#here we are over ten years later lol

[simmonsized]

Today I'm thinking about the fact that a lot (a LOT) of Homestuck fanfiction is written in second person and how I don't remember when that happened or who made it prevalent, though I'm sure you could do research to figure it out but I'm lazy so I'm not doing that but it just genuinely amuses me and also delights me because no other fandom I've ever been in has done that except one (1) author in rvb and that was such a specific case, and a very specific voice which gave it such cool power and intention but idk I just

I am sure it has changed the way I write in a way I can never go back from but I don't even care because it's fun and because it works so fucking well and sure you can write Homestuck fanfiction in third person, that is your god given right, but there is just something about that second person perspective that really does it for me

[confused-pyramid]

Breaking Point

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: You and Art were hitting partners (and a bit more) in college, so when you run into him a decade later at the U.S. Open, old sparks reignite...

word count: 3.4k

warnings: SMUT, p in v, oral (fem!receiving), slight marking, drinking

a/n: I watched Challengers last night and then wrote this whole thing in one sitting. Nothing in this is really canon other than Art being a major simp lol so no spoilers for the movie! I usually make playlists (or at least find a few songs that get me in the zone) when writing, so I thought I'd start sharing them here too if people are interested!

You should've known he'd be here. You've been following his career for the last decade since you graduated, and ever since he won Wimbledon last year, he's been tennis royalty, but a small part of you still thought you wouldn't run into him here. At the fucking U.S. Open.

Stanford was a lifetime ago, and you haven't kept in touch with anyone from the college team, but there was always something about Art Donaldson that stuck with you. Ten years later, that hasn't changed.

"It's been so long," he calls out when he spots you from across the practice courts. "I didn't think I'd see you."

You didn't either, and you still haven't decided how you feel about it yet, but when he jogs over to your side, you just shrug. "Guess it's your lucky day."

He smiles, and his teeth glimmer in the bright sunlight. "It certainly is."

The loud thwacks of tennis balls hitting rackets echo around you, but you can't seem to focus on anything but the man standing in front of you. He looks good.

He was beautiful in college too, whether he was training across the net or slipping into your bed, but it feels different now, with so much time apart. He looks like a man now.

"Anyway," Art says, jerking you back to reality. "We should get a drink sometime. To catch up."

He adds the last part almost as an afterthought, but it doesn't escape your notice how his eyes have been trailing up and down your body since he walked over.

A drink could mean almost anything with Art Donaldson, but you're too curious to refuse. "Sure. This weekend, after the semi-finals."

He nods, his eyes glinting with amusement, and you grab your bag from the bench beside you before looping the strap over your shoulder.

You walk off the practice courts after one last glance over your shoulder, and you feel his eyes following along until the doors swing shut behind you.

***

He should've expected this. You were a firecracker in college, and you kept him on his toes every single day you were together, so he really should have known what he was getting into when he met you for drinks that weekend.

Instead, he's one too many beers in, and his buzz is only enhancing the glow of your beauty in the hazy bar light. Your dress isn't even that low cut, but something about the shadows glancing over your strong shoulders reminds him of late nights in the Stanford dorms after a hard practice when there was only one thing he wanted more than sleep.

"You played really well this morning," he says genuinely as he sets his beer back onto the table. "After that first set, Mueller didn't stand a chance."

You flash him a dazzling smile as you shrug, resting your chin on your palm. "I had her after the third game, but thanks. It was a quick match."

Art hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you sat down, and while prolonged eye contact usually makes you nervous, you find that you're actually enjoying the attention quite a bit. Attentiveness was never an issue with him, and you would normally give in to your urges, but there's just too much history with him, and you can't afford to lose focus. Not when the title is so close you can taste it.

"I hear the networks are eyeing you for a commentator post," you say, trying to change the subject.

You trace your finger around the rim of your nearly empty margarita, before lifting it to take a final sip, and you don't miss how his throat bobs as you lick the salt off your lips.

"Uh, yeah," he mumbles, clearing his throat. "It was just some chatter, but I'm not looking to retire anytime soon."

You frown. "Is that right?" He's playing better than ever, but he definitely hasn't been himself out on the court in years.

He glances down, clearly trying to avoid the scrutiny, and when his eyes land on your empty glass, he changes the subject again. "You want another drink?"

You shake your head, knowing that another will lead to a less than fun morning, but he isn't done yet.

"You sure?" His eyes find yours again, and this time the eye contact feels primal. "It doesn't have to be here."

Your eyebrows lift and you tilt your head with a knowing smile. "Where were you thinking?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, before his lips curve up into a cheeky grin. "My room's nice."

You saw it coming from a mile away, but it still pulls a laugh out of you. "Oh, I'm sure it is, but this isn't college anymore, Art. You should get some sleep...focus on your match in the morning."

You push your glass forward and stand up, nodding at him as you turn to leave, but then you see him stand too out of the corner of your eye.

"I'll walk you to your car."

He looks at you with a hint of amusement in his expression, and you can't help but want to play along, even though Art Donaldson was nothing but trouble for you.

You don't respond, instead just stepping out from around the table and walking out the front doors of the bar. You don't have to turn back to know he's right behind you, and when you reach your car, parked in the center of the nearly empty parking lot, you spin around.

He doesn't stop walking until he has you practically boxed in by your driver's side door, his face less than a foot from yours as he tucks his hands into his pockets.

He had pushed his sleeves back at some point in the night, from the humid summer heat of the bar, and you can see the veins on his forearms now, under the dim light of the street lamps.

"This is me," you say jokingly, tipping your chin at your car as he looks at you with an expression you can't distinguish. "I'm good from here."

He doesn't move.

It's not that you expected him to give up so easily; you had just forgotten how persistent he could be.

Art's mouth stretches into a slanted smile. "Do you remember the Davis Invitational? Junior year."

Speaking of his persistence...he had been pursuing you for months, not in any tangible way, but you always knew what he was thinking.

After the invitational, where you and Art had been the respective men's and women's champions, you had gone back to his dorm to celebrate. Three hours and just as many vodka shooters later, he had finally gotten you in his bed. Not that you were complaining.

Art knew his way around your body, and even that first night, he had managed to get you off more times than you can remember.

"What about it?" you shoot back, your eyebrows raising at the insinuation.

"Nothing," he says with a shrug, but you don't miss the humor glinting in his eyes. "You just used to be a lot more fun to celebrate with."

"Fuck you," you spit out, shoving his shoulder harder than you mean to. He barely budges, instead grabbing your hand and tugging you a few inches closer, and suddenly a wave of lust washes over you, making your breath hitch.

You press your thighs together under your dress, hoping he can't feel the heat spreading across your skin, but then his smile turns to a smirk and you know you're done for.

"What do you think?" he whispers, leaning in so close that his lips brush over your earlobe. "Want to celebrate?"

Molten lava pools in your gut and you are only peripherally aware of his hand sliding down your hips to the flowy edge of your dress. His fingers glide over your skin as his hand goes under the loose fabric, before rising up to grab your ass, drawing your hips flush with his.

Your arousal is already starting to soak through your panties, but the feeling of his hard bulge pressed up against you sends you flying back to reality.

You lift your hands to his chest and push him back so that he's a few steps away from you. It's not far enough, but at least you can't feel him from there. "I'm not fucking you, Art."

He shrugs, his smirk only slightly shaken. "Who said anything about fucking? I just wanted to talk."

You huff out a laugh. "You're funny. Besides, I'm too tired for this. I need to rest up before my match."

"What about tomorrow night then?" His lip is still curved up in a smirk, but there's an earnestness in his gaze that surprises you.

"What makes you think you'll still be here tomorrow?"

His mouth spreads into a wide smile. "I always win."

You snort. "Fine. Win your match and we can talk."

You don't miss the grin on his face as you climb into your car and leave.

***

You win your next match in straight sets again, so by the time you're out of the locker room, Art's match is still in play. Driven by a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, you head over to his court and find a seat halfway up the stands.

He has won two of three sets, and he's leading the fourth, so with the prospect of the match ending soon, you use the time to observe him from a different angle.

His form is much better than it was in college, and you've seen him play countless times on TV, but you haven't really let yourself see how good he looks out there. The sinewy muscles rippling in his arms as he lifts them to serve. The rugged sturdiness of his legs as he races back and forth across the court.

You wish you could be down there with him, running your hands over the smooth lines of his abdomen, tasting the drops of sweat as they roll down his body-

The crowd erupts in cheers, and you are thrust back into reality as Art throws his arms into the air with a loud whoop. The scoreboard confirms his victory, and you clap along with the audience as he shakes his opponent's hand and heads over to his chair.

People around you stand up to leave, but you stay in your seat, watching as he grabs his bag and stuffs his rackets inside. When he wipes a towel over his face, his head turns up and his eyes immediately go to you, like he knew you were here the whole time.

Your stomach does an involuntary flip and he flashes his eyebrows at you as you bit the inside of your lip, trying to hold back a smile.

When he ducks back down to grab his things, you stand up quickly to avoid letting him see your blush and follow the rest of the crowd off of the stands.

***

You hear it late that night. Three little raps on your hotel room door, just before midnight.

You're in the finals, and you don't have any friends here to celebrate with, so you were sipping a beer and watching old match recordings when you heard the knock.

There's no one else who would come to see you this late, so you're not surprised when you open the door to find Art, dressed in a tee shirt and comfy-looking pajama pants.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, even though you already know the answer.

Art just looks at you, his pupils already massive. "You said if I win, we could talk." He shrugs. "I won."

"Okay," you concede, opening the door wider to let him in. "Just talking then."

He nods, before following you inside and shutting the door.

"You want anything to drink?" you ask as he trails behind you.

He shakes his head. "I'm good."

You grab your beer bottle from the side table and sit down on the floor, crossing your legs beneath you.

Art sits across from you, his feet in front of him and his elbows on his knees. You were assigned to a modestly sized room, but for someone as tall as him, the space must feel cramped.

"How did the match feel?" you ask, taking a swig of beer.

He thinks for a moment. "It was close at first, but once I shook my legs out, it became a breeze."

"Your legs were never the problem," you say, leveling him with a serious look. "It was always your attitude. Or your confidence."

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching slightly. "I'm plenty confident."

"You are now," you tell him as you swirl the bottle around in your hand. "You won Wimbledon, you have a reason to be confident."

That makes him smile. "So you're saying my legs are fine."

"Yeah," you say before you can process what you're saying. "You looked good out there."

His smile turns to a smirk so fast it nearly gives you whiplash. "You think I look good?"

You let out an exasperated scoff. "At tennis."

His grin doesn't falter so you roll your eyes at him before lifting the bottle to your lips to take another swig. When you tilt the bottle back down to swallow, his hand reaches forward to take it from you. Your grip on the beer doesn't loosen, so the motion sends you pitching forward.

Your mouth parts with a small yelp as his arm wraps around you, tugging you closer, and before you can process what's happening, his lips are on yours.

If you let yourself think too hard, you would realize that there is way too much shared history and way too much baggage here for this to be a good idea...so that's why you don't.

Instead, you let him pull your body flush against his and when his tongue slides over the seam of your lips, you grant him access immediately. Your shirts come off in quick succession and you gasp as his hands run up and down your body, his strong, calloused fingers grasping at every inch of purchase they can find. Yours reach up to tangle in his messy hair, and when his lips move down your neck, your grip tightens, making him moan quietly against your skin.

Something about being on the floor takes you back to your college days, when you'd both be so worked up after practice that you couldn't even make it to the bed, but that feels too real right now.

"Art," you whisper as he runs his lips and teeth over your neck, before replacing it with his tongue to soothe the quickly blossoming marks. "Art, the bed. Now."

It takes him a second to process your words, but when he does, he loops an arm around your waist and lifts you up and onto the bed in one motion, before pushing you back onto the covers.

By the time your head hits the bed, he's already pulling your shorts and panties down, exposing you to the cool air. His lips follow the path of his hands as they trace up your legs, making you squirm under the hot touch of his rough fingers. He presses wet kisses to the insides of your thighs before spreading them apart and dropping to his knees on the floor in front of you.

"So wet for me," he whispers, almost to himself, before he dives in, his mouth making lewd noises as he licks a thick stripe up your core. "You taste so good."

He lifts your legs over his shoulders to give himself some leverage as he makes a mess between your thighs, licking and sucking your clit into his mouth before fucking you with his tongue.

His grip on your thighs is the only thing keeping you pinned to the bed as you writhe beneath him, trying to not squeeze your legs together from the heat spreading up your core.

His mouth feels amazing and it takes only minutes before you're already nearing the edge. You don't want to come until he is inside of you, though, so you yank his hair, pulling him up and off of you.

He looks up at you through his lashes, and he looks ethereal with his disheveled hair and his chin wet with your slick.

You, on the other hand, look like heaven itself with your eyes half-hooded from pleasure, and he can't help the grin that crosses his face as he licks his lips and climbs over you onto the bed. He lets you taste yourself as he kisses you again, and he lets out a low groan when you bite his lip just hard enough to sting.

"Fuck me," you gasp, your voice too breathy to be actually authoritative. "Fuck me the way I like."

Art grins at your desperate tone and the wild lust in your eyes, committing this image to memory for a later time when you're much further away.

He kicks his pants off as he lifts you both further up the bed, and after covering himself with a condom from his back pocket, he lines himself up and slowly pushes forward.

He gives you a few moments to adjust to his size before slowly pulling out nearly all the way and then thrusting in again.

The slight pain turns to pleasure almost immediately, but he keeps his pace steady so as not to hurt you. You need more right now, so you wrap your legs around him for leverage and flip him over so that you're straddling him.

He groans as his head hits the pillow, and when he tries to sit up, you press your hands to his chest, pushing him down as you ride him. This position gives you a lot more control, and you use it to your advantage as you bounce yourself on his cock, feeling the way he fills you up so fully from this higher angle.

His fingers dig into your hips as he helps lift you up and down, and his eyes are practically feral as he watches the spot where his cock disappears inside of you.

He's the perfect size to fill you up completely, and with each swivel of your hips, you get closer and closer to your climax, which is approaching so fast you can taste it.

You cry out when he hits exactly the right spot deep inside of you, and his eyes fly to yours as your movements start to stutter from your impending release.

Needing to see the look on your face when you come, he pushes your lower back forward so you fall against his chest, before lifting himself up to meet you halfway. With one arm locked around you, he brings his other hand down between the two of you to rub quick circles over your clit. The new angle lets him thrust up into you, and the increased pace of his movements mixed with the speed of his fingers sends you flying over the edge.

Your mouth falls open with a loud cry, and you squeeze him so tightly he's practically seeing stars. You look so beautiful when you come, like a goddess sent down here just for him, and when your eyes meet his, he finds his own climax.

His body jerks forward with the force of his release, and you let him thrust a few more times as he finally finishes inside of you.

After pulling out, he tugs you down to lay next to him, and at first you let him, but the emotions warring inside of you don't stay quiet for long.

You know that whatever this was isn't going to go anywhere. You didn't work in college, and you won't work now, and you don't want anyone to get hurt again, so you have to make a choice. Now.

"I need to get some rest," you say quietly, a tiny part of you hoping he doesn't hear you. "Before the next match."

"Yeah," he sighs after a beat. "Me too."

You let him hold you for a moment longer, before he unwraps himself from your body and sits up, tugging his shirt and pants back on. You tug the sheet back and wrap it around your torso as he stands up and walks to the door.

You're not sure what you're expecting as he goes to leave, but what you get is a silent nod as the door swings shut behind him.

[chrollogy]

EIGHTEEN THOUSAND KILOMETRES

— oikawa tōru x f! reader

syn: Your high school lover suddenly breaks up with you to chase his career in another continent. Ten years later, you unexpectedly bump into him, and feelings that were once buried with time resurface once again but you know better than to let it consume you.

18+ MDNI; timeskip!oikawa, angst, hurt/no comfort (gets a bit better towards the end, trust), light smut, implied sex, brief mention of oral (f receiving), not-so-happy ending (sorry lol), iwaizumi being a good friend. divider: cafekitsune.

word count: 4.9k

notes: sorry i suck at writing the synopsis lmaoo pls trust me on this one. i may or may not have cried while writing this aaaaa i live for oikawa angst sm. feedback is more than welcome!

A few hours.

It took 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa a few hours to intricately gather his thoughts and tell you his plans regarding his future. His future. You always took that with a grain of salt because deep down there’s an impending fear that you weren’t always going to be a part of that, especially with how passionate Tōru was with volleyball—you just didn’t think it would come this soon.

Standing at the doorway to your boyfriend’s room, your clouded gaze followed each hesitant step taken as he quietly packed his clothes. Back and forth, back and forth, Tōru grabbed a handful of clothes from his closet and tossed it into an opened suitcase that lay on the floor. The tension in the room grew heavy with each passing second as his suitcase became evidently packed; your solemn gaze locked on his figure, his back remained facing you.

The silence was deafening, your neck burned with a searing blaze, all the things you wanted to scream at him were stuck in your throat. You’ve been standing on the same spot for more than half an hour now, you couldn’t feel the soles of your feet at all but that didn’t compare to the unbearable pain that weaved its way into your heart. Occasional sniffles and sighs escaped you both but nothing more, no one dared to address the elephant in the room right now. That in less than a day, Tōru was going to be eighteen thousand kilometres away from you. For good.

”We can make it work. .” A shaky sigh left your lips, voice hoarse despite not having the heart to yell and argue with him. Tōru gripped the fabrics in his hand, nails digging into the softness of the textiles, he mirrored your sigh and finally faced you. Eyes slightly red from holding his tears back, Tōru’s brows furrowed, “We’re going to be in two different continents. The time zone would be too much of a difference.”

You don’t have to remind me.

Biting your tongue in frustration, you stared at him. His eyes, his nose, his lips, anything and everything that would help you sear his appearance in your mind. “So you’re just going to let all this go? As easy as that?” Nothing in this is easy for me. For the first time in a few hours, Tōru inched closer to your unmoving figure. He’s been keeping a clear distance as if holding you tight against him would cause you to disappear in a flash despite his heart practically aching to be near you at this very moment.

It took all of Tōru’s willpower not to wrap his arms around you, and whisper into your ear over and over again how much he loves you; how scared he was that in less than a day, you weren’t going to be by his side anymore. He was a coward. He knew that doing so would only worsen the situation at hand.

“You and I have futures to pursue, you of all people should know that.” The wooden frame of his bed creaked as he plopped down with another sigh. “B-but you don’t have to end our relationship like this . . ! Maybe I can go to Argentina with you and—” Your boyfriend waved a dismissive hand and let out an empty chuckle, “Don’t be so irrational.” “You’re the irrational one here, Oikawa!” You raised your voice at him, tone trembling with anger and fear as your nails painfully dug into the plushness of your palms.

Your chest rapidly rose and fell with each heavy breath taken, unshed tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Why did he have to do this? Ever since entering a relationship with Tōru, you’ve always known that you only came second to volleyball but you didn’t know it’d hurt this much. Despite having no intentions of holding him back from the future he has worked hard to carve, you couldn’t help but become a little selfish on your end. Why did Tōru have the need to feel that breaking up with you was the best solution?

As mentioned earlier, you’d do anything and everything to make it work. You were hoping. Hoping that your boyfriend would at least reconsider breaking off the relationship but knowing him, once he had set his mind straight, there was no turning back.

“Do you not love me anymore?” You whispered into the silent room. Tōru looked away as he caught a glimpse of your deflated expression, shutting his eyes as he tried not to think of that specific expression in his mind. All he could muster was a weak rebuttal but he dared not to explain further, even if he wanted, he couldn’t bring himself to. Not when the situation was already taking a toll on both of you. He spoke again, voice threatening to waver,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

You didn’t go despite Iwaizumi’s pleas to see Tōru off with him. You couldn’t. The least you could give yourself right now was space, and seeing your boyfriend off to another country would do more harm than good, especially knowing that he wasn’t yours anymore nor you were his. It took Iwaizumi more than thirty texts to finally give up, it was a rare occurrence as it wasn’t in your friend’s nature to be persistent like that.

You’re thankful that he cares for you a lot because for the first few weeks without Tōru’s presence, both of you confided in each other. There were occurrences where you had to turn down his requests on joining him for a weekly video call with Tōru who still had a hard time settling down in a foreign country; in your mind, you had no business communicating with your ex-boyfriend anymore—he broke off the relationship and that was that.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years. As you moved on with life and focused on your career ahead, naturally, you found yourself burying the painful past behind. Not to mention how you deleted Tōru’s number—after painfully reminiscing old texts with him—and blocked him from all your social media accounts. It’s been ten years now and Oikawa was the least of your concern, he was just a person from the past that you’re thankful to have met.

After all, if it wasn’t for what he did, you wouldn’t have learned to grow as an individual and truly seek what you wanted. During the course of your relationship with Oikawa, you were more than content supporting him in his volleyball career, standing at the sidelines and cheering him on but you didn’t know what you wanted for yourself then, and maybe Oikawa saw that earlier on. That breaking up was a way for you to flourish as your own person, not someone who stood amongst the crowd.

It was a peaceful weekend afternoon, passing time at the local convenience store to buy whatever snack you felt like eating before heading home to retire for the day and possibly binge a series you’ve been meaning to watch. Walking down the bread aisle, you caught a glimpse of a very familiar sight. Milk bread. Chuckling, you found yourself reminiscing about the old high school days where you and Oikawa would stop by to buy a pack of milk bread whenever he ran out. You haven’t eaten one since the day he left you.

It wouldn’t hurt to try one now, you thought to yourself. Reaching for the closest pack, another hand suddenly reached out to the one you had set your eyes onto. Both yours and the stranger’s arms retracted back in embarrassment, “S-sorry! You can go ahead and grab it.” You profusely apologised, not noticing the expression the stranger wore. Upon their silence, you drew your attention to the man standing beside you and blinked twice.

It seemed like the only option when the stranger before you was not just any shopper, it was none other than Tōru Oikawa. If you were to tell your 18-year-old self that ten years later, you’d be face to face with your ex-boyfriend, you wouldn’t have believed it. Everything felt strange—from the way the ambience of the store faded into white nothingness, to the way Oikawa felt painfully familiar yet different; he wore the same genuine shock plastered on your face—eyes wide, brows sky high, and lips slightly parted. You wondered if his ears were ringing too or if his heart threatened to leap from his chest. Oikawa was the first to break his trance, searching his mind high and low to find something, anything to say to you.

He was speaking yet nothing was heard on your end, only your own storm of thoughts. All you could muster was to really take him in. His hazel eyes shone beneath the harsh ivory lights of the store—everything about him was the same but unfamiliar; his hair was styled the same way ten years ago but a little shorter, his evident athletic build, his sun kissed skin, his aura. It was your turn to finally return to reality as Oikawa warily waved a slender hand inches from your face, “O-Oikawa. . ?” was all you could come up with, tone airy yet just above a whisper for him to hear. Oikawa greeted your unreadable expression with a familiar warm smile as if the two of you were ten years back in time, hearts beating for one another.

“It’s been a while, huh?” He hummed.

Everything was a blur—from the painfully awkward start of the conversation, to brazenly inviting him back to your apartment to prolong the spontaneous catch up. You were surprised because you both managed to flow into a smooth conversation where no one had to think of anything and everything just to keep the impending silence away. It was weird, you’ve always imagined that seeing Oikawa once again would reel you back in the most unpleasant way; the deepest memories you’ve sworn to reject resurfacing.

But the whole situation before you was a damn far cry from the scenarios in your mind—Oikawa had no hesitations telling you about his life for the past ten years, even going out of his way to inform you of his favourite local meals back in Argentina and how he applied for his citizenship, so you did the same thing. It was like being a teenager all over again, gushing to one another about your interests, and whatever else there was to talk about. You caught a glint in Oikawa’s hazel eyes as he spoke endlessly, almost as if he had been waiting ten whole years just to tell you everything that’s been going on in his life, like he knew the two of you were bound to meet again one way or another.

A solemn smile made its way to his face, the atmosphere in your apartment shifting with it. You held a breath, heart violently pounding against your chest possibly knowing where the conversation was going. “You were the only one I wanted to see, you know? Before I. .” Oikawa trailed off, looking down at his fingers. You nodded, knowing exactly what he was referring to.

It pained you to even imagine it: 18-year-old Tōru Oikawa restlessly scanning the bustling airport for your familiar figure, eyes darting between the ocean of people coming in and out of the terminal, heart sinking down to his stomach as each second passed without your presence. Despite the countless times Iwaizumi reminded him you weren’t coming, he waited. Oikawa waited and waited until he needed to proceed to the airport security, each heavy step further into the airport, he’d hoped you’d call out his name and give him one last hug before he left for Argentina but you never came. That night, Oikawa realised he’d left a piece of his heart back home.

”I’m sorry. .” Was all you could muster. In your defence, he wasn’t the only one hurting—you were torn between saving what’s left of your broken heart and giving in to your desires. Of course, you picked the former. That time, it seemed like the best idea, though, you’d be lying to yourself if you said there weren’t restless nights where you wish you’d gone to see Oikawa off. It plagued you for as long as your cruel mind wanted, scenarios of what could have been a proper goodbye seared into your brain—a one last hug before letting Oikawa chase his dreams, uncertain when you’d be able to see him again.

Oikawa let out a sigh, a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, “I missed you.” He took a small sip of his drink, letting the sweet taste linger on his tongue before nervously swallowing. It took all his willpower to avoid your gaze, staring at the ivory walls ahead, hoping you’d say something sooner or later instead of letting the small confession awkwardly linger in the air. You chuckled, a humourless one,

“You know, I’d be more upset if you didn’t.”

The man whipped his head to your direction, meeting that meaningful gaze of yours; he looked like a deer caught in the headlights—eyes wide and lips slightly parted. For the first time in a while, Tōru Oikawa felt his heart race; it wasn’t like any other, not like the adrenaline rush that took over his body before a match, not like the nervousness he felt when he boarded the plane to Argentina for the first time. It was unique. Uniquely yours. Only you made him feel this way. In the blink of an eye, Oikawa felt like he was pulled back in time, a teenager all over again, brimming with such emotions. If it weren’t for his quick senses, he wouldn’t have noticed the way your gaze subtly shifted downwards—to his lips—and then back up to his eyes.

Have you been on edge all this time, too? Filled with overwhelming emotions? He thought. Yes, it’s been ten long years but that doesn’t mean his heart did not beat for you anymore; it doesn’t mean that he has stopped thinking about you; it doesn’t mean that he did not want to kiss you the moment he laid his eyes on you back at the convenience store. Surely, you didn’t feel the same, right? But then again, it’s been a decade and Oikawa’s feelings remained indifferent to when he left.

A brush of gentle fingers against your cheek caused your eyes to instinctively close, knowing fully well what was about to happen next. A single click from the white clock that hung on your wall. A second. And then Oikawa’s lips were on yours. The kiss was anything but foreign—sure, it felt stiff at first, suddenly not knowing how to match your lips with his but it has been ten years. The kiss was meek but after a heartbeat, you and Oikawa moved in complete unison, falling into that specific pattern you both knew—how he moved his lips, how he let out gasps in between, how he eagerly prodded his tongue. Your head spun, hands exploring Oikawa’s built torso while his own focused on your head, tugging at the strands and gently rubbing your nape.

The atmosphere shifted with the newly found desire, small moans and gasps filled the walls of your apartment as Oikawa kissed you with hunger—as if he was a starved man. He didn’t hesitate to explore you with his tongue, groaning into your mouth before pulling away to take a breather—chests heaving as you both gasped for air, faces mere centimetres from each other, hot breaths intertwining. He looked at you with hooded eyes, gaze filled with carnal desire as he gave your swollen lips a small peck. “I want you so bad . .” Oikawa breathed out, eyes tracing every dip and curve of your features.

Cupping his crimson red cheeks, you gave him a small smile, “I’m all yours.” Always have been and always will be, you wanted to add but already you had an idea Oikawa knew that more than anyone else.

The short journey from the living room to your bedroom was a blur—it was messy, eager hands exploring each other’s body, hungry lips inseparable from one another, articles of clothing swiftly discarded along the path to your bedroom. Lying atop the sheets, your eyes wandered along Oikawa’s bare sun kissed torso—his physique was much bigger than you last remembered, muscles flexing with every movement that had you painfully clenching around nothing.

He stood at the foot of the bed, chestnut hair tousled from the work of your fingers, bare chest heaving from the kiss, and fingers working at the zip of his pants. You took the time to really drink him in—the entirety of him; reality settling on you how much he had grown as a man. Oikawa was no longer that naïve 18-year-old who swallowed all his fears and insecurities with a flirtatious façade.

He eagerly pulled down the remaining clothes he had on, swiftly crawling up the bed towards you, not giving any time to revel at the sight of his bare cock before kissing you again, his fingers intertwining with your own.

It felt surreal, from the way the heat of Oikawa’s naked body felt against your own to the way his kisses explored parts of you that he’s never seen before. He took his time, admiring every inch of your bare body, not hesitating to blurt out praises that came to his mind first thing. “You’re beautiful.” Oikawa whispers against the warmth of your skin followed by an open-mouthed kiss.

He held you gently, caressing and massaging every bit of skin he could get his hands on. He knew better than to rush such an intimate moment with you, especially when he’s been fantasizing about this for the past decade—fantasizing about how your skin would feel beneath his searing touch; how you’d sound when he stimulates the most sensitive parts of your body, how you’d look when pleasure is all you can think about. It drove him absolutely impatient but for you, he’s willing to slow down if it meant he could savour these moments with you—Oikawa has patiently waited for ten years, full of uncertainty. What more was a few minutes to bask in your beauty?

Attentive as ever, he scanned your face for any sign of discomfort, focusing on the way you moaned and scrunched your face in pleasure as he tasted you. God, you tasted like pure heaven—divine. Oikawa could get lost between your legs forever, everything about you drove him crazy. Not to mention how your scent had him completely whipped.

The night continued on like this, Oikawa eagerly exploring your body, pleasuring you in ways you didn’t know even existed—it was almost like he had a list of things at the back of his mind, neatly tucked away for when this specific moment comes. There was never a moment of uncertainty, his body swiftly moving into the next act, bringing you with him. Despite your own pleas to return the pleasure, Oikawa refused, even as his cock leaked with pre-cum, begging to be touched by you. He didn’t have to do all the work but he did, only because he wanted to. He wanted to show you how much his body yearned and desired to be close to yours; ten years was no easy wait. Sure, Oikawa had a fair share of mere hookups with other women but they weren’t you. They will never be you.

As the moon shone amongst the ebony skies, moonlight seeped through the window, casting a faint ethereal glow upon your sweat-coated bodies—skin shining like the stars above. You held onto Oikawa’s shoulders for dear life, ribbons of moans and curses tumbled past your lips and into the thick air of the room, travelling to the ceiling above.

He moved with fervour, hips relentlessly driving into your own as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Back and forth, back and forth, the steady rhythm of Oikawa’s hips, jolting your body along each forceful thrust. It was heaven on earth, naked bodies tangled amongst the ivory sheets as you lost yourselves in each other, one thing in mind. You both cared about nothing at this point, not even the fact that he still had to go back home—to Argentina; not even the fact that your hearts beat as one, interlacing with one another as buried feelings blossomed out in the open—the unsaid, the desire, everything came beautifully crashing down upon the two of you, unsure about what the future holds. That was a conversation for tomorrow, anyway.

Amidst the overwhelming pleasure, the creaking of the bed, and the lewd moans that filled your room, Oikawa found your hand once again, interlacing his damp fingers with yours. He gave it a small squeeze, moaning right into your ear before slipping out a confession, “I love you so much.” It caught you off guard, eyes fluttering open, returning his lustful gaze. “I—” “It’s okay. .” Oikawa cut you off, steadying his breath. He knew exactly what you’d say—that you love him, too—but somehow hearing those words from you after all these years was even more painful than rejecting him because at the end of the day he had to go home.

The night carried on with more and more pleasure, each orgasm becoming more intense than the previous, the movements of your bodies showed signs of exhaustion but none dared to stop—as if stopping was somewhat going to take one away from the other. You’ve never felt anything like this before, waves of pleasure rolling out and crashing into you repeatedly; all you could really do was hold Oikawa tightly, whispering sweet nothings against his neck. God, you could only wish for this to last forever.

As the morning rolled around, the sun shone brightly through your window, slowly burning your skin the longer you stayed in one position. Groaning, you stretched your naked body, muscles painfully crying out from overuse. Normally, you would have cared about it but the spot beside you was cold and empty, no sign of Oikawa. The realisation hit you, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach. Did he leave already? And not even saying goodbye? The loud sound coming from the kitchen pulled you out of the storm of unpleasant thoughts. Ignoring the weakness of your legs, you did your best to slip into a fresh pair of underwear before grabbing Oikawa’s shirt that lay at the entrance of your room to head to the kitchen.

You sucked in a breath. There he stood, only wearing pants from last night while navigating through the small space of your kitchen. He hummed a familiar tune, the saccharine sound of his voice mixing with the sizzling of the eggs he cooked. “Oikawa.” The man before you turned at the sound of your voice, pleasantly shocked, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” He greeted in a singsong voice. You would’ve called him ‘cute’ if it weren’t for the evident lovebites, hues of dark purple and red peppering his torso—it immediately reminded you of last night, cheeks heating up at the lewd memories. “Take a seat. This is done.” Oikawa skilfully plated the eggs, grabbing the freshly toasted bread before heading to the table where you now sat. It was weird yet nice to see him so domestic, something you never really experienced back then.

“Thank you.” You look up at him, a faint smile dancing upon your lips. Oikawa shook his head, “It’s nothing. Just a simple breakfast.” You weren’t talking about the breakfast, though, and he knew that as well but dared not to bring it up. It was bittersweet, really, how the two of you acted right now felt so right but so wrong at the same time—you both acted like a normal couple during a normal morning, as if there wasn’t a return ticket neatly tucked inside Oikawa’s passport that weighed his heart heavy with each passing second in your presence.

Thank you for showing me what could have been.

That was what you meant earlier. Getting the pleasure to look into the life of what could have been with Tōru Oikawa wasn’t much but it put your yearning heart at ease—that in another life, he’d be cooking eggs for you again without having to think about flying back home; that in another life, you ended up together. Maybe if you were still eighteen, you would have cried, screamed at him for getting your hopes up, for leaving you once again, for breaking your heart a second time, you weren’t a teenager anymore but that didn’t mean you were immune to seeing him leave you again—you just got older, and became better at swallowing unwanted emotions.

That’s right. You weren’t a teenager anymore. “You’re leaving tomorrow.” You bit the inside of your cheek, addressing the elephant in the room; you swore Oikawa flinched a little at your straightforwardness. It wasn’t pretty to hear but it also wasn’t a lie. He took a small bite, carefully swallowing the piece before meeting your gaze, “Yeah, Iwa is dropping me off at the airport in the afternoon. .” His sentence lingered in the air, it didn’t dissipate, it stayed there waiting to be finished. You remained silent despite having an idea of what was to come next, you wanted him to say it, just like he did ten years ago. Oikawa nervously cleared his throat,

“Will you come see me off tomorrow?”

Much to Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s surprise, you came to see the former off—a little breathless from jogging around the terminal but at least you were in one piece. You didn’t notice the way Iwaizumi’s eyes widened at the love bites on your neck matching his best friend’s one; he was well aware of what happened between you and Oikawa the other day but just didn’t expect the intensity of it, especially with the situation now, nonetheless, he remained silent. Iwaizumi figured he’d talk to you about it later.

Everything slowed down as Oikawa set his hazel eyes on you—the bustling of the airport, the time displayed on the large digital clock, his racing heart. What he felt right now was a far cry from that day when he left for the first time; ten years ago, everything felt like it was slipping past his fingers. Oikawa remembers pacing back and forth just outside the men’s toilet, Iwaizumi’s attempts to calm him down fell deaf on his ears—all the former could hear was the uncomfortable beat of his heart, and the buzz around him. He tried his best to calm down, he really did but to no avail because at the back of his mind, you were the remedy. If Oikawa told his 18-year-old self that he wouldn’t have to stress so much about flying back to Argentina anymore, his younger self would most likely not believe him—having permanently associated the airport with the dreadful feeling of missing something. Missing someone.

Ten years later, he knows not to worry anymore. “Tōru.” You called out, giving Iwaizumi a quick wave before walking towards the taller man. “You came.” He replied, breathless, not knowing whether to scream at the fact that you came to see him off or called him by his first name. Oh, how Oikawa endlessly prayed to the universe for the day his name rolls off your tongue once again. It was sweet—meant to be voiced by you and only you. The three of you exchanged casual conversation like it was back in high school all over again—small banters here and there between the two men, a little teasing on the side, and most importantly, the unsaid thoughts.

You didn’t want this to end, you didn’t want to let him go but you knew better. Oikawa gave his best friend a firm hug and turned to you, arms spread wide, a sad smile etched on his face. “I’ll miss you so so much.” You let out a sigh, inhaling his scent for one last time as he tightened his hold around you. Oikawa rested his chin on the crown of your head, a light chuckle escaping his lips, “I’d be more upset if you didn’t.” He pulled away, cupping your face and resting his forehead against your own,

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” “I love you too, Tōru.”

Who knew that ten years later you’d be watching the back of your ex lover’s figure walk away from you as he leaves the country—it was silly how the universe worked but you never once doubted it. Despite how cruel it was, you’d already come to terms with it; finally letting go of Tōru Oikawa. You both had different paths in life to pursue, and that was that. It just wasn’t meant to be.

Iwaizumi gave you a friendly pat on the back, noticing the way tears quickly formed as Oikawa faced the other way. Yes, you were older now, more mature but that meant nothing as the love of your life walked away from you once again. You didn’t want to admit it back then but ever since Oikawa left for Argentina, he had taken a piece of your heart with him. And maybe you’ll just have to live with the fact that your heart will stay incomplete—a piece of it remaining eighteen thousand kilometres away from you.

[shockercoco]

Excuse Me?

Benny Cross x reader

Warnings - just fluff, dad!benny, some swear words

Word count - 2105

a/n - read the full request here - this was supposed to be posted a couple days after I got the request, but my headaches decided to come back, so here we are 2 weeks later lol. I hope you enjoy :)

“Sweetheart, you can’t just grab everything you see and throw it into the basket,” Benny sighs as he looks down at his daughter.

Little Violet was standing on her tippy toes trying to put a bag of chips inside the basket Benny was holding, but she froze at the sound of Benny’s voice. She drops her hands to her sides before pouting up at Benny. 

“Don’t give me that look. Mommy gave us a list and told us to only buy what we need. We don’t wanna make mommy upset do we?” Benny gives Violet a look, causing her to stomp back down the aisle to put the chip bag on the shelf. 

Benny held in his laugh because he knew it would only upset Violet more. 

Before you left for work that morning, you had looked through the pantry to see what you needed to buy from the store on your way home. The grocery store was right next to the cosmetics store where you worked, so you didn’t mind stopping by after.

Benny thought it would be a good idea to get some fresh air with Violet, so he offered to go shopping for you — this way, he could kill two birds with one stone and also give you a ride home. 

You were hesitant at first because Benny wasn’t the best at picking out the correct items, and you knew Violet would give Benny a hard time and beg him to buy anything that looked interesting to her four-year-old eyes. Since you were running late and didn’t have the time to mull it over, you agreed and quickly jotted down everything you needed on a piece of paper.

So now here the troublesome pair was in the store making their way down the list and the aisles. 

“Do you wanna help daddy finish the list?” Benny asks Violet, trying to cheer her up.

She was still pouting, but now she had her arms crossed as she walked alongside her father. Violet shook her head at Benny and kept looking down at the ground.

It’s obvious where Violet gets her stubbornness from..

Benny rolls his eyes as he bends down to Violet’s eye level. “You know it’s not nice to ignore someone, we’ve talked about this,” Benny says, but Violet still doesn’t look up at him.

Then he gets an idea.

“Okay, how about this. You help me, and I’ll let you pick out something for yourself before we leave,” Benny tells her, and that catches Violet’s attention.

Violet looks at him for a second, before holding out one her hands and offering Benny her pinky. 

Benny smiles as he wraps his own pinky around his daughter’s. “I pinky promise.”

The rest of the grocery list gets crossed off easily — with Violet’s help — and as promised, Benny lets Violet roam the aisles to try and figure out what she wants. He thought it would be a quick thing, but Violet has been walking around for at least ten minutes.

“Sweetheart, it’s not that hard to make a decision,” Benny tells her as he glances down at his watch.

“I’m thinking!” she huffs. Benny throws his hands up in defense.

“What about the chips I told you to put back earlier, why don’t you just get those?” he suggests, growing impatient.

“No,” she glares up at him, before continuing down the aisle. Benny runs a hand down his face as he reluctantly follows her.

Finally, after a long process of elimination, Violet settles on a bag of candy. When Benny offers to hold it for her, she quickly draws her hand back, wanting to hold it herself.

“Okay miss independent,” Benny mumbles, but ignores her and heads towards the check out line.

Violet proudly hands the cashier her candy, which the girl gladly scans before handing it back to Violet with a smile.

“What do you say?” Benny asks Violet as he pulls out his wallet to pay.

“Thank you,” Violet smiles up at the cashier.

“Well, you are most welcome,” the cashier gushes at her, before looking back at Benny, “She is so cute.”

Benny quickly thanks her as he hands her cash for the groceries.

The cashier takes the money and counts it, and just as she begins to give Benny his change back she innocently asks, “Where’s her mother, is she around?” 

Benny was grossed out — one: because the girl looked kike she was in high school, and two: because the girl had the audacity to ask a question like that.

“Yeah,” he curtly says as he tucks the change back in his wallet. 

The girl seemed disappointed at Benny’s answer, but Benny didn’t care. He grabs Violet’s hand in one of his and grabs the grocery bags in the other before heading out the store.

“Why did she ask about mommy?” Violet asks, looking up at Benny.

“Don’t worry about it sweetheart, it’s not important,” Benny shakes his head. He’s glad when Violet quickly dismisses it and directs her attention to a tiny dog in some lady’s purse walking past them. The lady sees Violet eyeing the dog and stops to let her pet it.

After putting the groceries in the car and prying Violet away from the dog, Benny motions for Violet to hold his hand so they could start walking to your job and wait for your shift to finish.

 “Daddy, can we get a dog?” Violet asks as they walk, her bag of candy still in her other hand.

Benny’s about to respond and tell her no when a middle aged woman steps into his path. The lady had a couple bags of groceries in one of her hands and one hand on her hip, an unpleasant look on her face. Benny goes to step around her, but the lady quickly blocks him. 

When she opens her mouth, Benny expects her to address him, but instead the lady bends down to become eye level with his daughter. His grip tightens on Violet’s hand, but doesn’t make a move to do anything else, wanting to see what the woman has to say since it’s clearly important to her.

“Hey, sweetie, where’s your mother?” the woman asks Violet and Benny’s face contorts in frustration.

“What is up with these women today?” he thinks.

Violet opens her mouth to answer, but before she could get a word out, Benny speaks up. “Violet, we don’t talk to strangers, remember?”

Violet looks up and gives him a nod, quickly closing her mouth.

“Is there somethin’ I can help you with, ma’am?” Benny asks, trying to keep his tone pleasant in front of his daughter.

“Yeah, is this little girl yours?” she glares, standing back up to look at Benny.

What the fuck?

“What does it matter to you?” Benny asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“I just want to know what someone like you is doing with a child,” the woman says.

“What? Do I know you or somethin’,” Benny questions.

“No, but I know all about you Vandals, and I know that you guys are nothing but trouble with all your motorcycles and drinking. Riding a bike is too important to you guys, making it impossible for you men to care about anything else, let alone a family.”

Benny wasn’t even wearing his colors today. After Violet was born, he stopped being so reckless and decided to stop riding so much. He didn’t want to be thrown in jail and have his daughter start her life without a father, not to mention the fact that he would be missing out on the beginning of her life.  

He rarely wears his colors or any type of leather in public anymore, so Benny’s confused on how this lady knows who he is. Then again, he used to cause a lot of trouble back then to the point where everyone knew who he was as soon as he stepped foot inside of a bar or restaurant. That was a long time ago, though, and Benny isn’t that lost soul anymore.

“Listen lady, you have no idea what you’re talking about, so if you’d please move out of the way, I’ll go about my day,” Benny says. He doesn’t wait for her to answer and tries to walk around her once again, but of course, she stops him.  Benny clenches his jaw.

“You’re not going anywhere until I know that this child is yours,” she folds her arms.

A few people stare at them as they walk by or get into their cars. 

“That’s none of your business,” Benny scoffs.

“It is when I’m concerned for this child’s wellbeing,” the lady states matter-of-factly, pointing down at Violet.

Violet looks up at her father in confusion. She’s not sure what’s going on, but since it’s obvious that Benny doesn’t like the lady in front of her, she decides that she shouldn’t like her either.

Benny lets out a frustrated sigh and looks at Violet to ask, “Violet, do you feel safe with me?”

Violet just nods, moving closer to Benny’s leg.

“See,” Benny says to the woman, “she’s fine.”

“That doesn’t mean anything at all,” the lady says.

“Listen, I don’t have time for this. Please move,” Benny tells her through gritted teeth. His patience is wearing thin.

But the lady doesn’t move, and instead continues to stare Benny down.

“What’s going on here?” you ask as you walk up behind the lady.

Benny and Violet were so occupied with the woman, that neither of them realized you were walking toward them. 

“Thank god, someone else is concerned,” the lady mumbles before turning to face you. “I just want to make sure that this little girl belongs to this man, but he’s being difficult.”

“The little girl looks fine to me,” you tell her, giving Violet a smile to which she happily returns.

“But you can’t be too sure of that, the man is practically squeezing this little girl’s arm to keep her next to him,” the lady says.

Your eyebrows furrow and you look over at Benny in confusion. Benny just shrugs and rolls his eyes.

“Well, I think it’s obvious that nothing strange is going on here, so why don’t you go,” you try to reassure the woman.

“I’m not going anywhere until I’m certain, I’ll call the police if I have to.”

“What’s your name?” you ask the lady, taking a couple steps closer to her.

“Cheryl,” she answers. 

“Listen, Cheryl, I don’t know why you think you’re trying to do, but it’s time for you to walk away. That man is my husband, and the child is mine. If that’s not enough for you, I don’t care. You clearly need attention so go find it from someone else, or better yet, get a life,” you say, walking past the lady to go stand next to Benny.

Cheryl’s mouth parts in disbelief as she looks between you and Benny.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say? Did you want to bitch and complain some more?” you ask. Benny's eyes widen in surprise, you rarely swear. He has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling.

Cheryl holds her head up high and clears her throat to reply, “I’ll be on my way.”

“Good. Go play vigilante somewhere else, bitch,” you roll your eyes.

The lady looks like wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. You watch her let out an annoyed breath before turning around and walking away.

When she’s out of earshot, you look up at Benny. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know. She knew I was Vandal and just assumed the worst. It doesn’t really matter anymore,” Benny answers, watching the woman walk away.

“Looks like your past is coming up to you,” you let out a laugh resulting in Benny sending you a playful glare.

As you all start walking back to the car, Violet comes to your side and tugs your hand for you to look down at her. Benny watches as Violet holds her bag of candy up for you to see. 

“Uh oh,” he mumbles and pretends to be distracted by the keys in his hand.

“A whole bag, Benny? You couldn’t have just bought her a lollipop or something?” you look over at him and wait for him to look back at you.

“Well what was I supposed to do, say no?” he throws his hands up.

“Yeah, I do it all the time,” you nod.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’d actually like to stay on her good side,” Benny says, placing his hand on top of Violet's head.

like what you see? check out my masterlist :)

[beomcoups]

here's to forever (the athlete)

summary: today is the day you finally marry your best friend

genre: fluff, suggestive, 18+ warnings: mentions of sex (hoshi wants to pump some babies into you), mentions of pregnancy words: 0.9k AN: Thank you, @horanghater, for looking over this for me. Every year on the anniversary of the OG fic, I always end up writing another part about their lives since they met. I'm becoming a real yearner. Anyhoo, I decided to go ahead and make a series master list because I am sure more will come, lol. -series masterlist

“I love you.” You rub Soonyoung’s hand with your thumb as he holds back tears, standing before the officiant, his football coach. You just married the love of your life and best friend in front of your family and friends on a large farm in the country. You exchanged heartfelt vows in front of one hundred people on the estate, with the birds singing in the sky and the geese swimming happily in the lake. So far, this day has been nothing short of magical, with those six little words sealing the deal. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Soonyoung pulls the veil over your face and kisses you with a fervent need that sets your nerves on fire. Everyone and everything disappears for a second, but it doesn’t matter; you got your dream guy. Your fingers intertwine with his as you finally break apart, met by the thunderous applause of your guests who watched you become one with your now husband, their approval and joy palpable in the atmosphere. Soonyoung waves your hands triumphantly in the air as you walk down the aisle, flashing your wedding rings with pride for everyone to see. You haven’t seen him this proud since he won his first Super Bowl. Two and a half years later, with two more championship rings added to his collection, his eyes have never shined brighter. Soonyoung leads you away from your guests, taking you down a short path to the lake's edge. When you looked at venues, you found this place while looking through Pinterest, falling in love with the green pastures of the farm and the shining crystal-like waters. Soonyoung didn’t care where you married as long as you were his wife by the end of it. But when you took a trip out here and looked at the place in person, you both knew this was where it was meant to be. With the sun shining through the ivory clouds, it was almost as if your dads were looking down and giving their blessing.  

“We did it, babe,” you revel at the scene. “It’s you and me officially.” 

“Darlin’, you and I were official from the day we met. You just didn’t know it yet.” 

You chuckle and lean into him because, honestly, he is right. You were interested in him the first time you met; you were in denial then. You always swore you wouldn’t be one of those journalists who mixes business with pleasure, yet here you are, marrying the said pleasure. Life works out funny that way. 

“You look so pretty, baby,” he murmurs as he pulls you close. “I can’t wait to get out of here and pump some babies into you.”

“Same here, baby,” you kiss his lips. “We might be a little late on the baby part, though.”

Soonyoung looks at you curiously as you reach into the secret pocket of your wedding dress. You had it sown in secret when it was tailored initially to keep your lipstick in if you needed to freshen up or had anything else in mind. But a couple of weeks ago, when you went for your routine check-up, you found out you were ten weeks pregnant. You and Soonyoung talked about kids, and you both want them; this will be earlier than you both planned. It explained why you felt lethargic lately and the smell of anything nauseated you. You weren’t sure how to tell him, so you carried it around just in case the opportunity arose. Now is the time. 

Holding up the ultrasound, you hand him the black-and-white photo of the baby growing inside of you. He studies the picture, then looks at you and your stomach, the dots connecting in his brain. You nod, confirming what he is thinking: you will be having his first child. 

“Aww baby,” he whispers. “You’re pregnant.” 

“Mmhmm,” you nod as you wipe his tears away. 

He kisses you again, this time sweeter, more tenderer, and full of emotion that he can’t convey in words. You naturally melt into him, feeling safe and secure that the future you two have will be bright. Soonyoung has always said he loved you more than anything, but that’s not true. You love him more. He made you believe in love again, protected you when you needed it, and showed up when you needed him the most. You never felt scared to share your thoughts with him, and even if he didn’t understand, he listened and tried anyway. He never tried to take your spotlight. He respected you and made sure others did, too. Soonyoung brings an array of colors to your mundane world that you hope never goes away. God, you love him so much that it hurts.  

“Well, it makes sense why you weren’t drinking the champagne last night,” he muses. “You love champagne.”

“Y-yeah,” you sniffle. 

A comfortable silence falls between you two, taking in the moment as you watch two geese embrace one another. If someone had told you over three years ago that you would be marrying thee Kwon Soonyoung and having his child, you would have laughed in their face. But clearly, the universe has a sense of humor. 

“I want to keep this between us,” you say suddenly. “It’s our first child, and I want to hold on to this a little bit longer before family, friends, and the media get a hold of it. You already know how it goes.”

“Of course, baby,” he readily agrees. “Whatever you want.”

He kisses your forehead, leading you back to the photographers so you can start taking pictures. Your makeup artist brushes up your makeup, and unbeknownst to you, Soonyoung gazes at you from afar, watching you with so much pride and love in his heart. The sun shines brighter as if it’s reflecting the future you will have with each other. 

Here is to forever.

[littlejuicebox]

GINAAA MY GIRL!

Sending you a dadstarion prompt because you already know I LOVEEE your dadstarion content.

How did Tav find out she was pregnant with baby Gale? And how did Astarion react to the news?! Inquiring minds want to know.

To have and to hold.

Such a lovely prompt, my friend! Hope you like it!

Summary: Astarion turned mortal a few months ago, and this is his first-time experiencing illness of any kind. Unfortunately, as soon as he recovers, you start to show signs of sickness as well. Your condition is a bit different from his, though. (For more of this series check out the ‘Dadstarion’ section of my master list.)

Tags/Warnings: Dadstarion, domestic af, fluff, talk of illness, talk of vomiting, the mildest of angst with the mostest of comfort, pregnancy, etc.

A/N: I work in healthcare, not law, so I can’t guarantee the legalese is accurate lol.

Word count: 2.3K

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“Don’t come closer, darling, I’m disgusting.” Astarion groans from where you find him one morning, curled up on the bathroom floor.

It had been a few months since Gale of Waterdeep cast Wish, and from that moment until now the retired rogue had been a happy, healthy mortal. There were so many benefits to curing his vampirism that the elf never fully considered one of the major downsides… illness.

He’d never experienced a malady like this in his life. At least not in the one he could remember.

It’s horrible.

How had his little love or any of his friends endured this, more than once, in the past ten years?

Astarion is quite certain he contracted food poisoning from that questionable slab of salmon he ate at the Blushing Mermaid yesterday evening. He never did understand why you liked eating at that lowbrow tavern in the first place.

You crouch to examine your husband, pressing a soothing hand onto his forehead before running it down to cup his cheek.

“Astarion, my love, you have a fever.” You murmur, frowning with concern as you push sweaty curls from his face.

“Please make more obvious observations, dear,” Astarion gripes as he forces himself to sit up, still clutching his stomach. Gods, the vile churning in his gut is incessant.

He’s about to continue on with his quip, but the sudden urge to be sick forces the elf to shut up and scramble to the toilet. You hear the sounds of violent retching moments later.

“We are never going back to the Blushing Mermaid,” Astarion grumbles once the wave of illness subsides. His face is pressed against the toilet; all sense of decorum is gone. The rotten fish poisoning his insides won over any bits of pride he might have been clinging to.

You move to grab a wash rag, dampening it under the tap before kneeling back down by your husband.

“Poor thing,” You coo, folding the cloth in half before dabbing it against the back of Astarion’s neck, hoping to ease the fever.

The elf’s eyes flutter closed as he allows you to fawn over him for a moment. And then he groans and flicks his hand, palm faced downward, as if trying to shoo you away. His voice is hoarse when he says, “Just leave me here and go get ready for your meeting, darling. I’ll be fine.”

“In sickness and in health, remember?” You ask, running the cool cloth over Astarion’s face, causing him to sigh thankfully at the slight relief, “I’ll send word to the other Counsellors to inform them that I won’t be attending. You’ve never been ill before; I don’t want to leave you like this. Wyll can fill me in later.”

“Yes, ‘in sickness and in health’ and all that, darling, but those vows also included ‘until death do us part’ and I was an immortal vampire when we made them. So you were technically entering that verbal contract under false pretenses, which one could argue means it’s null and void. Go to the meeting, it’s—“

Astarion almost manages to finish his rambling legalese before more putrid liquid spews out of his mouth. When he’s finished vomiting, he whines again, any bit of stubborn resilience and feeble attempts at selflessness abandoned.

“On second thought, maybe you should stay here,” He says, his chest heaving with exertion as he clenches his eyes shut, “Please tell me you have a spell for this.”

“Unfortunately not, my love. I only have a spell for curses. Best I can do is half a bottle of Elixir of Health, some ginger-peppermint tea, and a bath.” You sigh, already crossing the bathroom on your way to the tub. You fiddle with the taps for a moment to start the bath and then begin to pour oils into the flowing water.

“Deal,” Your husband mutters, peeling off his sweat-soaked night shirt, “But none of that vile honey you got at the market here in town for my tea; I want the one Shadowheart and Lae’zel sent from Neverwinter.”

“Anything you say, Lord Ancunin.” You joke, rolling your eyes at your husband’s fussiness. He’d barely regained his sense of taste a few months ago and already favored upscale ingredients and meals, as if mortal food hadn’t been but ash in his mouth for two hundred years.

The elf glares at your insolence but doesn’t retort; he’s too busy trying to keep himself from vomiting again.

*

The following morning, Astarion wakes feeling much better. Practically brand new, in fact. It seems the potion and your strange flower child medicine must have done the trick. He sighs a breath of relief and then rolls to snuggle against you for a few more precious moments. He reaches his arms out and grasps at nothing but air.

The silver-haired elf immediately frowns and sits up. That’s exceptionally odd. You were not a morning person; you never had been in the ten years he’d known you. You always slept in longer than him, even in the wilds. On more than one occasion he’d had to lure you out of your nearly comatose slumber with the tempting smells of coffee and breakfast.

Astarion hears you gagging in the bathroom and goes to investigate. He soon finds you clinging to the toilet, practically mirroring how he looked the day prior.

“Oh no, little love, do you think you have food poisoning, too?” He questions, frowning slightly before kneeling down to press his hand against your forehead just like you’d done to him, “No fever, though.”

You whine, leaning into your husband’s hand before grumbling, “Damn the Blushing Mermaid straight to Stygia! Why do I even like that place, again?”

Astarion laughs, “I’ve been wondering the same thing for years, dear. I hope now you’ll finally reconsider. Do you want some tea and a bath?”

“Please,” You say, just before another wave of nausea hits you, forcing you to throw your head into the toilet and gag. Frustratingly, not much actually comes out despite the waves of sickness coursing through your body.

Gods, you wish you could simply vomit and feel relief.

Astarion begins to prepare the appropriate remedies, much like you’d done for him the day before. Thankfully, you seem to recover much faster than he did, and by midday you look and feel completely normal.

Good thing, too. You two were out of any elixirs that may have helped you had your ailment been as severe as Astarion's.

“Perhaps I’m just a better healer than you, darling.” The silver-haired elf teases as the two of you take afternoon tea in the sunroom.

“Perhaps I’m just stronger and more resilient than you, my love.” You retort, wrinkling your nose in jest at your husband.

He chuckles softly and then presses a kiss to your nose, “Agree to disagree.”

*

Astarion thinks the two of you are past this bit of bad luck, but when he wakes the following morning, he hears you retching once again.

When the elf finds you in the bathroom, appearing as almost an exact repeat of yesterday, though perhaps a bit worse, his brow furrows.

“Darling, I'm worried now. You look more ill than before. Perhaps we should take a trip to Jaheira? I can head to the apothecary for another Elixir of Health while she looks you over.” He murmurs gently, extending his hands to pull you to your feet.

You simply nod in agreement, too nauseated to do more than follow your husband’s lead as he slips you into a set of robes and ushers you into the carriage.

*

When Astarion returns to Jaheira’s after dashing out to the apothecary, he finds you sitting at the druid’s dining table. The two of you stop whatever hushed conversation you’d been having and turn to look at him in unison.

“Feeling any better, Tav?” He asks, coming to stand by your side before placing a worried hand upon your shoulder. You simply cover your hand with his and nod in response.

“Much better,” You say, flashing your husband a small smile. Something about your expression looks hazed, as if you’re stuck in a daydream. Poor thing, you're probably exhausted and experiencing brain fog.

“I’m sure you’ll be just fine with the teas and medicinals I’ve given you,” Jaheira assures, her eyes flickering between the two of you. She grins for the briefest moment before falling back into her typical, more serious demeanor.

Astarion swears he feels like something is off, but when he turns to give you a questioning look, you’re the picture of happiness as you sip from your tea cup, finishing it off.

Well, at least you’re doing what Jaheira has prescribed.

“What about the Elixir of Health I’ve just purchased?” Your husband asks, lifting the bag in his hand, “Will that help?”

“Oh, I recommend you keep it for something else. I don’t think Tav needs it for this,” The druid responds before standing, signaling it’s the end of the visit. She was always quite straight forward and lacking in certain genteel social graces, in Astarion’s opinion.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with the Harpers.”

You quickly bid your goodbyes and Astarion helps you back into the carriage, eager to get you back to bed so that you can sleep off the rest of this sickness.

*

Astarion notices you’re uncharacteristically quiet on the carriage ride home. He typically doesn’t mind when you’re in one of your pensive, stoic moods. But this illness of yours had him more anxious than usual and he had to know more about Jaheira’s examination results, if only to ease his own worries.

“Darling,” He starts, taking your hand in his. But you don’t seem to hear him; you’re still lost in your own little world.

“My love,” He says, this time a bit more urgently, squeezing your hand just enough to pull your attention to him, “What did Jaheira say, exactly? Did she mention how long this illness will last?”

“Oh, the nausea will probably go on for a few weeks,” You reply, a goofy, lopsided smile breaking across your face. You cannot stifle your grin at the little secret you know you’ll be unable to keep for more than a few moments longer.

“Weeks?” Astarion questions, his voice pitching up with worry and brows stitching together in concern.

Why in the hells are you smiling? What druid bullshit was in the tea Jaheira gave you?

He folds his arms across his chest, not at all pleased by the lack of seriousness you seem to display. The idea of you being sick for weeks makes his heart hurt and his stomach churn as if he’s still sick. He could never stand to see you uncomfortable.

“Tav, are you drugged? This is serious. I fail to see what there is to be smiling about right now. You’re going to be nauseous for weeks and you can’t use an Elixir of Health? Are you absolutely sure Jaheira even knows what she’s—“

“I’m pregnant, Astarion,” You interrupt, and you cannot help but to laugh at your husband as his mouth hangs open mid-sentence, frozen in shock.

He blinks for a moment or two, otherwise completely still as his brain rushes to process the new information.

When the elf finally regains his composure and finds his ability to speak, he shoots out a flustered, rambled, “Darling, I— I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I’m not certain I heard you correctly. The road is quite bumpy and the wheels of the carriage are loud— I think they need oil— and the horses—“

You laugh and firmly grasp your husband’s hand, wholly capturing his attention before murmuring, “You ridiculous elf. You heard me the first time. I’m pregnant, Astarion.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen a bigger grin cross your husband’s face.

“Tav, darling, I— gods, just come here to me.”

Astarion’s lips crash into yours, and he’s smiling into the kiss as he threads a hand through your hair, intent on pressing you closer into him. A tiny, delighted hum escapes your husband as he uses the kiss to express all the feelings he cannot yet put into words.

When he finally pulls away, he cups your face with his hands and peppers a few more kisses upon your lips.

“Is this your way of telling me you’re happy about this, Astarion?” You ask, grinning at your husband as he gazes upon you with the most besotted eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Thrilled, my love,” He whispers, before pressing forward to kiss you again, trying to convey the depth of his excitement with his affections. He doesn’t let go of you the rest of the way home, almost desperate to cover you in worshipful kisses, each one a little vow of love to you.

You notice he's unusually quiet, but then, he’s far too busy smiling and smooching to do much talking.

*

Later that evening, you move to get out of bed and head toward the bedchamber door.

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going, little love?” Astarion calls, already tossing his book aside to follow after you, “What do you need? Let me bring it to you.”

“I just wanted a cup of water, Astarion. I can go get—“ You start, but he quickly presses a kiss to your lips, effectively quieting you.

“Hush, my love. You’re still nauseated and you’re carrying very precious cargo.” He gently chastises as he turns you by your shoulders and steers you back toward the bed.

“You’re being dramatic,” You grumble, sitting back down in the bed and wrinkling your nose at your husband.

“Perhaps,” He agrees, grinning down at you as he gently folds the blankets back around your legs, “But you knew exactly the type of theatrics you signed up for when you married me, darling. 'To have and to hold, to love and to cherish' and all that, hm?”

And in that moment, Astarion was certain he’d never love and cherish anything more than you.

Nine months later, the little silver-haired newborn he held in his arms would prove him wrong.

[ineffable-romantics]

I have admired the work of the amazing @anotherwellkeptsecret for YEARS, following her originally from the height of my Sherlock obsession all the way until now where she has (to my delight!) crossed over into Good Omens as well.

She also just had a baby!!!! So partly as a congratulations, partly as a thank you for being such an artistic inspiration, and partly so I could practice my own digital art techniques and play with Procreate for the first time, I asked if she would allow me the privilege of coloring some of her favorite pages from her comics while she's on maternity leave. And she said yes!

But she asked me to pick my favorites instead. So I took her at her word and chose one favorite page from each of the ten comics I have saved and loved over the years.

Exactly two weeks later (and in no particular order) here is the final result!! I am so grateful to Kelley for letting me do this, and I have discovered so much about my own style and what I like (excessive lights, apparently lol). I hope you guys like them as much as I do, and please please please go support Kelley's tumblr and Patreon, she absolutely deserves the world. 💕

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One Night in Bangor (And The World's Your Oyster)

(more art below cut)

Oh What A Night

The Losing Side

(Sequel to Oh What A Night)

Points Of Interest

(Sequel to Oh What A Night and The Losing Side)

Who Wants To Live Forever

That Certain Night

A Romantic Affair

(Sequel to That Certain Night)

As Long As We Both Shall Live

(Sequel to That Certain Night and A Romantic Affair)

Change Of Pace

Temptation Accomplished

[redroomreflections]

Before She Cheats Part 2

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: The aftermath of Nat cheating on R.

The Loud House universe - an au to the au (since y'all want me to clarify lol)

Note: I didn't anticipate this being so long actually.

w:c 3.2k

Her car isn’t in the driveway. It’s a relief to you. You come home like you did that afternoon to find the house empty this time. You grab the stack of mail, filtering through it mindlessly, before dropping it on the foyer table. There’s not much you want to do today. There’s no pressing matter that needs your attention. Your entire life has been turned upside down and you don’t know what to do. You venture further into your home. You feel unsettled here. Like everything was fake. Everything you know was a lie.

You don’t waste time heading straight for the wine cellar. You grab a bottle of Carbanet Sauvignon and another in case you need that too. You’re not much of a drinker. Not since your party days in college at least. Today you think you will need it. You need to feel something else other than the pain inside of your chest.

You grab the corkscrew off the shelf and head back up to the kitchen. You don't bother getting a glass. You just sit at the counter with the bottle in your hand. You drink straight from the bottle. It takes you two sips to get past the burning in your throat and the sour aftertaste. The second one goes down much smoother. You wonder if that was the wine or if your body has finally acclimated to the taste. You check your watch. On a Sunday at 12 pm, you both would be home. The kids would be watching cartoons, or doing some form of art, while you and Natasha prepared Sunday dinner. Then you'd all sit down as a family and prepare for the week. That's how it's always been. A little monotonous but your life nonetheless. The kids enjoyed it. You enjoyed it.

But that's not how today was going to go. There is no Sunday dinner. There is no family. You're drinking straight from the bottle in the kitchen of your home. Natasha is most likely out for a run. When she's stressed, nervous, or needs a release she runs or trains for hours. It's one of the things you know about your wife. One thing you're not surprised about with her.

You take another gulp. The third gulp. And then a fourth. This wasn't supposed to be your life. You're not supposed to be the wife who waits for her spouse to come home so you can talk about divorce. You're not supposed to be the woman scorned.

The alcohol hits you after a while. It's not enough to get you drunk, but it's enough to dull the pain in your heart. Your phone vibrates, lighting up across the counter, and you pick it up. It's Cara. She's wondering when you guys are going to come and get them. You text back a reply about later that evening. You and Natasha need to discuss some things. You swipe down on your lock screen, noting and ignoring the missed calls and text messages, you'd seen from Natasha. You couldn't handle talking to her over the weekend. You were afraid of what you might say.

"You're back, " A voice from the kitchen entrance startles you.

"Natasha, when did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Oh," You say plainly.

"You've been drinking?" She furrows her brow. "This early? Y/n..."

"Don't lecture me," You stand. The bottle is empty, and you place it on the counter. "I'm going upstairs."

"No. We need to talk."

"What do we need to talk about?"

"Us..." She begins. "I want to talk with you."

"Natasha, we tried this weekend."

"Yeah. We did, and you ignored me. I called, and I texted, and you did nothing but ignore me."

"I needed time." You sigh. "You can't blame me for not knowing how to take the news that my wife of ten years cheated on me."

"I know... I know that's what it is." Natasha stepped closer to the counter. "i want a chance to explain."

"I don't want to hear it."

"Y/n..."

"Stop," You turn on her. "I can't... I can't look at you. I can't listen to you."

"Eventually you have to," She tries.

"Why when everything out of your mouth has been a lie?" You bite. "Tell me, did you plan it?"

"What?"

"Did you plan it? To have an affair? Because if you did I need to know. If this was your plan from the beginning."

"No, of course not," Natasha shakes her head. "It just happened."

"Just happened," You nod. "Of course."

"I swear, I didn't mean for this to happen. It just did."

"It just did."

"It did." She argues.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth then?" You look to her. For the first time this weekend you truly look at her and it pains you. She's still beautiful.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Are you going to tell me the real reason you slept with someone else?"

"It was a mistake. It was a terrible mistake."

"I want to know, Natasha," You demand. "I want to know everything. How it started. Where it started. I don't buy you getting drunk and sleeping with her one time at lunch. I've slept next to you for twelve years."

"Okay," She nods.

"How did it start? Did you meet her at the compound first? Did she hit on you or something? Did she offer you something I couldn't?"

"No." She pauses. "She didn't offer me something you couldn't. I just... we met at the compound. She is a temp for HR. She's young. Not that much younger than us but..."

"How old is she?"

"I don't know. Maybe twenty-five or twenty-six."

"Younger," You scoff. "Go on."

"She did everything to get my attention at first," Natasha continues. "We don't interact that much with other departments but like I said I had a lot to go over with my contract."

"She wanted you. So she went after you."

"I didn't sleep with her then," She clarifies.

"When then? When did you sleep with her?"

"It was during spring break," She starts. "We had been talking on and off before then but..."

You narrow your eyes. That was the week you took the kids down to Atlanta to visit your mother. Natasha had opted to stay home with the excuse of doing business. You didn't mind then. She was a little unresponsive when you sent messages but you thought she was busy.

"You were home."

"Not really," She shakes her head.

"I didn't know that. You told me you were at the compound all week."

"I wasn't."

"So did you plan to be with her while I was out of town?"

"No, not really. She was at the compound, and I was bored so we went out for drinks."

"You had plans, then?"

"No. No. Nothing planned." Natasha continues. "She kissed me that night. I told her to stay away from me."

"She didn't?"

"No," Natasha confirms.

"What did you do? What happened?"

"She invited me to her office to apologize. We were there late. I had been drinking. I wasn't drunk," Natasha stands stiffly. "I wasn't... I didn't mean for it to happen. We had a great conversation. She was there and I...I just. It just happened."

"You had an affair." You nod. "This was before we adopted Luke. Did you think you could continue to hide this from me?"

"No," She denies. "I didn't plan for any of this to happen. I didn't."

"How many times?"

"How many times what?"

"How many times did you sleep with her?" You're not sure you want the answer but you prepare yourself for it anyway.

"A lot. But not often."

"How many?"

"Three."

"Three times," You shake your head. "Three fucking times."

"Y/n... I'm sorry."

"Was she good?" You laugh. "Was it everything you imagined."

"No." She shakes her head. "That's not why I did this."

"You were lonely. I can understand that. But you could've talked to me." Your voice breaks. You hate that about yourself. You become too emotional.

"I know."

"Why her?" You ask.

"I don't know."

"Is that why you came home every day looking so refreshed and full of energy. Like you had a good day?"

"I'm sorry," She tries again.

"How can I ever trust you again?"

"We can try."

You look down at your hand. Your ring is still there. It's a part of you now. It's your identity. Natasha's is still there too. You don't think you can take it off.

"What's her name?"

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't." You shrug. "It's just a name."

"Claire."

"Claire, " You repeat the name. It's plain. "What does she look like?"

"Y/n..." Natasha is cautious about telling you that much.

"I'm not going to go and beat her up if that's what you're thinking," You roll your eyes. "Even though I want to the liability is not on her. You are the one that's married. "

"She's beautiful," Natasha relents.

"Beautiful," You repeat. "What does she look like? Do we look similar?"

"No. Nothing like you."

"Does she have long hair? Short? Dark? Light? Is she curvy?"

"Why does this matter, y/n?"

"I just want to know what it is that she has that I don't." You shrug. "Maybe she eats pussy better. Maybe she lets you tie her up. Allows you to record her? That's something you've never experienced before."

"Don't," Natasha warns.

"What does she have?"

"She's not you." Natasha tells you.

"I know that." You chuckle. "But is she better?"

"I don't want to answer that," Natasha shakes her head again. "That's not why I did it."

"What is then? If it wasn't boredom. What was it?"

"I don't know," She says weakly.

"Did I bore you? Was I not adventurous enough for you?" You begin to ramble. "Did I not experiment enough for you?"

"No, that's not it. That's not it."

"Was our sex life not exciting enough for you?" You continue. "I knew our sex life was not the best lately, but we could've talked about it."

"Y/n... Stop."

"Why did you do it? Tell me. I need to know, Tasha. I need to know what I did to make you look elsewhere."

"It wasn't you."

"So what was it then?" You practically shout.

"I don't know."

"I need more than that."

"It was a mistake."

"It's an easy mistake to make," You bite. "You didn't have to sleep with her."'

"I didn't," She stares blankly.

You reach for the second bottle of red wine. Natasha almost opens her mouth to stop you but thinks better of it.

"My parents were married for thirty years, " You suck your teeth. You pour yourself a hefty amount of wine. "They had a strong marriage before my dad died. A healthy one. A loving one. I guess I was naive in thinking I could have that too."

"You can have that, y/n."

"Do you still want that?"

"Yes." She doesn't hesitate. "I still want to be with you."

"But not in the way I want." You remind her. "Not in a way that doesn't involve infidelity. I asked myself over the weekend. Do I just sit by and continue to live life with you knowing that you stepped out of our marriage? Knowing that while I was at home being a faithful wife you were out letting someone inside of you. She was tasting and touching and feeling what I thought was mine."

"Y/n..."

"How many times did she go down on you?" You cut her off.

"What?"

"How many times did she taste you? How many times did you let her between your legs and fuck her until you couldn't cum anymore."

"I already told you it was just three times," Natasha doesn't know if you want to know these things to hurt yourself further.

"Just three times," You shake your head.

"Yes."

"And how many times did you taste her?"

"That's enough, y/n," Natasha steps back.

"How many times?"

"Three," She replies.

"Three." You scoff. "I hope it was worth it."

"It's not."

"Do I need to get tested?" You ask. "We've slept together between those times. Not as much as you'd like but there is still a possibility." "No, she's clean," Natasha answers. "I made sure."

"Is that what you wanted?" You step toward her. You're angry, and the alcohol is starting to mess with your brain.

"What?"

"Is that what you wanted when you married me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you even know who I am, Natasha?" You push. "Is this what you wanted when you got married?"

"You know who I am," Natasha answers. "You've known who I was when we met."

"Maybe I should've asked the real questions." You shrug. "Instead, I was just so happy and in love I didn't bother."

"You're everything I've ever wanted."

"So why?" You swipe away a tear before it can fall.

"I don't have an answer for you."

"How long are you going to be here?" You squeeze your eyes shut. You can't keep looking at her. Your resolve is breaking.

"I don't have to leave if that's what you're implying."

"We're not staying together, Natasha," You turn away from her. "I'm not going to beg you to love me. I'm not that person. I won't ever be."

"Please, y/n," She reaches for you, but you pull away.

"Don't touch me," You mutter. You don't know what to do. The one person you've always looked to for comfort is standing right before you and you want nothing from her.

"We can work through this."

"Natasha, don't." You step away.

"I didn't plan this."

"What did you think would happen? That I would just accept it?"

"No."

"No," You repeat.

"I was hoping you would be more understanding."

"You were hoping." You laugh. "More understanding. Do you know how I felt when you told me you slept with someone else and then lied about the entire thing?"

"I was just trying to protect you."

"You were protecting yourself." You correct. "You were scared."

"Yes," She agrees.

"If you wanted this over, you should've said so a long time ago."

"But I didn't," Natasha frustatedly tried to explain.

"How would you feel..." You trail off. You're not sure you want to broach this topic. "If I were to contact one of my exes. If I were to call Melinda Whitlock right now and tell her that actually I made a mistake. I married the wrong person and I needed her to come and fuck me right now."

You can see the slight tick of her jaw. Natasha hates Melinda Whitlock. One of your longest relationships. Melinda still has a few of your mutual connections and you see her from time to time as she's a pediatrician at the clinic you take the kids.

"I..."

"If I were to tell her that I still have fantasies about her eating my pussy and how I wished she was my wife instead of you. If I told her that, would you be okay with it?"

"I... I don't know."

"No," You shake your head. "You wouldn't."

"You can't compare me and Claire to you and Melinda."

"Why not?"

"Because I didn't do this intentionally."

"So, it's an accident then?" You raise an eyebrow. "You just slipped and fell on her tongue?"

"Y/n..."

"Why are you pretending that it's so wrong for me to ask questions?" You frown. "I want to know everything because I want to know if this person was worth you losing everything."

"It wasn't," Natasha insists.

"If this is really the end of us, " You pause. "I need to know who it is that ruined everything. Because I know I'm not perfect, but I tried. I was faithful. I loved you. I still love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I am too," You whisper.

"What do you want?"

"I need you to answer me honestly." You breathe. There's a pregnant pause. You both know what's coming.

"I don't think you want to ask me that." Natasha refuses.

"Do you love her?" You look into her eyes. Those green eyes that you've fallen in love with over and over again.

"No," Natasha is quick to answer.

"Do you want her?"

"I..." Natasha sighs.

"Natasha, I'm asking you a simple question."

"I'm sorry."

"Has she met any of our children?" You ask suddenly.

"What? No."

"Are you sure? Maybe when I was on business trips."

"No," Natasha repeats.

"What do you like about her?"

"It's not her, y/n."

"I think I'm done with this conversation," You take a shaky breath. "I don't want to take the kids from you. They love you too much. It would hurt them."

"What are you saying?"

"I'll find another place. For now, I'll stay at a hotel."

"Where will the kids go?"

"They'll stay here in their home," You offer. "I will try to be as present as possible. My lawyer will contact yours. I don't want your money. I don't want this house. I don't want..." You take a sharp inhale of breath. You can't do this.

"Y/n..."

"Just leave," You shake your head. "We will talk later."

"Y/n," She pleads.

"Just fucking leave," You yell. "Wait," You call after her. She turns to you. "You have to be the one to tell the kids."

"What am I supposed to tell them?"

"You're their mother, figure it out," You dismiss.

"When?"

"Next week."

"What will we tell them?"

"We are getting a divorce." You begin. " They will ask questions."

"So will they stay with you or me?"

"Both," You decide. "I'll find a place."

"How will this work?"

"We will have joint custody." You decide. "I will ask for pickups and drop-offs to be done by a third party."

"Okay," Natasha nods.

"For now, they will stay with you. You can pick them up. When they're at school, I will see them. You can keep them with you during the summer."

"You've thought about this a lot," Natasha raises a brow.

"I did," You shrug. "I wanted to protect them."

"I didn't mean for any of this to happen."

"I don't believe that." You cross your arms. "You're not even fighting any of this. You're not even on your knees begging for me to forgive you."

"Would it help?"

"No," You deny. "You made the decision. You made the choice."

"Y/n..."

"I need time, Tasha," You sigh.

"What will this look like?"

"What do you mean?"

"Will we still be friends?"

"Friends," You repeat.

"For the sake of the kids," She tries to explain.

"Isn't that a little selfish of you? To hurt me like that and still want to be friends," You toy with the ring on your finger.

"Y/n... I didn't mean it."

"I know, Natasha." You shake your head. "Just give me some time."

"Can we talk later? After the kids go to bed?"

"What could you possibly have to say that will make this better?"

"Just..." She pauses. "I don't want our marriage to end like this."

"Then don't," You suggest.

"Y/n," She tries again.

"No," You say sternly. "Just... no."

"You can't hate me forever."

"I can try," You mumble.

"Please."

"No." You stand tall.

"Y/n," She pleads one last time.

"Goodbye, Natasha." You turn and head toward the staircase. "You can sleep in the guest bedroom."

As you brush past her, Natasha looks back towards the counter. You left your ring there. Standing by its lonesome. She feels like it represents you in that moment. Alone and empty.

She walks into the kitchen and picks up the ring. It's warm and heavy. She wants to bring it upstairs and put it back on your finger. She wants to take it all back. But she knows she can't.

—-> next part

[herefortheships]

Just rewatched Beetlejuice Beetlejuice again, and I have thoughts!

But this was my first time watching it while being a Betelgeuse x Lydia shipper, so there might be some unhinged shipper takes here. I'll leave my completely speculative, potentially emotionally-charged impressions under the "read more" cut, under the list.

A lot of what I'll mention here I already noticed after my first watch, but I hadn't written a post like this about my impressions after watching the movie, so I decided to put it all here.

Here it goes!

This movie NEEDED more Betelgeuse. I'm sorry, Michael, but you are kinda wrong. It's not like we need the movie to be all about Betelgeuse, but we needed at least five or ten more minutes with the ghost with the most.

The movie sprang to life whenever Delia was onscreen. The same can be said about Betelgeuse.

The chemistry between Michael Keaton and Winona Ryder was through the roof. All scenes between them were immaculate and precisely why we needed MORE Betelgeuse!

I didn't notice how slow the first half of the movie felt, until Betelgeuse shows up. The movie picks up the pace after the couples therapy scene.

Betelgeuse is crazy about Lydia, no doubt. Was he gonna try to kiss her when he said "come here" right before she yelled "home, home, home!"? I think he definitely was going to throw himself at her. Anyway, he had several chances to do that later and he didn't try anything, but he might have been more restrained not to scare her away again.

Betelgeuse always seems to be more careful around Lydia (about checking her out, touching her, etc). Is he shy about Lydia specifically? lol

We needed more interactions between these two, especially so Lydia could see Betelgeuse wasn't the scary demon she thought him to be. He's more of a self-serving, lovable a-hole with a perverted side, than an all out evil entity. (She still got to see he's not that bad through his actions in the movie, after he saves Astrid and goes above and beyond by also exposing Rory and sending Jeremy to hell lol, but we needed a little more conversation between the two. This would help Lydia process her trauma around Betelgeuse. (*I have a point about this particular thing below, under the cut). Also would have helped the audience see why Betelgeuse's motivation to marry Lydia had nothing to do with Delores and everything to do with how he feels about Lydia herself (he was already chasing Lydia before Delores came into the picture, and had been doing so for over 30 years, as he keeps her photo on his desk and hasn't moved it from there, as shown by the cobweb behind it. Betelgeuse is looking into that portrait literally every single day).

Delores could have been entirely removed from this movie and nothing would have changed. When she shows up and says "Betelgeuse is mine" she literally does nothing to Lydia, whose photo she had literally smashed minutes earlier. When faced with the real woman who she believes to be stealing her man, she doesn't attempt anything against her? That was weak writing.

Everything around Delores was weak writing, except for her backstory.

Lydia did not leave Winter River at the end of the movie. I think the bed she wakes up in after the nightmare is still in Winter River.

As a matter of fact, the nightmare/dream sequence starts when she's quitting her show. The music that denotes that this is a dream starts there. Lydia did not quit the show. She might later on (if there's a 3rd movie we'll know if she did quit), but by the end of this movie she did not quit. That was part of the dream.

Betelgeuse starts blowing up like a balloon before Lydia says his name three times. She's said it once and he started ballooning. So I confirm: he did this himself on purpose. This man is a drama king and this was his grand exit back into the afterlife. 😂

I had this strange vibe that Astrid was bullshitting when she said that by violating code 699 the marriage contract was null and void. The contract also burned when she mentioned it. If it was null and void by Betelgeuse's violation of the code, why is it that it only burned when Astrid mentioned it?

Betelgeuse was indeed in bed with Lydia at the end. Not only is she sleeping to one side of the bed, the pillow he was in was wrinkled like he'd been lying there, and we can also hear the echo of his laugh. This makes me believe that he's the one who put the dream in her mind. Maybe to get back at her for banishing him. (This is a headcanon though, but the fact stands: Betelgeuse was truly there).

Oh before I forget, Lydia did look sad/conflicted at the end after Betelgeuse blew up and vanished. We can't know exactly how she felt after her time with Betelgeuse in this movie because it ended before we had a moment with Lydia alone after everything was said and done. Her story doesn't wrap up, because after she says her goodbye to Delia, what we have with Lydia is the dream sequence. Then she wakes up next to Betelgeuse, and again, alone, but still we can hear Betelgeuse's laugh echoing in the room as Lydia looks half scared, half confused (her face is like "wtf??") as the final scene of the movie.

And now for the potentially unhinged fangirl takes and headcanons (mostly revolving around Betelgeuse and Lydia):

Lydia has always had unresolved feelings for/around Betelgeuse. These unresolved feelings, whatever they are, has not allowed Lydia's romantic relationships to progress. The movie presents these feelings as trauma, and I find that very interesting. Let's explore this one a bit:

Early in the movie when Lydia is talking to Astrid about death and Richard is mentioned, Lydia mentions that her relationship with Richard had ended long before he left and had his accident in the Amazon. Astrid also mentions later that his dad left after his relationship with her mom had ended (If I recall correctly, Astrid says it like "after they separated, my dad left").

Then, when Lydia is talking to Delia after she's seen the Betelgeuse ad that Astrid found in the attic, she starts talking to Delia about how she met Rory at a grief retreat dealing with the loss of Richard and some unresolved feelings. Notice how she said her relationship was over long before his death. Naturally she was grieving him, but what are these unresolved feelings about? Is there guilt involved due to... :

Later, when Lydia tells Rory about Betelgeuse, she goes about it this way: She reminds Rory about their couples therapist, and how he told her that until she faced this "thing" that she was holding back, her relationship with Rory was not going to evolve. This thing of course turns out to be Betelgeuse.

So this kinda confirms that Lydia has some unresolved feelings around Betelgeuse that are holding her romantic relationships back.

As I mentioned above, this is presented as trauma. Is it because of her experiences in the first movie? I don't think so for various reasons: She not only grew up surrounded by the love and care of the Maitlands, she also hasn't seen or heard Betelgeuse in years though she's felt his presence. She also appeared to be living happily at the end of the first movie. You can't present me a traumatized character in the sequel when you showed me this character to be completely fine at the end of the previous film. Lydia also mentions to Delia that her anxiety comes from seeing ghosts every day.

So her traumatic feelings about Betelgeuse stem from something inside her that she needs to face or she won't be able to move on. Keep in mind these are my interpretations and shouldn't be taken as fact! But I believe that Lydia's trauma stems from guilt about having feelings and attraction toward Betelgeuse (possibly since she was a teenager), someone who, in her own words, she is convinced is a "trickster demon".

She may have always been attracted to him, but she pushed it down ("held it back", using her own words). She probably worries that having these feelings makes her "wrong" in some form. That she is "dirty" or even "evil" herself. How can she feel an attraction to someone like Betelgeuse, who is not only scary-looking, but also did scary things to her family and once tried to force her to marry him? These are her conflicted thoughts.

Confronting these emotions is Lydia's true path to healing wholly, because she will be faced with her own darkness. And this is what she is vehemently avoiding by wanting Betelgeuse out of her life (whilst simultaneously wanting him in her life).

This is yet ANOTHER reason why we need a third film: Lydia needs to face her own feelings about Betelgeuse or else she will always be stuck in life. Her relationships will always fail because her heart belongs to someone else; to the one person (ghost) she refuses to give it to, not because of what she feels about him, but because of what having these feelings makes her feel about herself. Only facing this will Lydia be whole again.

That's interesting material for a third and final film, but again, just my headcanons and interpretations. These movies are mostly comedy, and so it's unlikely they will go into the deep stuff. But then again, this movie at times went surprisingly deep, despite being mostly bonkers comedy, so there is a chance they will explore deeper, darker themes in the final installment. Usually the final film in a series goes harder than the rest into the deeper and more nuanced themes.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Got Me Thinking

Part 3: Kiss it Better (NSFW)

Synopsis: Jack ends up getting into an argument with Kelsey and quickly makes it up in his mind to visit you in order to take his mind off of it. Little did the two of you know that those feelings that had been buried all those years ago would come straight up to the surface.

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Reader

Read Part 1 and Part 2 first

Do not engage if underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

Jack let out a frustrated sigh thinking about the argument that had ensued between him and Kelsey that morning as he was now currently on a plane to California for Druski's premiere. All that he asked of her was to be a little more supportive as he had been under a lot of stress lately and wasn't taking his feelings into consideration and that sent them into a full blown yelling match with her accusing him of saying that she wasn't supportive of him at all.

Shaking his head and trying not to think about it, he pulled out his phone to text you and see what you were up to since he wanted to see you before leaving the state. Druski's premiere was later on that day and he didn't plan on doing anything after except being with you if you were available.

Ever since the two of you reunited at his birthday party, you were all that he could think about. For the entire week that you were there, he spent about every day with you and it was safe to say that he missed your presence and being around you.

And his feelings that were buried deep down had made their way to the surface and had hit him like a ton of bricks.

Yes, he married Kelsey. But did he love her? When they got married he definitely did, but he didn't love her as much as he loved you and knew that no one else on the face of the earth would be able to fill your shoes. He was hurt when he found out you got married, but what could he had done at that point? The two of you hadn't spoken for years and even though he wanted it to be him, he was happy that you found happiness and would never try to ruin that for you. But now hearing about how Xavier had been treating you, he wanted to get you away from him as soon as he could. He knew you were trying to plan everything out, but he didn't want you to have to deal with that situation any longer.

Jack Jack- What are you getting up to tonight pretty girl?

You- Eating and sleeping. My all time favorite pastimes.

Jack Jack- Hmm, now you can't do that if I'm coming to see you, now can you?

You- 👀

You- When will you be here!?!?

Jack Jack- In about an hour or so. I know you're still working but I'm going to Druski's premiere and I wanted to see you after. So around 11 tonight? Is that too late?

You- Never too late when it involves me getting to see you. Now I'm hoping the day goes by a little faster.

Jack Jack- Aww does someone miss me?

You- Don’t push it lol

Jack Jack- Been having a shitty week but I know seeing you will make it better.

You- Oh no. My poor baby. Tell me all about it later. Just text me the address of your hotel and the room. I know how reserved you are and highly doubt you want paparazzi in your face.

Jack Jack- Can't wait to see you

Clay looked over at Jack and immediately asked what had him in such a good mood since he had literally been pissed off less than ten minutes ago.

“Who are you texting that has you smiling like that?”

“Well we know it's not Kelsey.” Urban muttered and Clay couldn't help but to stifle a laugh.

“My guess is Y/N, since he hasn't stopped talking about her.”

“The person that you should have married.”

“And how many times are you going to remind me? What was I supposed to do? Make her divorce him so I could marry her? We hadn't even talked in seven years at that point!” Jack exclaimed while looking at both of them.

“You should've been like I OBJECT!”

“I mean…… that plan could work because she had straight googly eyes when yall made eye contact.”

“And she didn't leave your side the entire night.” Urban added.

“And you don't like your wife. None of us do.”

“I… not too much on Kelsey now!” Jack said while attempting to defend his wife, but all they did was look at him.

“Bruh… DIVORCE.HER.ASS.”

“Because we're legit confused on how and why you married her in the first place. We told you not to and now look, sitting up here miserable and unhappy.”

“I care about her!” Jack said, defending his actions.

“Notice how you said care and not love? Yall argue every waking hour and you are always grumpy. You haven't been grumpy and in a mood since you basically spent your entire birthday week up Y/N's ass. Well except for today when you know, got into an argument with that woman who shares your last name.”

“Wait…. did yall… fuck? As in you and Y/N?”

“NO URB! I didn't cheat on Kelsey and did we forget that Y/N is married too?”

“What is that supposed to mean? We don't like him either. Don't even know shit about him, but he's not you and you and Y/N belong together. Don't make me start singing Mariah Carey.”

“And Kelsey treats you like the gum on the bottom of her shoe.”

“Facts, no printer.”

“Yall just don't know her like I do.”

“And we don't want to.”

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair because he knew that they were exactly right.

“Think about it like this. Your own wife didn't come to your birthday party yet, your EX-GIRLFRIEND from when you were in HIGH SCHOOL did. What does that tell you?”

“And who is she married to?”

“His name is Xavier.” Jack answered as he pulled up your instagram and handed Urban his phone.

“Oh.”

“Oh? What do you mean oh?” Jack asked as everyone had now gathered around Urban to get a glimpse.

“If this is the dude you're competing with, you can take him.”

“Maybe we could set up a boxing match.”

“Jack is definitely a lover and not a fighter. He wouldn't make it to the second round.”

“HEY!”

“Don't get mad at me because it's true.” Clay replied while holding his hands up in defense.

“But the thing is, Y/N told me she's divorcing him.”

“Good! Then ease your way in!”

“And he's about to have a baby on her.”

“Well got damn. HE CHEATED? ON Y/N? LIKE… JACK IF THAT WASN'T YOUR GIRL…”

“Don't finish that sentence, but yes.”

“Well divorce the wicked witch of the west so you can marry her.”

“Clay! Stop calling her that!”

“Why? It's funny and she's evil so it fits her personality.”

“Not the point!”

“Oh, so you agree?”

“Look, I’m going to try and make it work with Kelsey.” Jack told them, but at this point he didn't know if he was trying to convince them or trying to convince himself.

“I think I threw up in my mouth a little.”

—

You couldn't wait until your last case of the day since that would then let you go home and sleep until It was time to meet up with Jack. It was nice since Xavier was now on another one of his business trips, but you knew all that meant was his was with the woman who he was cheating on you with. He had hid it well when he first stepped out on you, but within the last year he had grown sloppy, but he still had no clue about you knowing.

It was still early in the afternoon when you decided to shoot Jack a quick text to let him know that he could now come over to your house seeing as your husband was nowhere to be found and went off to take a shower to wash the long day off of you.

You saw Jack's reply once you stepped out of the shower and he said that he would let you know when he was on his way. There were still a few more hours left to kill so you decided to take a short quick nap before he got there. But as much as you wanted to, your mind just wouldn't turn off.

The thoughts that consumed your mind consisted of Xavier and Jack and how you never should have ended your relationship with Jack because you knew for a fact that you would have been a lot happier. But, you loved Xavier too despite what he's doing to you even though it hurts to no end. He barely showed you any affection anymore and if he did, it felt forced. But when Jack did it? Felt like something out of a fairytale.

You simply wish you could fast forward to the part where you were happy.

Startled by a sudden knock on the door, you lifted your head to peek at your phone and noticed it was around 11:15 and instantly got excited because you knew it was Jack.

Once you opened the front door, you immediately tackled him into a hug as he kissed the top of your head.

“Hey Buttercup.” Your heart instantly fluttered hearing the nickname that Jack had given to you when the two of you were fifteen and the smile on your face couldn't help but to get bigger.

“Hey, I think the day went by extra slow because I couldn't wait to see you.” You replied as you stepped to the side to let him in.

Once he was in the foyer, he was taken in by his surroundings.

“You mean to tell me yall got this big ass house for only two people?”

“The goal was for it to be filled with little ones but that dream has quickly gone out the window.” You quietly answered and it looked like he was about to say something, but stopped himself.

But it came out anyway.

“You wouldn't want to be tied to someone like that for the rest of your life anyway. You deserve better than that.”

“I… I know. I just feel that I'm in a difficult position. But moving on because I know you didn't come here to hear me whine about him. Let me give you the grand tour.”

“It doesn't bother me. If you need to vent, I'm always going to be there to listen. No matter what time of day or night it is.”

“I really appreciate you saying that.”

Moving throughout the house, you showed him everything there was to see and you simply left your bedroom and closet for last knowing that he was going to spend at least an hour admiring your shoe collection.

Once you opened the double doors to the master bedroom, he simply laughed to himself.

“What in the world is so funny, Jackson?”

“I can tell that you designed this, didn't you?”

“He let me have at it so I simply did what I want with it.”

“So this is where the magic happens?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes.

“Magic? As in me using my vibrator because that is literally the only magic that happens here. Anyway, let me show you my closet because I know you'll definitely like it.”

“So, we're just going to skip over the vibrator part that you mentioned?” Jack asked and you simply shrugged.

“Not every guy is in tune with his wife's body and knows how to please her, but that's a story for another day.”

“He definitely should be and there's no excuse for that.”

Jack then followed behind as you led the way into the walk-in closet and he immediately took note of your shoe collection just like you knew he would.

“I… Well damn. Maybe you should be an ambassador for New Balance too.”

“I can't help it. I literally buy a pair every time I go out. And a lot of that time is spent thinking about how my life is a hot ass mess. Sorry I'm doing it again. Now what had you upset earlier?”

“You don't have to apologize and it was Kelsey.”

“What happened?”

“All I asked was if she could be more supportive since I have had a lot going on and been kinda stressed out. She took it upon herself to accuse me of saying she's not supportive at all and it turned into a screaming match. Well her screaming at me really.”

“Did she not comprehend what you were saying?”

“As of lately, it seems like she's not comprehending anything when she used to not do that. Clay calls her the wicked witch of the west.”

You couldn't help but to immediately laugh.

“I'm sorry, but that is hilarious.”

“It's sad to say but I've gotten used to it.”

“Why? You shouldn't be used to arguing with your spouse all the time.”

“No, but… I don't know. I always say that I want to try and make it work between the both of us but when I replay these incidents over and over again it makes me think that it might not actually be worth it.”

“Then if it isn't worth it, let it go. Why would you want to be married to someone like that anyway?” You said which was similar to what he had told you earlier.

“Hmm, you want the honest answer?”

“Of course I do.”

“Only because my real bride was already spoken for.” He answered while looking directly at you.

You didn't answer him as he had quickly gotten distracted with something hanging up in your closet.

“Wait… Is this my hoodie? You've had it all this time?” He asked while holding it up and inspecting it.

“Yeah, it was comfy so I decided to steal it and never give it back.”

“Hmm, how does your husband feel about you having your ex-boyfriend's hoodie?”

“Well it's a good thing he doesn't know now isn't it? It still smells like you too believe it or not after all these years. And why should he even care? It's not like we're having sex with each other because that's exactly what he's doing and ended up getting her pregnant.”

“We're not, but it definitely sounds like you need someone to please you because he's not doing his job.”

The two of you were now dangerously close as Jack once again started playing with the ends of your hair as the hand that wasn't occupied cupped your face. Before you knew it, he leaned in and his lips were on yours. After kissing him back you immediately pushed him away from you.

“Jack… we can't and you know that.” You said not believing your own words for a second.

“Is it the fact that we can't or the fact that you don't want to admit that you feel the same way about me as you did when you were fourteen?” He asked you as he closed the space in between the two of you once more.

When you were quiet, he asked you once again and your thoughts were running rampant.

“Y/N, do you want me to stop?” He asked as he began to kiss down your neck and you could feel the river that was beginning to form between your thighs.

“No.” You breathed out before bringing his face back close to yours.

His hand reached under your shirt and was surprised to find out that you weren't wearing anything underneath and began to massage them and roll your nipples in between his fingers instantly making them hard as he kept his mouth on yours.

You broke apart from him as he was simply staring at you with his thumb grazing your cheek.

No words were spoken as you led him back into the master bedroom with both of you trying to strip out of the clothes that you were wearing at a rapid speed.

Once you were left bare underneath him, he slowly inserted two fingers into you seeing how wet you were and he immediately smirked as he leaned down to kiss you.

You moaned into his mouth and that was when he increased his pace moving his fingers in and out of you.

By this point your eyes were closed and you rightfully gasped as you felt him take one long lick across your folds. Jack then spread your legs to the point where they were behind your head so that he would have enough room.

“I don't think your husband would take it too well that I'm fucking his wife in his bed but clearly someone has to do it since he can't get it right.” You heard him say and you let out a quiet laugh before you once again felt his mouth on you.

You couldn't even remember the last time that you were in that much pleasure, but knew that Jack was only getting started.

Between him using his mouth and his fingers, you knew it wouldn't take long in order for you to reach your peak and you decided to speed up the process by playing with your pierced nipples.

As you loudly moaned his name, Jack then went to suck on your clit and you knew it was only a matter of seconds before you were going to hit your peak.

“Oh, fuck. Right there, stay right there.” You said as your hands were now tangled in his hair in order to be able to keep him as close as possible.

“Baby, I’m about to…”

“Then do it.” Jack said as he broke away from you to answer but went right back to his original position.

Your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks that your legs were shaking, but Jack hadn't stopped eating you out which quickly made you go into having another one.

No sound was coming out of your mouth as Jack let you ride it out before detaching from you and crawling back up your body with him planting kisses on your skin along his path.

Once he reached your lips, he gave you several pecks before you felt his fingers now massaging your clit and he was now smirking at you.

“You ready for me, sweet girl? I can tell that your body is, but I need to hear you say it.”

“Been ready for you.”

As you noticed the precum leaking from the tip, you sat up and quickly took him in your mouth, making him hiss and throw his head back in pleasure.

You used your hand for where your mouth couldn't reach and you soon felt him twitch and took that as a sign that he was growing closer to hitting his peak when he suddenly lightly pushed you away from him and you quickly looked up at him confused.

“There's no way I'm about to last much longer and I need to feel you.”

“I'm on birth control, so it's all good. Nothing to worry about.” You said as you got settled once more at the top of the bed as he took hold of your hips and slowly entered you, leading to a moan escaping both of your mouths.

“You feel so good around me, but you have to relax baby and give me some room. Just relax, I got you.”

It was definitely easier said than done.

But once you did and the two of you got in a comfortable rhythm, your arms went around Jack's neck as he buried his face in your shoulder.

Hearing him moan in your ear let you know another orgasm was right around the corner as you then reached down to play with your clit. Your hand was soon replaced with his as you then heard the garage door open.

“Fuck, he's back early.”

“We're not leaving this bed until you scream my name, you understand?”

You immediately nodded your head as Jack then increased his pace as you were hoping to not get caught by your husband. But at this point in time, you didn't care.

The thrill of being caught got you excited.

“That's it. That's it, pretty girl. Are you going to cum for me? Cum all over my dick.”

Without another word, both of you hit your peak at the same time with you loudly moaning in his ear. As he was letting you recover, he placed kisses all over your body before planting one more on your lips which immediately made you smile.

“We need to hurry up and get dressed before he comes upstairs? Don't you think?” Jack asked but not before taking one of your nipples in his mouth and lightly sucking.

“Don't start because now we definitely can't finish.”

“Hmm… to be continued.”

Once the two of you slipped your clothes back on and made your way back downstairs you were now sitting on the couch with the television on as Xavier walked in.

“Oh hey, you're back early.” You said as he leaned down to kiss you which now left a sour taste in your mouth.

“I figured why not since I wanted to spend time with my wife. And who do we have here?”

“Jack this is my husband Xavier and Xavier this is Jack. We went to high school together and he was in town so we decided to catch up.”

“Nice to meet you Jack.”

“You too.” Jack replied as he was taking in meeting your piece of shit husband in person for the first time.

“Doesn't surprise me you two are still catching up at 3 in the morning. Y/N has always been a night owl.” He said in a somewhat accusatory tone, but Jack quickly shut it down.

“Well I had a premiere to go to and didn't get finished until late, but I was just leaving since I have an early flight.”

“Well next time you're here, we all should go out.” Xavier offered and Jack quickly agreed.

“Sure thing and I can bring my wife so it will be a double date.”

Hearing him say that immediately made your stomach go into a series of knots.

“Come on Jack so I can walk you out.”

Once outside and by his rental car, the two of you immediately busted out laughing.

“I don't think I've ever gotten dressed that fast before. That had to be some type of record.”

“I mean he could have always come in to get a few pointers from me.” Jack replied and you lightly hit his arm.

“What? You know I'm telling the truth. When's the last time he made you feel that good?” Jack asked as he whispered the last part in your ear and slipped a hand in your shorts.

“Babe…”

“I take that as the answer being never.” He said as he removed his hand and brought it up to his mouth to suck on his fingers.

“Taste so good and you are making it so hard for me to not fuck you again right here and right now.”

“Behave, Jackman!” You exclaimed as he quickly began playing with your hair and the two of you stood in a comfortable silence.

“Until next time, buttercup.”

“Until next time, Jackson.”

“Oh and I hope you don't mind me taking these?” He asked as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the purple thong that you had been wearing earlier before it got discarded on the floor.

“You know purple's my favorite color.” Was all he said before he placed a kiss on your cheek.

After Jack had drove off, you went back into the house and the realization of what you had just done hit you.

You just cheated on your husband with your ex-boyfriend.

And didn't regret it one bit.

[fayes-fics]

Mrs Bridgerton, Again

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU, sequel to Mrs Bridgerton. This is what happened in those fateful 8 months.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, vaginal fingering, oral sex (m to f, f to m), cunnilingus, blowjobs, vaginal sex. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy and parenting. Lovers reunited, healing from heartbreak, second-chance love, emotions.

Word Count: 7.1 k

Summary: Requested sequel to Mrs Bridgerton from Anon, HERE, that fills in some of the time jumps of the original story, including the smut scene when they first reunite. Best to read that fic first before diving in, as this starts up immediately as she arrives in his bedroom (before the “8 months later…”). Yes, we are starting with total filth and ending with romance, lol. Thanks to @colettebronte for betaing and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif. Oh, and by the way, in case you are not familiar, this is Eton Mess. Enjoy <3

“Don't…,” he pants wildly, removing the hand from his cock and holding it up in a stop gesture.

You freeze, and suddenly, a wave of doubt hits you. Have you misjudged this?

“Don’t touch me, or I’ll come,” he warns. “Stay right there, and just let me look at you.”

The relief and the desire are potent. 

“Fuck, how do you look even better now?!” he sounds almost pained as he drinks in the sight of you in bra and knickers; his hands grasp the fitted bedsheet, his cock pulsing.

“Ben, I…” you stutter to begin an explanation for why you are here, mostly dumbfounded by the sight before you. Somehow, you had made yourself forget how much you love him naked. A coping mechanism, probably. Right now, you have no earthly idea why you walked away from the beautiful man before you.

“Talk later,” he intuits. “ I am so fucking glad I kept the same security code,” he rasps, and you smile.

“Same,” you whisper.

“Turn around,” he pleads. So you do, pushing up onto the balls of your feet and spinning until you face away. He groans at the view of lace straining over your bottom in just the right way. “Oh god, I need to have sex with you, but I’m so close,” he groans, and even though your back is turned, you can tell it’s through clenched teeth.

You twist to give a wicked smile over your shoulder, then unclip your bra strap as he makes a hungry noise. Pulling the straps from your shoulders and flinging the item aside, your back still turned. You hook your fingers into the sides of your knickers to pull them down but stop when he climbs off the bed, falling to his knees behind you.

“Allow me,” it's velvety and dark, and you want to bathe in that voice. 

For the first time in years, he touches your skin, and you have to lock your knees to stop swaying. Expert hands map up the outside of your legs from your ankle to your hips, long fingers hooking into the lace and tugging down. You can feel his breath warm on your cheeks as the material relents and gathers around your feet. Then he pitches forward, his nose landing on the small of your back as he takes a loud, almost obscene inhale.

“I have missed your smell,” he asserts, “not just… you know, but your skin. You.” His nose trails up slightly; warm, soft lips kiss your lumbar spine, causing goosebumps to break out over your thighs. 

“Ben…” you whisper his name, almost scared to look behind as if it’s somehow not real.

You groan as he sinks lower and runs the edge of his teeth over the globe of your left cheek. Somehow, again, you realise you'd made yourself forget how things could be between you when it was good. Feral, passionate, addictive. The best you've ever had. He has barely touched you, and your inner thighs are damp, that thronging feeling around your pelvis that needs relief.

“Mrs Bridgerton.” 

He says it. Just as you asked—wanton, thick, and sweet. And it's too much.

“I don't care if you last ten seconds; I need you inside me… please,” you plead, unashamed, grabbing your breasts as he kisses your cheek. You know how much he always loved it when you would vocalise your needs, desires, wants.

That’s when two fingers slide between your legs and, without warning, plunge into your cunt, making you cry out loudly, the sensation exhilarating, his knuckles pushing you open just the right amount, that same intoxicating feeling as before.

“Fuckkk,” he stutters against your skin. “I forgot how you cling to my fingers like this, good god.” 

You have to shoot out a hand diagonally to grab the wall, locking your elbow, as he keeps teasing with deep but slow rocking moves. You mutter his name, a shudder running through you as he hooks his fingers and hits that spot that makes you almost buckle. Sensing the weakness in your stance, his fingers withdraw, and you whimper, missing them so much.

“Go and lie on the bed,” he orders softly, squeezing your bottom, painting your dampness onto your skin as he does so.

You do as he asks, taking an arcing path, keeping your back mostly towards him so he does not see your front—an extra tease. Then you deliberately mount the bed on all fours, goading him, throwing a sinful look over your shoulder as you widen your stance, tilting your pelvis, knowing your damp thighs are shining in the late afternoon sun that floods the bed from the skylight above.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, again sounding breathless. The sense of victory that races around your body is enthralling. “I said lay down,” he adds, the bed dipping as he climbs on behind you and spanks your cheek, making you moan.

“Well, I say you can eat me out from behind, just like this, Mr Bridgerton,” you riposte, drawing your knees higher and lowering your forehead to the mattress, the fluttering in your belly hard, the thrill of the chase so exhilarating. “Until you are ready to fuck me, that is.”

“Why the hell did we ever divorce?!” he rails.

“I have absolutely no bloody idea,” you exhale shakily, morphing into a lusty cry as his hands part your cheeks and his tongue swipes deep into your folds.

As he swirls your clit, greedily, mouth hot, you are not surprised that he has not even so much as kissed your lips before he makes you scream. Somehow, you know this is the only way a reunion would ever transpire. Primal, filthy, impossible to resist. A need to fuck before anything else. 

And it's just as good as you now remember, it all flooding back to you. You grab the bedsheet, knuckles in bony relief as you moan a litany of his name and filth you would never admit to as he growls encouraging noises. That needy, tugging deep inside as his hands band around your hips and haul you back onto his whole face, the slight stubble on his cheeks catching your labia as he does so. 

It only feels like moments until he has you dancing on the edge. It's been so, so long since anyone touched you; indeed, he was the last, and you're shocked at how little it takes. An explosive build-up of unmet needs bursting from within, like ripened fruit awaiting devourment. And that is what he is doing, devouring your body without remorse or concerns for propriety. There's an extra tinge of desperation to his movements, too, as if he needs your release as much as you do. 

Then he sucks your clit hard into his mouth and uses an edge of teeth to bite down where you ache the most. And you are gone. Muffling your screams into his mattress, biting the sheet, your pussy flutters around nothing, wanting, leaking, the static racing across your scalp and down your body, making you shudder, and your fingers and toes flex hard. 

He is vocal, so vocal, in his praise. Asking for more, pulling upright and plunging those two fingers back inside as you scream again, your body rippling in waves, fighting to expel them as he growls and pushes deeper, dragging against the place that sends you stratospheric. Your mind shuts down, your mouth snarling at him not to fucking stop in a throaty register that is all lust and instinct. He doesn’t; he strings you out until you shake and leak over his hand, eyes almost watering, deep, ragged breaths as your lungs burn.

You collapse down, your shaking legs unable to stay up on your knees anymore; his fingers withdrawing slowly as he emits a triumphant chuckle, lightly spanking your cheek for good measure as you lay face down, panting, attempting to recover.

“Fuck Ben,” you exhale raggedly. “Was it always this fucking good? Or did we just get better?”

“Honestly?” he opines as you feel him crawling over your body, covering your dewy skin with all of him as he kisses the back of your neck. “I have no idea, but I swear we must be better now.”

“No kidding… I think I almost left my body then.” 

Your giggle becomes a moan as he rocks his cock against your cleft. It's like you had forgotten that, too, which seems criminally negligent—again, probably a coping mechanism. It's sizeable, and you liquefy at the thought of taking him inside you once again.

“I’m still on the Pill,” you babble quickly, lifting your head off the pillow, “and I haven’t been with anyone since we split.” It’s your shorthand to tell him you want him to fuck you without protection.

He stills. “What?!” the tone is skeptical. “No one?!?”

You twist to look at him over your shoulder. “No. I was just thinking of dating again,” you answer abashedly as he looks bewildered.

“Wow… I thought you would have them lining up,” he exhales with a head shake. “Have you seen you?!” he adds incredulously as he shifts his stance, placing his knees wider on either side of your legs. 

“Hah! Not at all,” you deflect the compliment. “You?” you inquire as he drops stubbly kisses onto the sensitive skin of your upper back.

“Once. I was very drunk. We used a condom. It was so terrible I’m sort of pretending it never happened. I, umm, called your name,” he winces, pulling up from your body.

You roll over under him so you face him. “You did what?!”

“I… I called your name, when I came. I was thinking of you the whole time.” The matter-of-fact way he shrugs as he says so makes your chest ache.

Words fail as you realise how stubborn you have both been. If only you had talked to each other, things might have been different. On instinct, you push up and kiss him. On the mouth. A real kiss. The first in many years. And his response is instant and break-taking. He lowers you back onto the mattress as you wrap around each other, tongue entwining, breathing each other's air, hands running over each other, relearning the contours you used to know so well. 

“I didn't like the idea of fucking anyone else,” you confess quietly over his lips. “I was probably just going to be a celibate single mum.”

“You deserve better than that,” he states fiercely, shuffling so he can cradle your face with one hand and kiss your cheeks, tender and loving.

“As do you,” you answer, eyes fluttering closed under his soft kisses and caresses. 

After the utter carnality it began with, the dynamic has shifted to this slower pace—almost romantic, nostalgia swirling with a trace of trepidation of what all this could mean. So you take the initiative, needing to be rooted back in your body, in physical pleasure.

“I don't want to think anymore,” you mumble, recognising the telltale signs that he is wandering the same path. “I want to lose myself in your body.”

That handsome smile that hooked you in the first place all those years ago spreads over his face, a touch more character-filled now with the intervening couple of years but no less devastating.

“I want that too,” he concurs, moving his knees so he parts your legs, the back of your thighs sliding over the fuzzy meatiness of his quad muscles as he does so, hovering over you, engulfing you. This is what you have missed as much as anything. That feeling of being so wholly with someone else, a warm human body moving with, over, under, around you, skin and sweat, muscle and bone.  

His lips are hot and wet on your neck when he nudges your entrance and slides in with one well-angled thrust, his sense memory of how your bodies fit together. Your inhale is sharp, and your fingers grip tight around his bicep as you feel that wondrous, heartstopping moment of being invaded viscerally, pushed open, your walls clinging to him.

“Oh my god….” It’s an unintended, uncensored, gasping response that tumbles from his lips. “You are on fire,” he hisses as he bottoms out.

“You did this to me,” you avow, wanting to fan the flames, to make him burn white-hot. A clawing need to make it unforgettable.

Your lips meet as he begins to move, and you are slightly overwhelmed. Not just by the physicality as you find a wonderful rhythm moving in unison, but as if you are floating between the world of the past and the very real present. A coming home, a full circle, a reunion. You don't vocalise it, but you swear you can see it in his eyes, too, as he moves over you. His gaze holds yours as he surges into your body and withdraws again, a tidal motion that makes you cling harder, chasing the moment you break together.

It seems strange this is happening during daylight hours. It feels more like the type of illicit, smouldering passion that can only come out after dark. 

Your whole being rolls with the force of his thrusts, pleasure humming over you, so you push back, chasing sensations. Mapping the muscles of his back under your fingertips, his mouth rediscovering that weak spot on your neck that makes you shudder under him. His lips curl into a victorious smile as he surges harder, hissing as you dig your nails into his shoulder blades.

Sliding your feet higher on his luxurious soft sheets, you wrap your legs around his thighs, your heels nudging his shapely rear, letting your body plead for more. His movements become quicker as you grab one of his hands and suckle his fingers, his mouth open and gusting hot on your neck, watching you run your tongue over his fingernails. He groans as you suddenly suck them deep into your mouth, tasting the tang of your own juices and an undercurrent that is all him. When thoroughly soaked, you slowly pull those fingers from your mouth, little strings of saliva webbing between you. 

“Touch me, Ben,” you plead, pushing that hand down towards the junction of your thighs, between your bodies.

With a devastating smirk, he does just that. Fingers sliding over your engorged throbbing pearl, just the right amount of pressure to make your cunt clench around him, a vice-like grip that has his hips and fingers stuttering to a halt.

“Fuck, do that again,” he begs.

With a smirk, you oblige, squeezing your internal muscles tight in a slow pulsing motion. His cock feels huge, hard, and heavy as you do so. 

His eyes close, and a shudder you can feel runs through him, buried to the root, feeling his cock pulse heavily.

Then his eyes fly open, and the intensity there takes you aback as his fingers start to swirl at a dizzying pace, restarting his thrusts, urgent now, hunched over you, enveloping you, the air between your bodies hot and clammy as he pushes intently, pleading with you to come for him. 

Your lips meet in an artless but deep kiss, tongues dancing, desperate hot breaths into each other's mouths. His fingers circling your clit pushes you towards your peak, the catalyst you need. The telltale ripples deep inside, clamping your body to his, his cries at the intensity fading as you are swept away, your vision whiting out. Ripples fan out to every fibre, that addictive mind-numbing bliss like nothing else.

You clenching on him is what pulls him over the edge, too. His grip on you is rough; his mouth slack on your cheek, curling his whole body into you as he cums, the warmth of it blooming deep. 

No words are spoken as he collapses onto you, panting hard. As he recovers, you bury your fingers in his hair, massaging his scalp until he is almost purring into your skin. 

“Why the hell did we divorce?” you echo his line from earlier, and his responding laughter shakes your whole being.

Ravenous, after your exertions, he orders food delivery, insisting you both stay naked as you eat on the living room rug. Dusk slips to nighttime as you watch mindless, entertaining shows, chatting easily about everything and nothing, wrapped around each other like a vine, drinking excellent wine, and feeding each other. 

He reaches for dessert, Eton Mess, and with a cheeky eyebrow raise, smears it over your naked breasts, using his tongue to thoroughly clean you up and tease you beyond distraction. Before you know it, he is covered, too, and you blow him right there, licking whipped cream from his leaking cock as his thighs tremble under your hands in that endearing way you remember. Before he comes, he begs you to stop, to ride him, and so you do - messy, sticky, giggling - right there on his living room floor, the rug abraiding your kneecaps, his large hands a vice around your hips.

“We definitely need to shower,” he opines as he watches you extract a shard of strawberry from his belly button as his cock slips from your body. You laugh in agreement as he reaches up and pulls a fleck of meringue from your hair.

Collapsing into bed with shower-warm skin, half an hour later, you fall asleep in an embrace.

The following morning

You awaken to his lips on your cheek, pulling you back into the curve of his body. 

“Spend the day with me,” he implores, his voice rough with sleep. 

“I want to,” you hum drowsily, reaching back to run your fingers through his luscious head of hair.

“Go on, be daring,” he goads into your skin. “Mrs Bridgerton,” he adds coquettishly, knowing those are now the magic words to make you do as he wants.

“Stop weaponising that,” you scold lazily, with zero vehemence.

“Not a chance,” he chuckles, rolling you onto your back and crawling over you, arms bracketing your shoulders, his mouth a lazy, lopsided grin. He looks positively angelic, his riot of hair backlit like a halo in the morning light leaking through the skylight. Even as he does the sinful thing of rocking his rigid cock against the apex of your thighs teasingly. Just as you push your legs out wider, welcoming him, he stills and instead reaches over and grabs your phone from the bedside table, handing it to you with a pointed look.

So you call in sick to work. 

As a reward, he slips under the covers as you are apologising to your boss with a fake croaky voice and slides his tongue deep into you; you have to fake a coughing fit to disguise your groan. You grab a fist of his hair in silent reprimand, but it just seems to spur him on.

“If you had to call work today, I would have you in my mouth as revenge for that,” you slur as he works his magic, knowing he has gone freelance in the intervening years.

“I’ll happily put in a call to myself later,” he jokes unseen under the sheet, “and you can do as you wish while I tell myself I'm taking the day off.”

“Self-employment must be fun,” you comment wistfully, then cry out as he sucks so hard on your clit that you knock your phone off the bed, your leg kicking out so strong that he grabs it and pins you down.

“It has its perks,” his voice muffled into your body, “like I can spend all day right here… well, at least until you need some breakfast.”

You can't even form a response to that as his tongue spears into you; all you can do is hiss in agreement.

—

A little while later, Benedict is pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make brunch when your phone vibrates on his kitchen island.

“Oh god, it’s El,” you fret, putting down the cafetière you had just poured from.

“Why is she calling you?” he frowns.

“I was supposed to go on a date last night that she arranged,” you wince. “My very first one. But someone completely derailed that plan, didn't they?” you pout comically.

He chuckles. “Put it on speaker; this should be fun.”

“You had better have a damn good excuse for standing Dan up last night,” Eloise complains in lieu of a greeting.

“Well, good morning to you too, El,” you reply lightheartedly, taking a sip of coffee.

“Why does it sound so echoey?” 

“You're on speaker while I make brunch.” It’s a slight lie; he’s the one making it; you are simply enjoying the view. Seeing as he is doing so in black boxer briefs and nothing more, your eyes mapping his torso with a covetous stare.

“Well, I'm waiting…” she points out.

“For what?” You giggle as Benedict pulls up behind you, crowding into your body, wrapping his arms around your waist, and planting a kiss on your temple. You sway slightly with his movement.

“For your excuse, and it better be a good one. That you are in a hospital somewhere, or you met the love of your life yesterday,” she warns, “and seeing as you are making brunch when you should be at work, I doubt it’s the former.”

“Maybe it’s the latter,” you breathe, her not realising how true that suggestion is, twisting your head to look at him, and he shoots you a molten look before your lips meet.

“Really? You met someone else?” her tone suddenly excited, forgetting her annoyance.

“It took me completely by surprise.” You exhale over his lips, and he smiles that crooked smile that makes your stomach flip. 

“So… wait, are you at home?” she asks, suddenly very invested.

“Nope,” you pop the p in the word, and Benedict shakes with silent laughter, tilting his head to kiss down your neck, your hand sliding into his hair as you lean into his movements. God, he is good at this.

“Are you at his place?” she hisses, impressed.

“Maybe” you singsong.

“Take me off speaker, you nutter!”

“Why? Maybe he is enjoying hearing this,” you tease.

“He’s right there?” Eloise spits, disbelieving.

“Hello, El,” Benedict pipes up, between kisses of your skin, his warm fingers tugging on the knot of the borrowed silk dressing gown you wear. It's dark blue and swamps you, seeing as it's his.

“Ben?!?!” she splutters. “What the…? How the…? Whattttt?!?!”

“I'm hanging up the phone now, sister,” he rumbles as he opens your robe and slides it off your shoulders so you are naked. “Unless you want to listen to us making love over this kitchen island?” 

“Oh fuck no,” she positively shudders and makes a retching sound. “Wait… you guys….what the…?”

“Don’t tell anyone yet, please,” your request squeaks, his erection pressing into the naked valley of your buttocks as he reaches in front of you to end the call.

“Goodbye, El,” Benedict laughs.

“You have a fuck tonne of explaining to d….,” her warning is cut off by him hanging up.

“She's going to be insufferable when she gets over the shock,” you point out and then sigh as his hands land on your hips and his warm, damp mouth is on your shoulder.

“A problem for another time,” he assures you as you feel him release you briefly to push down his underwear. He's now as naked as you.

“You meant it about the kitchen island then?” you simper over your shoulder and groan as he surges his cock between your thighs from behind. 

“What do you think?” he teases, his voice pitched so low it echoes around his whole body and into yours.

“I think I could get used to this,” you whisper as he leans you forward over the cooling quartz surface and pushes aside your hair to suck insistently on your neck.

“Good,” he rumbles, “because I am going to fuck you right here every morning before breakfast.”

“Every morning?” Your breath hitching at the idea this might be something more than a one-time moment of madness.

“Oh yes,” he murmurs into your skin, “I want to spend every moment I can with you, beside you, inside you,” his tone smoky, and with that last word, he slips inside you, your responding moan so loud he huffs amused. “The noises you make, it's the same as years ago, so exquisite,” he smiles into your hair, the heated stretch as he opens you up, always so breathtaking.

“Feels so good,” you pant lightly as he bottoms out inside you—a solid weight pressing in all the right places.

“Yes, you do, my love,” the term of endearment slipping from his lips so casually, sounding so perfectly natural to your ears, you reach back and grab his left hand in yours, missing the sound your wedding rings used to make when you did so in days of old.

But then he starts to move inside you, and there are no more coherent thoughts in your head—just his name tumbling from your lips and his hands moulded to your body.

Nine weeks later

The hardest person to explain it all to is your daughter. 

Everything snowballed so fast after that fateful day, you and Benedict spending every spare moment you could together—even sneaking into each other's homes after Emilia’s bedtime. It was no longer just sex; it was something much, much more. It's when she awakes one night and almost catches sight of him working in your home office while you sleep that you both realise the time has come.

Benedict turns up at your place as agreed. You open the door to him and place a lingering kiss on his cheek as he sweeps in, holding a bunch of your favourite flowers and a gift bag for Emilia containing all her favourite sweets. 

“Bribery, what a genius idea,” you laugh quietly into his ear, knowing Emilia can see you both from her vantage point at the dining table, doing some colouring in.

“Daddy!” she calls out effusively when she looks up, jumping out of her chair and running over.

Benedict hands you the flowers and gift to pick up Emilia, swinging her up into his arms as her little hands wrap around his neck.

“What are you doing here?” her ask is one of happy confusion. “It's not one of your days.”

“Indeed it's not,” he smiles indulgently as you reach over and tuck a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Mummy and I here have some important news,” he adds, looking at you askance with an almost bashful smile.

“Let’s all go and sit,” you suggest, gesturing towards the living room as you place the flowers and gift bag on the kitchen island. Emilia won't release her grip, so Benedict walks with her in his arms. She only lets go when he reaches the sofa, snuggling against him as soon as he sits, grabbing one of her favourite cuddly toys from the sectional arm as she does so.

“I'm so happy you are here, Daddy,” she beams, and you already feel misty-eyed as he subconsciously places a hand over his heart and agrees with her sentiment.

You initially take a seat on the chaise at an angle from them, but Benedict shoots you a puzzled puppy dog look and pats the cushion next to him. So, with slight apprehension, you swing around to sit next to him, and he slides a hand onto your knee, which doesn't go unnoticed by your eagle-eyed daughter on his other side.

“Why are you touching Mummy like that?” she frowns. A tiny part of your heart cracking at the realisation that she has never known the love you once shared—the one you are rebuilding slowly, piece by piece, day by day.

“Remember I said that Mummy and I have some news?” Benedict begins softly, his long fingers wrapping all the way around to caress the crease at the back of your knee, a nervous tick of his you recall like a ghost from the past.

“Yes...” she responds warily, tugging on the ears of her toy, instinctively concerned.

“Well… Mummy and I have been spending time together as we used to when you were a baby,” he explains slowly, “and we really like each other again.” His lips twitch a beguiling smile as he turns briefly to look at you, his earnest face melting the anxious lump burning behind your ribs. “That means we touch each other and hug and kiss.”

“Emilia,” you join in, your voice a little tremulant. “How would you feel if Mummy and Daddy started spending time with you together rather than apart?”

She perks up, and she stops her fidgeting. “Really?” the hopeful tone makes your emotions bubble up again.

“Yes, really,” he replies. 

“Every evening?” her hands clapping together with glee, climbing wholly into Benedict's lap. “Please, mummy?” she begs, the eyes she inherited from him pleading with you insistently as if the decision rests purely with you.

“If that is what you both want, then yes,” you offer tentatively, your look drifting from her to him.

“I want nothing more in the whole world,” he states sincerely, his gaze never leaving yours, his Adam's apple bobbing with a thick swallow as he does so. You can’t look away from those soulful eyes, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

“Do you love Mummy, Daddy?” Emilia cuts in, breaking the hypnotic trance, looking at him expectantly.

“I never stopped,” he confesses truthfully, the hand on your knee feeling weightier somehow, the lump in your chest appearing again, but this time it's the furthest thing from anxiety. “We just lost our way for a little while, that’s all,” he says as much for you as your daughter. “Everything is working out as it always should have,” he ends, his tone wavering with emotion.

“Will we all live together?” she enthuses.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely believing it yourself. It's something you had discussed just a few days ago, the realisation this was very real coming to you both. “We will. Soon. We just have some things to sort out first.”

“Where would you prefer to live, Emilia?” Benedict queries. “We will keep both houses for now. So you can decide for Mummy and Daddy.”

“Is this where you lived when I was a baby?” she asks, pointing at the ground.

“No darling, Daddy and I sold that when we split up as part of the agreement we signed.” You see him wince at the memory, his fingers gripping your knee tighter reflexively. “But that is okay; that is the past. We want somewhere better for our future together anyway,” you assure, feeling the weight of his doting stare as you speak but keeping your attention fixed on Emilia.

She nods sagely, her little brain absorbing everything you say with the fearsome intellect she possesses. Then she swings over the arm Benedict has looped around your knee and clambers limbfully into your lap. You accept her embrace, grateful and relieved, Benedict's arm releasing your knee to slide behind your head, grabbing your shoulder, and pulling you both into his arms. 

“I think we should all live here,” she nods decisively. “I like my room here better than at Daddy's; it's bigger,” she explicates, a touch sheepishly. 

Benedict and you laugh together at her flawless reasoning, your heart melting as he nuzzles into your hair.

“I do believe the lady has spoken,” he chuckles, his lips grazing your ear.

And thus, it is decided.

Two weeks later

You ask Emilia to keep the news under wraps until her sixth birthday party two weeks later. Agreeing that if she does, she could be the one to break the news to your families—a bribe, indeed, but an effective one. Eloise is the only person with any inkling and has seemingly kept it secret, so this will likely be shocking news to many.

The night before the party, after Emilia is safely tucked up in bed, you are sharing a bath in your oversized tub.

“Is there anything else we need for tomorrow?” his question lazy as you lean back against him, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your tummy under the water.

“Hmmm, the cake and balloons should be delivered in the morning; I think everything is in hand,” you hum, closing your eyes and resting on his shoulder.

“I was thinking…” he begins.

“Uh oh…” You interject cheekily, popping your eyes open as he tickles your diaphragm in playful retaliation.

“Yes, yes, I know, brains are your thing…” he grumbles good-naturedly, “but I was thinking long-term; perhaps we should start to look for a new place? If we sell both of ours, we could get something nice right around here, with a big garden for Emilia, perhaps a home office and art studio space for me. And you know…. more bedrooms,” the last two words uttered in a throatier register, those fingers spidering lower under the water into the patch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“More kids?” your breath catching.

“Yes, didn't we always say we would have three?” he murmurs, his lips on your earlobe, sucking gently. Weirdly, the discussion of it all - buying a place together, having more kids - seems entirely natural, not jarring, even though you are less than three months into your new dynamic.

“That was when we were in our twenties, Ben,” you point out, but it fades into a hitching, needy sound in the back of your throat as his lips map the cord of your neck and his fingertips slide over your clit. 

“And are you saying at the ripe old age of thirty-four, we are past it?” he checks, bemused.

“Thirty-three for me, thirsty five for you, old man,” you point out, attempting a dry tone but mostly just breathy as he teases you expertly.

“I was averaging,” he states, pressing harder so you moan loudly.

“You are never average,” you flatter, rapidly losing the ability to converse.

“I love how I can just shut off that brain of yours doing this,” he exhales gustily into your ear, his fingers circling insistently.

“Shut up and fuck me,” you groan.

“With pleasure,” he simpers, suddenly looping his arms around your knees to pull you open so he can slip inside you.

The following day

Emilia can barely contain the secret as the various members of the frankly enormous Bridgerton clan arrive. Your family, consisting of your parents and just one sister, is tiny in comparison, even as she strolls in with her boisterous boys and harried-looking husband in tow.

“What is with Emilia today?” she queries, ever the sharp observer, as she hands you a cheese board she has brought.

“Birthday excitement?” you shrug, finding a space for her contribution on the snack table as you attempt to sound non-committal.

“Hmm,” her mien thoughtful, “it seems more than that. I wished her a happy birthday, and her response was, ‘Oh, thank you, auntie, I almost forgot.’”

“I'm sure she was joking,” you placate. “Help me plate up the sausage rolls?” An intentional distraction. “Colin just turned up; I'm not sure the hundred I have baked are enough.”

A couple of hours later, food has been consumed, the birthday song has been sung loudly, and the cake cut and eaten. Music plays in the garden, and an alarmingly large gaggle of kids are all bouncing over-zealously in the small bouncy castle you have rented as Benedict materialises at your side. It seems strange that his hands do not slide around your waist, but the announcement has yet to be public, so he maintains a respectful distance.

“You think there is a child capacity on that thing?” You nod at the colourful inflatable taking up a good third of your compact garden.

“Simon claims to have it in hand,” he breezes.

“And you believe him?” you skew your mouth into a slant.

“He’s rich enough; he can pay everyone off if there are injuries,” Benedict smirks, and you can't help but giggle into your wine glass.

Just then, Emilia comes running towards you, out of breath from bouncing. “Is it time, Mummy, Daddy?” she effuses. 

Sharing a glance, you nod, and Benedict fishes his phone out of his pocket to turn down the music, then borrows your wine glass, tapping a knife against it to draw everyone's attention.

“Everyone,” he calls, “our beautiful birthday girl has a different but very special announcement.”

All the adults turn their attention, even as the excited childish squeals from the bouncy castle continue in the background. 

“Mummy and Daddy have some news they want me to share,” she begins as your eyes drift over to Eloise. 

“What could it possibly be, Emilia?” Eloise goads, her face so smug you almost want to shake her. You settle for a pointed stare instead.

“Mummy and Daddy… are in love again!!!!” Emilia yells. “We are moving in as a family!” She then bows deeply for her assembled audience, no doubt expecting rapturous applause.

The assembled, shocked, and quiet faces confuse her, and she twists to look at you both for reassurance. “Did I do it wrong?” she asks, her little face screwing up in confusion. 

“No, no darling, it was perfect,” you reassure, stroking her hair. 

Benedict reaches down and hauls her into his arms, giving her the comfort she needs, and she buries her face in his neck, her translucent costume fairy wings slightly obscuring his face from everyone.

“Are you serious?” Kate pipes up cautiously as if a spokesperson for all those gathered, Anthony shooting her an incredulous sideways look that she, of course, completely ignores.

“Yes,” Benedict confirms, shuffling Emilia sideways to his hip and wrapping the arm not holding her around your back. “About three months ago, we were reunited by accident.” Gratefully, he fogs over the details. You are not sure a misdialed masturbation call should be the start of any anecdote at a family gathering. “And… things progressed rather rapidly,” he admits, giving you a quick sideways smile and a squeeze of your waist, “and here we are…”

“You’re in love again?” Violet checks, her hands clenched hopefully over her heart.

“Yes,” you nod to her, turning back to look at Benedict, “very, very much so.” 

She starts the applause, which soon ripples out to everyone as they absorb the news. From over by the bouncy castle, there is a supportive whistle from Simon as he effortlessly frees one of his offspring wedged in an upside-down position before giving the thumbs up.

Benedict nuzzles your temple, and you know you are blushing as he echoes a gentle “very, very much so” in your ear before the assembled masses move in to offer you their congratulations in turn.

Twelve weeks later

You are idly clicking through houses on Rightmove on a Tuesday evening when a wave of nausea hits you so violently that you barely make it to the downstairs cloakroom toilet in time. Same as the previous day.

“I’m never letting you convince me that tacos from a food truck are a good idea, ever again,” you grouse as you re-emerge into the hallway after splashing your face and rinsing your mouth.

“We ate the same thing on Sunday, and I’m perfectly fine,” he points out as he reaches the bottom step of the staircase, having finished reading Emilia's bedtime story.

“Well, I'm sick as a parrot,” you lament, dabbing your forehead with a damp flannel you snagged. “And I'm so hot. I've been feeling off for two days on the trot. Mornings and evenings. I swear I've been poisoned…”

He suddenly goes very still, and your brow knits.

“What?” Your confusion grows as he appears to be doing mental arithmetic, touching his fingers.

“Aren’t you late?” he says quietly, looking up from his hands with the oddest but sweetest expression.

“What do you… Oh…” you trail off, and suddenly, your whole body runs even hotter.

OH.

“Are you?” his whisper so hopeful but reticent.

“I… I could be…” You stutter, a little blindsided. It's the best you can offer. 

He pulls you into him, surrounding you, cupping your jaw, his eyes always so expressive. “We should find out,” he murmurs.

“The big Sainsbury's should still be open,” you blurt, unsure of what else to say.

He tilts his forehead against yours with an amused huff at your eminent practicality. “You stay here with Emilia; I’ll go,” he smiles, kissing your lips tenderly before backing away and grabbing his wallet and car keys from the hallway table.

Within the hour, you are staring at a white and blue stick again. Dumbfounded by the news, just as you were almost seven years ago.

“Fuck me…” You sigh under your breath, belatedly realising you really shouldn't have been as cavalier with your Pill taking; now you are having sex regularly again.

“I think that's the probable cause, yes,” he jests softly, charmingly treading on eggshells until he can fully gauge your reaction.

You break into giggles, rolling your eyes but collapsing into his arms, and his relief is palpable. 

“I know it's so soon, and we only talked about it in theory… but…. God, I’m so happy,” he admits into your hair, pulling back to look in your eyes. “Are you?”

“I'm feeling a million different things,” you answer honestly, then reach up to hold his face, “but yes, I'm happy, Ben. A little shocked, considering I thought it was just bad tacos, but happy.”

His responding smile is sunlight and pure devotion.

“I love you,” he declares, heartfelt, simple, genuine. It's not remotely the first time he has done so since you reunited, but it feels particularly appropriate.

“I love you too.”

Two weeks later

Benedict takes you to dinner in Covent Garden after a house viewing. You both know it’s the one you will buy. A handsome Victorian detached with dual bay windows that felt like home the minute you walked in, even before you laid eyes on the expansive mature gardens and the all-glass extension that would be the perfect art studio for him.

Only when you stroll past a fancy bank after dinner do you clock the date on a glowing display; it's the anniversary of the fateful day you met at a party seven years ago. 

But, fifteen minutes later, it's still a complete surprise when he gets down on one knee, Thamesside, the city twinkling around you.

“Marry me once more, y/n? Please? Be Mrs Bridgerton, again?” 

There was only ever going to be one answer.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23

[starlightkun]

➠ word count: 4.5k ➠ warnings: cursing, suggestive (no smut but they’re in love and horny lol) ➠ genre: fluff, established relationship, former hockey captain sungchan, chronically ill reader (chronic migraines), shortfic in the buzzer beater series (comes after saltwater smiles), some minor angst again but it’s about like growing up and being a human and finding your place and purpose as an adult, not between our couple or anything ➠ extra info: the reader in this has chronic migraines, which i have. when the reader’s migraines, experiences as a chronically ill person, and thoughts about being chronically ill are described, that is me writing directly from my own life. i am not generalizing the lives of all people with chronic migraines/chronic illnesses, but i am sending all my love to any readers out there living with a chronic illness, and here’s a reminder to go take your meds! ➠ series masterlist

“It feels like I can’t ever move on from this. From being Sungchan the hockey captain. I know you were just joking when you said it but—I don’t want to actually be that guy that peaked in college.”

“Yo, tell them about the championships against the Sharks, Sungchan!” Your colleague, Seunghan, insisted, pushing on your fiancé’s shoulder with his hand that held a drink.

Sungchan looked down at his feet for a moment, and you caught a quick flash of hesitation on his features before he looked back up at the group of enthralled people and gave a lighthearted chuckle and charismatic smile. “I’ve already told that story tonight, I’m sure everyone here doesn’t want to hear it again. Besides, don’t you all want to hear about Y/N’s paper?”

You two were at a rather ritzy gathering being thrown by your department celebrating that one of your articles had been chosen for publication in a huge literary theory journal.

“Anton wasn’t here when you told it earlier!” Seunghan shook a grad student instructor in your department. “And we’ve all read her paper like a hundred times before it got published.”

You reached up to squeeze Sungchan’s arm through his suit jacket. “It’s okay, Channie. I want to hear about it. That was championships your junior year, right? I wasn’t there, remember?”

He focused his gaze down on you for another second as if making extra sure, and you nodded and gave him a smile for good measure. He sighed, wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and began the story, much to all your colleagues’ delight.

A little later in the night found you by the drinks table with Ten. When you had moved back to your old college town to accept a position with the Literature department, you hadn’t expected to walk in on your first day and see a familiar face. Sure, you knew you’d be seeing Dr. Son, who was the department head now and had conducted your interview, and several of your old professors, but you’d been keeping up with most of your old schoolmates and as far as you knew, Ten had moved away after you two finished your two-year master’s program and remained there.

Ten swirled his cocktail around his glass before taking a sip, his eyes trained on your fiancé, who was still surrounded. “Why do I never get that treatment?”

“Maybe you should’ve been captain,” you snickered, taking another sip of your soda.

“Too much work.” Your friend wrinkled his nose. “So what is your man doing these days anyway? He get that PhD in molecular biology about fish or whatever?”

“Yep, he’s a whole doctor,” you told your coworker, looking over at your guy with pride. “Defended his thesis last spring, we did a short stint abroad for about a year for him to study some rare fish in the tropics to cure a rare blood disease. I enjoyed all the food and the sun, really. He probably got skin cancer. And now we’re back here. He’s actually doing his post-doc research here, too.”

“He’s curing blood diseases in tropical fish?”

“No, sorry, in people,” you covered your mouth as you laughed. “Somehow, the fish could help cure a human blood disease, I’m not sure about anything past that.”

“And you’ve got a fat rock on your finger,” he teased, grabbing your hand to inspect your engagement ring. “What a power couple.”

You giggled, letting him look over the ring. “Yeah, something like that. He proposed when we were abroad. God, it was the most gorgeous sunset. Just us, nice and quiet.”

“I’m invited to the wedding, right?”

“Duh. We just haven’t sent invites yet, bitch.” You pushed him with your foot, rolling your eyes. “It’s going to be a certified frat party, I’m afraid.”

“Kegger?” Ten grinned.

“I’m enlisting Taeyong and Kun to keep all you menaces in check for me.”

“Well yeah, you can’t trust your Chenle-of-Honor to do that, he’ll be the first up to do a kegstand.”

You laughed heartily at that. “A few years ago, probably. But I’m happy to report my man-shaped best friend has grown into a real adult.”

“Really? What’s the little monster doing?”

“Middle management in advertising at a designer company. He’s got his eye on a promotion soon, though. Oh, and he’s got the cutest little dog.”

“Speaking of little monsters…” Ten trailed off, eyeing your drink, then your abdomen. “No alcohol?”

“I can’t drink on my medication, remember?” You shook the ice around in your glass smugly.

“Damn!”

As you rode home with Sungchan, your hands entwined over the console, you looked out the passenger window with contentment in your chest.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he sighed, stroking a thumb over the backs of your fingers.

“For what?” You turned to look at him curiously.

His features were pensive and regretful as he focused on the road in front of him, one hand on the steering wheel. “For being a distraction all night. Everybody was asking me about hockey the whole time when all the focus should’ve been on you and your awesome article. I’m sorry, I'll completely understand if you just leave me at home next time.”

“Channie, why the hell would I do that?” You asked through incredulous chuckles, turning to hold his hand with two hands. “Celebrating my accomplishments would mean nothing if I didn’t have you there with me.”

“But I just—”

“Admittedly, I didn’t expect there to be so many puckheads in the Lang department,” you shrugged. “But I know where we work, and you are a bit of a hometown celebrity around here, baby.”

“That sounds like something you’d call somebody who peaked in high school.”

“Right, my bad. You peaked in college.”

“Rude.” He knocked your elbow with his, making you laugh.

“I’m kidding, handsome. But I am proud of you. I snagged a good guy, and I am not going to hide you away when I go to these events just because people are going to ask about your hockey career.”

“It’s not fair to you.”

“I appreciate you trying to put the focus back on me tonight, I really do.” You squeezed his hand. “But when Seunghan said everybody in the department had read my article hundreds of times, he meant it. They all helped proof and revise it dozens of times each. I was tired of reading it by the time it was accepted if I’m being honest with you. Hearing about your hockey game was a welcome reprieve from thinking about the body as a critical site for sex, gender, and political ideology in M. Butterfly.”

“Do you mean that or are you trying to make me feel less like a dick?”

“I mean it, baby boy.” You pinched his cheek.

He squirmed in his seat as he slowed to a stop at a red light. “You never call me that anymore…”

“Seems like you needed it.”

“Hey,” he said softly, turning his head to look at you. “I love you.”

“I know.” You cupped his cheek, stroking his cheekbone fondly. “I never doubted that for a second, baby.”

Sungchan leaned across the console to press his lips to yours, cradling the back of your head. You hummed delightedly into the kiss, moving your mouth against his sweetly.

When you felt the car suddenly roll forward, you jerked back, gripping his arm with a yelp. “Channie!”

He was already grabbing the steering wheel with two hands and slamming on the brakes again. “Fuck! Sorry!”

The car had moved forward less than half a meter and you were the only car at the intersection, but it was enough to get your heart racing.

“Are you okay, baby?” Sungchan checked on you with wide eyes, keeping one hand on the wheel as he reached his other hand over to grab your knee.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” You put your hand over his to reassure both of you. The light turned green then. “Let’s just uh, get home in one piece, hm?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He patted your thigh, leaving his hand there as he slowly started the car forward again.

“Channie?” You called out into the house, shrugging off your coat. You’d stayed a bit late to grade papers, and while Sungchan would’ve usually stayed to walk home with you, he had wanted to get a head start on cooking dinner.

“Pantry!” He yelled back, voice distant as he was presumably deep in the walk-in pantry.

You continued shuffling through the mail you’d grabbed on your way in as you walked further into your house, tossing the junk mail in the trash as you fished out the one packet that had caught your attention. Stopping at the doorway to the pantry, you tore open the thick packet. Skimming the letter and investigating the two lanyards inside, you informed your fiancé, “Donghyuck’s team is having a preseason scrimmage at the university, and he sent us VIP passes.”

Sungchan stuck his head back out of the pantry. “So that’s why he asked for our address the other day.”

“When did you talk to Hyuck?” You asked as he gently took the letter and lanyards from your hands.

“He called me out of the blue a couple weeks ago. I was at the gym before work and completely forgot by the time I got home, sorry, baby.” He flipped over the passes hanging from the lanyards, bright green and dark black, the colors of the professional hockey team that Donghyuck had gone on to play for after college. “I thought he was going to crash on our couch or something, not this.”

“He’s a pro hockey player making like millions a year and you thought he was going to ask to couch surf?”

“You think he wouldn’t?”

“Good point,” you chuckled. “So how was he? Sound like he was doing well?”

“You said it yourself, he’s a pro hockey player making millions a year. I’m sure he’s doing great.”

You frowned up at him. “You didn’t ask?”

“It was a quick conversation, he’s busy,” Sungchan shrugged and handed everything back to you, disappearing into the pantry again. “We barely had time to say hello.”

“We should go,” you declared, setting the lanyards down in a spot so you two wouldn’t lose them.

“Baby, it’s a Friday. That’s our date night.”

“We can miss one date night for this, Channie,” you scoffed. “Besides, I’ve never heard of Jung Sungchan not wanting to go see a hockey game. Are you sure you’re my Sungchannie? Were you replaced by an alien or something?”

Sungchan kept his back to you as he started chopping vegetables. “Never mind, you’re right. We should go.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously, but didn’t push the issue further. “Alright...”

Sat back down in familiar bleachers, you hugged Sungchan’s arm tightly, buzzing with excitement. As much as you had loved watching Sungchan play hockey when you were younger, there was something special about watching it with him, having him explain plays, tell you if a player made the right call, or how he would have done it if he had been captain. Being able to see the sparkle in his eye up close as he watched one of his favorite things. You’d seen it plenty of times in the years that you stayed local while he got his PhD. Which is how you knew that something was wrong now, even as he tried to flash a smile at you every so often, ones that never reached his eyes. He didn’t join in the cheers very enthusiastically, and never engaged when the other guys around him tried to debate calls that the refs made.

You found out that the whole team from your senior year had been invited as well, though some of them couldn’t make it. So it was you, Sungchan, Mark, Ten, Jeno, and Chenle in the VIP section. Yangyang was staying abroad with his parents, while Sicheng was at a seminar for work. Chenle was of course invited as an honorary member of the team, fresh off a plane from Paris with that promotion in his pocket.

Donghyuck was Good. He had been great when he was on the Raptors, obviously, which was how he had gotten scouted to go pro, but now he was great. And this was just a preseason scrimmage, just him messing around. You were sure he was scary good when he was actually trying at their real games. He’d kept his old number from college, 66, and seemed to have his own legion of fans with posters and signs.

When the game was finally over—and Donghyuck’s team won—a representative from the team corralled everyone with the VIP lanyards and directed you towards a different area while the rest of the stands filtered out. You kept your hold on Sungchan’s hand as you waited in what you were pretty sure was the women’s locker room for your old friend.

Finally, Donghyuck ran in, and everyone immediately swarmed him, hooting and hollering, slapping him on the back, ruffling his hair, and making teasing remarks about being a big shot now.

“Mark!” Donghyuck threw his arms around his old Big’s neck, nearly knocking his friend over.

“Christ, dude,” Mark wheezed, stumbling back a couple steps. “Are you still wearing your gear or something?”

“Did you not keep up with our lifting regiment?” Donghyuck shamelessly felt up Mark’s arms, then gasped dramatically. “Am I the Big now?”

Mark swatted his hands away. “If you want to pay for all my beer and drive me around in your Lamborghini or whatever, sure.”

“Deal!” The pro player grinned, then turned to the next person, who happened to be you. “Y/N!”

“Hyuck!” You beamed, opening your arms wide for him to throw himself at you as well, only staying up since Sungchan was right behind you to catch you. “Hey, there! God, I can’t believe it! You killed it out there!”

“Thanks!” He let go of you with one arm to wrap it around Sungchan’s neck, pulling him into the hug with both of you. “Oh, it makes me so happy that you two are still together! Are you engaged? Married? Kids? I didn’t have time to ask Sungchan when I called the other week, I was heading into an interview.”

You leaned back as much as he would let you, just enough to show off your ring. “He proposed last year. We’re— eugh!”

You were cut off by Donghyuck tugging you two against him into a tight embrace again. You gave him a pat on the back as you continued, slightly choked with your throat pressed against his shoulder. “We’re looking at a spring wedding…”

“I love you guys so much…” Donghyuck sighed. “All of you. I hope you know that hasn’t changed.”

“We know that, Hyuck.” You coughed, rubbing his back. “Make sure we have your address so we can send you an invite, okay?”

“What did I tell you, Y/N? In undergrad?”

“You told me a lot.” You laughed as he finally let you and Sungchan go. “Some stuff you probably don’t want me to repeat right now.”

“I said you guys were soulmates. I knew you were gonna get married. I knew it.”

“Oh yeah, you did.” You squeezed his hand that he still had a grip on. “Hey, when you retire from pro hockey, you can be a fortune teller.”

“Don’t joke about that, I’m the star player, haven’t you heard?” Donghyuck was practically puffing out his chest. “I’m years off from retirement!”

Sungchan grabbed him by the scruff then, teasingly mussing up his hair. “What did we always tell you about bragging?”

Ten, Jeno, and Mark eagerly joined in on giving him a killer noogie, the four of them managing to keep him in place despite Hyuck being the only one who had remained a professional athlete.

“Ack!” Donghyuck complained as he was surrounded. “Y/N! Chenle! Somebody, help!”

“Promise you’ll buy us dinner with your star player money,” Chenle crossed his arms over his chest as he watched on, “and maybe Y/N and I will convince them to leave you alone.”

“Yeah!” Jeno agreed. “Dinner and drinks and we’ll consider!”

“This is extortion!” Donghyuck yelped.

“Glad to see some things don’t change…” You sighed, shaking your head. “You guys still pick on him.”

“He needs an ego check,” Jeno snorted, his arm now around Donghyuck’s neck.

“I was going to take you all out to dinner anyway!” Donghyuck pleaded. “Didn’t you people read the letters?”

“It was in the letter, guys,” you confirmed loudly.

The guys all looked at each other, slowly releasing their holds on the youngest. With sweet, proud smiles, they fixed his hair and straightened his branded hoodie back up, smacking his shoulder and patting his cheek between compliments of how well he played and specific moves he did, giving feedback on certain things he could improve on still. Donghyuck rolled his eyes at the constructive criticism, but you could see him struggling to suppress the fond curl of his lip at being surrounded by his old teammates again.

When you finally got home that night, you felt about ready to collapse into bed. You had a tired, happy smile on your face from seeing all your old friends again, and haphazardly tossed your go bag to the side before stepping out of your shoes. Sungchan didn’t follow you into the bedroom, as you had expected. You heard him detour to the kitchen, and your ears perked up with interest as you changed into your pajamas.

Sungchan didn’t just get a glass of water, though. You heard him rooting around in the snacks, and that’s when you got concerned. You had just eaten dinner and had drinks, and he had plenty of bar snacks as you all hung around and caught up after finishing dinner. He shouldn’t be scrounging for a midnight snack already.

After tossing your dirty clothes in the hamper, you ventured out to the kitchen determinedly. Sungchan hadn’t yet found something to eat, a frustrated pout on his face as he pulled out box after box, but didn’t open any.

“Hungry?” You asked curiously, leaning against the fridge.

“No,” he sighed, setting the container of crackers down loudly then rubbing his face harshly.

You held your hand out towards him, and he took it immediately. You led him back through your house by the hand, into your bathroom and let go there. Walking back out through the house, you grabbed his desk chair from your joint home office, and pulled it into the bathroom. He was standing exactly where you left him, and let you wordlessly push him down by the shoulders to sit in the chair. Washing and drying your hands, you then readjusted the chair, making sure he was exactly where you needed him. Then you climbed onto his lap facing him, the two of you perpendicular to your bathroom vanity. You grabbed a fuzzy character headband from one of your drawers and put it on him, pushing his hair back from his face.

“I—”

“Shh.” You stopped him as soon as he opened his mouth, putting your own headband on.

Next, you grabbed your cleanser.

“What—”

“Shh,” you repeated with more emphasis, holding his eye contact firmly, until he gave up and closed his mouth, letting his head fall back against the head rest.

You meticulously went through your whole extended skincare routine, doing each step first on Sungchan, then on yourself. He finally gave up on trying to talk, then finally relaxed, then really relaxed, his eyes fluttering shut and a pleased hum rising in the back of his throat.

“All done, handsome,” you announced at the end, giving his cheeks a final squish between your hands, then pulling off his headband and fluffing up his hair.

Sungchan slowly opened his eyes, reaching up to take your headband off as well.

You smiled down at him. “How are you feeling, Channie?”

“Better, thank you, baby,” he replied quietly.

“You want to talk about it?”

He couldn’t look you in the eye. “About what?”

“Whatever’s been getting you bummed lately. You weren’t all there tonight, I could tell. And the day we got the passes, you didn’t even want to come in the first place. That’s not like you.” You put both your headbands aside on the counter, then stood up off him. “You get changed into your pajamas, I’ll tidy up in here. We’ll talk in a few minutes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He nodded, getting up and grabbing the chair to drag back with him.

You wiped down the bathroom counter and tidied up all your bottles and containers, listening to the sounds of Sungchan getting ready in the next room over. When you walked back into your bedroom, you were thrown for a loop as you couldn’t see your fiancé for a moment. You found him in your living room, sitting on your couch and holding a picture frame that usually lived on one of the end tables.

Sitting down beside him, you looked at the picture with him. It was of you two at his last collegiate hockey game, him still in his uniform as he picked you up and spun you around, bright smiles on both your faces. His face now was brooding, jaw clenched and eyes hard as he continued staring at it.

“You got me that for our first anniversary,” you commented softly. “I love that picture.”

“I do too,” he sighed, though his tone was much more bitter than his words.

“Talk to me, Channie,” you murmured. “What’s going on?”

“It feels like I can’t ever move on from this.” He shook the frame. “From being Sungchan the hockey captain. I know you were just joking when you said it but—I don’t want to actually be that guy that peaked in college.”

“Oh, Channie...” you breathed out, draping an arm across his back and leaning your cheek against his shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize...”

“It’s not you, baby,” he assured you, squeezing your knee. “It’s everything else. Like I try to do anything else, be anything else, but I’m just dragged back into that stupid jock box again.”

“Well, what do you want to be?” You asked as you sat back up, rubbing up and down the center of his chest soothingly. “Not what you think other people want you to be, or what you think you should be. What do you actually like? What do you want to do? Do you still like hockey? Outside of everybody’s opinions about you liking hockey? It’s okay either way, for you to still like it or not. It was the biggest thing in your life for like twenty years, baby. It’d be ridiculous to expect you to just suddenly not like it as soon as you graduated.”

“Do you really want a husband that just talks about sports all the time while you’re talking about smart stuff?” He sighed, letting his eyes close as he leaned all of his weight against you, his hands dropping to rest the frame in his lap.

“I want a husband that’s you. That’s why I accepted your proposal and not like, Dr. Yoon’s or something.”

“I’m going to assume you’re being hyperbolic to make a point and that my research head didn’t actually propose to you. Because if not, then I’m going to stop pouting and write my letter of resignation right now.”

“I’m trying to make a point here.”

“Which is?”

“You’re really underselling yourself, Channie.” You encouraged him to lay his head in the crook of your neck, not letting up your movements on his sternum. “You’re plenty smart. We’ve been together for almost seven years and I still couldn’t keep track of a hockey game if a gun was to my head. Meanwhile you were a whole captain. You had to make decisions on your feet—or, your skates. Not to mention, hm, oh yeah, you have a PhD in molecular biology. Did you forget about that? Doctor Jung?”

“Oh yeah,” he mumbled into your collarbone.

“Oh yeah,” you mimicked him lovingly. “I nearly flunked my bio for non-majors course my freshman year, you know.”

“What?” He squinted up at you. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“You knew I was a Bio major, you should’ve asked me for help.”

“I kick myself every day for it,” you replied melodramatically, and finally saw a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “So? Do you think you still like hockey or not?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I do. I really do.”

“Good. I’m glad.” You kissed the top of his head. “I want you to do stuff that makes you happy.”

“Coach came and found me at the lab last week... the day we got the VIP passes from Donghyuck. He’s looking for a part-time assistant coach, said I was his first pick,” Sungchan admitted quietly.

“That’s why you were so... off that day, huh?”

“Yeah. It felt like I was handed a pamphlet for a retirement home.”

You chuckled as he reached forward to set the picture down on the coffee table, then grabbed your hand that was on his chest. He looked up at you with heartachingly familiar, big, round doe eyes, ones that hadn’t changed in the ten years since you’d first met.

“I told him no but... I’m thinking maybe I should ask if he’s found someone else yet?”

“I think that’s a great idea, baby.” You pecked his forehead. “Coach Jung… I think I like the sound of that.”

“Yeah?” He grinned, a much different look in his eye as he sat up to his full height, towering over you.

“I don’t know, let me try it again.”

“Go ahead.”

“Coach Jung.” You reached for the back of his neck as he laid you down on your couch, hovering over you. “Yeah, it’s got a nice ring to it, huh? Powerful, sexy. I love a man with a whistle.”

“You’re so dorky,” he snickered, letting you pull his lips down to yours. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my Sungchannie.” You cradled his face with both of your hands.

“Lies.” He kissed your lips. “Impossible.” He kissed your neck.

“Says who?”

“Who has the whistle here?”

“You don’t have one yet,” you teased, holding your arms up for him to pull your shirt off. “Assistant Coach Jung.”

Sungchan kissed a trail down your front, stopping above your waistband. “You’re forgetting something, baby.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a scientist, with a degree and everything, and I say it’s scientifically impossible for anybody to love anybody more than I love my girl.”

You made grabby hands at him, and he rose up from where he had settled between your legs, entirely blocking out the lights above you. You connected your mouths together again, wrapping your arms and legs around him so tightly he had no choice but to lay his entire weight on top of you.

“No fair,” you complained into his mouth. “I just told you I almost flunked Gen Ed bio.”

“You should’ve let me be your sexy tutor, then.” He didn’t sound sympathetic at all.

“Yeah, freshman you all sweaty and nervous in your hockey team hoodie.” You broke apart to giggle. “Real hot stuff, Channie. Literally.”

“You’re lucky you’re the love of my life, or I’d be really hurt at some of the stuff you say to me, you know.”

“You’re right.” You gave him a peck. “I am lucky that I’m the love of your life.”

➠ next | series masterlist | blog masterlist

[talesofesther]

scorch marks | ch 3

Wednesday Addams x Reader

Series Summary: Wednesday has been careful to keep what you two have behind closed doors and far away from labels; but when someone starts to take it — take you — away from her, she realizes how much she cares.

A/N: I'm not sure if I'm completely happy with how this turned out, but that's my life nowadays. And I wanted to post this for you guys before I leave for my little trip for new years, so I hope you enjoy it. Also, I think I ended up writing this one exclusively from Wednesday's pov lol. <3

Masterlist | Read ch 2 here

Human emotions were a strange, bothersome thing. Love could make you kill just as much as anger; ambition could make you get down on one knee to pledge your devotion to someone just as much as love.

They can get in the way of a clear mind, making you say or do something that would come back to torture you later.

That was probably their most devious power. And they lead to feelings; that are messy and unstable.

Wednesday prided herself on having control over them, not the other way around. Or at least she did. Because recently she has been victim to so many, that she didn't have the stomach to keep count.

She remembers the coldness of the rain against her skin as she walked away from Weathervane — away from you — it was pleasant and comforting; a safe blanket as the droplets trickled down her forehead all the way to her chin and hid the few stray tears that escaped her.

Her steps had been fast in desperation to get away. Her throat closed so tightly that she thought having someone choking her would be more bearable. Her heart beating so painfully, that maybe a bullet would've been more merciful.

She walked, and walked, and walked; her feet carrying her to school without realizing it. She was soaked when she stepped into her dorm, making puddles of water with each step she took. She remembers Enid talking, but the words were blurred.

Wednesday had made a beeline to the shower, turning it on with a temperature colder than the rain she had just escaped from.

Some say the second time around is more bearable. This certainly wasn't the case for her.

It was the day Wednesday put an end to whatever was happening between you and her. The day where she hated the most that she was forced to feel her own emotions.

The week that followed wasn't an improvement either.

Your words kept replaying in Wednesday's mind like a broken record; this is not a date, and please can we talk?

What would you have said, had she cared to listen?

Wednesday sat in front of her typewriter every day, staring at the blank paper and being unable to fill it. She'd hit a stump, because maybe she'd never know what you would have said.

You passed by each other in Nevermore's hallways as if you were just two strangers in the street, never to cross paths again. When you stood on one side of the bee keeper's shed, Wednesday stayed in the far opposite one, and if she so much as tried coming closer, you'd drop whatever it was you were doing and walk away. Even if Enid asked, you didn't come to her dorm anymore, prompting the werewolf to ask questions even though she could guess the answer.

Wednesday didn't know it was possible to miss someone this much. She caught herself tracing the lines of her own palm in a motion that was yours to make, brushing the corner of her lips in the place that was yours to kiss. And as much as she hated this feeling with all her might, hated you for forcing it into her, she couldn't chase it away.

It was so sadistically ironic that Wednesday kept you at arm's length in order to avoid attachment and loss, and that's exactly what she got. Maybe this is what Goody was trying to warn her about, that no matter the road she takes, the end will always be the same.

—

Today was a friday, ten days and four hours since the last time Wednesday spoke with you, since she replicated a damn drama cliche with her pitiful walk in the rain. Not that she was keeping count.

She sat at one of the tables on the quad, Enid at her side talking about something she wasn't listening to. The day was gray, morbidly so as the clouds loomed above, dark and cold in a way that Wednesday would've loved if it wasn't for you.

You who sat at the other end of the quad, putting as many tables and obnoxiously loud students between you and Wednesday as you could. You who looked so undeniably beautiful under the shadows. You who was smiling, happy as you laughed with your friends and spared no glances into the crowd to look for anyone.

Were you happier without her?

Wednesday sucked in a sharp breath at the mere thought of it, her lower lip quivering slightly as she exhaled, before she averted her eyes from you with a blink.

She turned to Enid only to find the girl's bright eyes already on her, a knowing smirk on her pink lips; "I won't even ask if you were listening."

"I got bored after the word shopping," Wednesday stated, raising an eyebrow that got Enid rolling her eyes.

"And because you were stalking our resident pretty girl," Enid teased, bumping Wednesday's shoulder with hers.

It was a truth that Wednesday countered with a lie; "I only stalk people who are hiding something or who have something I want, she doesn't fit on any of those."

Enid slumped on her seat, resting her head on her hands as she looked at Wednesday, "you can't keep doing this, Wednesday."

"Doing what?"

"Pretending like you don't care," Enid says then, with the frustration of someone who's just seen their favorite couple from a tv show hit another almost.

"Why would you assume the opposite?" Wednesday asks irritatedly.

Enid gives her best friend a look that could only be read as seriously? before she sits up straighter; "you two went from hanging out in the dorm for hours and sneaking out when you think no one's watching, to staying on different sides of the school and avoiding each other like the plague. Even you have to feel that change."

But I don't want to; Wednesday thinks to herself. Her only response is to look away.

With a sigh, Enid softens; "why won't you just tell her the truth?" She asks gently. The werewolf doesn't know the full story, and when her roommate ignores her questions and neither you nor Yoko will talk, gossip can only do so much; but even a blind person can see that whatever happened, hurt both of you.

Wednesday frowns; "what truth?"

"That you have feelings for her, silly. Like, genuinely more than friends feelings." There's an excited smile on Enid's lips as she says it, eyes glinting with the prospect of a love story.

"That's a horrible idea," Wednesday's face does something complicated, as if she's sorting on how to feel about this — or tasted something sour. "Besides, you know what happened the last time I did something remotely close to that."

And just like that, the muddy waters start to clear, the fog starts to dissipate and Enid understands what is happening — if just a little better.

The blonde reaches out a hand to Wednesday's forearm, squeezing softly; "Wednesday, this is Y/N we're talking about, she's not gonna turn into a murderous monster and break your heart."

Wednesday visibly gulps, her jaw painfully clenched as she felt uncharacteristically small under Enid's gaze.

"Plus I thought you'd be into the whole potential heartbreak thing." Enid teases, fighting back a grin, to which Wednesday can only mumble back;

"Not nearly as fun as I thought it'd be."

Switching her gaze between you and the raven-haired girl by her side, Enid hums; "want my advice?"

"No."

"I'd take my chances if I were you, because I know she genuinely cares about you. A lot."

There was something about the way Wednesday dropped her shoulders slightly, about the way she stole another glance at you as if you had just bought a one-way ticket to another country. It was that bittersweet feeling of a good thing that came to its end way too early.

Enid felt like crying.

"I'm afraid I'm too late, Enid."

—

It wasn't until dinner time — and after much, much insistence from Enid — that Wednesday decided to try and mend her mistake.

The cafeteria was already filled with students when she arrived, in true Nevermore fashion, the place was big and ancient; a meticulously decorated stone-walled room with tables and a kitchen area. Werewolves, Enid's brothers probably, were making a scene near the kitchen; there were gorgons and sirens playing a card game on one of the tables; and you sat with the vampires, with Yoko by your side no less.

Wednesday felt curious eyes on her, undoubtedly her peers wondering why she'd been staring unmoving for so long. A deep breath passed through her lips as she begrudgingly swallowed her pride and took the first step, her boots thudding against the stone floor.

With each of her steps, she repeated the words in her head; can we talk? Do you still wish to talk? Or would it be better, I need to talk with you?

Wednesday decides that fighting a murderous monster would be infinitely easier.

Your eyes locked in on her figure before she even reached you, and Wednesday smiled, a tiny tilt of lips that only you would notice; but you looked away from her before it happened.

Did people care about each other only because they enjoyed the pain that comes with it?

Something akin to panic fluttered inside Wednesday's stomach when you got up from your seat, reaching for your backpack and muttering a few goodbyes to your friends as you walked between the tables. The Addams girl quickened her steps, almost bumping into Bianca and not bothering to turn around when the siren called her out on it.

Wednesday just about managed to stop in front of you before you left for the doors.

Is this what you felt on that day?

Your eyes closed with a sigh, your hands were buried deep in your pockets and there was a rigidness to your shoulders. You were nervous, and even if it wasn't the right time, Wednesday was proud of herself for knowing it.

But having you this close again after so long — not really, ten days aren't that long, yet Wednesday hates that it felt like ages — has its downsides.

Wednesday couldn't speak. The only thing she needed to do, and her words are stuck. Feelings are a pain in the ass to deal with.

Yoko stood by your side, arms crossed over her chest; "do you have anything to say or what?"

She's protective, Wednesday doesn't blame her for it anymore.

Yes, she should say. There's a glint of hope in your eyes when you look at her; Wednesday finds herself wanting to reach out, but she's not sure she's allowed to anymore. She wonders if you missed her as much as she misses you.

"No," is what she says, and it's quite painful.

—

It's well into the night when Wednesday makes her way back to her dorm, the stairs creaking under her boots, a half-moon shining high on the sky being the only source of light.

her insides are twisting with a mix of rage, frustration, self-pity, and something else that's just heavy.

She pushed open the door to her dorm only to find it empty. Enid's bed is unmade and Wednesday's typewriter still has a blank page on it.

Enid had texted Wednesday earlier, something about going out with Ajax and not coming back too soon. The solitude was well appreciated, it gave the Addams girl some much-needed peace to work on her novel. The only problem is that her mind was nowhere near peaceful.

The first thing that caught Wednesday's attention after she walked in was the potted cactus by her window, it looked a little sad, its soil all dry and the color not as green as it should be. Wednesday didn't think twice as she walked to her bathroom, filling a cup with water and gently emptying it into the plant's pot. At least of that part of you, she'd take good care of.

She took off her hoodie next, throwing it on top of her bed. It was pathetic that the simple action got her thinking of you too, of when you'd lounge on there talking nonsense with Thing while she wrote.

How could one person hold so much power over another was beyond Wednesday, especially because she didn't allow it; it just happened. It happened that she kissed you out of impulse, just because she couldn't die without knowing what your lips felt like; or that she kept calling on you more and more after that, feeling a hole in her chest whenever you were away for too long.

It just happened that she fell for you, and maybe it was inevitable, maybe you'd be her doom. But it was her choice to push you away, and she'd be lying if she said it wasn't the one thing she regretted the most.

There was a knock on Wednesday's door that snapped her mind back to reality. She turned around, frowning as she stared at the dark wooden thing, wondering who would seek her out this late in the night.

Honestly? Wednesday should've seen it coming as soon as Enid suggested she should talk with you. She should've known.

She swung open the door only to reveal you on the other side, in plaid pajama pants and a white shirt, hugging yourself because of the coldness of the empty hallways.

Your posture went rigid as soon as your eyes found Wednesday's, it got her wondering if you forgot this was her dorm, if you knocked on the wrong door by accident.

"Hello," Wednesday said as she looked at you, features impassive, her hand tightening around the door handle until her knuckles turned white.

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip before you spoke; "Enid texted me, said you needed help with something. That it was an emergency," you gulped, diving into over-explanation, "and that she wasn't here, so she asked if I could…" You trailed off, your fingers nervously tapping your arm.

Oh. Maybe her roommate wasn't too far off when she said you cared. It was rare the times where anyone would be able to easily read Wednesday's emotions. This was one of them and it wasn't a surprise that you were the cause.

There was a glint to Wednesday's eyes that belonged to you, her features softened in a blink — no more creases to her eyebrows and lips parting in vain when her words got tangled on her tongue — it was the calmness after a raging storm.

Wednesday used to mock the people who spoke about soulmates, about the invisible red string that few ones were lucky enough to find the other end of. But could there ever be any other explanation for the way you set her at ease?

She nodded once, stepping aside so you could walk in.

You were hesitant in the way you did so, as if you didn't belong, and Wednesday hated it — because you did belong, right here by her side. You stood in the middle of her dorm, right between the division of colors to blankness on the round window.

The air felt electric around you. Wednesday chanced a step closer, her gaze casting over every twitch of your expressions; "I do," she started, and a beat passed as she refused to take the last chance to back down and let you go, "I do have something to say."

You scoffed, "that doesn't sound like an emergency," but there was no bite to your tone, almost as if you wanted her to object.

"It is," Wednesday told you, allowing the affection she held for you to drip from every syllable. One more chance, that's all she needed, and maybe she’d tell you just what it is that you do to her.

"Okay."

You had a kindness to you that she was underserving of, Wednesday thought. But maybe she could work her way to it. She raised her chin, striving to keep her heartbeat in check; "I wasn't completely fair last time we spoke, I'll measure my words better if you're willing to talk to me again."

Wednesday said the words as if they were the particularities of a contract, and not an apology to someone who held her cold heart in their hands. She realized it was the wrong thing to say as soon as your features fell.

You took on the glow of the moon effortlessly as it came through the window, it framed the lines of your jaw and cheekbone, all delicate and pretty. You ducked your head, allowing your hair to partially cover your eyes as you nodded a few times. "Great," you mumbled, before taking a few quick steps with intent to go around Wednesday and back to the lonely hallways.

She didn't let you, her cold hand closed around your own as you made to walk past her, keeping you in place in a gesture that surprised both of you.

Having your skin against hers again made Wednesday feel like coming home after a long journey. It's strange that that's what you became to her.

The hold she had on you wasn't strong, you could easily pull your hand away and leave. But you didn't.

"It was unfair of me," Wednesday started, each word tighter than the next as she forced them out. More than anything, Wednesday despised talking about her feelings, but words are all she has now, "the mistake was mine and I will accept the consequences for it. But you should have all cards on the table when making your judgment."

If there was a heaven, you already had your place on it — you turned back around to face Wednesday properly, and without letting go of her hand, you adjusted your hold so that your fingers could intertwine; your thumb tracing random patterns on her skin in a motion that you knew calmed her down. Because you knew how hard this was for her — Wednesday was sure you were an angel in your past life.

The dorm room had never felt this detached from the outside world, as it does now, holding this one moment for you and Wednesday alone.

For a split second, where she allowed herself the luxury of only existing in your presence, Wednesday wondered if this is what real love felt like. She took in a deep breath, feeling your perfume as she did so before focusing her gaze on your joined hands; they fit well together.

"I used to ask myself why I was the one who kissed you first that day." Wednesday hesitated, nagging on the inside of her cheek with her teeth, "and I realized that it's because you make me feel something I never- hardly ever feel when around other people."

Her eyes glanced up at you in a lazy motion, only to find that your eyes never left her once. There was a soft smile on your lips, overflowing adoration. Wednesday was sometimes envious of the way you wore your heart on your sleeve so effortlessly.

"It's an annoying feeling really," the raven-haired girl admitted, raising an eyebrow at you, "I wanted to rip it away from me the first time it happened." Her lips hovered open as she heard her own heartbeat, thunderous as ever, "but the one that came in your absence was much worse."

The passage of time felt equally too slow and too fast. You weren't doing anything. Did she do something wrong?

Wednesday tensed when, carefully, you raised a hand to her face. You were tender in the way that you pushed the black strands of hair behind Wednesday's ear, your fingertips lingering and tracing her cheek before you dropped your hand. As if you'd missed touching her too.

And oh you did, if Wednesday knew just how much, she'd probably be all over you already. "I feel it too," you whispered, a secret confession only for her to hear.

"I know we never talked about what we were, and I'm not asking you to," you spoke calmly, "but you really hurt me, Wednesday, at the very least I thought we were friends."

What if I'd like us to be more? What would you say, is that something you'd ever want too?

Before Wednesday could ask any of the questions she was dying to know the answer to, you asked yours first;

"Did you mean that? What you said?"

And the Addams girl figured that this was a more pressing matter anyway.

Wednesday shook her head with urgency, her hand squeezing yours to keep you in place, "it could never be true." She took a step closer, her boots bumping your sneakers, "hurting you, it's the last thing I'd ever want to do, and I apologize that it happened."

The raw honesty of Wednesday's tone was all you needed to hear to let go of her hand in order to cup her cheeks, pulling her into a kiss that spoke more than any of you ever could.

Wednesday grasped onto your waist almost desperately, her hands bunching up your shirt as she glued your body to hers in a nearly bruising grip, dying to feel the most of you that she could manage. She pressed herself into you, her nose brushing your cheek as her soft lips molded with yours; telling you she'd never miss anyone as much as she misses you, that she'd never feel so strongly for someone as she does for you; that she'd have you until death's cold embrace took her.

Your hands traveled from her jaw to the back of her neck, fingers mingling with the wisps of hair there. You pressed your lips to each corner of her mouth, bumping your noses as you did so, leaving testimonies of your affection each time your upper lip grazed hers; letting her know that she'd ruined anyone else to you, that you'd never feel for someone else, what you feel for her.

Wednesday pulled back just enough to be able to breathe, her forehead brushing yours as you felt more than heard the shape of her words; "let me make it up to you… Please."

You chuckled, tracing the outline of her lower lip with your thumb. It was reddish and just a little swollen, warm to the touch and it was your fault.

It got you smiling, because you could also feel her own smile under your digit; "gladly."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I'd appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment if you want. <3

Wednesday’s taglist: @milkiane @bookfrog242 @heelaechan @imagine-reblog @gayestfeels26 @sakurarukas @bluetreecloud20 @the-night-owl-blr @imlike-so-gaydude @user284747 @dreifhraniquo29 @emeraldevan @witchyhs-blog @tobylikesfire @simp4nat @boobabietch @impossibleliv1031 @deadpool-in-a-snood @rainbow-love4ever @maria-403 @pompompuri @halleest @wandaromanova

@justyourwritter69 @natashaxwife @fieldofsecretss @faunusrubyrose @darkblueeyedperson @jujuu23 @part-timetraveller @athenablack1959 @loki-is-loved @daddy-jareau @lordsisi08 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @simonsbluee @lovemesomemaura @whatawonderfulunsername @r4td0lll @red-havana @rob1nbuckl3ys @incrediblygay37 @panicattheeverywherekid @sometandomstuff333 @panicattheeverywherekid @sometandomstuff333 @wayvjinsol @saintnookling @awolfcsworld @georgi-salva @unforgettwble-sumii @youralphawolf72 @machinesanaloginterface @raiden88 @tani725

[soundspeachytome]

7 minutes in heaven - shohei ohtani au

summary: Y/N snoops around famous football player Shohei Ohtani’s locker in search for a scandal against his clean record but ends up in one herself.

tropes: friends with benefits, friends to lovers(?)

tw: *slight* smut, mentions of sex, oral (f receiving)

word count: 30,033K words (i'm SO sorry in advance holy shit)

hi! it's been a while. when i made this account, i vowed to write at least once a week but it had been so difficult this month juggling work, my chronic migraines, and seasonal depression (lol).

please note i did not proofread this so plsssss i apologize for grammar mistakes and inconsistencies!!

posting this on the last day of 2023, hoping to give everyone a good read before we welcome the new year. so thankful for this small space to try, linger and reset all over again. hope you had a very merry holidays with your loved ones.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

==================================

Locker Lockdown

At around thirty minutes past four in the afternoon, I skimmed the clubhouse for any signs of life. It was only the quiet that prevailed. Clear. 

I tiptoed my way towards the player locker room. I only had around ten minutes to locate the correct locker and take whatever I could find. Discovering the locker area to be empty and unguarded, I felt a surge of excitement. 

Six years later, I couldn’t get my big break and decided sports journalism could catapult me into somewhere big in the industry. This is my last chance to prove myself, otherwise I’d have to reconsider going back home and write Hallmark greeting card messages again. 

Shohei Ohtani’s jersey number is the number 17. Lucky bastard, after all these years and even after going through free agency, he got to keep his famous number, even at the cost of having their senior player give it up for him when he joined the football team. 

And here you might be wondering why I’m doing this aside from my sheer desperation to get an official spot in the workplace and not eat scraps of topics editors discarded for themselves. 

Some people are privileged to a fault.

And I hate seeing him on TV. Or on social media. Or his Colgate-white smile plastered all over my favorite beer and skincare brands. 

Some would say this is the TMZ tabloid level of writing. I say this is investigative journalism. Find out if the famous favorite son-in-law has any flaws of his own and wrap around a bowtie of hidden horrors of sports documentaries. 

And where else can we find this but in the athlete hotpot: their locker room.

I found Shohei’s locker right away as it was the tidiest locker among all on display, with nothing but brand-sponsored clothing hung neatly on the rack. He also donned the top shelf with some dog-eared self-help titles and vitamin bottles. While the rest of the athletes have pictures of their girlfriends, wives and their kids, Shohei has an unreleased polaroid selfie with his dog, Dekopin, just right beside his perfume bottles. Dekopin was looking away, captured in mid-yawn, with his ears raised, and Shohei, smiling into the camera with pursed lips and a snapback on.

I got so immersed into reading the ingredients of his vitamin bottles, trying to find anything remotely related to steroids, or any form of illegal bodily enhancements, that I didn’t notice footsteps from outside the hall.

“What are you doing here?” a voice loomed behind me and I dropped the diet supplement bottle in panic.

Only the sound of the bottle rattling could be heard as I locked eyes with Shohei Ohtani, tall and all muscular. His hair was sweaty and unkempt and his eyes held mild anger and confusion. After the bottle stopped rolling and settled somewhere on the floor between us, there was only silence and the cold sweat building up at my back. 

I swallowed hard. I planned everything from studying the stadium’s entrance and exit doors but I didn’t plan on bumping into him. Not like this. Not when I’m at the lowest level of the social hierarchy right now. 

I could only be ashamed. 

Brain still befuddled at the thought of getting caught, I urged my limbs and picked up the vitamin bottle and returned it back to Shohei’s locker. The plan was not to respond at all and run as fast as I could before the rest of his team arrived. That was the only way to keep whatever dignity I have left. 

“I said, what are you doing here?” He caught my arm mid-exit and pulled me back, tightening his grip. 

“Let go of me.” I struggled to keep my balance and the way my voice wavered was no help at all. 

Shohei saw the camera slung over my shoulder and looked back at me, realization hitting him.

“Y/N, are you a sports journalist now? And were you looking through my stuff?” he said, sounding almost disappointed. 

“That’s none of your business. Let go of me.” I kept my voice steady but his grip only tightened. The sides of my eyes slowly formed tears. 

“What tabloid media do you work for? I should report you. Would you like that? What a shame you’ll be banned from all the games now, right? You nasty journalists just won’t keep your noses away from my business.” he took my camera and deleted all the photos I took of the contents of his locker. I tried to leap for it but he was obviously inches taller than I was and I was no match for that.

“I don’t write tabloid news. If I was, my name would have been all over TV by now.” I grabbed the camera from him and sighed morosely at the lost media. A day’s work is all lost.

“My boss gave me a green light to do a documentary about the team. And the star player.” I wiggled my fingers in front of him, as if to emphasize the word “star” in front of him.

“I came here assuming you and the other players would be here for an interview but no one was around yet. So I hung around a bit and took interest in your nutritional supplements.” Lie after lie after lie. I gritted my teeth and faked a smile. The most convincing lie I’ve learned on almost all my failed dates and relationships was to stroke a man’s ego and have him talk about all the things he is interested in, making him divert his attention to something else. 

“You’ve got really good, um, vitamins for muscle recovery there. Maybe that’s why you got so big and strong, right?.” He looked at me dubiously, nodding responsively to be polite. If he took the bait, then he is obviously just like any other guy I’ve ever met. 

“I mean, I guess? I’ve been doing deadlifts so–”

Approaching footsteps and faint voices were heard from the hall. Shohei pushed me toward the opposite end of the hall, where the showers were located. 

“Wha–” I started but was shut up when he pushed me further into the back of the shower room, swiping the doors closed. 

“Shut up if you don’t want to be caught.” He growled and I recoiled back into the tiled corner. On top of me was the almost rusting shower head who had seen better days, and two bottle pumps for shampoo and body wash. 

Voices and conversations were starting to fill in the locker room that was empty only a few seconds ago. The voices of men echoed through the shower rooms.  You could hear the sound of water turning on from neighboring shower stalls, laughter and tired conversation in the locker area. We were surrounded.

Shohei could be heard laughing with his mates while blocking the door to the shower room I was hiding in. 

“Are you using that, Sho? I could use a hot shower right now.” one of his teammates said. 

“Uh, no, I was just about to use this room, sorry.” he said, almost hesitating. After a few seconds, he entered the shower room and started undressing. 

I widened my eyes and shot him daggers. When he unhooked his shirt from his armholes, I was rendered speechless. 

He had the body sculpted by the gods with his wide shoulders and large pecs that glinted under the light. How could someone look handsome and beautiful at the same time? 

So when Shohei reached for the waist belt of his pants down, I didn’t know why I had choked on a silent scream. I looked away, embarrassed to have reacted like an inexperienced teenager. I have seen and have been with naked men before. This should be nothing new to me and my level. Or so I thought.

I stole a glance at Shohei, who was slowly walking towards me (or to the showerhead, where I stood under, obviously)  in only his boxers on, gazing at me in wild amusement.

We were almost inches apart from each other, foreheads almost touching, breaths almost converging, if you may. If I stand on my tiptoes, I would be almost at his eye-level and I could peck him on the lips if I wanted to. 

If I wanted to.

“Sorry, but I need to shower or someone else will try to take this stall.” His voice broke my salacious thoughts. He looked at me and turned the shower on.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m supposed to. Aren’t I? I just got off practice and I stink.” He said almost sarcastically.

“So I’m supposed to just watch you bathe and hope I get out here alive?” Water slowly dripped into my shirt, soaking my chest and exposing a bit of my underwear. 

“If you didn’t sneak in here, we wouldn’t have this problem.” He concluded and pursed his lips, not looking at me. 

“Shohei? You okay? You sound like you’re talking to someone.” a familiar voice floated into the shower room.

“It was a video on my phone that I forgot to pause, Ippei-san.” Shohei’s face turned red but recovered quickly, glaring at me. 

“Oh, well then, I thought you finally had a girl in there. I was wrong.” Ippei laughed.

Shohei started lathering body wash on his body at the slowest pace possible. His hands glided through his chest, stomach, and into the dick he’s restraining inside his boxers. Simply having this view had me almost whimpering. If it had been another day, I would have obviously enjoyed this, having a sexy man bathe in front of me, because who wouldn’t? But under my circumstances, I’m only fairly annoyed at being a flustered, hot mess and I couldn’t do anything about it. 

“Oh, fuck, now you got me wet.” I blurted a little loudly as the water splashed and got into my socks. 

Shohei’s widened and panicked eyes shot at me.

In between those short seconds, Shohei was able to respond quicker than my brain could. He had faked a laugh and said loudly, “Well, that’s awkward, the video keeps on playing on its own. Let me turn my phone off instead.” gaining laughter from outside the shower area and then reaching for the small of my neck and closed whatever space was seen between us. 

Based on what I had learned in self-defense training, my initial bodily reaction should have been this: If someone is coming at you from the front, a groin kick may deliver enough force to paralyze your attacker, making your escape possible. 1. Stabilize yourself as best you can. 2. Lift your dominant leg off the ground and begin to drive your knee upward. 3. Extend your dominant leg, drive hips forward, slightly lean back, and kick forcefully, making contact between your lower shin or ball of your foot and the attacker’s groin area.

Instead, when his lips touched mine, I felt my arms throw around his neck and pulled him closer. They say we’re all beggars for something, and this indulgence I had let myself be greedy for. 

When his lips reached mine, I parted like the Red Sea almost immediately, welcoming him and everything that he could offer: the taste of his tongue on my mouth, the smell of honey orange and apricot from his body wash seeping through my nose as I peppered kisses on his chest, and his obviously hard dick grinding against my stomach. When I palmed him, he managed a low growl and caught my wrists.

“Not here.” he groaned.

I pushed my head back inquiringly, both of us breathing too hard. 

“I have no condom,” he tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear. Under the dim bathroom light, I could see his face and chest were flushed. “Next time?”

“Well, usually when two old friends meet after a fall out in college, they just catch up and have coffee.” I said.

He laughed and said quietly, “Okay, so I owe you.”

“The coffee or the protected sex?” 

“Uh, it could go a lot of ways.” Before he could say more, I palmed him through his boxer shorts and looked up at him, trying to find his limit.

Shohei bit his own lip and tugged the roots of my hair in a bundle, pulling and tugging from the pleasure. To keep himself from making such ungodly hot sounds, he pushed his tongue down my throat and thrusted his hips back and forth against my hand.

As if to make it even, he unclasped my bra and sucked on my already soaked breasts, a satisfied groan slipped from me. We both pulled and pushed and sucked and kissed each other in the crevices the shower splatters couldn’t reach, silencing the moans before it could escape us.  

In that brief and elating moment, while we muted the noise from unsuspecting people, we smothered each other’s groans and reached our highs in the quietest, most pleasurable way possible. 

=========================================

7 minutes of heaven

It’s strange how I always find myself in the most ridiculous situations. 

The next few occasions that I’d meet Shohei would be wordless and timed interactions in enclosed spaces. We’d see each other in public and pretend we didn’t know each other but slip each other notes of the next place we’d secretly meet. It all felt strangely exhilarating to keep a secret like a fifteen year old would, with all the sneaking and running. 

We’ve explored almost every nook and cranny of the stadium, discovering hidden spots of our rendezvous. We’d meet up in a different bathroom and he’d push me on my back while he fucks me repeatedly on the bathroom sink. Pre-game preps meant I gave him blowjobs in his manager’s office hours and hours before everyone even arrived. 

Of course, when we ran out of places to hide, we’d go as far as looking for the next empty parking lot and tried to fuck each other noiselessly.

“So when can I take you out for dinner?” he had asked one day, when he dragged me out to meet with him around after midnight. I wouldn’t let him inside my apartment and I refused to do the deed in his either, so he’d bring me to places that only us knew, to fuck, to kiss, sometimes to talk, but more often, to drive each other’s pleasure and only that. 

Because god forbid we both catch feelings and lose the fun, right?

So no talking, no sharing of personal details, no anything. 

We were in an empty parking lot, away from the lampposts and streetlights. Shohei had made sure that we were well hidden in the dark. 

He had his legs spread while sitting on the driver’s seat. His hands, warm and wide, rested on my hips and thighs, lightly urging me to ride him slowly.

Soft RNB music played on the stereo, it was a quiet, still night. It was both our day off so he had wanted us to chill and take the sex slowly.

Slow meant gazing at each other’s eyes–gaze, not look–with endearment or adoration, not lust or pleasure. Slow meant thinking the unthinkable thoughts. Slow meant being vulnerable while coming undone.

And I don’t want the slow and quiet moments. I wanted the fast and rough with no time to talk, gaze or even think, just one hundred percent fun and debauchery. 

“Mmm. Maybe when you show me your photos,” I avoided the question but I also knew Shohei would never show me the photos he had taken–past and present. Even when we had been buddies for an entire semester, he had, not once, shown me his portfolio. 

“So probably never, right?” he gazed up at me with his creamy brown eyes, hands caressing my stomach lightly. 

“Probably,” I muttered and with that he had gripped my thighs tightly and moved his hips upwards to meet me. I moaned when he hit me in the right spots. Any sign of softness he had shown a few moments ago was gone, and only the roughness and unsettling disconnection remained. 

This particularly fine day, I would be standing at the mercy of his mouth. He had dragged me to an empty storage room in the east wing of the stadium, hours after practice. According to him, the area stands the exact opposite from the lockers so most people hardly come by. How he had found out about this, I had no idea. 

He was kneeling in between me, my right leg hooked on his shoulder, giving him more access and my hands tugged at the strands of his hair every time he licked my sensitive clit. 

Shohei’s tongue grazing against me had left me quivering in delight. He stands up and kisses me, giving me a taste. My fingers started unbuckling his belt when he felt his phone vibrate. 

“Oops, Ippei’s looking for me.” He pockets his phone, looking forlorn, as if telling me he didn’t really want to go yet. “See you again next time?”

“Yours or mine?” I had asked, brushing up and straightening my wrinkled dress. And when I realized what I had done, Shohei’s eyes shot up and he beamed widely. 

“I just– I- I want a proper night with sex, you know.” I explained, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s so uncomfortable having to go commando at work after you had just literally sucked the life out of my vagina, Sho.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He smiled even more.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

“What? Fuck off.” By this time, my face felt hot and had probably looked red like a tomato, which probably amused Shohei even more. 

“Your place, then. I’ll call you.” he gives me one last kiss then heads out first, leaving me a dazed and pulsating mess.

A shrill sound knocked me awake. It felt like seven thousand screaming hungry babies in my ear, bouncing off around my brain like a pinball. 

I looked at the digital clock on the bedside table and saw the time glinting behind the glass: 8:41 PM. I must've fallen asleep after taking a half day off from work, feeling nauseous and slightly feverish. It seemed that whatever body malaise that I have been carrying inside me earlier had sprung into a full-blown ailment.

 I pushed my body up and walked groggily to the source of my misery. 

Someone was buzzing the doorbell and repeatedly pounding on the door. Great.

“If you’re not dead or dying behind this door, you’re about to be.” I croaked harshly, throat burning; putting all my remaining energy in pulling the door open. I was greeted by an extremely tall man with frantic brown eyes, searching my face.

“Oh, thank fucking god. I’ve been knocking for half an hour.” he wrapped me in a tight hug, I almost collapsed. Partly because of the throbbing headache and overall discomfort that I already felt, but hugely because of the warm minty scent of Shohei Ohtani. 

“Jesus, you’re burning up!”

“What are you doing here?” I said, struggling in his grip, his face resting on the curve of my neck. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“You don’t text someone ‘at least i’ll die happy today knowing that my last meal was shoyu ramen’ and then not fucking reply after.” We were still standing by the entrance, his face now angled towards me, a look of concern or anger mixed in his face, I couldn’t tell. My cerebral cortex functions seemed to have shut down after witnessing this unexpected tenderness. 

“Medicine knocked me down cold.” I shrugged weakly. 

Shohei pulled me into the bedroom and tucked me back in, apologizing for his intrusion, putting down plastic bags of what seemed to be groceries on the kitchen counter, and went back to lightly scolding me for proper texting etiquette to family and friends, to anyone really. That my dark humor doesn’t translate well in messages and that I could have really died and people would think I’m joking but really, he got so scared that he went here as fast as he could.

I don’t remember much but in between fever dreams and my ibuprofen haze, I faintly remember the savory taste of rice porridge exploding in my mouth, the constant dabbing of a cold towel on my face, neck and chest, sometimes, my back, too; the smell of rubbing alcohol and a large, gentle, almost loving touch. 

I don’t remember much but in between waking up in the darkness and stone-cold silence, I remember soft forehead kisses until I drifted back to sleep; of big strong arms enclosing me into a big embrace, as if to tell me, you can put your guard down now. you are safe here. 

I don’t remember much from coming in and out of slumber, but I remember thinking: wouldn’t it be nice if this wasn’t a dream?

======================================

Reset

In the end, I quit sports media on my own volition and got into a friend’s ceramics house. I have always had a thing for ceramics and sculpting as early as college, where I had met my then-professor and now friend–who happens to be the owner of mentioned ceramics house. She had always praised me and encouraged me to join her when she first opened the shop, but as someone who had musings for writing at the time, I politely declined and pursued, you guessed it, journalism. 

I’ve always been good at writing, no doubt, from the way professors always had a good word for me, but I always seem to get into the wrong places every time. Time moves fast if you’re a journo, if you’re slow, then the news is rehashed news, it would just be a late-night recap at a midnight slot that no one is ever awake to watch. 

Here, inside her shop, it was quiet, and time moved slowly. I can get into my laziest clothes and no one bats an eye. I can finally retire my stilettos and straight cut blazers. 

It was all so going well. The customers were always mid-twenties who got interested in our social media marketing of creating your own mugs and other ceramics and always came in in groups, duos, and solos. 

Slowly, I realized that not everyone gets to the places they want. Even when you work blood and sweat for it. Not all were built like, say, Shohei Ohtani, whose talent was recognized early and afforded him an automatic slot in the big leagues.

Some are born to be big icons and some, like the rest of us, are meant for smaller, softer spaces. I get that now. It finally felt like I was in the right place and pace. 

All this positivity and good timing felt all too good to be true and been proven accurate when the scandal blew up. 

Shohei Ohtani photographed exiting his LA apartment with a woman in his arms.

Shohei Ohtani’s rumored girlfriend receives backlash from fans: READ MORE

EXCLUSIVE: More photographs of Shohei Ohtani and rumored girlfriend driving away in his Porsche

Rumored girlfriend of Shohei Ohtani: Who is She?

When I say it was everywhere, I meant it exploded right in front of our faces like a million confetti, falling and twirling fast. It was unstoppable. It was inevitable.

I felt my limbs go numb when I read the morning news. There in bold and black letters was the headline, my name and a clear photo of me holding Shohei’s arm, smiling. A certain news outlet had gotten juice of us and our secret hideouts and had spread all over social media like wildfire. You know what’s funnier? The media outlet that released this was my previous employer. The same company that asked me to snuff out a controversy. While I had failed to give them the news they wanted, I had unintentionally brought them an exclusive that wrote my entire name–and face–off the map and potentially ruined Shohei Ohtani’s clean record. 

Shohei Ohtani, despite his happy-go-lucky and passive demeanor, was a very serious and straight-laced person. I already knew this in university but I got to see more of this side of him when we had started the fucking thing. Even though I had clearly told him that I didn’t want any strings attached, it was unavoidable to give and receive bits and pieces of each other when we’re not naked. 

I  did enjoy talking to Shohei under the sheets. His ingenious ideas and the way he talked about the things he adored spilled all over him, like afternoon sunlight streaming in between curtains, making way even through the small spaces to cast his light. I basked into this warmth as much time allowed me, because who knows when I can experience the glow of his presence again after all the chaos. 

He was exactly like the golden hour: a warm afternoon orange luminescence that usually only stays for ten to fifteen minutes a day. If you wait too long to look up, he disappears quickly as he goes, leaving only the faint orange, yellow and pink hues chasing after him before the black of the night takes over you. 

Well, now the fairytale has run its course and the sun has set to announce that golden hour is over. Night has finally fallen on me and I’m feeling scared and alone.

The first thing I did was to grab as much stuff as I could and put them all in my luggage and filed for an indefinite leave. 

As if like clockwork, my phone rang and saw Shohei’s name on the caller ID. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. What could I possibly say to him? That I used him just for the clicks and the views? That after all this time we spent together, he would realize that I am still the same despicable, scathing piece of garbage who’d trample on anyone just for a few cents?

So I don’t answer. Even when he calls back again and again and leaves me twenty or more messages by the hour. I turned my phone off. The latest message from Ohtani coming up on the notifications bar read, “Where are you?” before the screen flashed to black. 

I have nothing but my pride left. I’d like to keep it that way.  In such a way, I was embarrassed, too. I thought I finally had something to brag about. A job that I actually liked and enjoyed, a peaceful mind, and the possibility of liking a guy who had shown me nothing but kindness. 

And because I couldn’t handle all of this, I handled it like I have always handled things: I ran away like a coward. 

I rode a bus without reading its destination card and let it drive me away as far as it could, to someplace where no one knew me or Shohei Ohtani, or had any idea about the news. 

The bus drove away and I never looked back. 

================================

Waiting Until My Spring Comes Again: Shohei’s POV

Just like that I lost her. She wasn’t even mine to begin with. 

When the news broke out, I was so furious that I wanted to drive to the news outlet that published the article and give them a piece of my mind. I knew my blind rage would have done more damage so I didn’t.

Instead, I looked for her and wanted to let her know that whatever happens, I won’t drop her just like that. That I’m willing to acknowledge the rumors and make it official, if she wanted to. 

I’ve always been open to the idea of taking it to the next level with her but every time I broached the subject, she would change the topic, get into a foul mood, or try to pick a fight with me. Which I found endearing. She’s so adorable when she pouts. And when she pushes her luck thinking a five foot four girl like her can withstand someone as tall as me. 

I just can’t help but laugh and feel a flutter in my stomach. She’s someone who has been adorable and held a special corner in my heart. 

Y/N’s face was so expressive and whatever emotion she was in it would always be evident on her face. When she’s happy, a dimple on her cheek shows up. When she’s feeling sad or down, she’d look downcast and would prefer that you leave her alone. When she’s thinking about something deep, she would chew on her lower lip and always had a blank almost unfocused stare. Despite her many faces, I’m sure as hell that I love all of them. I wanted to be by her side when all this shit happened, I wanted to see which face she was making. Is she pissed like I was? Is she sad? I wouldn’t know. The moment her number didn’t connect after I had tried reaching her, I already knew that she was avoiding me. 

I lost count of how many messages I had sent her, of how many missed calls and voicemails I left her. She was unreachable. She gave me her spare key so when I tried visiting her apartment, it was empty. 

She was gone. 

And only the traces of her lingered in her apartment. Her unwashed mug with leftover stale coffee was on the kitchen counter, specks of lipstick staining the mouth. Dirty clothes hanging on her bathroom door, forgotten and unwashed. The peachy scent of her purifier that always latches on to her clothes whenever we go out. Her unread books on her coffee table, some dog eared and annotated. 

Everything that I love about her is here except for her and I miss her. 

For the next couple of days, I dodged the media and focused on training, playing and practicing. Those three over and over again. I tried to not think about her and lose sleep because of her. An athlete’s wellbeing is connected to quality sleep. 

But she was everywhere I went. Pieces of her were scattered all over the places I avoided, and it was my fault really, for bringing her to places we usually hid. For hoping that someday, the secrets we hid would be our stories to tell. Now I just let her memories rot inside my heart, where she should be. 

I thought it would be easier when you just let it slip by but the more days that passed without seeing her, the more I feel a gnawing pain in my heart. She had sucked all my sunlight and took it all away with her. 

I want her back. 

=====================================

My Answer is You

Eleven days. It took me nine days to realize running away was a bad idea. 

When I first got off the bus, I thought the place looked familiar. Turns out, I rode the bus to my hometown, to the very south and the last bus stop until it turned around to go back to the city. 

When I appeared in front of my mom–the first time in a long time–she had immediately said, “Did something in the city?”

The moment she asked, I broke down in tears. She shushed and consoled me while I cried like a little kid. Like the way I had bawled to her when my first boyfriend broke up with me, or when my love birds died from illness, the other from loneliness. 

It feels like I would die of loneliness, Mom. I had said.

Did he really say that? Did he tell you that it’s over? She cooed.

I was embarrassed to admit to my mom that no, Shohei had never told me anything because I had shut him out even before I could give him the chance. But what if that call was already the end of it all? What if answering his call meant exactly what I had thought. That would shatter me more. 

So, no, Mom, you can call your daughter a coward but in her heart, it’s all over. 

The next forty-eight hours at home was a blur. After feeding me with what feels like a day’s worth of homemade dishes, she made me wash the dishes, clean my old room, and the living room as well. And when that wasn’t enough, she made me go with her to the night market and bought whatever seafood she could find to feed me. 

Is this what you did when Dad left? I wanted to ask her. Did you go around acting as normal while nursing a wounded heart? Did you go all through that facade just to show me that you were strong for the both of us?

She had her back to me, her hands pale and creased with age, showing signs of passage of time and her hardwork to put me to school. I know she was trying to make me busy to keep my mind off of Shohei. I’m not sure if she fully understands the scandal but she was trying her best to keep my head above the water. Probably just like how she always did. 

I wish I was strong like you, Mom. 

On the fourth and fifth day, she had let me work under the sun harvesting corn. Which I absolutely despised. I had to wear sun hats and these jumpers to cover myself from the heat. 

“It’s cheap labor for letting you stay and eat my food,” she said when I complained. “Tomorrow, you’ll help me sell these at the market.”

As the days grew idly by, I’ve grown more accustomed to rising early and eating less meat and more vegetables. I willingly went out of the sun more to do housework, like hanging clothes, watering Mom’s plants, however, I was still not willing to harvest her vegetables, which she made me do a lot. When I say a lot, it means everyday since then. 

On the eleventh morning, I woke up earlier than usual and found my mom already awake. She busied herself with a cup of coffee. 

“Good morning, mom.” I yawned, grabbing my own mug. 

“After breakfast, pack your things and go back to the city.” She said quietly.

“Huh?” I’m not sure I heard her right. Is she kicking me out?

She pushed today’s newspaper into my hands and pointed at an article. An article shows a picture of Shohei smiling at the camera, behind him was a framed candid photo of me turning my head just in time when the camera clicked, I was wearing a sleeveless shirt, a shawl draped over my shoulders, and the wind blowing my hair and covering my face slightly. Just by looking at the photo, it looked like a time when Shohei and I drove to the beach. He had brought his camera and took a lot of photos. 

The article said, “Portfolio on Love: Shohei Ohtani’s Photographs Displayed for A Cause.”

“....and when the powerhouse athlete gets a day off, he plays around his camera and takes photos of anything, everywhere. He reveals Insider Today that for the first time ever, he is displaying his portfolio to the public at the Grand City Museum starting today until the 31st of the month, with the theme of “hello, love, are you there?”

“...’I don’t know how else to define love but this. I hope when the public sees this, they will instantly know that my photographs are a reflection of my love,’ he said.

“When asked if this was a confirmation to the rumors flying around recently, he just smiled sadly and said, "I'm hoping that this answers everyone’s questions, especially hers.”

“If your face is plastered on all of the newspapers, it wouldn’t make sense to stay here longer.” Mom said after a while. She had finished her breakfast and took them away to the sink.

“It doesn’t end well if you’re too afraid, my darling.” she said, not looking at me. “To love and to be hurt is to be brave. If it doesn’t work out after facing him, then by all means. Come home. My doors are always open for you. And I will feed you rice cakes while you harvest my corn.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. She wasn’t a hugger but welcomed my hug and patted me on the shoulders. “Now go, before all the chismosas wake up and corners you.”

I packed my bags and left home, my heart pieced back together. It was not wrong to go home and seek shelter. What I did wrong was leaving Shohei all alone when he took most of the fall. 

Five hours, one taxi ride, and a ten minute walk later, I arrived at the city museum, nervous, anxious, feeling a little lightheaded and hesitant. I wiped my sweaty palms and got inside. 

It was not as packed as I had expected, probably because it was a little over after lunch, though there was still a relatively big crowd overall. 

When I stepped into the hall featuring Shohei’s displays, I felt a surge of emotion. It was a collection of all the photographs of his loved ones. In a black and white collection, he had photographed his parents holding hands while walking in the snow, a photo of his dog sleeping idly on his couch, a photo of the football stadium in a wide angle shot, showing Ippei and the rest of his teammates playing a warm up game before practice. 

When I turned to a corner, that’s when I saw it. There were multiple frames hanging intricately on one side, showing all of the photos he took of me. One during university days, where I was showing him a strangely large eggplant during our photo walks at the market. There was another with me looking at him angrily for reasons I couldn’t remember, and a more recent one, in the middle, where he was holding my hand while I walked forward, back facing the camera. 

On the metal plate below were words that read in cursive: “2009–present. Moments of love that I hold dear.”

At that moment, tears had started rolling down my cheek and I couldn’t help but sob. The onlookers nearby started moving away, probably weirded out by the sudden burst of emotion over some piece of art.

They weren’t just pieces of art. These were moments when Shohei and I were together and maybe realized that it was love.

By then, someone on my left offered a handkerchief and I gingerly took it, wiping my tears-strewn face. I muttered an apology for ruining the fabric.

“This is not the first time someone cried in front of my photographs. Some were absolutely heartbroken after seeing them.” a man’s voice said. And that reeled me back as I turned around and saw Shohei standing in front me.

“I knew this would lure you back,” he said, smiling.

His face was a little gaunt and tired. He had dark circles around his eyes that I’ve never seen before. I could only look at him and he looked back. I had so many things I wanted to say to him, so many things I wanted to explain but he spoke first and said:

“Did you get a tan?” he started, raising an eyebrow.

“I-I was harvesting corn!” I said, covering my face with both hands. I didn’t even have the time to put on makeup or a swab of lipstick and that’s the first thing he notices.

He took my hands and held them tightly against his chest. “No one looks this beautiful even after harvesting corn.”

“Shut up,” I said looking away.

He tipped my chin and held my face. “Let’s start again, shall we?” 

I raised an eyebrow in question.

“Hi, my name is Shohei Ohtani. I’m an athlete and an amateur photographer sometimes. I’ve been in love with the girl in the photographs since forever.”

I managed a smile and laced my hands around his neck. “Hi, I’m a ceramics maker and sometimes, a farmer, you should see the corn I harvest. You look so familiar. I think you look like my future boyfriend.”

His eyes perked up and laughed at our silly little game. He went in for a kiss and I obliged, feeling safe and brave in his arms.

Let them take the damn photographs and write the articles all they want, but they could never take my sunshine away ever again. 

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Epilogue

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

Prequel is coming in a few months! I haven’t made a Taglist yet and probably won’t start one till I’m closer to publishing. I’ll make a post tagging this series’ Taglist when I’m starting the next one.

Content Warnings - Mentions of fertility issues/miscarriage; death; the end of this series (don’t worry it’s a good ending imo)

Dear Brielle,

A lot has happened in seventeen years. I’ve now lived half of my life without you, mom, and dad. I’ve been thinking about you a lot so my husband Finnick (yes that Finnick lol) said I should write you a letter of all the things I wanted to tell you but never could.

A little over ten years ago we killed President Snow. The districts rebelled and won. The war was brutal and there were times I nearly died, but Finnick pulled me through.

We got married a year later. We never really did the whole dating thing, our friendship just evolved into a beautiful romance overnight. He was there for me after you left and he has been here ever since.

The years since the war have not been easy. I’ve had bouts of seizures that leave me bedridden and ill for days. The doctors said my condition should be worse so I should be grateful. Countless medications and treatments have made slight improvements to my health but the pain will always be there.

Two years after our wedding we almost hit our breaking point. Finnick and I had been trying to start a family for over a year but nothing was working. It was the most frustrating experience of my life post-war and I do not wish those struggles on anyone.

Three years after our wedding, Mags passed of old age. Although we were sad, we were all glad she got to live out her last few years in a free Panem. Johanna decided to move in with Annie afterwards so she wouldn’t be alone. We are still neighbors to this day.

Four years after our wedding, I got pregnant, only to lose the baby a few months in due to a bad seizure. This was Finnick and I’s lowest point to date.

It’s now been a bit over 9 years since I married the love of my life and the father of my child. We were finally blessed with a baby boy, Neptune, 4 years ago today. He is everything I could have asked for in a child; rambunctious, kind, and adventurous. He looks just like his father but acts like his mother.

Two years ago, Neptune’s best friend arrived in District 4. Annie and Johanna adopted a little girl, Jodie, from District 7. Neptune and her do EVERYTHING together. Finnick keeps joking that we should build a tunnel between our two houses so the kids can hang out all the time.

All in all, it’s been a very painful 34 years of existence. Part of me is glad you didn’t have to witness what happened. The other part of me still hopes you’re out there, even though I know you aren’t. I hope that wherever you are, you’re at peace.

Love, your dear sister,

Y/N

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[wedgiestoriescollective]

The Senior: Years Later

Hello all! Before I start the next story in my “The Senior” series, I wanted to share that since I began writing, uploading, and reuploading these stories on here some things have changed. While I have been sharing my experiences with wedgies on here, these stories thus far have been about my experiences with them as a child and teenager. This didn’t initially bother me because I was sharing and, in a way, reliving these memories through my writing. But it bothers me now. 

Had my experiences with Chase concluded while we were both underage, I would have just stopped writing these stories all together. Yet this is not the case. So, this next part (and the final part following that) will take place four years after the previous story. When we were both consenting adults. I hope you enjoy,

                 

I was sitting at home alone. Well, I was sitting alone in the house where I grew up. I was visiting my parents during a short summer break from the musical theater conservatory I was attending. I hadn’t been home in over ten months. The conservatory went by a unique school schedule, so the week I was home didn’t coincide well with my parent’s work. As both are teachers, they still had school. It was nice being away from my classes, rehearsals, and at my part-time work in Times Square retail. So, things were busy. I was on the couch, a bag of pretzels in my lap as I watched some current popular TV show. My phone vibrated.

“Hey”, the text read.

I immediately recognized the phone number. I had deleted his contact multiple times. I even blocked the number once. Yet, those numbers were as familiar as his name.

“Hey”, I text back.

I pause the TV, redirecting my attention to my phone. I pushed the bag of pretzels aside. The text bubbles (a new IOS feature at the time) visualized three dots, Chase writing a response.

“I saw you were in town. How have you been? Chase texted.

At this time, it had been years since we had communicated with each other. And even longer since we’d last seen each other. Last time I had seen him, I was a Junior, and he was in town on Spring Break from his college in Colorado. We’d met up at my place and almost gotten caught by my parents. We quickly averted detection by sneaking out through the garage, but the stress of the moment gave me pause. Had me so scared of being discovered as anything other than “appropriate” or “normal” that I had (again) cut Chase out of my life.

“I am in town, I’ve been pretty good” I type on my phone, before deleting it.  

“Yeah, it’s been chill”.

I send the text and quickly place my phone face down as far away on the couch from me as I can reach. The phone immediately vibrates, but I force myself to remain still. The similar pattern presenting itself. He texts, I reply, he texts, I reply. Then minutes go by with nothing. Those minutes used to torture me, even when sometimes those minutes turned to hours, or the rest of the night. I promised myself I wouldn’t obsess over this again. That I was better than this. I remained still for just over five minutes before gently reaching over to my phone.

“Give any wedgies in the big apple yet?” Chase texted.

He skipped passed the unnecessary formalities. I hadn’t wedgied any guys in NYC at that point. There wasn’t any time, and I had my own revelations I was working through. Within a month of living in NYC, I had come to understand and accept that I was so far in the closet that I found Christmas presents. I had started trying things on in my new “out” life. Mostly through chats on dating apps or…. well, that’s all I did. I was out to my classmates at school, but back home I slipped back into the guy I was before I moved to NYC. Chase had been out for years by this point.

“I haven’t, too busy! Lol =(“ I reply.

“I have been thinking about the one’s you’d give me.” Chase texts.

“Really?” I reply.

“Yeah, it was hot”. Chase replies.

I politely ignored the fact that I was sporting blushed cheeks. Also, my hard on. I was ignoring that too. My phone vibrated.

“Wanna come over? I can pick you up.”

I looked at the phone in disbelief. After all that we’d been through. The shame that I felt and sometimes still have. The times that we’d avoid each other at all costs. Here he was again, offering to pick me up. To spend time with him. To wedgie him. It’s as if the closeted, hidden high school version of myself peeled away. I stood up and hopped in the shower, but not before typing and sending my response.

“Sure, you know where I live.”

When I opened Chase’s front car door, he looks at me and it was simultaneously as if time hadn’t past while there were also apparent timely differences. Both of us now sported stubble, mine being closer to a beard. Yet, he still had that stupid plush dice dangling from his windshield. We chatted. I don’t remember about what. It was small talk, but I do remember there was a moment when he said something along the lines of “maybe you can’t do that, but you can give a good wedgie”. I remember how my hard on never subsided while sitting in his car. It’s funny what remains of your memories over time.

Chase pulls into the garage of his house. I had never been here before. He gets out of the car and nonchalantly enters his home, knowing I’d follow. There was a black lab that excitedly greeted me. I followed Chase into his room, and he closed the door behind him.

Chase’s room was the standard expected room of a teenager. Sports posters on the wall. His bass on a stand in the corner. A pile of clothes scattered on the floor. Chase noticed me looking at the pile.

“Find any underwear in there?” Chase asked.

“A couple” I reply.

Chase walks up to the front of his bed, taking off his grey zip-up and then tossing it on the ground. He stares at me a for a second as I stare back at him. He’s wearing a slim fitted light grey t-shirt and jeans. Chase then turns around, his back now facing me. I remember feeling awkward standing in that silence. Like I didn’t know how to fill it. We used to have so much to talk about. There were still things that should be said. Yet, I remained silent, lost in where to start.

“Do it” Chase said quietly. Almost as if through an exhale of breath.

His words snapped me out of my haze as if we were in high school flirting in our distant way. Our words and jokes that were just between us. Because no one, not even each other could ever know our true desire for the other. Except, we weren’t in high school anymore, and both of us since then had come out to our close friends, but more importantly to ourselves. That layer of shame was no longer relevant nor present. Nothing was stopping me.

“Do what?” I teasingly ask, taking a couple steps closer to him.

“Give me a wedgie. Please” and then he said my name. I don’t know why, but I found that hot. I was now directly behind him. It was again as if time hadn’t passed. Like I’d done plenty of times before, I lifted his shirt and fingered my way through the waistband of his jeans which also donned a brown leather belt. Once my fingers obstructively found the underwear, I made the waistband of them visible with a gentle tug. The underwear’s black waistband donned the word Hanes stitched multiple times in skinny white letters. The fabric underneath the waistband was dark grey.

I looked forward and clocked my own eyes in the reflection of the full body mirror to the right of Chase’s nightstand. I then locked eyes with Chase who was also staring at me through the mirror. It was like old times. I sharply tugged on the Hanes waistband and Chase arched his head and groaned as simultaneously the leg holes of the underwear came in full display above his jean’s waistband. That was new.

“I was curious” Chase said smirking slightly at me as I had him up on toes as held his underwear up in my grasp. Then I lift upward on my toes almost lifting Chase off the ground by his light grey briefs. My cock is at full attention now, obviously visible through the front of my black joggers. As I continue tugging at Chase’s underwear, on the occasion tug the bulge would briefly drag or rest on Chase’s ass. He knew where I was at.

I continue tugging, alternating between slow gradual pulls and quick pulsating tugs. On each pull, Chase varied his sound responses. Some were groans, quick exhales, and my personal favorite the occasional “ooh” or “ahh”. I got the grey briefs all the way up to his neck at the highest but I would then mess around with this wedgie by snapping the briefs against his back multiple times. I would also tug while pushing him forward only then to pull him back towards me, inching the underwear further in his butt. I at this point have never wedgied Chase in briefs. This made it exciting and new in a way I couldn’t begin to explain at the time, but thinking back on it I was likely excited by the arousal of it all.

The grey briefs were bunched, leg holes and all were above his jeans. I reach my hands in front of Chase, gently moving my hands towards his belt buckle. I slowly start navigating the belt buckle loose and I unbutton his jeans. I then abruptly pants Chase, leaving his wedgied ass full on display. Chase turns his head back towards me, smirking.

“Having fun?” He asks as he slowly pulls his briefs out of his ass and back into place.

I then lifted Chase toward me by his hips, so that his neck was right up against my face. I kiss his neck. Chase moans. I kiss his neck again, but this time as Chase moans I kiss him on the lips. Our first kiss. This right here was all I had ever wanted. His lips on mine.  He didn’t pull away. He turned around wrapping his arms around my shoulder as we continued kissing. His tongue quickly made its way into my mouth, and mine in his. I don’t remember gripping his waistband as we continued kissing, but when I opened my eyes for the first time as Chase was kissing my neck, I saw myself through Chase’s mirror, with his grey briefs lodged up his ass so hard that besides the fabric in my grasp there was no indication Chase was even wearing underwear. It was lodged that far up his perfect round ass. I tugged again sharply with my right hand while my left hand pulled Chase’s head back by his hair.

For a moment, we both simply stared at each other. No longer seeing the scared kids we were years before, but instead seeing ourselves as the men that we are. Men that are kind, yet long for another man’s attention, lust, maybe even love. Yet, in that moment we just remained present. In our own kinky way.

The kissing and the wedgies continued. I even let him briefly tug my blue Jockey boxer briefs softly up my butt, but he remained eager for his flossing. The only thing keeping me from ripping his briefs clean off him was the continued kissing, it was proving to be a weakness of mine. Over the next couple of minutes, Chase kissed his way down my body. From my lips to my neck, to my nipples, and further down my stomach. Chase was on his knees now, alternating between looking at my throbbing bulge and up at me. He looked so beautiful looking up at me, as if I could solve all his life’s problems. Chase slowly then lowered my black joggers off me while still looking at me. Pre cum was already staining the front of my blue boxer briefs as Chase lowered those too. This wasn’t his first time seeing my cock. Back in our high school days we dared each other to hold the others cock in the car for a minute. But this was certainly different. Especially because this time Chase was licking the pre cum off the tip of my cock before putting the rest of it in his mouth.

I audibly moaned as my cock was blown for the first time, overwhelmed by the sensation of it. The newness of it. The excitement of it. All of it felt like a lock was finally clicking open. My whole body recoiled when Chase took a moment to merely tickle my cock with small kisses. He’d told me he was hooking up quite a lot in college in the text exchanges we shared when we chatted briefly after he came out. Back when I was still so scared to accept that part of myself. Before I ghosted him.

“I always thought that you had a hot cock” Chase said looking at me.

I looked down at him, feeling aristocratic as I noticed his grey briefs still lodged up his ass. Chase went back at my cock again; except this time, I cupped the back of his head with my left hand, gently pushing his head inward so my entire cock could face fuck its way down his throat. My other hand between thrusts reached down Chase’s back to grip the grey briefs. As I alternated between thrusting my body forward and pulling on the underwear, I felt closer to myself. As if I was about to descend on the first drop on a roller coaster. I felt drops of sweat trickle off my chin. I looked down then, only seeing Chase’s brown hair and his briefs gripped in my hand halfway up his back, lodged up his ass.

It was then when I remembered the time he yelled at me after we got caught by a police officer. We were rubbing each other’s cocks in an empty parking lot with sunshades over the window of Chase’s car. How scared we both were. How we reacted differently. And then, how when I was a Junior in high school when I saw he had posted a picture on Instagram with a guy. A boyfriend. How betrayed I felt. How exposed that post made me feel. But also, how lonely it made him feel as well.

I gently let go of Chase’s briefs and removed myself from his mouth, pretending like I heard my phone vibrate. I made up something about my mom wondering where I was and that she needed me home. Chase understood, we dressed, and he drove me home. When we got back to my house, there were no other cars in the driveway.

“She wanted me to be ready to go by 4”. I said, trying to talk my way out of the lie.

Chase seemed like he understood, but I must give him more credit. It’s possible that Chase knew I was lying. Still, before I could get out of the car he stopped me. Gently his hand clasped into mine. Again, something new. He leaned in and he kissed me gently. For a moment, I succumbed to it. The desire and lust I still very much had from the past hour’s activities. Tongues touched. He still grasped my hand. And then as if I teleported, I was locking my front door, and he was driving away.

I ran to the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, and stepped in the shower where I preceded to go into my usual, comfortable, one-man routine of pleasing myself. I came within minutes recounting it all. Moaning at full volume as I came. My cum, shooting towards the top of the screen door in the shower, before then slowly trickling downward. As the hot water continued running down my hair and body, I felt both euphoric and lonely. Hoping that the phone would vibrate with a text from Chase saying he came or that he wanted to meet up again. Yet, I sat alone under the running water knowing that it wouldn’t.