”

Mark nodded, a quick, curt motion. “All good,” he said, moving the flowers to be cradled in one arm instead of right in front of his fucking face, why didn’t you move them before?! “Three per table,” he parroted. “Heard.”

Elijah nodded back. “Okay,” he said, his face betraying his confusion. “Great. Thanks, Mark. I have to go pick up tablecloths, apparently the launderers are down a van this week. Give me a call if you guys need anything while I’m gone, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Mark managed, one hand unconsciously moving to paw at his nose. “Will do.”

The GM moved past the floor manager, pushed through the back kitchen doors to the alley, and let the door fall closed behind him. The moment it did, Mark tossed the bouquet onto the closest prep table and folded in half.

“HRRSHH-uh! NTSHH-oo! NXTSH! Hh’ITSZHH! HRRSHH-ue!” Mark stood, panting, for a moment before allowing himself to glance back at the flowers – chrysanthemums. Just as he assumed. Fuck.

***

11:09AM

Mark

babe, I need your help with something

11:10AM

Matt

uhhhh, ok? where tf are you, btw? I thought you were scheduled in at 10

11:10AM

Mark

im here. im in the guest bathroom, can you just come here for like five seconds.

11:11AM

Mark

bring the benedryl from the drawer in the office, pls.

When Matt walked through the guest bathroom door, he had not one iota of a clue what was going on with Mark; the man could certainly be cryptic when he wanted to be, but this was a whole other level.

“Hello?” Matt called into the seemingly-empty bathroom. “Mark, are you-”

“HRSSH! Huh-! USHH-ue! HTSH, HTSH, HTSH-ue! HH-! NTXSHH-ue! God, fuck mbe.”

Matt furrowed his eyebrows together. “Babe?” he asked, moving towards the furthest stall. Without thinking, he pushed the door – unlocked – and stared at his boyfriend. “Jesus Christ, Mark.”

His boyfriend was standing with his back toward the door, but turned when he heard Matt enter. Mark seemed to be stuck in some sort of a tortured-looking pre-sneeze, his eyes were rimmed red and weeping, and when he spoke, his voice was completely waterlogged. “Oh, thangk god,” Mark managed when he saw the Benedryl in Matt’s hand. He took it, dry swallowed, and immediately turn back into his elbow to – “HNSTCHH-oo!”

“What the fuck happened?” Matt asked as Mark attempted to clean himself up. “You were fine when you left the house this morning.”

“HRRSHH-ue! NTGSHH!” Mark pinched his nose between two fingers to attempt to quell the fit – for the moment, it seemed to have worked. Rubbing a streaming eye with one hand, Mark pushed past his boyfriend and moved towards the sink. “Do you remember that timbe you brought mbe flowers? I thingk it was like our second dahh – HTSH! NTSH! HXGTSHH-ue! Jesus fuckigg christ.” Mark pulled a paper towel from the dispenser to blow his nose while Matt mulled it over in his mind. Finally, a look of sordid remembrance colored his face.

“Oh, fuck,” Matt said. “You don’t mean the fucking chrysanthemum incident, do you?” A look from behind the paper towel confirmed that yes – that was exactly what Mark meant. “Who the fuck brought you flowers at work?” Matt asked, envy coating his voice. Mark coughed out a laugh.

“Jealous?” he asked, tossing the paper towel and washing his hands. Matt rolled his eyes. “They’re for the restaurant. Elijah gave mbe this big-ass bouquet the second I walked in and put mbe in charge of putting themb on the tables,” Mark explained, straightening his tie and pushing back his hair. It was for naught; no one would be able to look past his swollen eyes and streaming nose at this point. “Apparently we’re gettigg bad reviews for lack of ambiaahhh – HNTSHH-uh! NGTSH! Huh -! HTXSH! NGTXSH!” Mark attempted to stifle another round of painful-sounding sneezes, while Matt cringed behind him.

“Could you please just sneeze normal?” he asked, pressing a hand into the small of his boyfriend’s back. “You sound like you’re going to burst a blood vessel.” Mark rubbed his nose on the back of his hand and gave Matt a look in the mirror.

“I genuinely thingk I wouldn’t be able to stop if I wasn’t tryigg to hold them back,” he said, clearing his throat. Matt pressed his lips together.

“Has Elijah seen the, uh… state he put you in yet? Why didn’t you just tell him you’re super fucking allergic to chrysanthemums?” he asked. Mark shook his head.

“He had to go get tablecloths. I doubt he even kndows what kind of flowers they are, and honestly, he already seembed pissed off, I didn’t want to pile ohh -” Mark said, his face already starting to collapse as another fit rapidly approached. “Fugck – HRTSHH-oo! HTSH, HXGTSH, ITSZCHH-ue! Huh – HUHHESCHOO!” Finally, Mark allowed one grating, throat-scraping, full sneeze out. As it did, his hand flew up to cover his nose and mouth. Matt cringed – partially in sympathy and partially in mild disgust – and pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser to hand to his boyfriend.

“Dude,” Matt said as Mark blew his nose. “How the hell are you going to work like this?”

Tossing the paper towels and rubbing his eyes again, Mark just shrugged. “Hopefully the Benedryl starts workigg soond.”

“And what do you think Elijah is going to say when you’re half-asleep and doped up on Benedryl?” Matt asked.

“To be honest,” Mark said, “I thingk anything would be better than thiihh – ITSZCHH-ue!”

***

“Mark, pre-shift!”

Startled, and pulled from a Benedryl-induced near-coma, Mark bolted upright. His eyes flicked to the corner of his computer screen – 4:31PM. Fuck, had he really fallen asleep for almost an hour?

Before the impromptu nap, Mark thought he’d finally gotten it mostly back together. He’d splashed enough water on his face to waterboard an elephant, he’d blown his nose until both his ears popped, and he’d avoided the dining room like the plague, insisting instead to Elijah – who, fortunately, couldn’t look up from his phone long enough to see his floor manager’s eyes swelling near-shut – that he would work on schedules in the office so his boss could continue to zhuzh up the front of house. Thankfully, his boss had agreed.

Apparently, though, the Benedryl had taken its well-known promise that you can’t sneeze if you’re wracked out a little too seriously, because Mark couldn’t for the life of him remember anything past sitting down and opening the schedule up on the computer. Now, he was attempting to smooth his shirt, push his hair back into submission, and try to look like he hadn’t spent the last sixty minutes drooling onto the desk.

“Sorry, sorry,” Mark said as he entered the dining room. “Lost track of time.”

“It’s fine,” Elijah said, curt. From his peripherals, Mark could see Matt tossing him a concerned look – one that he refused to meet. The GM handed the floor manager a copy of the cover count over one of the vases Mark had filled earlier that day – as his hand brushed against one of the flowers, he could feel the relentless fucking itch reenter his nose. Well, Benedryl, the important thing is you tried, he thought, staring as hard as he could at the paper. Focus, idiot, fucking focus.

“Alright, guys so tonight – shit,” Elijah pulled out his phone as he began pre-shift, swearing when it started vibrating in his hand. “Fuck, that’s the lighting guys, I have to take this. Mark, you run things. I’ll be right back.”

Oh, no.

Elijah stepped into the kitchen and the servers trained their eyes on Mark; he could immediately feel the itch lodge itself directly between his eyeballs. Pawing at his nose, the floor manager looked down; just get through the covers, you can do this.

“Ah – okay,” Mark began. “So tondight we have one twenty on the booooh…” Not even one sentence in, Mark could feel himself gearing up to sneeze. The first five, he managed to stifle into complete silence, his fist pressed against his nose. Mark let out a shaky breath as the servers, Greyson, and Matt murmured a collective Bless you; that phrase alone was enough to set him off completely.

“HTSCHH-uh!” The first out-loud sneeze caught him off-guard enough to catch in his palm – gross, he thought to himself, as if the rest of this fit wasn’t going to be. “HTSHH! NGTSHH! Hh’RRSCHH-ue! Fuck – NTSHH-ue! HRRESCHH-ue! ITSZCH! NGTXCH! Huh-! ESCHH-oo!”

“Christ, Mark,” Greyson said, his voice more annoyed than concerned. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Unable to answer, Mark just turned away from the table, away from the chefs and servers, and folded himself in half over his own lap. “HRRSHH-uh! Huh-! HUHESTCHOO!”

From the kitchen, Elijah called, “The fuck is going on out there?”

If he wasn’t so completely caught up in relentless itch, Mark would have been horrified, beyond embarrassed. As it was, he could only focus on one thing: “NTSHH! Huh’GTSHH! Fuckigg – HRRSHH-oo!”

Elijah had made his way back out to the dining room and was standing over the floor manager, confused and a little disgusted. Between sneezes, he placed a hand on Mark’s head. “You aren’t warm,” he mused as they all watched Mark succumb again and again.

“He isn’t sick,” Matt called from behind them. “He’s – Christ, Mark I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell him earlier – he’s like, insanely allergic to chrysanthemums.”

Elijah glanced briefly at the flowers on the table, then turned back to Mark, who had both arms over his head in an attempt to cover the mess that was his face. “Mark…?” Elijah asked, handing the floor manager a perfectly-folded napkin from the table before them. “I assume that’s, uh… true?”

Mark took the napkin, too exhausted and fucking itchy to be ashamed. He wiped his face as well as he could and sat up; one of his eyes was swollen half-shut, his nose was streaming down his face, and he could feel his lungs starting to constrict with the effort of sneezing so fucking much. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice husky and congested. “Yeah, I amb. HRRTSHH-oo! Huh-ITSZCHH-ue!”

Immediately, Elijah sprung into action. He turned towards the servers – all of whom seemed to be frozen, unsure of what to do about the scene before them – and clapped his hands. “Fuck, alright, okay guys, everyone needs to go around and take the flowers off the tables. Throw them in the dumpster outside, alright? We’ll figure out something else to do with the vases tomorrow.”

The servers complied immediately, collecting the offending flowers while Mark, ever the realist, gave his boss as dogged a look as he could imagine. “But… what about the ambiance?” he asked, a question so ridiculous that Elijah, Greyson, and Matt all choked out the same tension-breaking laugh.

“Mark,” Elijah said, placing a careful hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Ambiance… the ambiance isn’t going to mean much if the background music is drowned out by you, uh… sneezing until you pass out. You know what I mean?”

Mark colored – his embarrassment a good sign that the fit was finally letting up. “Oh,” he said, sucking in through his nose. “Yeah, I guess… I guess that mbakes seeehhh – NGTZCH-uh!” This one, he attempted to stifle into his shoulder, making Elijah and Greyson cringe.

“Why don’t you, uh… run home and change, kid,” Greyson said, locking eyes with Elijah. “Maybe just, like, throw those clothes away.” Elijah nodded in vehement agreement.

“We’ll hold the fort down,” he said, patting Mark on the back. Mark just nodded as both of the senior managers walked back into the kitchen.

Alone but for his boyfriend, Mark let out a congested sigh and leaned his head on Matt’s shoulder. “You doin’ okay?” Matt asked after a minute or so. Mark coughed, shrugged.

“I mbean, if I haven’t died of fuckigg embarrassmbent after that, I thingk I’ll probably live forever,” he joked, rubbing his swollen eye until he saw stars. Gently, Matt removed his boyfriend’s hand from his face and kissed his palm. They sat in silence like that for awhile, until Matt’s breathing finally got back to mostly-normal.

“Fucking chrysanthemums,” Matt muttered, coursing a hand through Mark’s hair. The other man huffed out a laugh.

“Fuckigg chrysanthemuuhh… HUHHHTSCHOO!”

[majoryeager104]

I am what I am cause you trained me

Summary: Touya’s reflection

Dabi x gn!reader

warnings: angst, implied death, s a d. It’s mostly from Touya’s pov sooo

wc - so close to 1k it physically hurts me

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They always look away.

The second their eyes meet mine, the moment they really see me- all raw staple-work and ruined skin- they flinch, pretend not to…But I see it. I always see it. Everyone knows what a fucking monster I am, what a disgrace I’ll always be…

Except you.

You were the only one who didn’t turn your gaze. The only one who didn’t lower your voice or tiptoe around uttering my name as if it might bite. 

You smiled, soft and stupid, and said, “Dabi, right? Cool fire.”

Cool fire.

God. I should’ve burned you then, saved you the heartbreak. Would’ve been kinder.

But you weren’t afraid. Not of the monster, not of the legacy, not even of the fire eating me from the inside out. You touched my arm like it didn’t disgust you. Like I wasn’t falling apart at the seams. You kissed me, and called me beautiful, as if the face you held in your hands wasn’t disgusting. You clung to me like I was your most treasured possession. 

So yeah, I clung to you, too.

Sue me.

They made me into this. The family. The system. Endeavor, with his high-and-mighty “sacrifice for greatness” bullshit, like he wasn’t just carving and cutting his ambitions into his own damn bloodline.

The world gasped when I snapped, when I showed them his precious results. But what did they expect? You don’t take a child, light him on fire, and act shocked when he grows up and starts burning things down.

I gave them a show. Every building I torched, every scream I pulled from someone’s throat, it all had a purpose. A message…

‘You made me.’

I was the villain. I am the villain. And I wear it like armor. Let them fear the flame and forget the ashes of the little boy left behind. 

But you?

You looked past it.

You touched the flame and asked it if it was lonely.

You held that little boy’s hand and told him ‘everything would be okay’

You told me once you didn’t care if the world saw you as soft. You said softness wasn’t weakness, that kindness could be armor, too.

I didn’t believe you. Still don’t.

But when your fingers laced through mine and didn’t recoil from the heat, I started wishing it were true.

You never asked me to be better.

Never tried to fix me.

You just sat with me in the silence, like that was enough. Like I was enough.

That terrified me more than anything.

Because I could handle being hated. I could handle being feared. It’s what I wanted-what I built. But to be loved? No one tells you how to survive that.

So I left before I could ruin you. Before I could prove every sick instinct right and drag you down with me. You cried. Begged me not to disappear again. I told you I was doing it for your sake.

That was a lie.

I did it because staying would’ve made me hope. And I couldn’t afford to hope; not with blood on my hands and revenge still burning in my lungs.

I saw your name again in a file once. Some underground Hero group, resisting our corrupt society from the shadows. Clever. That’s what you were- clever and quiet and so, so strong in ways no one ever noticed until it was too late.

I wanted to tear the world apart for you.

But I didn’t go back. Didn’t reach out. Never called. 

I’m a sick coward, right? An absolute piece of shit. yeah. 

Funny saying that now because you called me brave. Said it took guts to carry this much rage and still keep going, keep fighting. But I’m not brave. I just stopped caring if I lived.

Except when it came to you.

Now everything’s falling apart. The League’s completely scattered. My fire burns hotter than ever, but I can feel the end pressing in around me. Bones brittle. Skin tearing again. The pain’s constant, like my body’s remembering what it was never meant to hold.

I know what’s coming. I hate it. 

I’m a walking funeral pyre, and my only regret is that I can’t take them all with me.

But you?

God, you deserved something better than a ghost who kissed like you were his only redemption. maybe cause you were. 

But I’m not sorry for who I became.

What I’m sorry for is that I made you love me anyway.

When the fire takes me- and it will- I’ll picture your face. That soft smile. Those stupid, hopeful eyes.

And maybe, just maybe, that’ll be enough to make it feel like I died with something good in my hands.

They’ll write stories. Say I was a monster. A warning. A curse. A stain. 

Let them.

Let the world fear me.

Just don’t let them forget

You weren’t afraid.

You never were.

—

You stood where the flames had swallowed everything.

The ground was still scorched black, cracked open like it remembered him. No body. No grave. Just ash, and the ghost of someone you loved more than was ever safe.

You’d always thought- no, dreamed- that he’d find his way back to you. Those thoughts resurfaced in your mind as you smiled through the tears.

Because maybe somehow, in the end, he had. Not in the way you dreamed; not in warmth beside you or hands reaching back, but in this strange, hollow stillness where the fire had gone out, and your heart was still beating.

You knelt down, pressed your palm to the earth, and whispered, “You weren’t too much. Not for me.”

And for the first time since he disappeared, the ache in your chest softened, like maybe love doesn’t need a body to stay.

Maybe it just needs someone willing to carry it forward.

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Taglist - @mallllii (lmk if you want to join <3)

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

gyeong seok and his brat gf smut fic pls?

Say Please, Baby

Pairing: Gyeongseok x Bratty!Girlfriend (F!Reader) Rating: Explicit (18+) Genre: Smut, D/s, Brat x Dom, Domestic Kink, Teasing, Power Play Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: Gyeongseok’s girlfriend knows exactly how to get under his skin—and she does it on purpose. All she has to do is keep pushing, keep pouting, keep testing his patience… and she knows he’ll break. He always does. But this time? He doesn’t just break. He punishes.

Warnings: NSFW / MDNI. Dom!Gyeongseok, bratty teasing, consensual power exchange, dirty talk, spanking, face-sitting, use of pet names ("baby," "brat"), light restraint (pinning), orgasm control, overstimulation, aftercare implied.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Gyeongseok growled as he tossed his hoodie aside, eyes locked on the girl stretched across his bed—his girl. In nothing but one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties she was definitely wearing just to get a rise out of him.

Which, of course, she did.

“Aw, what gave it away?” she purred, flipping onto her back and giving him a lazy stretch, legs falling open just a little too wide to be innocent. “The way I said please?” She batted her lashes and dragged out the word like a whine. “Pwease, daddy?”

He froze at that.

She never called him that.

She knew what she was doing.

“Oh, now you’ve done it.”

“Mmm, have I?” Her tongue flicked over her lower lip. “You gonna spank me again, baby? You seemed so into it last time—”

He was on her in a second.

One hand pressing into the mattress beside her head, the other gripping her jaw, tilting her chin up until her eyes widened with something halfway between thrill and fear.

Not real fear.

Just the kind that made her thighs press together and her breath catch.

“You really want to test me tonight?” he said low, voice calm in that dangerous way.

She smirked. “I really want your mouth between my legs, actually.”

He laughed once—dark and sharp. “You are getting spanked.”

“Yay,” she whispered.

Her panties came off fast. His shirt, not so much—he liked her in it. Liked seeing her bratty little mouth beg in something that smelled like him.

“On your knees.”

She blinked up at him from the mattress, pretending to hesitate.

He cocked his head. “Want to try that again, princess?”

She pouted. “Ugh, fine.”

She got up slow, dragging it out, swaying her hips like she wanted to get punished.

Gyeongseok climbed onto the bed behind her, hand pressing into the small of her back until she was bent forward, ass in the air, shirt riding up.

“Count.”

Smack.

“One—fuck,” she hissed.

Smack.

“Two.”

Smack.

“Three, daddy—”

“You better shut your mouth if you want to come tonight.”

She giggled.

He groaned.

This was going to be a long night.

“Lie back.”

She did, but only after blowing him a kiss.

He grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head, and knelt between her legs.

“You’re gonna be quiet now,” he murmured against her inner thigh. “Or I’ll stop.”

“You wouldn’t dare—”

He licked a stripe right up her center.

She shut up.

Good girl.

He took his time—teasing at first, licking slow, shallow strokes until she writhed against the sheets. Her thighs trembled, her wrists tugged at his grip, and she whimpered as he didn’t give her enough.

“Gyeongseok,” she breathed, voice breaking.

“Say it.”

She shook her head, bratty even now.

He sucked on her clit hard enough to make her scream—then pulled away.

“Say. It.”

She arched her back, toes curling.

“Please—”

“Not good enough.”

“Please, baby. Please, let me come, I—fuck—I need it—”

That was better.

He gave her everything.

Tongue deep. Mouth slick. Nose pressed against her as he devoured her like it was the last thing he’d ever taste.

She came hard.

Trembling, sobbing, whining his name.

But he didn’t stop.

Not even when she begged.

“Too much—baby—wait, I—!”

“You wanted this,” he said, breath hot against her soaked cunt. “Now you take it.”

And she did.

She always did.

Because no matter how much she bratted…

She always gave in when he really took control.

Aftercare & Ending Snippet:

Later, she was curled up in his arms, sweaty and sore, legs trembling.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“Mmmhmm.�� She nuzzled closer. “I love when you break me.”

He kissed her temple, laughing softly. “Yeah? Maybe next time I won’t go so easy on you.”

She smirked against his chest.

“Promise?”

[linda-bates]

“You know… You do have your own house now, Evan.” Maddie’s standing in the kitchen, and Buck can smell the eggs that she’s making for Jee-Yun as they sizzle. He brought over banana muffins when he showed up last night, slightly as a bribe and slightly because he knows the kid loves bananas and it’s his right as an uncle to do anything and everything he can to make that kid happy. But Maddie looks up, muffin half-eaten beside her, and there’s this odd feeling she knows everything. “I thought you were sleeping fine over there.”

He’s toying with the wrapper of a muffin himself, half-debating indulging himself in it. There’s plenty for Jee, she’ll never know there’s one missing, but his appetite seems to dissipate all too easily right now. “Yeah! Yeah, I know, I just…” He takes a breath. “Eddie flew Chris in from Texas, so I let the kid have my bed.”

“And? Don’t you still have the blow-up mattress Albert used to sleep on?” She’s smiling, so maybe she doesn’t know everything, and she turns to continue scrambling eggs. “I just thought you’d want to stay under your own roof."

He twists his mouth to the side a little. “I guess…” He shrugs. “I dunno. Eddie and I got in a fight.”

“Ah.” Maddie interrupts nodding. There it is. “Everything okay over there? Or is this some kind of ‘giving him space’ thing?”

Buck pulls the paper wrapper off of the muffin. Fuck it, he should get something in his stomach now and he’s not going to ask his pregnant sister for something when he can just grab something on his way back home. “He’s just… He’s upset about not being there for Bobby.”

Maddie looks up for about half a second, her smile gone now. She holds up a finger, turning to plate Jee’s eggs so that they can cool a little, and steps away to face him now. “Evan, he knows that everyone did everything they could, right?”

“I…” He wants to say yes. That Eddie does know that, because all of them know it even if it hurts to consider. There should have been a third way, but there wasn’t, and now they’re all stuck here, swallowed up by ugly grief that threatens to drown Buck if he doesn’t keep moving. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course he knows that. I guess…” He takes a breath. “I know he blames himself.”

“We all do.” Maddie’s gaze softens a little as she rests a hand over Buck’s. “Sometimes… I sit and I think about the fact that maybe there was something I could do on my end. Or that Josh could have handled the call differently, and Bobby would have made it out. We both know how Howie’s dealing with this, too—and Karen told me that Hen’s been struggling with it in her own way, considering the captaincy….” She drags her thumb along the back of Buck’s hand. She pauses for just a moment, gaze falling before she meets his eyes again. “How are you?”

“What?”

“I…” She takes a breath. “I’m sorry, Evan. Between this one keeping me up,” she rests her other hand atop her bump, “and worrying about Chimney, and work… I guess I thought you were handling everything okay. But I should have asked, and—”

“Hey! Hey, no, that’s—Maddie, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and—and I get that.” Buck squeezes her hand. “I’m not gonna hold it against anyone that, y’know, they’ve been struggling with this. But I’m…” Fine doesn’t fit right in his mouth now, and neither does okay. Getting through it is what he’s said before, but that implies he’s actually going forward in some way other than pushing through each day. “I’m here,” is what he settles on instead. It’s the truth: he’s there. As much as it hurts to know that he’s there and Bobby isn’t, he’s there and maybe sometime the whole ‘they need you’ will start feeling real rather than just something Bobby said to him to comfort him. “I mean… It’s hard. I, uh, I saw my old therapist last week, just to talk to someone. Eddie brought Pepa by when he brought Chris there, and we had a good talk.”

Maddie blinks a little in confusion, brows drawing together. “You… didn’t talk to Eddie?”

“I mean… We did fight. And I started thinkin’ that maybe he had a point that I was making all of this about myself, and maybe I kinda deserved to get shoved—”

The confusion disappears within seconds, and Maddie’s holding his hand tight. “He shoved you?”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Buck says. “He was grieving, Maddie. He blames himself for not being there, and I get it—I’d feel the same way.”

“Did he apologize?”

Well. Yes but no. Buck’s not sure how many times he’s heard Eddie say the words “I’m sorry,” out loud, but they always make up after fights. If he had to think about it a little more, usually things just resolve themselves. He brings Chris by, and the kid practically lives and breathes sunshine, and being a cool uncle to him tends to make him forget about whatever they’d been fighting about anyway. He usually gets apologies from Eddie in the form of a tongue-in-cheek comment about some dick messing with him again. That’s just how guys apologize, right? Well, except for Chimney that one time he punched him: Buck had finally got through to him to tell him where he was sure Maddie was, and Chimney had thanked him before stopping to apologize.

(“I’m…” He’d sighed, and Buck could hear Jee cooing in the background as Chimney moved to tend to her. “I’m sorry, Buckaroo. I hadn’t slept in days, and finding out you knew anything—”

“Hey, don’t,” was what Buck had said. The apology was enough: he understood the why behind it already… and it helped that Taylor talked him through it while she was helping him ice the side of his face.“I mean… I’d probably punch you, too. I forgive you, Chim. Tell Maddie I love her when you see her.”)

Hell, he’s pretty sure Bobby’s apologized to him a couple times. Both for the serious stuff and for bumping into him sometimes when Buck’s not thinking straight and accidentally veers a little too close to Bobby before Bobby can course correct to avoid him. It’s a mutual little apology, sure, but Bobby still made a point of doing it. Even Ravi apologized to him when he smacked him in the back of the head by accident a week after Eddie left, not realizing Buck had been right behind him. So why does it feel like Eddie’s… what, allergic to that “s” word?

Maddie squeezes his hand again, just to get his attention. “Evan… I think you have your answer.”

“This isn’t like Doug,” Buck says all too quickly. “Maddie—”

“I know,” she says, but she’s already moving to gather her things into her purse. “Hey, Howie’s probably going to come out in a few minutes since he was giving Jee her bath—just let him know I had to go grab a few things.”

Buck turns to watch her, “Are you sure you should be going—”

“I’ll be fine.” Maddie turns, and she’s plastered on this clearly forced smile. “Just need to run a few errands I almost forgot about, Evan.”

“I could do those if you wanted to rest—”

She shakes her head. He knows exactly where she’s going… and he knows he’s powerless to stop her right now. Buck knows a couple things now that he didn’t fully grasp when he was younger: Maddie was powerless against Doug until the end. Facing your own abuse is harder than standing up for someone else. But when it comes to him, to Chimney, to Jee… Maddie’s willing to do anything for the people she loves.

And if that means she’s probably about to go tear Eddie a new one, well… Buck can only call after her to take it easy and that he’ll be there with Chimney and Jee when she gets back.

kinda wanna write some buckleys sticking together sometime (buck offhandedly mentioning the shove/argument and maddie immediately snapping into big sister mode)

[1-800-i-ship-it]

update watched yuri on ice eps 5-9 and im freaking out cause:

YURI ACTUALLY SAYS ALL THIS IN CANON???:

“I want to be hated as the man who took Victor from the whole world!”

*touches foreheads together* *intense eye contact* “Don’t ever take your eyes off me”

“I’m the only one who can who can satisfy Victor. I’m the only one in the whole world who knows Victor’s love”

“With my coach, Victor, I’ll win with the power of love!”

“I’ll show my love to the whole of Russia”

THEN THERES ALSO:

Victor half naked slumped on yuri cause he had too much to drink...then the pic being posted everywhere LKASJDF

Victor hugging yuri while watching performances

Victor FLOPPING ON HIS BED WITH YURI TAKING A NAP TOGETHER??

VICTOR SHATTERING YURI’S HEART AND THEN ASKING IF A KISS WOULD MAKE IT BETTER IM-

-YURI JUST ASKING FOR HIS SUPPORT AND PRESENCE IN RESPONSE AHH <333

YURI SLAYING THE PERFORMANCE, GETTING AN INSANE HUG THAT KNOCKS HIM OVER, AND WAS THAT AN ALMOST KISS/REAL KISS AINT NO WAYYYYY

YURI SLAYING ANOTHER PERFORMANCE, VICTOR KISSES HIS SKATE ON CAMERA?????

THEY LITERALKU HAVE A COUPLES REUNION AT THE AIRPORT???

Then…then…THEN Yuri asks Victor to be his coach until he retires AND AND ANDDDD VICTOR TAKES HIS HAND OFF HIS SHOULDER…me expecting him to let go and then he HE FUCKING KISSES YURI’S HAND AND SAYS ITS LIKE A MARRIAGE PROPOSAL??? Then he says “I wish you’d never retire” HELLO???? WHERES THE RING??

[goldentigerfestival]

Using this as an audio reference for the posts I'm making, but to summarize:

Yuri starts out mad.

Yuri tries to calm himself down with a deep breath to ask for details instead of going through it angry.

Flynn doesn't say "like a good knight" in the sense of putting himself down. He simply says "as a knight" (the tl here doesn't use that, but with that included it's basically along the lines of "even though I had doubts, as a knight, I was determined to follow my orders").

Once Yuri has answers he calms down significantly.

Yuri uses " 'ttaku", which is a shortened down version of "mattaku" (Yuri often shortens words and speaks very casually), which in this particular situation basically would mean "geez", or "good grief". In this manner, it's expressive of exasperation/frustration/etc.

Yuri never mentions that "Flynn told him what to do" like the dub does (because in fact Flynn did not ever tell Yuri what to do. He only gave Sodia and his other knights orders. He expressed his own desire to take responsibility, but never told Yuri and his friends what to do).

At this point you can tell the anger has gone out of him and that he's calmed down, now that Flynn is approaching this with admission and responsibility.

Sodia is asking that Flynn returns as soon as possible (I believe this was a general translation error).

Flynn's thank you to Yuri is tonally much more heartfelt.

Yuri's response and gratefulness at Flynn coming back to himself is tonally much more heartfelt, relieved and sincere.

[gojorgeous]

"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+  ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off. 

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all. 

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it. 

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married. 

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags. 

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding. 

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times. 

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying. 

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance. 

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold. 

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income. 

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me? 

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of. 

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.” 

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before. 

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.” 

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you. 

“Yes, my lady?” 

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?” 

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps. 

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you? 

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness. 

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing. 

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home. 

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come. 

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly. 

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning. 

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags. 

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle. 

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and- 

“Do you like them?” 

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. 

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie. 

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him. 

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained? 

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.” 

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.” 

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips. 

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.” 

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling. 

“Of course… Satoru.” 

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet. 

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies. 

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.” 

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever… 

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.” 

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming? 

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.” 

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue. 

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?” 

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks. 

“Not tonight.” 

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch. 

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence. 

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone. 

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened. 

~  

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed? 

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense. 

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person. 

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all. 

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking. 

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?” 

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver. 

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.” 

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.” 

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

~

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains. 

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady��s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in. 

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you. 

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again. 

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse. 

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas. 

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume. 

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.” 

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. 

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.” 

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.” 

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin. 

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.” 

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?” 

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.” 

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room. 

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough. 

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue. 

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.” 

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.” 

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?” 

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?” 

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.” 

He chuckles. “My pleasure.” 

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight? 

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you? 

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse. 

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone. 

~

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon. 

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare. 

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

~

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge. 

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

~

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he? 

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you. 

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right? 

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there. 

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”. 

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye. 

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.” 

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further. 

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages. 

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph. 

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe? 

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.” 

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second. 

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.” 

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening. 

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.” 

No, no, no. 

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible. 

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you. 

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru. 

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows. 

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense. 

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting. 

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine. 

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?” 

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.” 

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you. 

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further. 

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…” 

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you. 

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does. 

“About the estate?” he asks. 

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?” 

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.” 

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.” 

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-” 

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why. 

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him. 

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…” 

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch. 

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine? 

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?” 

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real. 

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point. 

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper. 

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in. 

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.” 

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him. 

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?” 

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.” 

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.” 

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight. 

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago. 

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?” 

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?” 

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be. 

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?” 

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe. 

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.” 

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?” 

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone. 

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin. 

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt. 

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.” 

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has. 

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less. 

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning. 

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long. 

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s 

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked. 

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity- 

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips. 

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re– 

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature. 

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.” 

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper. 

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.” 

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust. 

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb. 

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.” 

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further. 

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?” 

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer. 

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?” 

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch. 

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.” 

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod. 

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth– 

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing? 

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire. 

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.” 

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is. 

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move. 

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop. 

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake. 

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.” 

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision. 

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer. 

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done. 

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation. 

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.” 

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp. 

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts. 

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–” 

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin. 

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants. 

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath. 

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments. 

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…” 

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come. 

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull. 

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens. 

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like. 

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants. 

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago. 

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave. 

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

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