#last nights dream hurt too much to wake up from

[growth-opportunities]

A girl becomes addicted to her breasts getting bigger, and her second puberty aides her in becoming ginormous (talking hyper-sized, if possible - as big as you desire)

I genuinely don't understand how every girl doesn't get addicted to the feeling of their breasts growing. I was pretty much hooked the morning I outgrew my first bra. There was something... empowering about it. I don't know if I can fully describe it. The actual bra was uncomfortable, sure, but knowing that I was too big for it, subtle bulges around the edges... god. It was the first time in my entire life that I felt sexy. I was literally too sexy for my clothes and, fuck, it felt amazing. That was when I first started fantasizing about being properly huge, waiting until my parents went to bed and awkwardly searching the internet for "what happens when bigger than Z cup". But, as much as I wanted it, genetics had other plans.

It should have been a little bit obvious, in hindsight, but greed had blinded my young eyes. As I learned while snooping through the laundry, my older sister stopped growing at a C. My mom wore D-cup bras, but I'm pretty sure that was mostly from having kids and, while I was willing to do a lot for bigger tits, that seemed a little extreme. I was never going to huge like I had imagined, like I had dreamed, like I had prayed. My growth pretty much petered out at a large B/small C depending on the brand. That was all that genetics had deigned to give me and I can't pretend that I wasn't disappointed. No matter how many of my friends reassured me that I was "the perfect size" and they "fit my frame", that wasn't what I wanted. I wanted big. I wanted huge. I wanted the kind of tits that would make even the most hardened of hentai-consuming perverts (a crowd that I quickly found myself part of) wonder if it wasn't a little much.

But I wasn't about to take it lying down.

I got a job at a cafe to "save money for college", but every last penny I had went to buying supplements online. The unruly guests, making my cheeks hurt with forced smiles, doing everything I could to maintain my customer service voice, all of it was worth it in pursuit of a singular goal. Creams and lotions, pills and supplements, anything that even remotely promised growth was hastily ordered in lust-fueled hazes late at night. Shady sites stole my credit card info, like, three times and I was almost positive most were sugar pills or snake oil, but the joke about a man actually inventing penis-enlarging pills and having no way to market it stuck in my brain. If there was one breast growth supplement out there that was 100% legit then by god I was going to find it.

And, despite the incredible odds, it did work! To an extent. I managed to push my tits to a very swollen DD. Constantly massaging my breasts, kneading various lotions into my skin made them incredibly sensitive. If I hadn't already been obsessed with my tits, that level of sensitivity would have made it so. I could feel them bouncing and sloshing in my bras constantly. As much as I hated them, bras were a must. I didn't care about the 'modesty' or whatever, but feeling my shirt casually rub against my nipples all fucking day drove me insane. There were days where I didn't leave me room, just played with my tits until I came over and over again. Eventually, I'd stagger out at some point in the evening to rehydrate before crawling back into my cave, teasing my nipples and fantasizing about being double, triple, orders of magnitude bigger. I tried my best to come to terms with the fact that this is probably as busty as I'd ever be. Until, one morning, it wasn't.

I can still remember waking up and feeling that weight on my chest. As many times as I had dreamed about it, I didn't know what it was like until I finally felt it, that kind of heft on my chest. My jaw dropped open when I pulled back the covers and saw what had become of my tits. They doubled in size. Overnight. They literally looked inflated, almost unnaturally round, my skin red and covered in a web of veins. The sensitivity was mind-blowing. I could feel the air moving over my skin and it was just... woof. Between the size and the sensitivity, I had to get myself off immediately. Twice. Usually post-nut clarity had never hit me too hard previously, mostly just disappointment at my impossible fantasies, but that day it hit me like a freight train. Something wasn't right.

A few doctor's visits and some blood work later and I had an answer. I never admitted to taking the supplements, though my doctor was skeptical; he had never seen anything like this in someone whose thyroid wasn't full of holes. It turns out that, while the pills didn't really do much, all of the hormones that were in them were just sort of sitting in my system. If I had only taken one or two, they would have been flushed out pretty easily. But I was taking more than a dozen different pills. I was unknowingly adding more and more kindling to the pyre, adding in the hormonal equivalent of gasoline and thermite, just waiting until it reached critical mass and self-ignited. It was enough to trigger what was essentially a second puberty, my body starting to flood with self-made hormones outside of the supplements, but thanks to the variety of topical creams and lotions, it would be contained almost entirely in my breasts.

I was fairly silent on the car ride home, though I did whimper a bit when we hit a pothole. I trudged up to my room, carefully disrobed myself. My eyes were glued to the mirror, unable to take my eyes off of myself. Titflesh overflowed my palms, bulged out between my fingers, there was just so much of it. I could barely come to terms with the fact that all that was me. That thought alone nearly made me cum. The rest of the day was a lust-fueled frenzy. My pussy was largely neglected, focused entirely on my tits to get myself off over and over and over again. It felt incredible. The reality would come later, but I was too busy cumming then.

Unlike my first go 'round, which was painfully slow, my second puberty wasted no time. I was putting on at least an inch of bust every day. Sometimes, if I sat very still and held my breath, I swear I could watch them swelling in front of my eyes. Within a week, they were big enough to reach my bellybutton and, a week after that, they were almost at my hips. I was eating like a glutton, but I had to; my growing udders were taking up every calorie I put into my body. At some point, I started staying in my room not just because I was spending every hour of the day masturbating but because I had outgrown not just all of my clothes, but even our beach towels weren't bit enough to cover my tits. I could feel, every day, as the weight pulled heavier on my shoulders, nearly dragging me off my feet as they slid off my lap. I could feel my mobility slipping away, which would have been more frightening if it wasn't so arousing.

So anyway, that about brings things to now! My breasts are still technically growing, though at this size, it's kind of hard to notice an extra inch or two. I haven't officially measured these things in ages, so I can only guess that I'd have gone around the alphabet a few dozen times by now. I'm big enough that each, individual tit is big enough for me to use as a bed with room left over. Reaching my nipples is a workout, having to gather up so much titflesh in my hands and arms to get to them, though I rarely make it all the way there. I tend to get a little 'distracted'. The irony is that, after all this time, finally experiencing what it's like to be big has actually cooled me a little bit on the enormous fantasies. I mean, I'm already living the dream! Outside of just "bigger", there wasn't much left to explore on that avenue.

I have been taking a recent interest in lactation, though...

[apomaro-mellow]

Runaway Royalty 12

Part 11

When morning came, Eddie was greeted with the sight of Steve still sleeping soundly. It was a sight he could get used to. And he was loathe to wake him up, but today would be busy for them all. Luckily, he had no need to. Like a flower to the sun, Steve turned to face him fully, stretching and yawning as he awakened on his own.

“Good morning, my lovely.”

Steve smiled, seemingly caught by surprise to be sweet talked so early in the morning. And if Eddie had his way, every morning would be like this from now on. Steve leaned in to kiss at his neck and they were able to spend just a few tender moments together before there was a pounding at their door. Steve sighed as Robin’s voice sounded on the other side, demanding that they be decent.

Eddie rushed to dress, feeling like a fox in the hen house right now. Steve remained in bed, knees pulled up to his chest. Robin could deal with him in a nightgown. 

“So how was your night?”, Robin asked when Eddie left.

“About as much fun as yours”, Steve said, eyeing the hickey on her neck.

The morning felt slow and short at the same time. There was a bustle in the town and they soon found that it was in preparation for a party at the castle. A masquerade party. 

“We’re getting into that party”, Eddie said over breakfast.

“A party? At the castle? Are you out of your peanut sized mind?”, Robin snarked.

“My um, my parents live and work in the castle”, Eddie explained. “That’s the best place to see that they’re good and healthy.” 

“Not that I doubt you”, Steve started. “But how exactly are we supposed to sneak into the castle?”

Eddie swallowed. He could just walk up to the palace gates, reveal himself as the prince, and they’d be granted access as easy as that. But there were two reasons he just couldn’t. For one, even with his father’s history, they might send his cohorts to the dungeon, including Steve. And he couldn’t put him through that. He wouldn’t. Eddie had promised him the finer things and that did not include shackles and bars.

He also just wasn’t ready for Steve to know. He knew it was a fantasy for some that their lover was secretly royalty. But was that true for Steve? What if he looked at him differently? He just…he had to prolong that confession for as long as possible. Maybe Steve would be happy about it when he saw what opulence being a prince came with.

“You leave the details up to me, my darling~”

Eddie would lie a thousand times if it got Steve to smile at him like that. Hopefully though, the lies would end after tonight. He sent Robin and Steve out to get a list of supplies. A fool’s errand but it couldn’t hurt to have some of those things. Meanwhile, Eddie brainstormed with his inner circle.

Robin watched as Steve hummed to himself while perusing the market. She hated to burst his morning after bliss but, well, it was nearly noon so…

“You know he’s lying right?”, Robin said. “About something.”

“I know. But so are we.” Steve sighed. “And our secret’s a lot bigger than his.”

“Hmm, debatable. What if his secret is that he’s impotent? Then what happens to your dream of a gaggle of pups?”

“You mean infertile? Because I can assure you based on last night-”

“Spare me! Spare me!”, Robin shouted, covering her ears.

“Don’t bring up topics that disgust you, sister.” Steve traded some coin for some fruit.

“Steve, before you hitch your wagon to this man, you should know all that he is. And he should know all of you too.”

“Why should he know?!”, Steve shouted before remembering they were in public. “Why should he know something that will never be important? Our royal blood doesn’t matter anymore, Robin.”

“Perhaps not now. But there’s already tension because you, and me, and the other prince are missing. If our return could ease things.”

“Our parents won’t go to war for us. Well, maybe for you, you were supposed to inherit the kingdom. You can go home Robin.”

“My home’s with you, I thought you understood that. So when you hitch that wagon to your Bandit Prince, I’m along for the ride.”

Steve smiled, happy to reaffirm that she would stay by his side. They passed a shop window and he could see their reflection. He looked so different. Gone was the royal omega, with hair that fell in waves down his back, over the luxurious fabric of fine dresses. Common omegas wore dresses too, but Steve had gone with trousers for ease of travel. He knew it was vain, but he couldn’t help but wish there was a way to return to the way he looked. 

They returned to the inn and Eddie let him in on the plan. Robin had many thoughts, but Steve elbowed her every time. She should have faith. He was the son of the Bandit King, after all. He was a professional at sneaking. And if he couldn’t trust the man who would one day be his alpha, then Eddie had some stepping up to do.

The plan began at sunset. Like most royal parties, there were festivities all day, but a lull for those in attendance to rest, refresh, and dress in their evening wear. Eddie took them near the castle wall. Rounding the bricks and finding a hidden entrance reminded Steve of how he and Robin would sneak out of their own castle. They all wore cloaks, hoods pulled tight over their heads.

“Gareth, Harold, secure our exit”, Eddie said, prompting them to break off. “The rest of you, with me.”

Eddie led Jeff, Robin, and Steve through a door, leading to the inner courtyard. And from there, another door that led to the servants quarters. Eddie’s shoulders sagged a bit before straightening up again.

“Jeff, take Steve and Robin to get dressed. Then come find me.”

Before he could take off, Steve grabbed his wrist. Eddie turned to face him. He pulled Steve close and caressed his cheek, then scented him.

“We will be together again soon. And then forever. I..I wish I had more time to teach you…”

“What?”, Steve chuckled. “Courtly ways?”

“Yes, well, my parents have been in the castle a long time, so I’ve picked up a thing or two but you…”

“I assure you, I can be quite regal”, Steve said. “I just wish we didn’t have to part. What if something happens?”

“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.” Eddie kissed the back of his hands, then his forehead. Then he let Jeff lead the two siblings to the opposite end of the hall. Only once they were out of sight did Eddie remove his cloak. He still snuck around, there was no need to let the castle know he had returned yet. But the cloak would have just brought more attention while indoors.

Eddie was eventually able to get to his rooms and he trusted Jeff to lead Robin and his beloved to another room. One where they could complete the next phase of the plan: disguises.

Steve was surprised to see they had come to a room with dresses upon mannequins. And they all looked exquisite. But none so as lovely as the bridal gown. Steve could tell it was such. It had the most detail. White and golden details, with a frock of green. Steve longed to see if the embroidered embellishments were birds or butterflies, but he resisted. He knew in his heart, that must be Prince Stephen’s wedding dress. His wedding dress.

He turned away from it, giving his attention instead to one of the others in the room. They were all very pretty and Steve couldn’t believe he’d get to wear a royal wardrobe for one last night. The plan was to infiltrate the party. Eddie’s parents would be serving there. Once he met with them, made sure they were safe and okay, their business would be done.

Jeff left them to return to Eddie. There was clothing there for Robin and she began to strip right then and there while Steve went behind a room divider, decorated with flowers. He chose a dress of deep blue and white, going to the vanity after Robin helped him tie the back. He looked at his reflection, feeling that loss again.

“What has you so forlorn, dear brother?”, Robin asked, holding out her arm so that Steve could tie the laces of her sleeve. She had chosen yellow for herself.

“I…”, he sighed as he tied her up. “I’m not as…”

“If you’re about to say ‘as pretty’ when just last night you had that alpha drooling all over you!”

“But it’s true isn’t it?”

“All you did was chop off some hair-”

“And changed my clothing-”

“And yet you still entranced the Bandit Prince. Steve, he fell for you in a matter of days. He loves you. I wager he’d still love you even if you went bald”, she said before plucking a hair from his head, prompting him to swat at her.

“Stop it!”

“And he’ll love you when you start to wrinkle”, she pulled at his cheek. “Or when you have horrible flatulence-”

“You are the worst sister in the world! And I’m so glad to have you by my side.”

“Roommates until the end”, Robin smiled.

“Until the end”, Steve echoed, scenting her before putting on their masks.

------------------------------

Eddie was dressed in red, so deep it was almost like blood. His mask was the same, studded with rubies. Had this occurred normally, it would have done nothing to hide his identity. But since he had run, he was sure not even his parents would recognize him. They weren’t expecting him here tonight.

Everyone was in the ballroom, and they were able to enter the crowd with ease. Eddie knew Steve when he saw him. It wasn’t just that he was the only omega with short hair. It felt like the room parted for him. Steve walked like…like royalty. He moved like he belonged, smiling easily, almost flirtatiously as he made his way to Eddie.

Without even thinking, Eddie offered his arm. Steve took it just as reflexively.

“Have you found your parents yet?”

Eddie’s eyes glanced at the end of the room where the queen and her king sat. He shook his head. “Not yet. Shall we dance?” He didn’t give Steve a chance to answer before bringing him to the circle in the middle. He had done so to distract Steve from asking too many questions. But in turn, Eddie himself was distracted. By the twirl of Steve’s skirt, by his smile, by the sparkle of his eyes beneath the mask.

Even when Steve had to turn away during the dance, Eddie’s eyes followed him. Perhaps the flower and sun analogy would have been better reversed. Wherever Steve went, he was compelled to face. When that song ended, he pulled Steve to him, leading him to a table to eat.

“What do you think of what the good life has to offer?”, Eddie asked.

“That one could get used to it”, Steve said, eyeing Robin as she walked by, already chatting up a maiden. “But I am fine with less.”

“But..what if you didn’t have to settle for less?”

“What do you-”

A roar of fanfare cut him off and all eyes turned as the queen and king stood. The queen was beautiful, her hair was a mass of curls behind her crown, almost wild and untamed like a burst of auburn starlight. The king’s own hair was dark and cut short. They stepped down together but the queen continued to the center of the room.

“Tonight, is no mere revelry. While it is quite known how I love frivolity, there were other intentions for this celebration. You see, it is a homecoming.”

Steve could scent something coming off of Eddie, something like anxiety as the queen continued.

“For months, we have missed our dear prince. But finally, he has returned to us.” She looked in Eddie’s direction. “How long will you continue to hide?”

Steve’s head whipped around. Prince Edwin was here?! Now? What were the odd-wait, why was Eddie standing? He was on his feet and then he walked towards the queen. Once there, he removed his mask, prompting gasps from many in the room. Steve didn’t gasp. He had known what was under the mask. What he didn’t know was that there was a mask at all. His chest rose and fell. Eddie was…Eddie was Prince Edwin? Why?

Why, why, why?

He could pick up Robin’s scent. She had just arrived next to him and grabbed his hand. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of Eddie (no, not Eddie, Prince Edwin) as he stood next to the queen (no, his mother).

“Welcome home, son”, she smiled. That elicited applause, everyone welcoming him back as well. She turned to return to her husband, but Eddie stayed right where he was.

“I have not returned”, he said, bringing the room to silence, and then hushed murmurs.

“What do you mean?”, his mother asked, turning as the king came to stand by her.

“Why did you leave, son?”, he asked.

“I had my reasons. But none of them matter now”, Eddie began. “What matters is the reason I found while I was away. If I return, you would have me marry Prince Stephen.”

Steve’s heart thudded in his throat. Is that why Eddie had run away from home? Because he hadn’t wanted to marry him? Well he couldn’t be that offended, could he? He had run away for the same reason. And yet, it was different. He had reached out to Prince Edwin, had tried to get to know him. But Prince Edwin had ignored him at every turn.

“There is another I want to marry instead. Someone else I want to pledge myself to. He holds no titles, no lands, no prestige. But he has all of my heart”, Eddie said. Then he held a hand out. Towards Steve.

Robin tightened her hold on his hand, determined to keep him there, maybe even steal him away. He could feel her getting angry on his behalf. He patted her arm to placate her, needing to get a few answers for himself. He stood and began to walk towards Eddie.

“Why don’t you want to marry Prince Stephen?”, he asked.

Eddie flinched at that, his hand falling. He hadn’t expected that. “I…I don’t know him. Not like I know you.”

“But he’s your betrothed. Surely you tried to know him. Or he you?”, Steve urged.

“There were letters…”

“And?”

Eddie looked down before meeting Steve’s eyes again, still behind the mask. “It is an arranged marriage, decided by our parents. I knew any communication he sent would have been with the intention to make nice. Not genuine romance. I don’t want someone who was told to love me, told to care about me in order to please their parents.”

“What did you think would happen to the prince after you disappeared?”

“His fate is not in my hands. I only sought to change my own destiny. To be a true love. And perhaps give him a chance to do the same.”

“And what if you had allowed yourself to be known?”, Steve crossed his arms. “What if he fell for you of his own accord?”

Eddie grinned. “I’m not so easy to love.”

Steve finally stepped closer to him. “And yet you convinced me of it in such a short time. I wonder…how long it would have taken if you had responded to any of my letters.”

“Y…y-your-”

“Edwin, who is this?”, the king asked.

Steve removed his mask then. “My apologies, Your Majesties, for the deception. It is I, Prince Stephen.” He bowed before them. “I have come to claim my husband.”

Both the king and queen were rendered speechless. And the rest of the hall was just as silent. Robin was in the crowd, on her feet, ready to snatch Steve away and make a break for it just in case they decided he was a liar.

“Is this true, Edwin”, the queen asked.

Suddenly it all made sense to Eddie. The coincidental disappearance, the refusal to discuss his parents, the vague past and even more vague future plans, how he seemed so aristocratic despite claiming to be a commoner. Even the fact that he was on the road with his twin sister, just as there were twin royals!

“It’s all true”, Eddie said, his voice full of disbelief. “Every last word.” This time, when he offered his hand, Steve accepted it. He felt a warmth throughout his entire body.

The queen cleared her throat. “If I am understanding this correctly, you ran from home because you did not wish to fulfill the arrangement between you and Prince Stephen. Now you have returned home and you intend to marry him?”

Eddie had the decency to get bashful and blush. Steve did the same, hiding his smile behind his hand. Both royal parents sighed and shook their heads. Then the king clapped his hands.

“It sounds to me we have something to celebrate after all! Tonight we feast in honor of my son and his renewed engagement!”

There were cheers all around at that and the music began again. Jeff, remembering Gareth and Harold, sent for them. There was no longer any need to secure a getaway. Steve and Eddie danced the night away, barely taking their eyes or hands off of each other. Which was all fine and dandy until they had to part for bed. There would be no more nighttime trysts.

The only low point was when Steve and Robin’s parents came to confirm their children were indeed at this castle. They’d taken turns admonishing them both, taking up about half the day to do so. But on the bright side, it prompted them to begin the wedding arrangements immediately, lest their children do something foolish again.

When Steve met Eddie at the altar, dressed in his bridal gown, it felt like a dream come true. Eddie’s eyes twinkled with tears of happiness.

“Your beauty rivals that of the brightest stars.”

“And just think, you could have known sooner, had you responded to my letters.”

“That shall stain your impression of me forever, won’t it?”

“Perhaps. Ask me again after we’ve had our first pup. Or perhaps the third or fourth.”

“As my love commands~”

It didn’t take long for Steve’s belly to grow round, nor for the people of this kingdom to spread the rumor of how the two princes came to meet. It had twisted and turned that there were about five different versions people told, just in the surrounding area. Go even further out and the story became even more muddled. 

But the core remained the same. That their love was true. That they would have given up not just one kingdom, but two. But as fate would have it, the only thing they had to relinquish was their hearts. And they had given it to someone who would treasure it above the most valuable of crown jewels.

And all they had to do was run away to each other.

END

Thank yall for joinin' me on this one :) Hope to see you for more in 2025!

[dreams-in-daylight]

.

[rambling-at-midnight]

Don't Go Disappearing On Me Again

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Jason's lost too much to lose you, too. (We stan healthy communication in this house)

Word count: 2.3k

Ow.

You've never worked Friday nights before at the restaurant, and you never want to again. And you'd thought Saturday mornings were bad.

But one of your favorite coworkers had called you in a panic early this morning, begging you to take her shift, because her lab group's department at GCU was going out to bowling and it would be a great networking opportunity. You were the last person she called, but everyone else before you had declined because they were either scheduled or determined to avoid the shitshow.

And because you were weak, you gave in and said you would cover her Friday night shift as long as she covered your Friday morning shift.

So you two swapped shifts, and you went into your library internship in the morning instead of the evening. It wasn't a particularly hard job, but end-of-week returns had you dashing all over the three floors, so your feet already hurt before you walked into the restaurant.

Right before coming in, you'd texted Jason that you'd gotten held up, and it was a good thing you did, because you haven't had a single break to look at your phone the whole shift. He likely wasn't even awake yet—last night's patrol had been tough on the both of you, him because he came home half beaten to death, and you because you'd had a heart attack waking up in the middle of the night to your bloody boyfriend passing out on top of you in bed. But you usually got home around six from the library, and it was looking like you wouldn't be back until ten at the earliest, so you wanted to let him know. It was going on hour seven after starting at two p.m., when the restaurant switched from its brunch to dinner menu. Personally, you think two p.m. is obscenely early to eat dinner, but apparently rich people loved eating at weird hours, because you had had nonstop tables the entire night.

But the good thing is that the restaurant closes at nine, so you’re almost there. After your last three tables eat and leave, all you have to do is clean your section, close your checks, and clock out.

In the kitchen, you lean against the fridge, rubbing your hips and knees. You’re a little too young to feel so creaky after seven hours on your feet. After all, Jason works all night, doing athletic feats you could never dream of.

You can't really complain, though. You'd gotten lucky with your tables; they'd all tipped well. Maybe you could even add a little bit to your savings account instead of shoving every paycheck right at your student loans, which just keep growing, no matter how much you pay.

“Oh, no,” says Charlotte, one of the other veteran servers at the restaurant. She’s staring at the camera feed display, which is tuned to a livestream of the restaurant’s entranceway. “Don’t you dare seat me now, Ashley, I swear to God.”

“What time is it?” your head jerks up. “We’re about to close, right? Is someone looking for a table?”

“Yeah,” she says, pointing to the screen. “The hottest man in the world just walked in our front door.”

You just hum, not bothering to look in favor of pulling out your phone. You know for a fact that the hottest man in the world is actually at home in your bed right now. “The kitchen’s stopped receiving tickets. No way Ashley seats someone right now.” The screen doesn't light up when you click the power button. Well, shit. It's dead.

“I can’t tell what he’s saying.” Charlotte squints at the screen. “He’s, like, huge. Does Ashley look a little scared to you?”

You’re out of the kitchen without even looking at the screen. You speedmarch right past your tables, ignoring one man’s halfhearted attempts to flag you down for more ketchup. A righteous fire is boiling in your gut. You’ve been here long enough that the managers won’t fire you for telling off any customers that harass the younger workers that are more scared to stand up for yourself.

Your mouth is already open, ready to spew forth the beginning of your tirade, when you recognize the man in front of Ashley at the host stand.

Dressed in gray sweats and a dark T-shirt, slouching slightly, he looks even worse than when you kissed his forehead goodbye that morning. The bruise on Jason's face has properly colored now, purple and blue along his jawline. His hair looks a little flat, like he's been wearing his helmet, which is strange.

Jason's eyes snap onto you the second you appear, and you falter at the intensity there. Something has happened, but you're not sure what.

"Hey," you say, a little hesitant. "What's up?"

Ashley exhales with relief. "So you do know him."

"Yeah," you say without breaking eye contact with Jason, who's staring at you with the same expression you think a wolf would wear when stalking a hare. "He's my boyfriend."

You expect Jason to tell you that someone was in an accident. Someone's in the hospital. Something terrible happened to your apartment while you were gone.

He says none of those things. Instead, Jason says, "I didn't know you picked up a Friday shift."

Ashley's face goes blank.

"I told you I would be home late."

“No,” he corrects. “You texted me that you were being held up.”

“Yeah, at work.”

“And then you disappeared.” Jason’s jaw clenched. “Did you know that a bank was held up this afternoon? Your bank?”

“Oh, shit,” your hand flies up to cover your mouth. “My phone died, I don’t know when. You couldn’t check my location and see I was here?”

He just shakes his head, stiff and wordless.

“Hey, Y/N.” It’s your manager approaching the host stand now, customer service smile on and eyes taking in Jason’s appearance. “What’s going on up here?”

“Hey, Steve,” you say. “Sorry, this is my boyfriend Jason—Jay, this is my manager, Steve—”

Jason gets the hint and smiles close-lipped, reaching to shake Steve’s hand.

“My phone died so he came to see if I needed a ride home.”

“As soon as your tables leave and your section’s clean, you’re good to go. Oh, and you have to roll silverware.”

“It’ll be at least another hour,” you say apologetically to Jason.

“Okay.” His eyes keep boring into you like he’s trying to send you a telepathic message. He’s mad, you get it, but it makes you a little mad, too. You’re a grown adult. Yeah, the miscommunication was your fault, and it’s fine for him to be worried, but he looks close to Red Hood levels of anger, which is totally unwarranted for this situation. “Is it cool if I wait at the bar for you, then?”

“Of course!” Steve answers for you. "Our bartender, Lacy, will be happy to serve you while you wait." He checks his watch. "Until last call, that is."

"He didn't scare you, did he?" you ask Ashley as soon as Steve leaves. You smile at Jason, trying to tease him, but his expression doesn't twitch. "He looks mean, but I promise he's a big ol' softie."

Jason just grunts, but on his way to the bar, he doesn't forget to drop a kiss to your forehead. It warms you from the inside out.

As soon as he's gone, Ashley blurts out, "What happened to his face?"

"Motorcycle accident," you fib. "Oh, my table's calling me."

You rush over to take care of the poor man's ketchup—he's been waiting almost five whole minutes—and check out another party. The back of your neck prickles as you do. Every time you glance at the bar, Jason's green eyes are locked on your every move. It flusters you so much that when your table leaves, they say thanks, and you respond with, "Good morning!"

"What?"

"Thanks, you too!"

You run back to the kitchen, and everyone immediately starts interrogating you about your 'huge hunky boyfriend' (Charlotte's words, not yours).

By some miracle, all your tables clear out by closing time, and you’re out by 9:20. There are still a couple people at the bar, but Jason’s up immediately to walk out with you, leaving his water glass on the counter.

He doesn’t say anything, though you can feel his eyes on you whenever you aren’t looking. You won’t fight in public, so you follow his lead and stay quiet.

He drove your car to pick you up, and even though he’s obviously mad, he holds the passenger door open for you before getting into the driver’s seat.

The drive home is silent. He parks in the spot for your shared apartment, then immediately, quietly, asks, “Why’d you pick up a shift without telling me?”

"It was super last-minute," you say. He's still facing forward, so you do the same, eyeing his profile out of the corner of your eyes. "Like, it happened this morning. I thought you were sleeping, so I didn't want to blow up your phone with texts. I thought you'd just check my location and see where I was when you woke up."

Jason's hand clenches on the center console. "I woke up and I was terrified."

"I'm sorry—"

"And the bank, and your wording, and your phone was off—"

"I know," you say, putting your hand over his fist. He unclenches immediately to lace his fingers with yours. "I'll make sure I tell you next time."

Jason takes a deep breath in, then lets it out. In a rush, he finally turns to face you and says, "I don't mean to be controlling."

You blink. "I don't think you're being controlling."

"You don't?" Jason frowns. "Then why were you so mad when I walked into your work?"

"Mad? I'm not mad—you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you, what are you talking about?"

"You've been glaring this whole time! And you didn't say a word this entire car ride."

"Because I thought you were angry. I wanted to give you space."

"Okay, wait, wait, wait." You hold up a hand. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad at me?"

"No," he says earnestly. "I was worried and scared, but you're an adult. You don't have to ask for permission if you want to pick up a shift at work." He makes a face like the thought disgusts him.

"Okay," you say. "Okay, well if you're not mad at me, I'm not mad at you, either."

"Then why did you look so pissed when I walked in?"

You press your lips together to keep from smiling. "Well, we have cameras that show us up front while we're in the kitchen, right? One of my coworkers was watching and said 'the hottest man in the world' walked in and I didn't look because I thought the hottest guy in the world was still asleep in my bed—"

Jason covers his face with his hands. You can't stop your smile now, and you pull them away so you can look at said handsome face. "And I didn't even look because I'm such a loyal, awesome partner—"

"You are pretty awesome," he agrees, trying to sound serious, but he's grinning like an idiot, too. His cheeks are flushed pink.

"I know I am. But then Charlotte said that the hostess, Ashley, looked a little intimidated by him, so I walked out to see if she needed help."

"Aw," Jason says. He lowers his chin to look at you from underneath his lashes, pretty as a picture. "Were you going to give me a stern talking-to?"

"I can still give you one," you offer.

"Maybe later."

He's still grinning, and you're still grinning, so the both of you are grinning at each other like idiots in the car.

You want to kiss him, and he's your boyfriend. You're allowed to do that whenever the two of you want, so you take Jason by the chin and pull his mouth to yours.

Jason sighs against you, and it's like all the tension in his body melts away. One hand comes up to cradle your jaw, the other on the back of your head.

You break away to murmur, "Are you patrolling tonight?" He's still so beaten up.

"No," he whispers, voice low and gravelly in a way that has butterflies whipping around like a tornado in your stomach.

"Good. Wanna go up and be the hottest patient in the world while I look at your wounds?"

"Only if you're the hottest nurse in the world."

"Oh, but then who will be the hottest chef in the world who makes dinner?"

"The hot chef is on vacation right now," Jason joked. "But I can be a really hot food-orderer. What takeout are you in the mood for?"

"You're the injured one. What do you want?"

"I want whatever you want."

You narrow your eyes in a glare. "Well, I want whatever you want."

"You gotta make a decision," he says, already on his phone. "You're the hottest decision-maker in the world, I'm the hottest food-orderer."

"Chinese?"

"You got it."

Right before he dials the number, you grab him and kiss him again. When you pull back, he chases after your lips. It's so tempting that you give him another firm peck before you pat his chest once.

Jason blinks twice, looking dazed. "What was that for?"

You shrug. "I just wanted to kiss the hottest man in the world."

"Oh, my God." He groans and covers his face again, but you can see his red ears. "You're never gonna let that go?"

"Mmm." You pretend to consider it. "No."

DC taglist:

@evalynanne @mismatchsposts

Forever taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit  @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds (2)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Angst!! More pining and yearning

a/n: Here is part two! I love writing this little series :) There will definitely be more! let me know what you think ♡♡

Part 1, Part 3

~~

Sometimes you hated being a scholar. 

There were plenty of upsides to having such a cushy job, especially when your employer was the high lord himself. You got paid generously, got free access to the best libraries, and never had to pay rent. Millions of fae would kill to have your position. 

But as Cassian punched you in the ribs—for the third time—you found yourself questioning your role within the night court’s inner circle.

“Okay,” you breathed out, hunching over with a hand cradling your side. “Okay, please, Cass. Can we take a break?” 

Unfortunately, Cassian didn’t appreciate quitters. So, your feet were abruptly swept from under you and your back made contact with the floor. With a soft oof, the wind was knocked from your lungs. 

“C’mon, y/n, you’re better than that. I know you are.” 

You responded with a wheeze, blinking into the pale sun. 

This morning had been rough.

You’d been having some trouble sleeping, but that wasn’t necessarily unusual. Being alive for so long meant you had seen quite a few things, so nightmares came and went with the tide. You were going through a rough patch with them at the moment, and the lack of sleep was starting to catch up with you.

“You planning on laying there for the rest of the day?” Cassian asked, his large silhouette coming to block the light. 

You squinted up at him. “Maybe.” 

“Yeah, not happening.” 

You fought back a whine as the Illyrian pulled you up by your shoulders and steadied you. He nodded, giving you a moment to ready yourself back into position, and then bent his knees. Gods, you were going to be so sore later. 

It didn’t take long for you to end up on the floor again, this time on your stomach. Your chin cracked against the padded ring, your teeth snapping together at the impact. The sound made your brain vibrate as you rolled onto your side and held your temple. 

Cassian crouched down to the floor beside you and you could make out his worried brow amidst the shakiness of your vision. 

“What’s going on with you?” He brought his hand up to brush against your already bruising jaw. “We’ve been working on that move for weeks. You had it a few days ago.” 

You breathed through your nose and tried not to groan at the ache rolling through your body. “I think I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping very well.” 

At that, Cassian plopped down to a seat, keeping a hand at your elbow as you brought your own body up to mirror his. 

“You want to talk about it?” he questioned. 

“There isn’t much to say. I can’t remember them this time. It’s kind of strange—usually I remember them too much and that’s what makes it worse.” 

Cassian hummed in contemplation. He was always the one you went to the morning after a sleepless night. Cassian would listen as you talked through your nightmares, and you would do the same for him. He was a logical pillar in your life. 

But it was always Azriel you went to in the midst of them. You never talked about what you saw and he never asked. But it was always Azriel in the middle of the night. His shadows were a comfort in the pitch black and he was always quick to wrap his wings around you when it became too hard to breathe. 

You hadn’t gone to him these last few times.

The fact that you couldn’t remember your dreams was an unfortunate factor. Because if you knew what was causing you to wake up in a cold sweat every night, at least then you could talk about it. Or take a moment to rationalize. 

There was no rationalizing when the only thing you had to go off of was fear and hurt. 

“What does Azriel think?” Cassian asked after a small lapse in silence.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, when you go to his room at night. What does he have to say about you not remembering?” 

You scoffed. And then scoffed again. “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I barely do that.” 

Cassian stared at you with a blank expression. “So we’re still doing that then. Got it.” He heaved himself up from the ground and then yanked you up alongside him.

“Still doing what?” you asked, trailing behind him as he reached for his canteen. He didn’t answer you, favoring the long gulps of water he was taking. You waited for him to finish and then asked again. He chose to unwrap his knuckles instead. “Cassian.” 

The man sighed. “Nothing, y/n. It’s just… It wasn’t a secret that you would go to his room after you had a rough night. Why do you think I never dragged you out here those mornings?” You cringed at his words. He shook his head. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Why do you hide it?” 

You didn’t have a good reason—well, you didn’t used to. You’d always sneak out of his room after the sun rose and never bring it up again. And there was never a solid explanation for why you evaded the topic. You knew Azriel would never hold it against you and you weren’t embarrassed for others to know that you sought out comfort in a friend. It just seemed like something you should keep to yourself. 

Now, though—now there was a good reason to wipe your actions from memory. To pretend they never happened and to never repeat them. 

“Cassian, Elain is my friend. Even if I did that in the past—in a friendly way—it would be wrong now.” 

A muscle in Cassian’s jaw twitched. “Right. Have you ever actually talked to Elain about her feelings?” 

“I don’t need to.” You reached down for your own water, ignoring the twinge in your side and the pulsing in your head. “She never stops talking about him. And they’re always together. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already seeing each other.” 

“Who’s seeing each other?” 

The cool tone of Azriel’s voice washed over you and you whipped around to find him standing at the foot of the training ring, blades in hand. 

A nervous laugh fell from your lips and you fought the urge to slap your hand over your mouth. “Um, no one, just some friends I know.” 

“Who?” he asked again. 

“Oh, you don’t know them. Old friends.” 

The Shadowsinger raised a brow, sending Cassian a fleeting look. “I thought I knew all of your friends.” 

“You don’t. I know way more people than you. Even though you're older than me. Not by that much, though. Have you talked to Elain lately?” Words were spewing from your mouth in the worst combinations. You were never nervous around Azriel. What in the cauldron was wrong with you?

Azriel’s raised brow turned into a furrowed one and he blinked, assessing your face with a scrutinizing gaze. “Do you have a concussion?” He turned the Cassian, expression going from confused to provoked. “Did you give her a concussion?” 

“Honestly, maybe.” 

“I don’t have a concussion,” you rushed out, cutting off Cassian’s admission. “I was just leaving though. I’m tired. You guys can fight each other.” 

There was so much sudden pent-up energy inside of you that you had no intention of sleeping, but just seeing Azriel made you feel like you were intruding on something. Which was absurd. Azriel was your friend and had been your friend for centuries. Just because he loved Elain didn’t mean you had to avoid him. 

But this energy had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere was telling you to avoid him like the Illyrian flu. 

Making a break for it, you freed yourself from the training ring and attempted to skate past Azriel with a quick side smile, but he apparently had other plans. He caught your wrist as you walked past, glancing up at a “preoccupied” Cassian before turning to you with his wing out, giving the illusion of a private conversation. 

“You’re not sleeping well?” he asked, voice low. 

You warped your smile into one that met both sides of your mouth. “I’m okay.” 

Shadows crept over his shoulders and along his ears. His expression shifted and pinched and then returned neutral. “You know you can come to me if you need it.” 

“I’m okay, Az. Really.” 

“Would you tell me if you weren’t?”

Maybe before. 

“I’m a paper pusher, Az. I’m not out in the throes of battle,” you jested, scrunching your nose as you smiled up at him. “Nothing is that serious for me.” 

A lie. Something was that serious—serious enough to keep you up at night for the past week—but you couldn’t figure out what it was. 

“That is not what I asked,” he countered, sliding his hand up from your wrist to turn your chin. “You need to ice your jaw. Cassian shouldn’t be so rough with you.” 

“I’m okay,” you said again, words a pathetic repetition because your heart was beating so fast now and you needed to leave. Something was pulling at your chest and you needed to leave. 

“As you’ve said,” Azriel muttered, his fingers brushing down along the column of your throat. When his eyes flickered up and met your own, something inside of you lost its alignment.

You looked away before the feeling could return. Everything righted itself. You took a wobbly step back. 

“Have a good training session.” 

You turned on your heel and stalked away, feeling equal parts the betrayer and the betrayed. 

~~

“You mean that girl off-continent? The one from a century ago?” 

Cassian hummed. “Yeah, her. What I wouldn’t give for a visit from her.” 

“You’re a pig,” Mor replied, a scoff sharp on her lips.

“She didn’t think so.” 

You were eavesdropping. You didn’t like to, but somehow, in the time you’d spent in the inner circle, you’d picked up the habit. Oops.

Technically, you weren’t really eavesdropping. You had been in the room first. It wasn’t your fault Cassian and Mor decided to speak very loudly with only a few shelves separating you. If they wanted privacy they should have checked the area. 

“Is it that hard for you to get laid? You have to search off-continent?” 

Cassian’s responding laugh was almost defensive. “I’m sure you’d love to know about my sex life.” 

“I really wouldn’t, actually. You brought it up.” Mor paused. You heard her shift on the lounge chair. “I am, however, interested in Azriel’s.” 

“Aren’t we all,” Cassian droned. “Pretty obvious that he doesn't have one at the moment. Hasn’t had one in a while.” 

You felt your neck jolt at the reveal of that information. Azriel always kept his partners discrete, but you’d always known he’d had them. Many of them. You had no idea who they were or where he met them, but you would hear the girls occasionally... smell their perfume on a few rare nights. 

“You think? This whole time?” Mor asked, curiosity raising her voice an octave. 

“Mor, I think the sight of other females makes him want to vomit.” 

The book in your lap was all but obsolete. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” 

Cassian tsked. “I’m not. He’s told me.” 

“I suppose that’s what having a mate does to a person.” 

Your fingers became abnormally cold, the center of your chest caving slightly.

Azriel had a mate? No, he would have told you.

He would have told you. 

Mor’s sweet voice slammed against your ears, harsh despite its nature. “Do you think he’ll tell her soon?” 

Cassian’s reply had you standing on shaking knees. “Hope so. He’s so in love with her it's suffocating. You should see when—” 

You were out of the room in a wisp, sliding out the small back door. The book you’d been reading was still clutched in your frozen grip and you held it against your chest as breathing became impossible. With a hand pressed to the wall and your head hung low, you sucked in air, greedy for some type of reprieve. 

You were happy for him. You were so, so happy for him. 

Right? 

The book fell from your grip, clattering to the floor. The pages collapsed in on themselves as it fell face down, and you listened to the paper crumple as your throat closed. Both hands now pressed to the cold wall. Why were you freezing? 

This made sense. It made sense. 

Of course Azriel had a mate and of course it was… Elain? 

No, it couldn’t be Elain. Elain was Lucien’s mate. 

Now you were confused as well as consumed. Your body was left aching from training and your mind was in a frenzy and you couldn’t even understand why you were reacting the way you were. 

It was completely plausible that Azriel had a mate and didn’t tell anyone about it. He was a private male who kept his lovers to himself, so of course he would keep his mate to himself as well. But he did tell someone about it. He told Cassian. And Mor knew. 

Your fingernails dug into stone.

Azriel didn’t love you. 

The thought came on so suddenly that you almost looked over your shoulder. It was as if the words had been whispered in your ear by some cruel, vicious wind. 

You had never cared if Azriel loved you before, because you knew that he did love you. Like a sister. You were Azriel’s family and he was yours. 

But as the thought of Azriel having a mate invaded your mind once more, your shaky legs propelled you forward, running from the creased book and the hallway that contained all of the worst things. 

You ran until you couldn't, until your toes hit the edge of the balcony on the far side of the house and the cool air of winter hit your cheeks. You had been so cold inside, but somehow the breeze felt even colder across your skin. 

“Y/n?” 

You gasped, whipping around and gripping the railing as it pressed into your spine. You couldn’t formulate words as Azriel stood before you. His hands raised up to his waist, reaching for you as he took in the way your chest heaved.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” he rushed. 

You only shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut. Embarrassment and confusion and a twisted sort of fear coursed through you. You couldn't look at him, afraid you would somehow see the bond connected to his chest—somehow notice things about him you hadn’t before. Maybe another shade of hazel in his eyes or a softness to his lips that you had never looked for. 

As you considered it now, it was obvious that you’d never let yourself look. 

Azriel was never supposed to be yours. 

“Talk to me, angel.” Azriel’s sweet whisper brushed against your skin. He was so close to you. You could feel him, but you refused to look. 

To see how everything had changed. 

“Let me fix it.” 

You heard the rush of wind from his wings as he expanded them outwards, followed closely behind by the whirling of his shadows, and it all clicked then. 

The images came quickly, dissipating just as fast. But they did their job, sending heavy, hot tears past the tight scrunch of your eyelids. 

Azriel with Elain. Azriel with Mor. Azriel with random, faceless women.

Him, in every iteration, with everyone that wasn’t you. 

That’s what had kept you up—the dreams plaguing your every resting moment. And you realized then that nothing had really changed at all. That you’d been in love with Azriel for longer than you’d been in love with anything. 

Your jaw trembled, your body rejecting the anguish that swept through you. Wind softly flowed from the west, swaying your skirts with a gentleness that made your breath shudder. That kind of gentleness was impossible. The world felt so cruel. 

“Y/n, tell me what happened. Should I get someone else?” Azriel pleaded. “Should I get Rhys?” 

Rhys could knock you out, and that would surely be a relief. You felt paralyzed by this overwhelming array of devastation. But Rhys would also have access to your thoughts. 

You shook your head. “No,” you said, but the word was lost in the wind. Azriel seemed to hear it anyway. “No, I want—I need to—go to sleep.” 

“You need to go to sleep?” He touched you now, something he seemed to have been avoiding. His hands came to rest behind your neck, thumbs at your jaw, and you pried your eyes open at the contact. You’d never seen the shadowsinger look so ruined, his hair askew, his eyes wild and panicked. “That doesn’t make any sense.” 

His expression was beseeching you for something you couldn’t give him. You hiccuped your next words out. 

“I’m—’m tired.” 

You wished you’d stayed oblivious. That you had never become privy to the depth of your feelings. 

This pain was immeasurable.

[smileysuh]

nerd

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. Look up at me for a moment, gorgeous,” Wonwoo commands, and you do as you’re told. He meets your gaze, his skin flushed from your mouth suctioning on his cock. “Just need to get your eyes right for your character,” he explains, threading his fingers through your hair and aiding you up and down on his throbbing length. “Such pretty eyes. You look so good staring up at me with your mouth stuffed full, baby.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, use of dragon knotted dildo toy, use of vibrator, multiple reader orgasms, blow job, dirty talk, slight power play/humiliation, clit sucking, overstimulation, pussy stretching, reader rides the toy then Wonwoo uses the toy to make her cum again, talking reader through it, mutual masturbation, Wonwoo strokes himself off to the reader using her toys, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby. (Wonwoo’s) puppy

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 3.9k

🍭 aus. Established relationship au, gamer!Wonwoo, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I know this is on the shorter side, it’s pwp, but I’ve been reading shorter things lately, and I’ve been insanely busy, so I figured a short and sweet fic couldn’t hurt after last month's near 20k meanie fic :)

You wake up to an empty bed, your hand stretching uselessly toward your boyfriend’s side of the mattress, to no avail. With a slight groan and a huff of sleepy annoyance, you wrap yourself tighter in your white duvet, searching for the energy to sit up.

A clicking sound has your brows furrowing, and you wrap your body tight in the blanket as you open your eyes to look around.

Wonwoo’s sitting at his gaming station in the corner of the room, large earphones snug around his head. For a guy who’s a bit of a night owl, you’re shocked he’s awake and playing video games right now, but as you stare at the screen, you realize what’s going on.

With the new Fallout TV show, Wonwoo’s been wanting to do another playthrough of Fallout 4. He’s been talking about it on Twitch streams for the better part of a week. Leave it to your boyfriend to get the energy to restart a video game at nine am on a Saturday morning.

As much as you love Wonwoo and what he does for work - being a streamer is his dream afterall - you kind of wish he was still in bed with you. He’d been up late gaming last night, and was too tired afterward to take care of your growing needs. You’re at the part of your cycle where you’ve been very horny lately, and you’d been crossing your fingers for morning sex, but by the way Wonwoo is locked in on his screen, you can guess that might not be in the cards.

You watch him a few moments longer, realizing that he’s not actively streaming. It looks like he’s just doing general character creation, but with a boyfriend as meticulous as Wonwoo, you know that could take a while.

Quietly slipping from bed, you wrap yourself in a kimono style robe that Wonwoo had got for you on a recent trip to Japan. You head to the bathroom, intent on completing your morning skin care routine, taking your time and brushing your teeth. 

When you head back to your shared room with Wonwoo fifteen minutes later, your boyfriend looks like he hasn’t even moved a muscle aside from his twitching thumbs on the controller.

Approaching Wonwoo, you lean over the back of his chair, loosely guiding your fingers across his shoulders and down to his bare chest. 

Wonwoo immediately takes his headphones off, turning to press a kiss to your cheek while you linger behind him.

“Good morning,” you breathe.

“Morning, baby,” he says, voice deep and crackly with exhaustion.

“Watcha doing?”

“Just making my Fallout character,” he responds smoothly, turning to look back at the screen. “I’m glad you’re awake actually.”

“Yeah?” you grin. “And why is that?”

“I’m almost done, and when I move onto my wife character, I want to model her after you. As good as my memory is, it’s probably better to have you here with me when I do it.”

God, he’s such a nerd.

You love him, your whole heart warming in your chest at the notion of him creating a wife character based off of you.

“Are you sure you want to put the time into that?” you ask. “We both know what happens to the wife within the first fifteen minutes of the game.”

Wonwoo only shrugs. “I woke up to your pretty face and I guess I was inspired.”

“Hey, puppy?” The pet name immediately draws his attention, and he turns to look at you, a smirk growing on his lips.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can you take a break for a bit?”

Wonwoo’s eyes scan you up and down, and then he sets his controller to the side, reaching for you instead. You allow him to lace his fingers with yours, drawing you in front of him. He positions you between his spread thighs, using his free digits to tug on the belt of your kimono robe. You don’t even need to verbalize what you need, Wonwoo knows you too well, and within seconds, your robe is opening to expose your naked body.

“I guess I didn’t really have the energy to take care of you last night,” Wonwoo admits, leaning forward to press his lips to the spot above your navel.

You let go of his hand in favour of threading your fingers through his curls, his hair teasing your sensitive skin as he presses kisses up toward your rib cage. He cups the back of your thighs, tugging you closer.

Wonwoo reaches your breasts, his tongue darting out to lick at the underside of your boob, eyes gazing up at you.

“How about a compromise?” he suggests, breath hot on your sensitive skin.

“A compromise?” Your words come out shaky as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it gently.

He hums against the sensitive bud, one hand lifting to massage your ass. Then, he pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with a grin. “I just wanna finish your character first.”

You let out a deep sigh, shaking your head at Wonwoo. You step away from him, but he grabs at your hand. “Kiss,” he instructs, and you begrudgingly lean down to press a chaste peck to his lips. His fingers thread through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep your mouth on his for a few moments longer, then he releases you. 

“Should only take five or ten minutes,” he tells you. “And I need you here to model.” 

“One second,” you groan, heading to your closet.

If he doesn’t want to fuck you right away, if he wants to prioritize his video game, that’s just fine. You can start without him.

You find a good sized toy, one of the dragon style ones that Wonwoo had been obsessed with a few months ago. He loves watching the coulourful, ribbed cock with a wide ‘knot’ base work you open for him, and fuck it, today feels like a good day for you to enjoy it too.

You also grab a trusty black vibrator and a bottle of lube for good measure before going back to your boyfriend.

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything as you sink to the ground, he simply pushes his chair back, giving you some space to settle under the table his computer is on. You can feel his gaze on you when you open the bottle of lube, squirting some onto the toy before suctioning it to the floor.

“Five or ten minutes, right?” you ask, easing over the head of the toy and facing your boyfriend.

“Uh huh,” he mumbles, looking down to watch the way you sink the head of the toy into your pussy. “Think you can get all the way down to the knot with that time frame?”

“Probably,” you groan, closing your eyes to enjoy the way the tip feels inside of you. “But… puppy, you haven’t fucked me in so long, I’m pretty tight.”

“You’ll work yourself open,” Wonwoo assures you, his attention turning back to his screen, although you can see his cock beginning to strain against the grey fabric of his sweatpants.

The tip of the toy is tapered compared to the base, with all sorts of ridges that stimulate your inner walls as you test yourself up and down. The lube makes it easy to slide an inch or two inside your aching core, and as much as you’d like to try to sink down fully, you want to go slowly with this, seeing as you have five to ten minutes.

You grab your vibrator, turning it up to a medium setting and placing it on your clit. 

Your head is bowed, thighs already quivering as the sensation of the vibrator surges through you. A moan slips past your lips, your pace quickening on the toy, another inch sinking into you with your motions.

“That’s my good baby,” Wonwoo coos, reaching down to cup your cheek.

When you look up at him, you find his gaze still fixed to his computer screen, and it makes you angry.

You bite your lower lip, bouncing faster, harder- pressing the vibrator firmly to your clit in hopes that the pleasurable sensations will distract you from your growing annoyance.

“Wonwoo-” you groan.

“Puppy,” he corrects you.

“Please-”

“Please what?” your boyfriend counters.

“Fuck me?”

Wonwoo looks down at you finally, that shit eating smirk returning to his lips. “One cock inside of you isn’t enough right now, baby?”

“No, want your cock,” you insist.

“Okay, just remember, you asked for it, and I told you five or ten minutes.” Wonwoo sighs, lifting his hips and pulling his pants down, his hard length slapping up against his lower abdomen.

You’d meant you wanted his cock in your pussy, but you suppose you hadn’t specified what you wanted him to fuck-

Sucking Wonwoo off while he creates a video game character hadn’t been on todays bingo card, but you know how your boyfriend gets when he’s gaming, and you fear this might be the only way to have a piece of him while he’s focused.

Licking your lips, you pull him closer, the wheels of his chair dragging against the ground. With the hand not on the vibrator, you grab the base of his cock, adjusting so you can wrap your mouth around the tip.

Wonwoo releases a pleased groan, and you can feel your pussy clench around the toy.

Your eyes close, your focus going to the sensations ringing through your body. You take more of the dragon cock, slowly moving up and down on it in tandem with your mouth on Wonwoo. The vibrations on your clit are still making your legs shake, and as you get lost in the feeling of blowing your lover, you think you might cum pretty quick this way.

“That’s it, baby,” Wonwoo coos. “My good girl, being so patient.”

Fuck him for praising your patience. He knows lines like that make you eager to please him in this way, eager for more whispered words of affirmation even while he’s neglecting your aching pussy, fully content with you using a toy while he prioritizes his game-

“Look up at me for a moment, gorgeous,” he commands, and you do as you’re told. He meets your gaze, his skin flushed from your mouth suctioning on his cock. “Just need to get your eyes right for your character,” he explains, threading his fingers through your hair and aiding you up and down on his throbbing length. “Such pretty eyes. You look so good staring up at me with your mouth stuffed full, baby.”

Fuck. Your toes curl at his words.

If his skin wasn’t betraying the effect you’re having on him, you’d never be able to tell by the steady baritone of his morning voice. He’s not shuddering, not breathing deeply- it makes you want to suck on him even harder. You want to earn Wonwoo’s sounds of pleasure- sounds that can be so rare from a man who uses his voice for a living.

“Hows that cock feel inside of you?” he asks, gaze shifting up to his screen again. “Getting you nice and stretched for me, huh?”

You groan around his length, sucking roughly on his sensitive tip.

Wonwoo takes a sharp breath, and your body tingles with your success of earning a strangled sound from him.

“I’m almost done,” he assures you. “But I want to watch you take the knot first, be a good girl and sink down on the toy for me.”

You pull off of his cock with a popping sound, wiping a hand across your saliva wet lips. “What does it matter to you? You can’t even see me taking this.”

“True, but I know the sounds you make when you stuff yourself full with that toy. Wanna hear your pretty sounds baby.”

How is he so good at dirty talk while still staring at his computer screen?

“Nerd,” you whisper under your breath.

“Hmm?” He looks down at you with a grin, and you know he heard what you said.

“Nothing.”

“You’re gonna get it in two minutes,” he warns.

“Lucky me,” you say sarcastically, riding the toy faster, pushing yourself closer and closer to the wide base.

Wonwoo’s left hand finds his cock, and he begins to stroke himself while you focus on your own pleasure, rubbing the vibrator back and forth along your aching clit.

A whimper escapes you when you sink all the way down to the knot of the toy, hovering over the widest section.

“That’s the sound,” Wonwoo muses. “Come on, sink down on it.”

“I’m too tight,” you tell him, moving up and down, unable to go any further onto the knotted base.

“When you take it, I’ll take you,” Wonwoo promises, stroking his cock faster.

Looking up at him, you find your boyfriend staring at you now. He’s set the controller aside, and you have his full attention.

“Can’t you just fuck me right now?” you plead, motions stopping.

“I’m just a gamer nerd, remember, baby? Isn’t it my job to watch an angel like you make herself cum on some stupid toy before I get a taste?”

Fuck. 

He makes it sound like he’s the victim here, although clearly you’re the one aching for him.

“Puppy,” you groan, looking down and focusing on taking the knot. “I’m not wet enough-”

“Then cum. Use your vibe and make yourself cum, should make it easier.”

“But I want you,” you whine.

He laughs. “Brat.”

“Nerd,” you fire back. 

Wonwoo’s grin only widens. “Be a good girl, make yourself cum, take the dragon knot-”

“Anything else?” you huff, rubbing the vibrator hard on your clit.

“Yeah, one more thing.” Wonwoo sits back smugly in his chair, spreading his thighs even wider. “Suck my balls.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Sucking his dick is one thing, but sucking his balls? Generally with past boyfriends, you’ve stuck to their cocks- but Wonwoo has a very specific way of challenging you to do things like this. 

He knows you can’t refuse. He carries all the cards. If you want his dick inside of you, you’re going to have to do this for him. It’s not like you hate sucking balls, it’s not like you’ve ever voiced it to him that this is a boundary for you, it’s just… regularly, you’d rather… well, you’d rather not. 

But you suppose this is what you get for calling him a nerd. 

With a sigh, you lean forward, licking at the space just below the fingers wrapped around the base of his cock.

“Don’t be shy,” he tells you. 

You decide to focus mainly on your own pleasure while you take one of his balls into your mouth. He’s doing this to degrade you, to get back at you for being impatient- but at the same time, from the contented groan that leaves his lips, you know Wonwoo’s sensitive in this area. 

His sounds do make things easier for you, and you close your eyes, rubbing your clit hard with the vibrator.

“That’s it,” he coos. “I love it when you’re a good girl for me.”

You whimper at his words, your core throbbing desperately.

“Better be fast and cum though, I’m not sure I can handle much of this, you’re just so good with your mouth.”

And now he’s threatening to not even fuck you? He’ll stroke himself to the finish line if you don’t cum first?

This man will be the death of you.

“Come on, baby, I know you want to cum,” he encourages you. “Be a good girl and just do it, cum from that vibrator and the dragon cock inside your tight fucking pussy.”

His words are the last straw and you pull off his balls to let out a deep groan. You bury your face against his thigh, pussy fluttering as your orgasm slams into you. Your walls contract around what you can take of the toy, and you feel a rush of wetness coat the silicon, helping you bob up and down even faster-

“That’s it,” Wonwoo breathes, rubbing his cock even faster. “Just a little more and I’ll fuck you.”

You whimper like a whore in heat, biting gently against Wonwoo’s thigh as you push yourself to sink further onto the toy, your inner walls screaming at you due to the stretch.

“Good girl,” your boyfriend praises you, petting you with a warm hand that makes your entire body ache.

You turn the vibrator off, nearly overstimulated. Tossing it to the side you focus on the dildo, feeling your pussy stretch to accommodate part of the knot.

“Almost there,” Wonwoo says, and by the way he’s stroking his cock, you’re not sure if he’s talking about you or himself.

“Wonwoo, please,” you beg. “I can’t-”

“You’re the one who wanted to be filled today, just take a little more and I’ll fill you,” he says, his motions faltering on his length. 

You grab at his thighs, squeezing and using him for leverage to rock up and down on the toy. Your eyes clench shut as you bob up and down, your wetness coating the silicon until-

You let out a gasp as you sink fully onto the toy, pausing while your thighs quiver. Another mini orgasm rushes through you at the feeling of being stretched this way, the knot stuck in your sensitive hole-

“That’s it,” Wonwoo says, moving into action immediately. He pushes away from you, standing up. Hands that are surprisingly gentle reach down and pull you to your feet, making you cry out from the way the toy is still lodged inside of you. “Fuck, you are tight,” he notes from the way the dragon cock didn’t immediately shoot out of you from the change in position. 

“Puppy-” you whimper, already delirious. 

Wonwoo helps you onto the bed, sinking to his knees at the foot of the mattress. He spreads your thighs, and you look down to see his pupils blow with lust while he stares at the large toy still embedded in your pussy.

He licks his lips. “Fuck, I always love it when you take this fucking knot.”

You whisper his name, moaning loudly when he grabs the base of the toy and gently thrusts it in and out of you. 

Then, he shifts, and his tongue finds your clit. “One more?” he practically pleads. “Then another when I’m inside of you?”

It’s been days since he’s made you cum, and it feels like today, he’s going to make up for that. You can bet that by tonight, you’ll have lost track of how many times you’ve orgasmed, and you honestly don’t mind.

“Please,” you whisper, reaching down to thread your fingers in his sleep tossled curls.

Wonwoo wraps his lips around your clit, gently rocking the toy inside of you. He doesn’t pull it all the way out, just shifts the knot along your sensitive walls, stretched to the limit and already throbbing.

“Fuck, that’s so good, puppy,” you groan, throwing your head back, eyes clenching shut. You begin to rock your hips, feeling impossibly full- his mouth suctions lewdly around your sensitive bud and your entire body quakes, thighs shaking on either side of his head. “Shit-”

Wonwoo grins against your pussy, an invitation for you to cum on the toy-

Fuck, you need him so badly, and your need spurs your body on, your muscles clenching as you teeter on the edge of an orgasm.

His teeth graze your clit and that’s all you need to topple over the edge, your legs attempting to close around Wonwoo while your pussy throbs desperately around the toy. The sounds escaping you now are practically inhumane, your entire body overtaken by white hot pleasure that courses through you like an electric wave.

Wonwoo pulls the toy from your core and you jolt from the loss, eyes opening to stare down at your boyfriend-

He releases your clit from your mouth, standing quickly. “Fuck, you look so good cumming on that stupid toy,” Wonwoo groans, grabbing the base of his cock and lining his tip up with your still aching pussy. “Gonna fill you now, like I promised.”

He sheaths himself inside of you and you let out a loud moan of releif. “Puppy,” you whimper, making grabby hands at him.

Wonwoo wastes no time, shifting his knees onto the bed, getting on top of you so he can press his lips to yours. Your tongues begin to clash immediately, and the kiss feels almost feverish as you tangle your fingers in his curls.

He’s such a good kisser, but you can hardly focus on his lips with the way his hips are already moving, thrusting so the tip of his cock hits your cervix with each motion-

“Fuck, fuck-” you whimper, feeling tears in your eyes from the overstimulation.

Wonwoo’s mouth finds your throat, his mouth narrowing in on your sweet spot, sucking roughly.

“Puppy-” you cry, tangling your legs tighter around his hips.

“I know, I’m close too,” he pants. “Watching you take that fucking knot just does something to me-”

Your core throbs at his words- you’d guessed he’d been close while jacking off, but hearing him say it this directly makes you even hornier. Your pussy is a sloppy mess, so wet that each thrust has it practically squelching.

 “Please, puppy, please-” you pant, nuzzling against his cheek and licking at his sensitive ear. “Want your cum, want it so bad.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo groans. “Rub your clit, need you squeezing me when I cum.” 

You shove a hand between your bodies, nearly crying from the sensitivity of your overworked bud- but you’re not about to give up now. You’re not a weakling, and if Wonwoo wants one more orgasm out of you, you’ll give him one.

“Feels so good,” you gasp, rubbing even harder, your core clenching tight around Wonwoo’s cock while he pants loudly in your ear.

“Need you to cum,” he grits out, fingers digging into your hips. “Come on, baby, cum for me.”

You shut your eyes tight, focusing on all the pleasure surging through you, and when Wonwoo bites gently into your throat, your high hits you straight on.

You gasp loudly, back arching off of the bed, pushing your tits toward Wonwoo’s chest. He releases his own sound of pleasure, and you can feel his cock throbbing while your walls clench around him, painting your insides as you both cum hard. 

You listen to his moans, loving the way he grabs you tightly as he cums, his thrusts faltering, motions shallow, as if he wants to be as deep as possible when he fills you up.

Your lips find his throat, pressing kisses there that make him shiver as you ride out your orgasms, and soon, your muscles are relaxing, the tightness making way for a slacked, exhausted feeling that overwhelms you.

Wonwoo stills on top of you, panting loudly by your ear.

“I think…” he swallows thickly. “I think we should go back to sleep now.”

You laugh, petting his curls. “What about your precious video game?”

“Fuck the video game,” he counters. “Right now, I’m going to clean you up, go back to sleep with you curled on my chest, then we can wake up in a few hours, do it again, get takeout-”

“You have the whole day planned out, don’t you, nerd?”

Wonwoo only laughs. “Don’t test me, baby.”

“Never.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! As much as I love longer fics, I'm such an avid reader of pwp for the anime's I watch, so I wanted to do something shorter and easier for those who like a bite sized fic instead of a full course meal :)

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🔮 preview. “That’s it,” Wonwoo coos. He simply can’t help his dominant tendencies. How is it that you’re supposed to be the one in control, but it still feels like he’s got you wrapped around his finger... And his cock.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, handcuff bondage, reader tries to dom Wonwoo, edging, oral, blow job, pussy eating, 69, choking, dirty talk, pet names, reader is slightly in control, Wonwoo breaks the handcuffs, slight crying/dacryphilia, power dynamic, power switch, teasing, creampie, slight fallout roleplay, masturbation, deep throating, etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby (his) puppy, sir 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

“Hey, puppy?” you call, standing in the doorway of your bedroom, watching your boyfriend close up his stream for the night.

“Yes, baby?”

The nerd doesn’t even look up from what he’s doing, but you suppose that’s no new behaviour. With a huff, you disconnect from the door frame, sauntering over to Wonwoo, your skin tight outfit squeezing you with each step.

Leaning over his back, you allow your hands to dance across his chest, Wonwoo looks down, and that’s when you get his attention.

His body goes rigid, and he slowly turns to look at you, taking in the full body Fallout Vault dweller costume you’re wearing.

“Baby…” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, “what are you doing?”

“Playing into your addiction,” you say smoothly. “What, you don’t like it?”

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[cumironi]

PLAY HOUSE? DON’T BE JOKING : TOJI FUSHIGURO

he wasn’t going to calm down, his world fell apart in his own hands, and yet. . . he can’t do anything. he doesn’t know how to stay tender with so much blood in his hands.

warning. angst no comfort, fem! reader, breaking up, little megs, infertile reader.

the warmth of his tiny body pressed against yours was both comforting and heartbreaking. megumi clung to you, his small frame curled into your chest as if you were the only anchor keeping him safe. even in his half-asleep state, he refused to let go, his fragile grip on your shirt tightening now and then, as though the thought of losing you haunted his dreams. you held him close, your arms wrapped protectively around him, but the ache in your heart was undeniable.

you lay on his small bed, the mattress far too short for your grown frame, your legs awkwardly bent to fit. his blanket, soft but barely large enough, draped over the two of you. it was a poor attempt to shield you both from the chill in the room, but you didn’t care about your own discomfort. your focus was entirely on him—megumi fushiguro, a child who bore no resemblance to you yet had somehow burrowed his way into your heart. his fever-flushed cheeks glowed faintly in the dim light, his long, dark lashes brushing against the delicate skin as his eyes fluttered between wakefulness and sleep.

he looked so much like his father, toji—his sharp features softened only by the hints of his mother. his mother, you reminded yourself bitterly. not you. you had no claim to him, no blood tie that made him yours, yet here you were, cradling him as if he were your own. the thought tore at you, a sharp pang of longing and sadness intertwining with the love you felt for him.

a faint whimper escaped him as he shifted closer, seeking comfort in your warmth. his little hand clutched at your shirt, desperate and fragile, and your breath hitched. you wanted to be everything for him—his shelter, his solace—but no matter how much you loved him, you weren’t his mother. that truth weighed on you like a stone, each beat of your heart a cruel reminder of the line you couldn’t cross.

you brushed a hand gently through his dark, messy hair, soothing him even as your chest ached. he didn’t understand why he felt the way he did, why he clung to you with such desperation. but you understood. you were a stand-in for someone who wasn’t here, someone who should’ve been here. and as much as you cherished being his safe place, it hurt to know you’d never truly be enough.

megumi’s breathing slowed, his tiny body relaxing slightly as sleep began to claim him. yet, even in slumber, his grip on you remained firm. you closed your eyes, willing yourself not to cry, not to let your sadness seep into this tender moment. it wasn’t his fault. none of it was. he was just a child—one who needed love, stability, and someone to hold onto when the world felt too big and frightening.

you pressed a soft kiss to his feverish forehead, whispering words he wouldn’t hear. “i’m here, baby. i won’t leave you.” and though the promise felt hollow, you meant it with every fiber of your being. even if he wasn’t yours, you’d stay as long as he needed you.

the night stretched on, inching closer to exhaustion, yet sleep refused to claim you. the hours seemed to drag, each one heavier than the last, and the weight of your heart grew unbearable. you sat in the dimly lit room, every creak of the house and every rustle of the wind outside pulling your attention, hoping—praying—that the next sound would be him.

toji had been gone for days now, and the silence of his absence gnawed at you. you didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. was he safe? was he hurt? the questions circled endlessly in your mind, each one darker than the last, until they became an oppressive cloud you couldn’t escape. your imagination ran wild, conjuring scenarios of danger, of injuries he wouldn’t admit to, of him lying somewhere, unable to return to you, or maybe he wouldn’t, just yet..

you tried to tell yourself this was normal. toji was a man who came and went as he pleased, his life one of constant unpredictability. he rarely shared the details of where he was going or what his plans entailed. yet, no matter how often this happened, the uncertainty never got easier to bear. each absence left you restless, each unanswered question a weight that settled deep in your chest.

the clock ticked steadily in the background, its monotonous rhythm a cruel reminder of how slowly time was passing. you wrapped your arms around yourself, seeking comfort in the empty room, but it was a poor substitute for his presence. the house felt too quiet, too still, without him there to fill the void.

you glanced at the door for what felt like the hundredth time, half expecting it to swing open and reveal his familiar figure, but it remained closed. the anticipation was unbearable, every second a tug-of-war between hope and dread. you wanted to be angry, to scold him for leaving without telling you anything. yet, beneath that frustration was an ache you couldn’t ignore—a longing for him to walk through that door, safe and whole, so you could finally breathe again.

with a sigh, you leaned back, your eyes drifting to the ceiling as your thoughts spiraled further. “where are you, toji?” you whispered into the emptiness. the question lingered in the air, unanswered, as the night wore on.

he was an assassin— a fact that was never unfamiliar to you, even from the beginning. his work, his lifestyle, the danger that followed him like a shadow, none of it was a secret. but familiarity didn’t make it any easier to accept, and it certainly didn’t stop it from being the source of so many arguments between you.

you often pleaded with him to find a real job, something stable, something safe. you wanted him to have work that didn’t demand he risk his life, something that wouldn’t force him to disappear for days at a time, leaving you and megumi behind with no word, no reassurance, nothing but the empty ache of waiting. “find something better,” you’d tell him, desperation slipping into your voice. “something that doesn’t put you in danger, toji. something that doesn’t leave us alone like this.”

but those conversations always spiraled into fights. they never ended well, always exploding into shouting matches filled with anger and frustration on both sides. toji would accuse you of not understanding, and you would accuse him of not caring enough about what his absences did to you or to megumi. and then he would leave—storming out the door without another word, disappearing for days, sometimes even weeks. when he eventually returned, it was always the same. no apologies, no explanations. he would act like nothing had happened, like the wounds from the argument weren’t still raw, as if you were supposed to just move on without question. maybe you isn’t enough for him to stay’ sometimes, you think.

it was exhausting. the cycle of fights, his departures, the waiting, and the uncertainty—it all wore you down more than you ever let him see. but what hurt the most wasn’t your own pain; it was the quiet toll it took on megumi. he was so little, too young to say anything, too young to ask for what he needed. but you could see it in the way his eyes lingered on the door when toji was gone. he never asked about his father, never said anything out loud, but you knew he missed him, and wondering.

he missed him in the way he clung to you at night, seeking comfort in your embrace because his father wasn’t there to give it. he missed him in the silence, in the unspoken ache that filled the room when the two of you sat together. and it broke your heart because no matter how much love you gave him, no matter how hard you tried to make up for toji’s absence, you couldn’t fill that void. he needed his father, even if he didn’t know how to say it.

and yet, toji’s job always came first. it always pulled him away, always left you wondering if this time would be the last time he walked out the door. you hated the job, hated the danger, hated the man you saw in him when he chose it over his family. but more than anything, you hated how much you still loved him despite it all. you hated how much it hurt to see megumi wait for someone who might never truly be there for him. and still, you stayed, clinging to the hope that one day, something might change.

it’s two in the morning, and you’ve just managed to put megumi to sleep. finally, his tiny body is at rest, though his fever is still alarmingly high. you stayed by his side for hours, wiping his sweat-soaked forehead, whispering soft reassurances, and hoping that somehow, your presence alone could ease his discomfort. but through it all, he never cried, never fussed, not even a whimper.

it made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t describe. he was only two years old—too young to understand the burden of resilience, yet somehow, he carried it like someone far older. he should’ve been crying, clinging to you, seeking comfort in the way most children would. but megumi wasn’t like most children. his quiet maturity only deepened your guilt, a sharp reminder of the life he was born into—a life he didn’t deserve.

now, you sit at the small dining table under the dim, flickering light of the kitchen. a half-empty bottle of cheap alcohol rests in your hand, the bitter taste lingering on your tongue as you let your thoughts spiral. the silence in the apartment is suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards. you feel the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, but sleep is the last thing on your mind.

the faint click of the door jolts you from your thoughts. you sit up slightly, straining to listen as heavy, familiar footsteps make their way through the apartment. your heart tightens, and you know exactly who it is before he even steps into the kitchen.

toji.

he pauses in the doorway, his broad figure cast in shadows from the dim light. his sharp eyes sweep over you, taking in the sight of you sitting alone with a drink in your hand, your shoulders slumped with exhaustion. for a moment, neither of you speaks. the air feels heavy, the unspoken tension between you hanging thick.

his deep voice breaks the silence, low and rumbling as he asks, “why aren’t you asleep?” the question is straightforward, but there’s a softness to his tone, an edge of concern that he rarely lets show.

before you can answer, he crosses the room, his footsteps slow but deliberate. he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a gesture so brief yet so tender it takes you by surprise. your eyes flutter shut for a moment, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as his warmth lingers against your skin. then, just as quickly, he pulls away, making his way to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.

you watch him in silence before he disappears behind you, chest tight with a mix of emotions you can’t quite untangle. there’s relief in seeing him safe, frustration at his absence, and a lingering sadness you don’t have the strength to confront. he doesn’t say anything else, and neither do you. instead, you sit there, staring at the cheap bottle in your hand, wishing the gap between you wasn’t so wide. wishing you didn’t feel so alone, even with him standing just a few feet away.

toji leaned against the counter, the cold granite biting into his skin, a sharp reminder of the divide that stretched between you. the glass of water in his hand felt heavier than it should, yet he took a slow sip, his eyes fixed on you. you sat hunched in the corner, half-shrouded in shadows, your silhouette a fragile, aching thing. even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion etched into your every movement—the slump of your shoulders, the quiet defeat in the curve of your spine. it wasn’t just weariness; it was something deeper, something that made his chest tighten and his throat dry.

his gaze dropped briefly to the half-empty bottle in your hand, the liquid inside catching the faint light. it wasn’t the first one tonight—he could tell—and the sight of it twisted his gut with worry and something heavier, something he couldn’t name. he took another sip of his water, but it didn’t help. nothing did. the silence between you pressed in like a weight, thick and suffocating, filled with all the things neither of you could bring yourselves to say.

the soft clink of his bottle meeting the counter broke the stillness as he set it down, his movements slow, deliberate. he pushed away from the counter, his steps hesitant as he approached you, each one feeling like a gamble. you looked so small, so distant, even though you were right there. he studied your face, searching for something—anger, resentment, anything—but all he found was exhaustion. it was a quiet kind of pain, one that sat in your eyes and clung to your posture, and it left him feeling utterly helpless.

he pulled out the chair beside you, the scrape of wood against the floor loud and jarring in the stillness. he lowered himself into it, his broad frame suddenly feeling out of place, too big, too heavy in the fragile space between you. for a long moment, he simply sat there, his eyes tracing the shadows under your eyes, the tension in your jaw, the hollow sadness that seemed to hang around you like a cloud. you looked like you were carrying the weight of the world, and he hated himself for being part of what had put it there.

he wanted to reach out. god, he wanted to reach out. to close the distance, to take your hands in his and pull you into him, to hold you against his chest and remind you that you weren’t alone, that he was still here. he wanted to feel your heartbeat against his, to reassure himself that you hadn’t slipped away entirely, even if it felt like you had.

but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

he sat frozen, his fists clenched tightly in his lap, the frustration and self-loathing building inside him. he knew the cracks in your relationship were his doing—his silences, his failures, the way he never seemed to say or do the right thing. every unspoken word, every withheld apology, weighed on him like chains, and now, sitting here beside you, they felt insurmountable.

he could feel the distance between you like a chasm, vast and unbridgeable, even though you were close enough for him to hear your soft, uneven breaths. he clenched his jaw, the words he wanted to say choking him, stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat. apologies felt useless, explanations even more so. how could they compare to the pain in your eyes, the quiet devastation that he knew he’d put there?

so, he stayed silent, his presence heavy and uncertain, his gaze locked on you like a man staring at something slipping through his fingers. the ache in his chest deepened as the moments stretched on, and all he could do was sit there, knowing that even his closeness wasn’t enough to bridge the distance that had grown between you.

your reaction was hesitant, almost fragile, like a thread stretched too thin. for a long moment, you stayed still, staring down at the bottle in your hand as if it held the answers to questions you were too tired to ask. the room felt suffocating, the silence pressing in on your chest, making it harder to breathe. you didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the worry in his eyes or the guilt etched into his features. it would only remind you of how far apart you’d drifted, how the gap between you felt insurmountable, even now.

but something in the way he sat there—so close yet so tentative—drew your gaze to his. your eyes met his green irises, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to really see him. the sharpness that once defined him was gone, replaced by a dullness that mirrored your own. he looked tired, almost as tired as you felt, and the sight made your chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with anger. it was sadness, heavy and unrelenting, wrapping around you like a shroud.

his hand reached out slowly, gently, as if he were afraid you might pull away. he took the bottle from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. the touch was warm, grounding, and you felt the tiniest flicker of something you thought you’d lost—a fragile, fleeting hope. he set the bottle on the table with care, the soft clink of glass breaking the oppressive quiet.

your body moved before your mind caught up, driven by an instinct you couldn’t suppress. your arms found their way around his neck, and you buried yourself in him, seeking solace in the steady, unyielding strength of his presence. your body folded into his lap, trembling as you clung to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that felt like it was crumbling beneath you.

you didn’t cry. the tears that should have come remained locked inside, caught somewhere deep in the hollow ache that had taken root in your chest. instead, you held him tighter, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, desperate for the warmth he offered. your head rested against his shoulder, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the strong, warm arms that wrapped around you in return.

the moment you moved into his lap, his arms went around you on instinct, pulling you tighter against him— it was as though the weight you carried began to crack and crumble, piece by piece. . the familiar feel of your body in his arms, the scent of you, somehow still so sweet and faintly floral despite the weariness that stained your skin—it hit him like a punch to the stomach. the realization of how desperately he’d missed this, how deeply he’d longed for this closeness but had done nothing to repair what had been broken, hit him like a freight train.

he held you there, one hand running slowly up and down your spine in a soothing rhythm, the other buried in your hair as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. he steady, grounding pressure of his palm gliding along your spine, the way his fingers tangled in your hair like he was anchoring himself to you—it was almost too much. his breath, warm and uneven against your neck, sent a shiver through you, and you closed your eyes, trying to steady the storm that swirled inside you.

there were words he wanted to say, words that clawed at the back of his throat— “i’m sorry,” “i missed you,” “don’t leave” —but they all felt wrong, too small and insufficient. he pressed his lips to the pulse point on your neck, feeling the rapid thrum of your heart against his mouth.

you feel it— no, you missed it— the gently kiss against the hollow of your neck, soft and tentative, like he was afraid you might vanish if he held on too tight. that simple touch, so full of longing, sent a ripple through your chest, a sigh slipping from your lips before you could stop it. it wasn’t relief, not fully, but it was something close—like a door opening just wide enough to let the smallest ray of light in. your hand moved without thought, trailing down to his chest, where you could feel the strength of him beneath your palm—the steady, unyielding beat of his heart. but even now, even with all that strength, he felt fragile. weak. like a man caught in the wreckage of something he couldn’t fix.

you pulled back slowly, reluctant but needing to see him, to look into the green eyes that had once felt like home. your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. the faint stubble on his cheek prickled beneath your fingertips as you cupped his face, your thumb moving in slow, deliberate strokes over his skin. it felt rough, unkempt, like the rest of him—a man unraveling, his edges frayed and worn.

you studied him in the dim light, your gaze tracing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the heaviness that clung to him like a shadow. this close, you could see it all—the regrets he carried, the guilt that weighed him down, the cracks in the armor he tried so hard to wear. and you hated how much it mirrored your own reflection, how you could feel the pull of him drawing you in even as the words in your chest begged to push him away.

your voice came softly, trembling but resolute, breaking the silence that had stretched too far for too long. “i will leave.”

the words hung between you, sharp and heavy, slicing through the air with a finality you didn’t know you were capable of. his breath hitched against yours, his hands tightening on your waist as though he could hold you in place, as though sheer willpower could keep you tethered to him. but you didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate or soften the blow. instead, you let the weight of those words settle over both of you, the truth undeniable.

your mind spun with the possibilities, the what-ifs and could-bes that clawed at the edges of your resolve. what would it look like, a life without him? would you be freer, lighter, or would the absence of him feel like a gaping wound that would never fully heal? and what about megumi? the boy who had grown to look at you like a constant, like something steady and safe in a world that had taken so much from him already? how would he understand the choice you were on the brink of making?

your chest tightened with the weight of it all, the enormity of what leaving meant. but the thought of staying, of continuing this cycle of hurt and silence, felt just as unbearable. so you stayed like that, forehead pressed to his, your fingers trembling as they traced the curve of his jaw, memorizing every detail of him as if this moment might be your last.

“you’re a mess,” you whispered finally, your voice breaking on the words. there was no malice in them, only a deep, aching sadness. “we both are.”

he didn’t respond, couldn’t seem to find the words, but his eyes—those tired, dulled green eyes—bore into yours with a desperation that threatened to undo you entirely. you could feel his heart racing beneath your palm, a frantic rhythm that echoed the chaos in your own chest. it was as if he was trying to say everything he couldn’t put into words, begging you to stay, to give him one more chance, even as he seemed to know that the cracks between you might already be too wide to bridge.

for a moment, you considered it—letting yourself fall into him, letting his arms hold you together even as you both came undone. but the pain of the past lingered too close, a reminder of all the times you’d tried and failed, of the nights spent wondering if love was supposed to hurt this much.

so instead, you stayed silent, too, letting the closeness of him fill the void between you for just a little while longer, knowing it might be the last time.

toji’s body was tensed beneath you, his chest rising and falling with each unsteady breath he took. he didn’t say a word, didn’t move, but he was a coiled wire, taut and ready to snap at any moment. the air between you felt charged, thick with the weight of words unspoken, of questions asked yet left unanswered, of apologies and pleas that remained stuck in both of your throats.

the silence felt suffocating, a crushing weight that pressed in on your lungs, making it harder to breathe, harder to think. but still, neither of you spoke. his silence felt deafening, a stark contrast to the maelstrom of his thoughts. he wanted to reach out, to pull you to him, to fix whatever was broken between you. but he was frozen.

he couldn’t tell you what stopped him, the memories of past arguments, the fear of causing more hurt, the knowledge that words alone couldn’t stitch together the torn edges of what was left of your relationship. the only thing he could do was sit there, his body taut against you, his heart hammering in his chest.

his eyes were fixed on your face, studying every feature, as if he was trying to memorize them. he could see the way your brow was furrowed, the way your lips were pressed together, the way your fingers continued to trace over his skin. and he wondered if you could feel the way his pulse was racing, the way his heart was lurching in his chest.

“please,” he finally managed, his voice raspy and unsteady, almost like a man drowning. the words hung in the air, pleading yet resigned, a last-ditch effort to keep you from slipping though his fingers.

he reached up, his fingers trailing along your collarbone, the touch so light it was almost reverent. his eyes flickered over your face, tracing the lines he’d come to know so well, the curves and planes of you as familiar as his own reflection. “don’t leave. not yet.”

not yet.

your breath hitched at his words, the rawness in his voice cutting through the walls you’d built around yourself. please. it was a small word, but the weight of it was staggering, heavy with a kind of desperation that made your chest ache. his fingers brushed against your collarbone, featherlight, almost trembling, as though he was afraid that even the slightest pressure might shatter what was left between you. his gaze burned into yours, searching, pleading, memorizing every inch of you as if he was afraid you’d vanish before his eyes, just like his late wife.

your lips curved into a smile, soft and bittersweet, a fragile thing that seemed to carry the weight of your exhaustion. it wasn’t happiness—not even close. it was the kind of smile you wore when you knew something was over, when the pain was too deep to cry anymore. your hands lifted to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the roughness of his stubble, the sharp angles of his jaw. his skin felt warm beneath your touch, grounding, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself forget the inevitability of it all.

“yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “i will.” the words felt like a betrayal even as they left your lips. you saw the way they landed, how they rippled through him like a physical blow, and you hated yourself for it. but this was the truth, the only truth you could offer, and you hoped that somehow, deep down, he understood.

you leaned in slowly, your movements deliberate, as if you were giving him time to pull away—but he didn’t. he stayed rooted in place, his breath shallow and uneven as you closed the distance between you. your lips brushed against the scar on his mouth, a touch so soft it felt like it might break you both. you lingered there, your breath mingling with his, the intimacy of it so fragile, so fleeting.

when you finally pulled back, your eyes fluttered open to meet his, and you saw the pain there, raw and unguarded. it mirrored your own.

he didn’t pull away. instead, his hands moved to your waist, gripping you with a desperation that made it hard to breathe, like he was trying to etch the feel of you into his memory. his grip on you tightened, desperate, trembling with the need to hold on, to keep you there just a moment longer. his fingers dug into the fabric of your clothes, clutching at you as if you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

then, without giving yourself time to second-guess, you kissed him fully. your lips pressed to his in a way that was soft but resolute, like a thread unraveling one final time. it wasn’t passionate or hurried; it wasn’t a plea to stay or to change. it was gentle, quiet, and achingly painful—a goodbye masquerading as a kiss.

his breath came in shallow, broken gasps, his chest heaving as he fought to find words. but they eluded him, caught in the raw agony swelling in his throat. every thought, every feeling, twisted into a silent scream he couldn’t release. his lips found yours— kissing you back. and he kissed you with everything he had left—despair, love, a futile plea that tasted of salt and sorrow. it was a kiss laced with the echoes of goodbye, with all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. but there was a hesitance to it, a kind of fear that came from knowing this wasn’t the beginning of something—it was the end.

when you pulled back, your forehead rested against his, your breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as though you were trying to hold onto him for just a moment longer. but even as you stayed close, you could feel the distance growing, the inevitability of your choice settling in like a storm on the horizon.

your voice broke as you whispered, “i’ll always love you, toji.”

for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. your words, soft yet heavy with finality, lingered in the air like the toll of a mournful bell, resonating deep within him. your hands clung to his shirt, your foreheads pressed together still, as if you could will time to stop, as if your closeness could delay the inevitable.

the ache in your voice cut deep, sharper than the words themselves. it was the resignation, the quiet certainty that this was the end—the end he had always feared but never prepared for—that shattered him. it was not just the loss but the cruel, unyielding finality of it that left him hollow.

“please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, barely more than a breath. a single word, fragile and aching, hung in the space between you, a final plea to stop the inevitable. but even as it passed his lips, he knew it was hopeless. your decision had been made, and your resolve, as much as it pained you, would not falter.

he opened his eyes, searching yours with a desperation that burned. and there you were, looking back at him with a strength that seemed unbearable, a strength that masked your own heartache. he saw the exhaustion in your features, the brittleness in your stance, like glass held together by sheer will. yet your gaze was unwavering, unyielding. you were a mountain, immovable in your choice, and he was the storm, battering against you in futility.

his chest tightened as a wave of helplessness surged over him, dragging him under. he wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, to rage against the cruel twist of fate that had brought him here, to demand that you stay. but the fight within him ebbed, replaced by a hollow acceptance that settled like ash in his soul. anger would change nothing; it could not rewrite the truth.

he took a trembling breath, his heart a cacophony of pain, and looked at you like a drowning man gazes at the surface—longing, desperate, and full of grief. the threads that had bound you together unraveled with every second, slipping from his grasp like water, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on. and in that moment, he understood that love was not always enough to keep someone by your side. sometimes, love meant letting go, even when it broke you beyond repair.

your forehead rested against the side of his head, your hand cradling the back of his neck with a tenderness that felt cruel in its finality. his hair, dark and slightly unruly, brushed against your fingertips, and for a moment, you let yourself stay there, suspended in a fleeting fragment of closeness. your breath hitched, your lips slightly parted, and the tremble in your chest betrayed the storm inside you.

your voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. fragile. raw. “you know i can’t stay. it’s unfair to me.”

the words quivered in the air between you, heavy and sharp like broken glass, and you felt him tense beneath your touch. his breathing faltered, the steady rhythm you once found solace in now uneven, jagged. your eyes burned with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall, even as your chest heaved with the weight of it all. you’ve cried enough, you told yourself, but your body betrayed you, trembling as you inhaled a shuddering breath.

“toji, baby,” you murmured, his name breaking on your lips like a prayer turned curse. “i can’t do this anymore. i can’t keep waiting… hoping… starving for something you never give. god, i was starving,” your voice cracked, the pain pouring out despite your efforts to keep it contained. “you come and go like the tide, leaving me behind to wither while you do whatever you want. you disappear for days, weeks… and i sit here, waiting, aching, drowning in this emptiness you leave behind. it’s killing me.”

the confession spilled from you, unfiltered and raw, as if the dam you’d so carefully built had finally shattered. the words tumbled out, each one slicing through the air, heavy with the pain you’d carried in silence for far too long.

you closed your eyes, pressing your forehead more firmly against his temple, as though the proximity could ease the ache. it couldn’t. nothing could. your hand tightened against the back of his neck, your fingers digging into his skin, desperate to hold onto something tangible even as everything else unraveled.

“i love you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible now, a quiet confession meant only for the space between you. “i love you so much it hurts. but i can’t keep sacrificing pieces of myself for a love that leaves me empty. i deserve more than this, toji. more than the crumbs you give me when you decide to come back.”

your tears, unbidden and unwanted, finally escaped, trailing hot and fast down your cheeks. you tilted your head, pulling back just enough to look at him, your gaze meeting his. the pain in his eyes mirrored your own, but you couldn’t let it sway you. you couldn’t let his sorrow chain you to a love that had become your prison.

“i can’t keep breaking myself apart to keep us whole,” you whispered, your voice trembling as the finality of your words settled over both of you. “i need to let go… before there’s nothing left of me.” your words were a dagger, each one finding its mark with painful precision. the air felt thick, heavy with the weight of all that was left unsaid, all that he knew you had been holding inside all this time.

he didn’t say anything at first, his mind reeling, trying to process the torrent of everything. his eyes never left yours, taking in every flicker of emotion that played across your face. the tears, the pain, the acceptance, all of it hit him like a gut punch. he reached up, his hand closing over yours on the back of his neck. his grip was firm, holding your wrist with a quiet strength, preventing you from pulling away just yet. he needed to look at you, to hold onto this moment, even as it burned through his heart.

“i…” he began, but the words got stuck in his throat, lodged there like a lump he couldn’t swallow around. he tried again, his voice hoarse and shaky.

“i’m sorry,” he finally managed, his eyes not leaving yours. and he meant it. he was sorry, sorry for everything. sorry for the pain he’d caused you, sorry that he was too broken to be who you needed he closed his eyes, his fingers tightening around your wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath your skin. each beat felt like a countdown, a reminder that you were leaving, that this was the end.

your gaze softened, though the ache in your chest only deepened as you watched the cracks in him grow wider, his remorse spilling out like water from a shattered vessel. his fingers, firm yet trembling around your wrist, felt heavier than they should, like they were tethering you to a moment you could no longer stay in.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t give you what you need,” he continued, opening his eyes to look at you again. “i’m sorry i’m such a colossal screw-up.” each word felt like a confession, an admittance of failing you, of failing both of you. it was a hard truth, one he’d avoided for too long. a soft hum escaped you, unsteady and fragile, like the faintest echo of comfort in the middle of a storm. it was a sound that carried all the weight of your sorrow, an acknowledgment of his pain even as your own threatened to drown you.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, though your voice was brittle and uneven, the words trembling as they fell from your lips. but they weren’t okay, not really—not for either of you. and yet, you said them anyway, because what else was there to say?

“it’s not okay,” he shot back, the words a harsh whisper. his eyes searched yours, desperate for some flicker of understanding, some hint that you weren’t just going through the motions of saying goodbye.

“it’s not okay ‘cause you’re leaving,” he added, his voice cracking. “i… i don’t want you to leave.” his grip on your wrist tightened, the tremors running through his muscles mirroring the tremors in his voice. he swallowed, his throat feeling too tight for words, but he pushed through, needing to get it all out while he still could.

“i know i’m a mess, okay?” he rasped out, his eyes fixed on yours. “i know i’m not husband or boyfriend of the year material. i know i’m not the kinda guy you take home to meet your parents or anything. i know all of that.” he paused, his breath coming in unsteady gasps, like he was fighting for control, for one last moment of vulnerability before the walls slammed back up again.

“but i love you,” he said, the words so quiet they almost got lost in the air between you. “i love you so goddamn much. that’s gotta count for something, right?”

you shifted slightly in his lap, creating just enough space to tilt your head back and meet his gaze. his words hung between you like fragile glass, their weight pressing down on your chest, threatening to shatter the last remnants of resolve you clung to. your hands found their way to his cheeks once more, the warmth of his skin grounding you in a moment that felt far too fleeting.

your hum was soft, barely audible, a sound that trembled with hesitation and sorrow. “maybe,” you whispered, your voice as delicate as a thread unraveling in the quiet air. the word carried the faintest flicker of possibility, though even you knew it wasn’t real. it was a fleeting comfort, an acknowledgment of his love that couldn’t undo the damage done.

your thumb traced the sharp angles of his face, the faint stubble that tickled your fingertips, as though memorizing the contours of him for the last time. “but,” you added, your voice breaking slightly, “the count wasn’t enough.”

his hands, suddenly desperate, shot up to cover yours, trapping them against his cheeks as if he could keep you there indefinitely if he just held on tight enough. “not enough,” he echoed, his voice a strangled whisper. “it’s not enough…”

his eyes searched yours, searching for something, anything. a hint that he could change your mind, a promise that this wasn’t really it. his fingers curled around yours, pressing your palms against his skin like he was trying to tattoo the feel of your touch into his flesh. “then what is enough?” he asked, the words a broken plea. “what do you need from me?”

he leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against yours for once more, the proximity forcing your breaths to mingle. his body trembled, the tremors running through him like an earthquake. “i’ll give it to you,” he promised. “whatever it is. just tell me what you need.”

your fingers slipped into the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck, idly curling and uncurling them as if the motion could steady the tremor in your chest. his desperation weighed on you, heavier than his arms around your waist or the intensity of his gaze, pinning you in place. you looked at him for a moment, long and silent, as though memorizing every detail—the lines etched by pain and time, the shadows in his eyes that never seemed to leave, the scar that tugged at his lip even as it trembled.

you didn’t speak right away, the quiet stretching between you like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. your hand drifted upward, brushing the edge of his jaw, then falling away again as though even that small contact might tether you too tightly to him. when you finally whispered, it was soft and breathless, like the words hurt to say, but you needed to let them out before they suffocated you.

“marry me.”

the air seemed to leave the room, sucked into a silence that felt deafening. his eyes widened, and for a moment, his breath hitched. you felt the tremor in his body still as though the words had struck him frozen, their weight sinking in too deep to ignore.

you didn’t elaborate. you didn’t plead or justify or explain. because you knew.

you knew what you were asking wasn’t fair, that it was a wound you shouldn’t press on, a ghost you shouldn’t summon. you knew the memories of his wife still haunted the spaces between you, that her absence shaped him more than her presence ever had. and you knew, deep down, that no matter how much he loved you, he didn’t have the courage to give you what you needed.

but still, you had to ask. because if this was the end, you needed to hear the answer you already knew, needed him to face the truth neither of you had been brave enough to say out loud.

his mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. his grip on your hands faltered, loosening just enough for you to pull away, though you didn’t. his forehead pressed against yours again, his eyes shutting tight as though he could will the moment away, as though he could keep your words from echoing in his head.

you waited, your heart pounding in your chest, even though you already knew the answer. his silence was louder than anything he could have said, a confirmation of the doubts you’d been holding all this time. he was silent, his mind reeling. he’d been ready to promise anything, to say he’d change, to do better, to be better, but this... this he wasn’t prepared for.

he’d buried the possibility of a future together under the wreckage of his past, and here you were, exhuming it, offering it to him like a fragile thing. he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the effort, but words still didn’t come. he was lost in the storm of his thoughts, his heart and mind at war.

marriage, with all its complexities and risks, was a chasm he’d avoided for years. it was an admission of permanence, the final nail in the coffin of his lost love. and yet, hearing the word from your lips, the weight of it hung in the air, undeniable. he loved you, god, he did. but the thought of being married again, standing at the altar and promising forever, felt like staring down the barrel of a gun.

“i...” he started, his voice catching in his throat. “i can’t....” he couldn’t finish, the words refusing to form. he could see the hurt flicker across your face, the disappointment in your eyes. he hated it, hated disappointing you, but he couldn’t give you what you wanted. he could give you anything else, everything else, but that one thing, that one thing he couldn’t stomach.

he drew in a shuddering breath, his hands grasping yours more tightly, as though begging you to understand. “please,” he whispered, the word a ragged plea. “please, don’t ask me for that.” your smile was small, fragile, like glass held together by trembling hands, threatening to shatter at any moment. the corners of your lips wavered as you let out a shaky hum, the sound catching in your throat. you nodded, slowly, over and over, as though convincing yourself more than him.

“it’s okay,” you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of the lie. “it’s okay.”

the words came again, softer, more broken, tumbling out like a mantra you needed to believe. “it’s okay, it’s okay…”

but it wasn’t okay. not really.

your hands slipped out of his grasp, his warmth lingering on your skin even as you pulled away. you felt the tears brimming, threatening to spill, but you held them back with sheer willpower, your chest heaving with the effort. you couldn’t cry—not now, not in front of him.

you glanced at him, your gaze meeting his for a fleeting second, and the look in his eyes nearly undid you. he was desperate, broken, his pain as raw as your own. you knew he wasn’t choosing this to hurt you. he just… couldn’t.

he watched as you pulled away, the loss of your touch feeling like a wound in his chest. he wanted to reach out, to pull you back, to hold you tight against him and never let go. but he couldn’t. it felt like there was an invisible wall between them, one he didn’t know how to scale. the silence that settled felt heavy, filled with all the things they weren’t saying.

he watched as you kept nodding, your words a soft, hollow reassurance. he hated it, hated the resignation in your voice, the acceptance that he couldn’t seem to offer. his eyes never left yours, drinking in every flutter of your lashes, every tremble of your lips. he saw the struggle, the fight within you, and it tore at his heart. his fingers flexed at his side, as if they ached to reach out for you.

he wanted to be what you needed. he tried hard, he did. but he’d built his life around what he couldn’t do, not what he could. marriage, that sacred promise of forever, was not something he was capable of giving. it had been stolen along with his wife.

your movements were slow, deliberate, as though the weight of your decision had settled into your very bones. you pushed yourself off his lap, your hands lingering for a second longer than they should have, your touch burning into his skin as you stood before him. “i’m going to pack my things,” you said quietly, the words steady but hollow, as though you had rehearsed them in your mind countless times. your eyes stayed fixed on the floor, unable to meet his. if you looked at him now—at the way his hands were clenching into fists, the way his lips were pressed into a thin, trembling line—you knew you wouldn’t be able to follow through.

the bedroom was cloaked in a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the occasional, uneven breath that escaped from your lips. the air was heavy, dense with the weight of unspoken words and lingering regrets.

toji sat on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched forward, his elbows resting on his knees. his hands dangled uselessly between his legs, fingers twitching every so often like they wanted to reach for something—for you—but didn’t know how. his gaze was fixed on the floor, on a stray thread of the rug, as if it could provide him the answers he didn’t have.

you sat on the floor in front of the wardrobe, knees bent and body folded in on itself, your fingers trembling as they carefully, methodically folded your clothes. each piece felt like a small goodbye, a memory slipping through your hands as you placed it into the open suitcase. the suitcase itself looked like a wound, wide open and gaping, the contents spilling out like the remnants of a life shared and now divided.

the tears had long since dried on your cheeks, leaving behind a raw, burning ache. your eyes stung from crying, your head throbbed from the hours of grief. but nothing compared to the hollow ache in your chest, the way your heart seemed to squeeze with every breath you took. you moved slowly, painfully, each motion deliberate as though the act of packing was draining the last bits of strength you had. a sweater slipped from your grasp and landed limply on the floor. you stared at it for a moment, your fingers frozen mid-air, before picking it up again and folding it with trembling hands.

toji’s head tilted slightly, his dark eyes flickering to you, but he said nothing. he didn’t know what to say. the sight of you on the floor, hunched and fragile, sent a sharp pain through his chest. he wanted to call out to you, to tell you to stop, to tell you to stay. but his throat felt tight, his voice trapped beneath the weight of his guilt.

the night stretched on, cold and endless. the walls seemed to close in, the room once filled with warmth now unbearably hollow. the moonlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting pale shadows across the floor. the glow touched your hair, your face, and he thought you looked like something fleeting, like something he’d already lost.

“you don’t have to do this,” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough and uneven, as if dragged from the depths of his chest. your hands stilled, gripping a shirt tightly, but you didn’t turn to face him. instead, you closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, and let the silence answer for you.

he ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. “please,” he tried again, his voice cracking, “just… just stay. we can figure this out.” his words hung in the air, fragile and desperate, but you didn’t move. instead, you placed the shirt in the suitcase, smoothing it down as though you hadn’t heard him.

toji felt the weight of his failures pressing down on him, suffocating him. his hands clenched into fists as he looked at you, his chest burning with the helplessness of it all. he wanted to get on his knees, to beg you not to go. but he knew—he’d always known—that this moment was inevitable.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, the words so soft they almost didn’t reach you. but they did, and you paused again, your hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the suitcase. you didn’t turn, didn’t look at him, but your voice, quiet and tired, finally broke the silence. “sorry doesn’t change anything, baby.”

his chest tightened with every word you spoke, each one cutting through him like a blade. they mirrored the ache already festering in his soul, a deep, unrelenting hurt he could no longer ignore. he knew you were right—sorry was just a word, a feeble attempt to patch the gaping wound he had inflicted.

he wanted to fight it, to protest, to swear on everything he had that he’d do better, that he’d fix what was broken. but the promises felt hollow, brittle things that couldn’t bear the weight of the pain between you. his guilt loomed over him like a thundercloud, heavy and oppressive, choking the words in his throat before they could form.

he swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost unbearable. the silence that followed your words was suffocating, pressing in on him from all sides, stealing the air from his lungs. it was the kind of silence that left no room for hope—just a void where something beautiful used to be.

“where will you go?” he rasped at last, his voice barely above a whisper, rough and frayed from holding back the storm inside him. the question lingered in the air, fragile and trembling, like a ghost of all the things he wished he could say. he knew you had thought this through, planned every step with a careful precision that broke his heart all over again. but he wasn’t ready to hear it, to have the finality of it spoken aloud.

his gaze never left you, drinking in every detail like it was the last time he’d see you. the way your shoulders sagged under the weight of it all, the faint tremor in your hands as you folded your clothes with a quiet, mechanical detachment—it was unbearable. each movement of yours felt like another step away, another piece of you slipping from his grasp.

he ached to reach for you, to close the distance and feel your warmth beneath his fingertips, to remind himself that you were still here. but he couldn’t. the chasm between you was too wide, carved out by every mistake he’d made, every unspoken word, every moment of silence when you needed him most.

he sat there, paralyzed, watching as you drifted further away, knowing that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t stop you from leaving. he couldn’t undo what had been done, couldn’t bridge the unrelenting void between your hearts. and it shattered him.

the weight of his question hung in the air, suffocating and unanswered. you didn’t look at him, couldn’t. your hands moved on autopilot, folding clothes and tucking them away into the suitcase, but your mind was far from the task. his voice had cracked when he asked, and the sound of it had carved another wound into your chest.

you didn’t respond. not because you hadn’t thought about where you’d go—god knows you had. you’d spent nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking of everything and nothing all at once. but now, with his question hanging in the stillness, the answer felt like a tether, something that might pull him toward you when you couldn’t afford to let him get close.

maybe it was because you didn’t trust yourself. if he showed up, if he found you, you weren’t sure you’d have the strength to stay away. you didn’t think you could withstand the gravity of him, the pull of his broken promises and desperate pleas. you weren’t sure you could stop yourself from falling into his arms all over again.

so instead, you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “one day... one day, i’ll take megumi with me.” the words felt like a fragile thread, unraveling between the two of you. they weren’t meant to hurt him, but you knew they would. and they did.

toji flinched like you’d struck him, his hands clenching into fists against his thighs. his head snapped up, his dark eyes locking onto yours, wide with something between shock and desperation. “you’d take him?” he asked, his voice barely audible, trembling with a mixture of fear and anger.

you hummed softly, the sound so quiet it was almost swallowed by the heavy silence in the room. it wasn’t meant to be cruel, but the truth of it hung in the air, sharp and unforgiving. your hands stilled for a moment, clutching a folded shirt before you placed it carefully into the suitcase, as if the act could ground you.

“megumi deserves a better life,” you murmured, your voice steady but hollow, like the words were coming from somewhere deep, unreachable. you kept your gaze on the suitcase, unwilling to meet his eyes and see the anguish you knew would be there. “better everything… better than this.”

the last word caught in your throat, but you pushed forward, the weight of what you had to say pressing down on you. “better dad.”

the words left your lips like a whisper, soft and deliberate, but they landed with the force of a sledgehammer. you didn’t mean it to be an attack, but you couldn’t hold back the truth any longer. it wasn’t just about you—it was about megumi, about the kind of man and father he needed.

his heart fractured under the weight of your words, splintering into countless shards that cut him from the inside out. his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came, only the quiet gasp of a man brought to his knees by the truth. his eyes stayed fixed on yours, pain swirling in their depths like a storm he couldn’t escape.

your words stung, sharp and unyielding, wounding his pride and stripping bare the fragile veneer of his ego. but beneath the sting, he couldn’t deny the truth they carried. he had failed—not just as a father, but as someone you could rely on. he had failed both of you.

his jaw tightened, muscles clenching until his teeth ached, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “how dare you,” he muttered, his voice rough, scraping against the silence. anger ignited in his chest, quick and consuming, burning like dry kindling caught in a blaze. It was easier to give in to that anger, to use it as a shield, than to confront the overwhelming weight of his guilt. He wanted to refute you, to insist he was trying, that he cared more than you could understand. But the words tangled in his throat, heavy and useless, strangled by his own inadequacy.

with a sharp motion, he stood, the scrape of the chair loud against the floor. his movements were stiff, his body rigid as though holding himself together by sheer will alone. he stepped closer to you, his presence a forceful weight, his dark eyes clouded with emotions too raw to name—hurt, regret, defiance.

“you don’t get to decide what’s best for him,” he growled, his voice low and unsteady, the edges frayed by a desperation he couldn’t hide. the words came out rough, jagged, as if they were torn from him against his will, the only defense he could muster against the truth you’d laid bare. and yet, even as he spoke, the hollowness in his chest deepened, a chasm opening wide as he realized how little power he had left to keep either of you close.

you paused, your hands stilling over the suitcase as his words cut through the air, sharp and heated. slowly, you turned to face him, your gaze calm but piercing, steady even as the storm of his anger loomed over you.

toji stood before you, his tall, imposing frame trembling with tension, fists clenched at his sides. his eyes, dark and wild, bore into yours, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you tilted your head slightly, studying him like he was a puzzle you’d long since solved.

“do you even know,” you began, your voice quiet, controlled, “that megumi is sick right now?”

the question hit him like a punch to the gut. his brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked genuinely lost. “what are you talking about?” he demanded, his voice still rough, but the fire in it flickered, uncertainty creeping in. you let out a soft, humorless laugh, the sound filled with exhaustion rather than mirth. “exactly,” you whispered, the weight of your words pressing down like a heavy stone.

you pushed yourself up from the floor, standing to meet him eye to eye, though his towering figure still loomed over you. “he’s had a fever for two days,” you continued, your voice steady but edged with pain. “he’s been coughing, barely eating, and clinging to me because he doesn’t know where his father is.”

his anger deflated in an instant, replaced by a cold realization that hit him like a freight train. the color drained from his face, eyes widening in a mix of shock and disbelief.

he’d been so wrapped up in his own guilt, his own shortcomings, that he hadn’t even noticed his own son was sick. the reality of it felt like a dagger to the heart. he took a step back, away from you, as if to distance himself from the truth. “i... i didn’t know,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

you let out a bitter laugh, sharp and cutting, the sound bouncing off the walls like a cruel echo. it wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the air with more force than any shout could. shaking your head, you turned back to the suitcase, resuming your task with trembling hands. “you never know, toji,” you said, your voice low but trembling with restrained anger. “never there.”

for what felt like the hundredth time that night, his heart sank, heavy and aching, beneath the weight of your words. they struck with a bluntness that left no room for denial, carving through him with their unrelenting truth. the sting of them burned, sharp and unforgiving, and he felt the urge to fight back, to argue, to plead his case. he wanted to shout that he was trying, that he cared, that he’d been there in the ways he could. but the excuses lodged in his throat, crumbling to ash before they could take shape.

his eyes flickered to your hands, trembling as they folded the fabric in front of you with methodical precision. every movement betrayed the pain you held back, the frustration, the hurt that lingered unspoken. your voice, though steady, carried the weight of all the words you hadn’t said, words that would have gutted him even more.

he stepped back, the distance between you widening with every moment, and raked a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over in jagged waves. “i’m... i’m trying, goddamnit,” he choked out, his voice raw and unsteady, like a desperate man grasping at straws. but even as the words left his lips, they felt hollow, a frail echo of the truth he wished he could give you.

you didn’t look up, didn’t pause, didn’t waver. your hands moved steadily, folding each piece of clothing with a care that belied the storm brewing in your chest. his words—i’m trying—hung in the air, but they felt hollow, an echo of promises that had long since lost their meaning. “let’s not lie to ourselves, toji,” you said quietly, your voice devoid of the anger it held moments before. now it was just tired, resigned, as if you’d given up on expecting more from him. “we both know it’s not true.”

the weight of your words settled in the room like a thick fog, heavy and suffocating. you didn’t bother to glance at him, your focus entirely on the task at hand. the suitcase was nearly full now, the sight of it both a relief and a heartache.

“i hope,” you began, your voice soft but firm, “you can keep megumi safe. just for a year or two. take care of him while i’m gone.” you paused, fingers smoothing out a small wrinkle in one of megumi’s shirts. “then i’ll come back for him.” the words cut deeper than anything else you’d said. they weren’t laced with anger or bitterness. they were just the truth, laid bare, unflinching and cold.

toji felt like the air had been knocked out of him. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as he watched you. gone. you were going to leave, to walk away from him, from this. the thought of it was unbearable, but the way you spoke of megumi—calm, certain, like you’d already planned your exit—shattered something inside him, and it anger him.

in your heart, you knew how furious toji was, even if he didn’t show it the way he usually did—with raised voices or slammed doors. this was a quiet, simmering anger, the kind that vibrated in the air between you, heavy and tense. and you understood why. you knew it wasn’t just your words that had stung—it was the truth behind them. megumi was his son, his flesh and blood, his responsibility. not yours. he had every right to be angry, to feel the weight of your accusation. but that didn’t make it any less true.

toji was mad, indeed. you could feel it in the way he stood rigidly by the bed, his broad frame tense, his fists clenched as if trying to physically hold himself together. but you also knew he wasn’t just mad at you.

he was mad at himself.

he was mad because deep down, he knew you were right. he was a deadbeat dad, and it wasn’t something he could argue against, no matter how much he wanted to. the reality of it stung worse than anything you could have said. but maybe that wasn’t the only reason for his anger. maybe it was because megumi was the last thing he had left of her—his late wife, the woman he’d loved so fiercely and lost so tragically. every time he looked at his son, he saw her in the curve of his smile, in the brightness of his eyes.

or maybe it wasn’t even that. maybe it was because, somewhere along the way, he’d started to see megumi in the moments you shared with him—the way you hugged him, laughed with him, cared for him in a way that toji couldn’t.

megumi was a reminder. a painful one. of everything toji had lost, everything he could never get back, and everything he didn’t deserve. and now, here you were, talking about taking him away.

it was too much.

toji’s jaw tightened, his chest rising and falling with the effort to keep himself from exploding. he turned his face away from you, his dark eyes shadowed with an emotion you couldn’t quite place.

his voice broke through the heavy silence, sharp and trembling with anger, his words cutting through the tension like a blade. “how dare you,” he growled, his tone low and dangerous, yet tinged with something deeper—pain, fear, desperation. “how dare you say something like that. take my kid? my kid that isn’t even yours?”

you stopped folding mid-motion, your hands frozen over the fabric as his words hung in the air. they hit you like a slap, stinging and raw, but you didn’t let it show. you stayed still for a moment, your shoulders stiff, before slowly placing the shirt into the suitcase.

your chest burned, your throat tight as you swallowed the lump threatening to rise. you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your voice eerily calm, soft but firm, the way you might talk to someone teetering on the edge of reason.

“yes, he’s your kid,” you said, still focused on the task at hand. “but tell me, toji, where were you when he needed his father? when he was sick and crying for someone to hold him, where were you?”

you finally looked up at him then, your eyes meeting his with a steady, unwavering gaze. the words that followed weren’t meant to be cruel, but they came out with an edge nonetheless. “being a father isn’t just about blood. it’s about showing up. and you? you haven’t been there.”

toji’s anger flickered in his eyes, a sharp contrast to your steady calm. your words hit a nerve he didn’t know he had, but you pushed on, your voice cool and measured, even as your heart ached at the truth behind it. “yeah, i wasn’t there,” he snarled, his voice hoarse with anger and something that almost felt like shame. “i wasn’t there. so what? that doesn’t give you the right to just take him away. you think you can just come in and take him from me?” he finally spat, his voice louder now, rising with the heat of his emotions. “what gives you the right?”

your lips pressed into a thin line, the fire in his voice igniting something deep inside you. you stood, the weight of his accusations forcing you to meet him on equal ground. “i don’t want to take him from you,” you said, your voice rising now, matching his intensity. “but someone has to make sure he’s okay! someone has to love him, to care for him, to actually be there for him. if you can’t do that, then yes, toji, i’ll take him. because he deserves better than this!”

the room seemed to vibrate with the force of your words, the air between you crackling with tension. toji’s chest rose and fell as he stared at you, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of anger, guilt, and something softer—something vulnerable that he tried desperately to hide. toji’s fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles almost white. your words hit him like a punch, but they also struck a chord deep within him, one he wasn’t willing to admit.

“you think i don’t know that?” he growled, his voice hoarse, a slight waver in it betraying the anger that rolled off him like a wave. “you think i don’t know he deserves better? i’m his father.” he took a step forward, closing the gap between you. he loomed over you, trying to use his size to intimidate you, but you stood your ground, refusing to be cowed. you lifted your chin, your eyes meeting his straight on, refusing to back down.

“then act like it,” you snapped, your voice still steady despite the turmoil in your chest. “don’t just stand there making excuses. do something, toji. be a father.” there was a pause, a moment of silence between you. toji’s jaw clenching, his eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

when he spoke again, his voice had softened, his words tinged with a hint of defeat. “it’s not that simple.”

you held his gaze, studying him, trying to see past the defensiveness to the heart of him. “then make it simple,” you said, your tone firm yet gentle. “find a way.” toji visibly hesitated, the fight slowly seeping out of him. he looked away, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through his hair. the silence stretched between you, filled with the weight of his uncertainty.

toji’s jaw clenched as he stared at you, his chest heaving with the effort of keeping his anger in check. the way you said it, like it was so simple—as if he could just wave a hand and fix everything—it grated against every raw nerve he had left. he scoffed, a bitter sound that held no humor, his dark eyes narrowing on you. “you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he spat, his voice low and sharp, dripping with frustration.

“you don’t know anything about being a parent,” he spat, his eyes dark and accusing. “you can’t even have a child.” the moment the words left his mouth, the air in the room changed. it was as if time itself froze, the weight of his statement hanging heavy in the silence. his voice had been sharp, cutting, but it wasn’t just anger that colored his tone—it was desperation, shame, and the bitter need to lash out, to deflect his own failings onto you.

you stared at him, your hands falling still, the fabric slipping through your fingers as if the weight of his words had drained all strength from you. your breath hitched, your chest tightening painfully as his accusation sunk in. he regretted them. but it was too late. they hung in the air between you like a knife, sharp and unforgiving, and toji could see the way they sliced through you. the way your hands stilled, the way your breath caught, your lips parting in a silent gasp.

he hated himself in that moment. hated the way he’d let his anger and pride control him, the way he’d reached for the lowest blow just to protect himself from the shame, the guilt of knowing you were right.

but he couldn’t take it back. and maybe, deep down, some part of him didn’t want to. some bitter, broken part of him had wanted to lash out, to make you feel even a fraction of the pain he carried every day. and now he watched as his words hit you, as they crushed you, and it felt like he’d just taken a knife to his own chest. your face didn’t crumble, didn’t break like he thought it would. no, you just stared at him, your eyes wide and glassy, like you were holding back the tidal wave of emotions threatening to drown you.

toji couldn’t move. couldn’t speak. his fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain might wake him up from this nightmare he’d created. he wanted to take it back, to say anything else, to tell you he didn’t mean it.

you couldn’t believe it, couldn’t wrap your mind around the cruelty of his words as they echoed in the silence between you. your hands froze mid-motion, the fabric slipping from your grasp like it had lost all meaning. it felt like the air had been sucked from the room, leaving you gasping, suffocating on the weight of his accusation.

you looked at him, disbelief painted across your face, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision. he knew. he knew. your legs felt weak as you slowly pushed yourself to your feet, every motion deliberate, like moving through water. your hand trembled as it found his cheek—not in anger, not in violence, but in an aching, desperate need to ground yourself in the reality of what he had just said.

“how dare you,” you whispered, your voice breaking under the strain of holding yourself together. your chest heaved as you struggled to breathe, as though the pain of his words had physically struck you.

your fist found his shoulder—not with force, but with the raw weight of your anguish, the emotion pouring out of you in waves. tears spilled freely down your cheeks now, hot and relentless, carving paths down your skin like they were trying to etch the pain into your very being.

“how dare you,” you repeated, your voice cracking, the words barely above a whisper but heavy, so heavy. the phrase tumbled from your lips over and over again, each time weaker, more broken, as though the weight of it was too much for you to carry.

you gasped, your breath hitching as your body trembled under the strain of your emotions. you hit him again, and again, tears spilling down your cheeks as you repeated the words like a broken mantra. “how dare you,” you choked, the phrase splintering in your throat as your fist faltered, falling uselessly against him. “how dare you...”

he was there. he knew. he’d been there the day your world collapsed, the day the doctor delivered the words that turned your dreams to ash. he was the one who held you as you screamed into his chest, the one who stroked your hair when you cried yourself to sleep night after night. to hear him—to hear the man who had once wiped your tears, who had once told you it didn’t matter, that you were enough—use it against you... it felt like a blade, twisting slowly, cruelly.

toji stayed still as you hit him, his body taut as a bowstring, the blow of your accusation and your raw, desperate words striking deeper than any blow you could have given him physically. his eyes, dark and hard, watched you, a maelstrom of emotions raging in their depths. he let you hit him, his face stoic, his body unmoving. he wanted to reach out, to pull you into his arms and hold you tight. but the words he had spoken hung in the air between you like a barrier he couldn't breach.

but as you repeated the words like a litany of pain, something in toji broke— each one spilling from your lips like a prayer for mercy, toji’s insides twisted painfully. it was like you had taken the sharpest blade and twisted it into his chest, the weight of your anguish crushing every ounce of him. he had been the cause of it all, the one who had driven you to this raw, desperate place, and in that realization, something inside him fractured. he couldn’t bear to see you like this, to hear the anguish in your voice, and know that he was the cause. with a sharp intake of breath, he reached for you, his hands closing around your wrists, stopping you from continuing your onslaught.

he couldn’t look at you any longer. he couldn’t stand the hurt in your eyes, the way you were so vulnerable, so broken before him. it wasn’t just the sting of your words that cut deep, it was the way you had so carefully peeled back his walls, exposing everything he had buried. the thought of losing his son, of you taking megumi away, it was like a sickening twist in his gut. and the thought of you leaving him—abandoning him—wrecked something far more delicate inside him. megumi, his reminder of everything that could be lost, hung heavily in his chest, a cruel echo that threatened to drown him.

and yet, even though the pain inside him was unbearable, there was something else—a defense mechanism. a cold, jagged shield that he pulled over himself as he stared at you, his green irises darkening to almost black. the words formed in his throat like acid, burning and bitter, but they didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop them. he clenched his teeth to stave off the flood of guilt threatening to rise within him.

you stood before him, a shattered shell of the person he once knew, and still, all he could think of was the hurt, the betrayal that was eating him alive. so, he said it. his grip tightened on your wrists, his fingers digging into your skin as though that could somehow stop the torrent of pain he was drowning in.

“marry you?” he spat, his voice rough with venom, with the desperation to push you away. “play house and family with you? you’re not even good enough to be a wife. what? a mother? don’t be joking.”

there was no other way to hurt you more. he knew it, and he said it anyway, as though those words could silence the storm raging inside him. they were meant to cut, to break you as much as you had broken him. he saw the way your face fell, the tremble in your hands, the way your breath caught painfully in your throat, and a twisted satisfaction curled in his chest. it was poison—poison that tasted worse with every passing second, but he didn’t stop. he couldn’t stop.

he released your wrists abruptly, as though you had burned him. the sound of his breath came harsh and shallow, his heart pounding like a drumbeat in his ears. without looking back, he turned and stormed out of the bedroom, the door slamming behind him with a force that shook the house to its foundation. the noise echoed down the empty hallways like a warning bell, and toji couldn’t help but feel the weight of it, the finality in the sound.

he didn’t dare turn around. not now. not after what he had said. the shame was too thick, the guilt too suffocating. toji fushiguro had been a coward. he had said the most terrible things to you, knowing how they would land, knowing how they would shatter you. but in the moment, his pride, his fear, his own suffocating pain had all been louder than the love he had for you. and he couldn’t take it back. no, he wouldn’t.

he walked down the hallway, each step heavier than the last, until he reached megumi’s room. the door was slightly ajar, and for a fleeting moment, toji paused, his heart lurching at the thought of his son—his son, who still believed in him, who still loved him despite everything. he could almost feel the weight of the boy’s presence, the innocence of his sleep, and it brought a rush of guilt over him.

he pushed the door open slowly, silently, and found megumi sleeping soundly in his bed, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest a stark contrast to the chaos that churned in toji’s soul. the boy’s small, serene face was untouched by the darkness that had plagued his father for so long. and for a moment, just a fleeting moment, toji thought of how easy it could be to be like him—untouched, unburdened, innocent.

but that thought was gone almost as soon as it had appeared. he was a failure—a coward—a man too broken to protect the things he loved.

without a sound, he sat down on the edge of the bed, watching his son sleep. the room was quiet, but the silence between him and everything that was wrong with his life felt suffocating. toji ran a hand through his hair, rubbing his temples as though trying to erase the weight of the words he had spoken, trying to push them out of his mind. but it was no use. they would stay with him, hanging in the air like smoke, suffocating him from the inside out.

he thought of you. he thought of how he had hurt you, how he had used your deepest wound against you, and how he couldn’t take it back. and he hated himself for it. he hated himself more than he had ever hated anyone or anything before. but that self-loathing was buried beneath a thick layer of pride, of fear, of pain. and so, he sat there, next to his son, hoping for something—anything—that would make it all right again. but there was nothing. there was only silence.

and as the hours passed, toji found that the longer he sat there, the more the guilt became unbearable. but he couldn’t move. he couldn’t leave. he was stuck in the very prison he had built for himself, trapped by his own weakness, and no matter how hard he tried to escape, he could not.

it was winter, and the snow fell gently, dusting the world outside with its soft, white touch. the coldness pressed against the window of the car, the small flakes drifting down like feathers in the quiet of the evening. inside, however, there was warmth—warmth that had little to do with the heater and everything to do with the presence beside you. your eyes wandered out the window, catching the view of an alley you knew too well, a path you had walked through countless times in your life. the alley, though ordinary to most, was a place of memories for you. its cracked pavement, the dim light from the streetlamps that had once seemed so far away—it had seen the darkest parts of your life and now, somehow, it felt different. it was like the alley had softened, just like you had.

despite the cold of the world outside, you felt a strange warmth curling within you, wrapping you in comfort. there was a fullness to your heart now, an unspoken happiness that you had longed for. hunger, both physical and emotional, had faded into something distant, as if the universe itself had conspired to fill the spaces you once thought empty. and as you sat there, in the car, with the soft snowfall outside and the quiet hum of the engine, you realized that you were no longer alone. not in the way you once were. there was someone beside you now, someone whose presence filled every corner of your soul.

a hand, strong yet gentle, brushed against yours, the touch warm against the cold air. the sensation made your chest tighten, but in the best way, like the world had finally decided to be kind to you. his thumb rubbed softly against your skin, an action so tender it almost made you forget to breathe. you flickered your eyes, caught in the unexpected warmth, and then turned to your left. your heart skipped a beat when your gaze met his. there, right beside you, were eyes the color of the sky on the brightest of days, a blue so deep it felt like you were gazing into the soul of the world itself.

his hair, almost as white as the snow outside, framed his face like an ethereal halo. the sight of him made everything around you seem to fade away—time, space, even the cold. his smile, warm and effortless, was a mix of boyish charm and cheeky confidence, like he had always known how to make you smile without even trying. it was a smile that spoke of history, of shared moments, of promises kept and futures built. it was the smile that had saved you countless times, the one that always made you feel like no matter what happened, everything would be alright.

he leaned closer, and the familiar warmth of his presence surrounded you. his hand, large and strong, slid to your hair, brushing it away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a softness that belied his usual confidence. his touch was gentle, deliberate, as though he was savoring the moment just as much as you were. his eyes never left yours, the sincerity in his gaze a quiet promise, an unspoken truth.

“are you ready?” his voice was soft, but there was something in it, something deeper, like he was asking more than just whether you were ready to step out of the car.

you hum softly, a smile tugging at your lips as you meet his gaze. there’s something in the way he looks at you, something that makes the whole world seem right. you nod, the smile growing a little wider, more genuine. “yeah,” you whisper, almost to yourself. “i’m ready.”

with a slight shift, you feel the warmth of his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, grounding you in his presence. his touch is familiar, comforting, like a steady anchor in a world that once felt so uncertain. and as his fingers press gently against your side, you know that this is where you’re meant to be. not just here, but with him—his warmth, his strength, his confidence. it’s all-consuming, filling the emptiness that once clung to your heart. with gojo satoru, you feel full. loved. whole. in a way that toji never could offer you, no matter how many times you tried.

you step out of the car, your shoes crunching softly against the snow as you move beside him. every step feels like a promise, and the weight of it doesn’t scare you—not when he’s right there, guiding you forward, keeping you steady. you don't have to look back. you don’t have to think about toji or the past. because with gojo, there’s only the present. there’s only now, and in that moment, now feels perfect.

when you finally stop in front of the house, the sight of it hits you like a punch to the gut. it’s just as it was before, dull, gray, like a shadow of the life you once had here. the memories, so vivid, crash into you—laughs shared, tears spilled, promises made, and then broken. your hands tighten into fists at your sides, and for a moment, you’re unsure if it’s the cold or something else that makes your chest tighten. you wonder if this place still holds the ghosts of your past, the ones that haunt every corner, every crack in the walls.

you glance up at the house, trying to picture it differently. trying to picture it as the home it was meant to be. but instead, your mind wanders to megumi. how tall is he now? you wonder. has he changed? the little things that once made him him—have they stayed the same? and then, your thoughts shift, dark and unspoken. you wonder if toji has been kind to him. you wonder if he’s been taking good care of his son.

the doubts swirl in your mind, almost suffocating, and for a second, you feel the weight of everything—past mistakes, lost time, the fear of what might have been. but then gojo’s presence pulls you back, steadying you. his hand still rests on your waist, a silent reminder that, no matter what happens, you’re not alone.

with a deep breath, you push the thoughts aside, focusing on the present, on the here and now. it’s time to pick up megumi.

beneath the ancient tree, buried in the soft silence of snow, he watches you. unseen, as he has been for years, he stands in the shadows, a ghost of what he once was, bound by the chains of his own mistakes.

you are radiant, bathed in winter’s light, your laughter spilling into the air like a song he can no longer hear. you’re playing family, your hands cradling a boy he knows is his but feels like yours. your son, your life. the man beside you, your husband, is everything he was too broken to be. he knows this, and still, it cuts deeper than the cold that seeps into his skin.

the snow around you glitters with a brightness that feels cruel. he almost imagines the soft hum of Christmas carols spilling from your home, the jingle of bells echoing faintly in his mind. he can see megumi, eyes wide with wonder, rushing toward the tree, his tiny hands tearing into brightly wrapped presents. toji knows he hasn’t given him even one in years.

and then, for the first time, he notices something unfamiliar, something almost foreign—those faint, delicate wrinkles around megumi’s eyes when he smiles, a smile so pure, so whole, it steals the breath from his chest. he watches as his son gazes up at you, small fingers wrapped tightly around yours, his little eyes filled with love so boundless it feels like a knife twisting in his gut.

he almost doesn’t recognize that smile, and it hits him like a tidal wave—he’s forgotten what it looks like. after you left, there was no more laughter, no light. his home became a hollow shell, filled with nothing but heavy silences and echoes of what could have been. none of the smiles reached their eyes—megumi’s or his.

he swallows hard, but the lump in his throat only grows heavier, bitter like the regret he’s carried for years. the weight of it presses down on him now, unbearable, inescapable. it’s not your fault, nor your husband’s, not even megumi’s. the blame lies squarely with him—his reckless hands, his selfish choices. he ruined it all, crushed his life beneath his own fists like a man desperate to destroy what he didn’t believe he deserved.

and as he stands there, watching you, his son, your family—his family—he feels the ache of it all, sharp and unrelenting. the life he lost unfolds before him like a distant dream, close enough to see but too far to touch. the snow falls heavier now, wrapping the world in white, but no amount of winter’s beauty can hide the hollowness in his chest.

he watches, and he wonders, if somewhere deep in his son’s smile, there is a piece of him left—or if it’s all gone, just like you. and if there is none, he understands.

he sold megumi, after all.

[chuluoyi]

HAPPY MARRIAGE

- nanami kento x reader

“you don't deserve to be unhappy. and i don’t want to be unhappy, either.” you have always wondered where did you and kento go wrong. in the wake of your divorce, as you both returned to single lives, you and kento would come to realize what constitutes a happy marriage is... and it takes more than just love

genre/warnings: post-divorce angst, crack, misunderstandings, arguments, hurt/comfort, bestfriend!gojo is going to help your love life, and fluff in the end!

note: this fic... goes through a major change overnight after i was struck with a wholly different plot *sobs* and then i went through a major writing block for at least a week before i know what words i'm going to write :') anyways, this isn't really proofread so please forgive any typos to the anon who requested this and others, i do hope you'll enjoy it! tagging @tiredkitten as per request <3

listen to: today more than yesterday - kim jong kook

a part of 1K MILESTONE EVENT

general masterlist

No divorce ever comes easy.

When couples enter into marriage, they do so with the dream of a lifelong bond filled with love and compassion. You too did once. And even until now, you still want that for yourself.

When you married Nanami Kento three years ago, you thought it was for eternity. He was your dream man, the only man you could see yourself with. He embodied everything that was just and righteous, and he was also kind man, who would always put you first, shielding you from any sort of harm.

Even if the source of that ‘harm’ turned out to be himself.

“You don't deserve to be unhappy. and I don’t want to be unhappy, either.”

Strangely, you didn't resent Kento that much, in the end. At that time, both of you had come to terms with it and you couldn't blame anyone. But now, six months later, as you sat in this shabby bar, downing shots of gin with your thoughts swirling in an alcohol-induced haze, your emotions were all over the place, and moreover, the presence of a certain clown before you was just particularly irksome, and you knew that he was someone you could blame—

“Gojo, you prick!”

Gojo raised one righteous eyebrow. "Who, me? Sorry, but I'm not your ex-husband?"

Gojo Satoru was the witness to several milestone in your life. Insufferable as he was, somehow you clicked with him ever since your early days as a jujutsu sorcerer. You remembered sending him your handpicked wedding invitation, having him celebrating your promotions, and then coming to him with tears running down your face in the middle of the night, telling him, “We are getting a divorce.”

"You!" you snapped, slamming down your glass of gin, whipping your head around to face the blindfolded idiot that was your longtime friend. Your index finger accusingly aimed at him. "This is all your fault!"

"Wha—"

"Because of you!"

"Okay, now it's clear that you're just too far gone—"

You hiccupped, your tone laced with fiery emotion. "If it weren't for you—if you hadn't been so adamant about setting us up back then—!"

Gojo grimaced. Ah, so this was the so-called drunken musings. While it was amusing to see his friend of 7 years in this state, even he couldn't deny how a tad bit pitiful you were.

"...then maybe," you started to deflate, eyes watering and lips trembling, sniffling. "I-I won't have to go through this..."

Correction, you were so pitiful you had no idea. But still, as a longtime associate, he couldn't bring himself to abandon you there, wallowing in your sorrows all alone.

He sighed and patted your back. "There, there... what about I introduce you to other guys, hmm? See if it'll lessen the pain away?"

You shot him a look so hateful despite your bleary vision. "No! Last time you did, it ended in a divorce for me! I refuse to let you turn me into a two-time divorcee!"

"I'm pretty sure your marriage is far from my business, I'm just your kind-hearted, handsome broker—"

"Bah! You— tasteless prick!"

You burped loudly afterwards and Gojo winced, and then you suddenly (and theatrically, he might add) slumped face-down onto the table with a thud, passed out in all your drunken glory.

And Gojo could only stare at you in somewhat disbelief.

. . .

He thought then, that you were definitely going to owe him one after this.

More often than not, throughout the past six months, Nanami also found himself thinking about you too.

Despite his calm exterior, separation with you didn't come easy for him. There was a reason he married you in the first place—he had loved you, and he too wanted it to last. You used to be the reason he went home on time each and everyday, the reason he eagerly anticipated spending his weekends with.

Everything had fallen apart before either of you realized it. Some disagreements suddenly spiraled into lonely nights, no updates during longer missions, your tears, and then ended with both of you filing the papers in the city hall to end it all.

Six months ago, he thought he was final with his decision. He thought it was the best as he was faced with the sight of your tear-streaked face.

“Kento, I’m not asking m-much, am I?” you asked between sobs, wiping your tears harshly. “Aren’t w-we family? Shouldn’t we be doing a lot of things—together?”

Recalling that moment now, it tugged at his heartstrings anew. Yet, despite everything...

“I’m telling you, I know my limits—”

“Is that all you have to say? Don’t you know how sick with worry I am?” you ended up shouting at him, voice quivering. “Put yourself in my shoes and think: how can I possibly sleep at night, constantly fearing that my husband might—” your voice broke, fresh tears flowing freely. “—might not come back?!”

He was the one who backed away first, who made you lose all hope, and ultimately, placed the sentence upon you.

“If you don't have it in you to... then, perhaps it's for the best that we... just get a divorce.”

"Nanami-san, you okay?"

He looked up from the sizzling barbeque grill pan to his junior, Ino Takuma, who looked concerned as he flipped the meat. "You have been staring into space for a while..."

"I'm fine, Ino-kun." He looked down and grabbed the tongs, flipping his side of beef.

Ino let out a sympathetic sigh. "Honestly, lately, you seem down."

Words he was holding back were "ever since your divorce", but Ino was pretty sure his senior understood the implicaton.

Nanami hummed. "Sometimes life just doesn't go as swimmingly... I'm fine."

Ino never really knew you that well and was curious. In fact, he was so very curious. When it comes to Nanami Kento, everything he does and has done is always with justified and sound reason, but he might be biased because the 7:3 sorcerer was his role model.

It might verge on invading his privacy, but—

"They said... Gojo-san was your matchmaker back then?" he went through with the question anyway, testing the waters. "I don't mean to pry, but I just thought it's cute."

To Ino's surprise, Nanami's lips curled into a small smile. "It's fine, Ino-kun. I think it has become common knowledge by now. Yeah... he was."

"For you to have fallen for someone who was Gojo's acquaintance... it speaks volumes about how charming Y/N is."

"Mmm," he nodded slightly as he indulged in the grilled meat. "She is."

"Nanami-san." Okay, Ino was starting to think that he wouldn't be getting his point across if he went the roundabout way. He would shoot it straight then. "I don't mean to patronize you... but if you're really that miserable, then I think you should go back to her and talk things out, no?"

Nanami put down his chopsticks and let out a soft sigh, making Ino to immediately regret his blatant suggestion.

"Before arriving at such a difficult decision, of course we did try to discuss some things," he explained, his gaze meeting his calmly. "I don't take matters like divorce lightly, Ino-kun."

"But still... now—"

To drove the point home, Nanami chose to vocalize the conclusion that still left a bitter taste in his mouth to this day:

"She is unhappy with the way things are, and I have to come to terms with the fact that I can't provide what she needs."

Ino's gaze fell in dejection. "Nanami-san..."

Nanami chuckled fondly. “I appreciate your concern, Ino-kun. Thank you.”

In front of his junior, he could maintain composure and narrated the collapse of his own marriage as if he were a mere spectator. But in his heart of hearts, Nanami Kento wasn’t at all the stoic man he made everyone believed he was—the fact that he had failed to give you the life of happiness he promised on the day he proposed to you still stung him to this day.

It hurt him, but echoing your words, he couldn't subject you to a marriage that felt like a dull cohabitation with little understanding.

“We never really talk anymore, do we...? We never really work on our problems too. Kento, lately, I feel like... things have changed.”

Suppose what he had to do was letting you go now.

It was easier said than done, because when Nanami saw you the next day at the school—this being the first time in several weeks—he almost couldn’t keep his cool.

"Ichiji, don't be too stiff!" you slapped the poor guy in the back with a giggle. "It's just me, it's been a while!"

You didn't look much different than the last he saw you—still the chirpy self he unwittingly fell in love with, staying on top of the latest fashion trends and all. Yet, there was definitely something different about you, something he just couldn't quite identify...

And then those cheerfulness deflated when your gaze met his, eyes widening as you tried to get your bearings. "Oh—h-hi, Kento."

That's too forced. It was so unnatural that made him almost wince.

"Hello." But the tremble in his voice, too, betrayed him. "Have you been well?"

You shifted your gaze away from him, and right before you answered, you let out a cough, and that was when he spotted it: you looked kind of pale.

"I'm fine."

"Oh, that's good then."

Silence. This was the absolute worst.

Nanami exhaled. It was you he was talking to, his ex-wife. He knew you inside out—or at least, he used to. He knew you didn't like this dryness as much as he did. He had to say something.

He braved himself. "Are you here for a mission?"

You looked at him in slight surprise. "Oh... yeah."

Darn it. Another dry reply.

"There... is a cursed totem in North Tokyo," you elaborated, not really looking at him. "Gojo's out from tomorrow until next week. I'm substituting for him to assist the first years."

"Are you sure you're up for that?" Nanami found himself asking before he could stop. "I mean no disrespect, but you look a bit pale."

"I am," you snapped, leaving him surprised. It was as though he had unintentionally struck a nerve, quickly turning your mood sour. "I'm fully capable of handling this, Kento."

"Please, I don't mean to upset you. I'm just..."

Worried about you. Somehow his throat closed in, it didn't really feel right to say that now.

"—I know how rash you can be." He regretted his words as soon as they were out.

It was clearly a bad choice of words as you took offense, your expression quickly turned into one of disdain.

"How rich... that it's coming from you," you scowled.

Memories of your failed marriage flooded your mind's eye. The long nights your ex-husband didn't bother to leave you a message. How he would return home with wounds and blood staining his clothes. And now... he had the nerve to insinuate that you were the reckless one?

"I can take care of myse—"

"That's a whole load of bullshit!"

Good grief. Why must Gojo pick this exact scene to show up?

The blindfold took big strides and halted between the two of you, pointing one finger in your face.

“Last night, she got wasted. Like totally wasted! She could barely walk straight afterwards and then she had the audacity to blame me! Me! For all her mess! Goodness, I’m just a very chivalrous friend and yet—”

"Shut up!" you were horrified, face flushed with embarrassment. "Gojo, you complete jerk!"

Nanami wouldn't admit it, but there was always something between you and Gojo Satoru that made him a bit uncomfortable, even way back when the two of you were still married. Perhaps the closeness, the candidness you shared. He knew you wouldn't harbor anything for someone as elusive as Gojo Satoru, but still, it remained an uncomfortable sight for him.

Like there was nothing pleasant about knowing Gojo Satoru was the one taking care of you in your drunken stupor. You shouldn't have in the first place. If it were him, he wouldn't let you hurt yourself. If he were still the one by your side—

Despite himself, thoughts like that swirled in his mind far often than he would've liked.

Suddenly, the air felt stifling. Nanami didn't like this at all, and even as you two were still harmlessly bickering, he chose to leave.

"Oiii, Nanami!"

He had barely left the room when the person he disliked the most emerged from the door, following closely behind him. Gojo evidently knew what his thoughts were. As irritating as he was, the bloke was smart, he wasn't the strongest for nothing.

"Na-na-mi! You can't just leave like that! We're going to have lunch together—"

"Gojo-san," Nanami stopped in his tracks and let out an exasperated sigh, throwing the white-haired idiot a glare so hard it would curse him if only glares could. "Please stop bothering me."

“How cold-hearted,” the blindfold replied in a mocking scoff. “No matter how, she was once your wife. How could you not care one bit?”

“We have gone on our separate ways, and if she is good with the way things are, then so am I.”

What a lie. He still couldn't help but to care. If you ever needed his help in whatever way even now, he would still move heavens for you.

“And that’s where you’re wrong, Nanami,” Gojo suddenly interjected in a less playful manner. “She is really missing you, you know.”

But you had your best friend by your side, didn't you? Someone perfect, without equal. Surely, you wouldn't need him anymore.

Gojo raised an eyebrow. "How are you so sure that she's good with the way things are?"

"What exactly is she not good with?"

"Everything? You never ask her."

This was getting irritating, and before Nanami really lost control over himself, he finally drew a line.

"Gojo-san, I'm tired of people assuming things about our current relationship," he said, leveling a piercing look at him. "We are both adults. We reached the decision to separate because we both know why. If this is your way of showing concern, then thank you—but I'd prefer if you didn't interfere any further. We're handling this just fine, and by all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore."

With that, he left. Even when he wanted to stay longer with you, even when, in his wildest dreams, he wanted to rebuild everything with you again—

He knew you were there, hearing all of this.

Gojo clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed. "Grr... You're so stubborn..."

. . .

There was a reason why you went to the school. Yaga's sudden request and of course, the chance to see Nanami again.

But when your conversation ended in a bitter note and he walked away, a part of you plunged into instant panic, compelling you to eavesdrop on his conversation with Gojo.

But as expected from you cool ex-husband, he was all rationale and logic.

By all means, I think people should stop associating us anymore.

Nanami would think so, wouldn't he? And he wouldn't be bothered either.

You shouldn't have expected more. This was no television drama in which the couple would get back together that easily. You were living in the harsh reality of jujutsu world, which basically, was the cause of your divorce in the first place.

At one point, you found it all to be exhausting, but upon reflection, it was more painful to acknowledge that he never truly fought to keep you by his side.

Tears welled up in your eyes unbidden, and you walked away quickly, brushing them away.

This is it. There is no use hoping anymore.

If you weren't on missions, then you'd likely be drinking. This had been the undeniable truth over the past few weeks.

Gojo found both you and Nanami to be irritating. The way both of you would evade each other was just plain stupid by this point, since it was clear to anyone with eyes that you were still not over each other.

"Nanami! Why don't you join us for dinner tonight!"

And since you were such an irritable drunk, he chose to keep poking the easier target.

Nanami shot him a scathing look, definitely done. "I have a prior appointment. Goodbye."

"Hoh?! But! They'll have free drinks!"

For the life of him, Nanami just wanted to go back home. He had minus interest in free drinks and even less in Gojo himself, and he would make his points clear.

"For the last time, I'm telling you, I don't want any part in your—"

Ring! Ring! Ring!

"Ooh, wait a minute, Nanamin! I got a call!"

Nanami gritted his teeth in pure annoyance. He truly didn't care about his call and seized the chance to walk away quickly, eager to flee.

Until—

"Hello? Yes. Yes... what? Huh— Y/N is rushed to hospital?"

...and that caused him to halt abruptly. Suddenly, his entire body went rigid, as if he had been doused with a bucket of cold water.

You're hurt?

"I mean why—the hell? Severe bleeding?!" Gojo's voice dramatically rose, seemingly in surprise. "Whoa, uh, traffic accident?!"

Within seconds, everything as he knew it came to an end. He spun around, yanking the phone from Gojo's grasp, indifferent to whether it caught the latter off guard or not.

"Which hospital is this?" he demanded from the person on the other end, his voice rough and harsh. Suddenly, the fog in his mind dissipated, and he was consumed by panic.

"I'm sorry, sir, that's not—oh, it's Tokyo General Hospital—"

"Thank you." Nanami shoved the phone back to Gojo and broke into a sprint, in search of taxi.

At this moment, everything was a plethora of chaos—his surroundings melded into a blur, the constant honking of nearby vehicles echoed in his ears, and the relentless pounding in his chest threatened to overwhelm him. Nothing else held any significance. Nothing, except you.

Why did you get hurt? How did you even get into a traffic accident?

This was maddening. His world was falling apart hard and fast. The beginnings of heartbreak, stirring and churning in the depths of his stomach, once again threatened to drown him whole—

To others it may seem laughable that he was this shaken over an ex-wife, but precisely because you were his ex-wife was why he was running through the streets of Shibuya, opting not to take the cab as the traffic jam was at its peak.

Oh, how Nanami regretted it. He regretted a multitude of things; those long nights, silent treatments, your tears, divorcing you. If he could turn back the time, he'd do anything in his power to prevent that divorce from ever happening. He'd treasure you better, he'd make time for you more—

Because what if, now you were really slipping away from him for good? What if, he would never see you ever again?

Within minutes, he arrived at the said hospital, haggard, spooking the nurses, demanding your room number.

Thank heavens that the visiting hour wasn't over yet. He marched towards the said room, all of his logic and rationale flying out of window as he threw open the door.

And then he saw the pristine bed, IV drip, and you—

Sitting upright on the bed, turning a page of a magazine, your eyes widening and blinking at him in complete confusion—

Huh, what?

The last thing you would expect after waking up in the hospital was your ex-husband barging in unannounced, looking as though he'd just survived a whirlwind.

"Kento...?" you almost squeaked, taken aback at the sight.

His hair was a sweaty mess, his usually immaculate suit was crinkled and his tie was loosened, but it was the look in his eyes that grabbed your attention—as if expecting the worst.

“Are you alright?” he grounded out, approaching you in deliberately slow steps. “How long has it since you woke up?”

“Um... yes? Since about an hour or so.” You frowned. “Kento, what are you doing here?”

“They said you have severe bleeding, involved in an accident—”

“What! No! Did the hospital reach out to you?” you felt a bit uncomfortable at the thought. “I was sure I have removed you from my emergency contacts—”

“Gojo did—”

Suddenly, understanding dawned on him, and he cursed under his breath. “That rotten bastard!”

You blinked, unsure of what he meant at all. To his credit, Nanami didn’t dwell long on his thoughts and faced you once again with another fresh batch of confusion. “Wait, Gojo is your emergency contact? Why?”

“Should anything happen to me and a payment is required to settle it, he can handle the bills first?”

If Nanami didn’t look exasperated before then he sure did now. “Y/N… you…”

He released the deepest sigh imaginable before settling onto the sofa, further tousling his hair and removing his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose.

“Did you know I ran to get here because I thought something bad happened to you?” Nanami stated in a strained voice.

Why did your heart skip a beat? Why was Nanami suddenly playing the part of a concerned husband when the time for it has long passed?

Feeling suddenly irritated, you rolled your eyes. “I just passed out due to high blood pressure. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” his eyes squared on you, quiet anger behind them. “In what sense does you passing out ever ‘not a big deal’? What have you been doing?”

"Why does that even matter to you still?" you contested. "You were the one who said everyone should stop linking us together by now."

"Y/N, you're missing the—"

"You divorced me!" you screamed, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as the urge to cry threatened to consume you. "You... h-have divorced me, Nanami Kento!"

Nanami felt as if a blade had pierced and twisted his chest at the sight of you—your quivering form, the stifled sobs. He had never wished to see you in such despair again.

"So why!" you finally broke down and sobbed. "Why did you play the caring husband now? Why not before? Why do you keep toying with my feelings...?"

"I'm not." Nanami grunted, getting up and approaching your bed. "I never meant to. That was never my intention. I never—"

"Then what!? What are you doing? Why did you throw me out just like that and why now—"

"Believe me when I said that I never want you to be miserable!"

You halted mid-rant, eyes wide as you gazed at him. Blinking, you felt a tear roll down your cheek. It was the first time Nanami had ever raised his voice at you. Even in the past, he never had.

But suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through your abdomen, causing you to instinctively clutch it. You whimpered, a nearly involuntary squeak escaping you, feeling the intense burn inside.

Nanami immediately got a hold of your hunched form, alarmed. "What is it? What hurts?" When all you could manage were pained sniffles in response, he swiftly hit the nurses' button and enveloped you in his embrace.

"Hold on," he comforted, placing a hand over where you clutched your abdomen, trying to offer some relief in any way. "They'll be here soon, don't pass out!"

"Mmngh," you gripped his hand in response, squeezing it as you slumped into his chest. For the first time in six months, you were enveloped in his warmth once again, and despite everything that had transpired, you were deeply moved by his gesture.

It took seeing you in such distress to dispel any doubts Nanami may have had. You were so petite against him, so delicate as you squirmed amidst your tears.

Had you experienced pain like this in the past six months? The thought made his heart lurch. Did no one comfort you at all?

. . .

And that was when he decided it.

He never, ever wants to see you in any sort of pain, ever again. And should it happen, then he'll be the one staying by your side, just like this.

Alcoholic gastritis. You consumed so much alcohol that it irritated your ulcer and causes a really painful tummy ache.

You could feel Nanami's judging gaze on you as your attending doctor explained your predicament. Truth to be told, you were quite ashamed. Your unhealthy lifestyle were laid bare before your ex-husband and it made you feel like a kid being scolded for misbehaving.

After the doctor left, Nanami sighed and pulled out a chair next to your bed. "Are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah..." you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. "Sorry, that... you have to see that."

But thankfully, he was unflappable as ever. "Nothing to be sorry about. It's fine."

You were kind of embarrassed of your outburst earlier too. While you didn't regret expressing your feelings, you pondered if could've done it in a less confrontational way.

At this point, you'd accept anything. Even if Nanami told you off after this—

"Let me continue from what I was saying earlier," he suddenly began, catching your attention. You perked up, and looked at him expectantly.

Nanami released a deep sigh, and the words he spoke next were ones you never thought you'd hear from him again.

"Did you remember what I said when I proposed our divorce?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically. You wordlessly nodded, because it was one of the lines that made you unable to hate him completely.

"I said, you don't deserve to be unhappy." Nanami looked you right in the eyes, undaunted. "And that still stands until now."

Now fully engrossed in his words, the rhythm of your heart intensified, echoing in your chest.

"It wasn't a decision I blurted out lightly. I know you're hurt, because I am too. I married you with a reason. I have loved you. and if you were to ask me now, my answer would be the same—I am still in love with you."

Why did it feel like your vision was beginning to blur once more?

"But," Nanami's face contorted into a frown, gazing hard at you. "If staying with me is what makes you miserable—if waiting nights after nights, hoping I can make it each time haunts you so much—then I'm more than willing to release you from that burden. I don't want to subject you to that life."

Warm tears slid down your cheeks. Sniffling, you averted your gaze, looking downwards.

"Look, I make you cry again," he sighed, a mix of fondness and sadness in his voice, as a bitter smile graced his lips. One of his thumbs gently lifted your jaw, while the other tenderly wiped away your tears.

"Kento, I—" you quickly looked up, swallowing the lump in your throat. You had made up your mind. "I don't want you to leav—"

"I know," he cut in, his voice solemn, as he stroked your tear-streaked cheeks. "I know, and that's exactly why I'm going to say what I'm about to say next."

And with his next words, your heart burst into complete, utter warmth—

"Let's start over." Nanami Kento's voice was your lifeline, anchoring you and keeping you afloat. "We can take our time. There's no rush—we can return to how things were in the beginning. And when you're ready, then and only then... will I ask you to marry me again."

The one person who has your heart in his grasp, someone whom you are willing to care way more than yourself... You were openly sobbing now and yet a radiant smile broke through your tears.

There was only one answer you had in mind.

Five years later

"Yes! Yes! Yay!"

Today was sunny, just like the day of your wedding. Memories flooded back as you glanced at the grand wedding portrait in the foyer, a snapshot of yourself and your husband in blissful celebration.

A smile tugged at your lips as you stared at the gentle smile on Kento's face amidst his typically stiff posture. You remembered his vows to you.

The one person who I will look for the rest of my life... is you. I have never met someone so important and precious to me that it hurts.

The sound of a car pulling up snapped you out of your reverie. Oh, he's home.

As you opened the door, your smile grew even broader, until a small figure darted past you at such speed that you were left gawking.

"Daddy!" your daughter's voice rang out with pure delight, leaping into your husband's arms the moment he swung the car door open, catching him off guard.

"Oh my, why are you so sweaty?" Kento inquired, scrutinizing your daughter with a puzzled frown, yet holding her close. "I thought we're going to the playground after this?"

"She's so excited for it that she keeps running and jumping around all the while," you chimed in with a gentle sigh, affectionately ruffling your daughter's hair as she beamed up at both of you.

Before long, the three of you set off to the playground, fulfilling the promise you had made to your daughter. As she entertained herself with the slides, Kento's low chuckle drew your attention. "What's so funny?"

"She takes after you a lot, you know," he remarked, a fond smile on his face. "The way she is just full of energy."

"Really? But sometimes she'll get this wrinkly little scowl on her face when she's annoyed—she looks like you then."

"Wrinkly...? No, surely I don't have that many wrinkles yet..."

Your laughter filled the air, a testament to the joy found in these simple, everyday moments.

Unexpected moments of joy, the comfort of family, and a love that had grown and evolved, stronger and more resilient with time...

And this, is what you'd call a happy marriage.

[ghstzzn]

princess treatment | c.yj & k.th

pairing(s): choi yeonjun x f!reader x kang taehyun genre: smut, one shot, friends with benefits, porn with context warnings/tags: unprotected sex, threesome, multiple orgasms, rough sex, degradation, oral (m! rec), manhandling, mean doms!taejun, fingering, double penetration, yeonjun is taunting and chatty, taehyun is just mean. petnames (baby & princess) name calling (slut, whore & bitch) ++ clubbing, drinking … word count: 3.8k oops

summary: the birthday girl gets what she wished for.

You had two ideas in mind for how this night could end; either it ending with you blacking out and waking up with possible alcohol poisoning, or with you ending up in a stranger's bed getting the best (most mid) dick of your life.

Again, you had. 

Now, you found yourself playing with fire. Two tall, scorching hot fires. 

A dumb smile played on your lips as you went back and forth between Taehyun and Yeonjun throughout the night. Bending over to softly speak into one of their ears under the claim that the clubs music was too loud, or your touch that lingered on their arms and chest, giggling at whatever they said–even bending over in your tiny black skirt as you reached for your cup of overpriced liquor that you accidentally left on the other side of the table.

You’ve had your fair share of the two men, not knowing ever where your relationship stood with either of them. But, you couldn’t care less, you were young and having fun–plus, everyone and their mothers were aware that you occasionally fuck one of the two best friends. What they don’t know is that it’s been at least a month since the last interaction, physical and verbal, with both of them. 

It wasn’t a huge falling out with them, but it was awkward and eye opening (and very self destructive.) Simply put, you woke up one day and realized you needed to stop fucking two of your closest friends. Though, it didn’t go well with either Yeonjun or Taehyun.

The two were adamant about the entire situation not even meaning anything to them, and that friends could fuck and share their girls without any strings attached or hurt feelings. And while you agreed, you couldn’t hide the disappointment that lingered in your chest. After that conversation, you slowly distanced yourself from the two, hoping that fate would take it into its own hands and fix your friendship for you. They would regularly reach out to you and you wouldn’t always ignore them (you also took Yeonjun in a bathroom at some random house party but no one needed to know.)

You also couldn’t deny the way your body continued to crave them with each. passing. day. It was frustrating–the way you were scared of losing them but still had sinful dreams of them taking your body like it was nothing. Both of them. 

God, you needed them again. 

Tonight started out weirdly. One of your best friends, Yunjin, jokingly suggested you invite the two to your birthday party at the club, but the suggestion turned serious when she said, “wait, but like, what if they actually come?” “Plus, they’d surely open their wallets if they did show up. Just do it!” 

You should’ve expected them to show up though, they were or are some of your closest friends.

It was awkward for you at first, but it wasn’t long before your mind cleared and realized that; fuck it, its your birthday and you deserve to have a little fun. Your plans from earlier completely thrown out the window as your third eye opened and your chakra lined up (a.k.a you totally just wanted to fuck with the two the entire night, again, it’s your birthday and you’re just a girl afterall.)

“How much have you had to drink?” Taehyun asks, his hand on your knee as you sit as close as possible to him in the booth.

“Honestly, not much at all.” 

Taehyun nods slowly at your reply and you just send him a tight lipped smile. A new song starts playing, making you gasp and shout how much you loved this song. Before Taehyun could say anything, you stood up, using his upper thigh to help you stand. He takes a deep breath as he watches you skip away into the crowd, throwing your arms around your friend's neck. His gaze leaves yours, only to find Yeonjun who flickered his eyes between your figure and his own. Taehyun quickly gulps the rest of his drink down before standing, a plan forming in his own mind.

You knew exactly what you were doing

And if you thought they’d have moved on from you–oh, were you dead wrong.

You were quick to notice Taehyun's figure moving around the club, you couldn’t pin down his stone cold expression, whether he was upset or not–no one could know.

You tried to follow your eyes to where he was headed, but the crowded dance floor made it almost impossible. Taking a few deep breaths, you silently decide to tone it down and go back to dancing, hoping to avoid Taehyun and Yeonjun for at least an hour–or the rest of the night. 

But maybe your not-so-innocent game has backfired on you.

You didn’t know how much time passed, but the dance floor was starting to wear you out and you definitely needed a five minute breather. Tapping Yunjin's shoulder, you quickly shout that you were going to go grab a drink, she sends you a thumbs up and you squeeze your way out of the crowd. 

As you near the bar, you notice Taehyun and Yeonjun sitting next to each other. You reach the bar, quickly ordering a water and some random vodka mix. When you turn your head, your eyes meet Yeonjun's, who leaned back against the bar with an arm thrown over the back of the bar stool, sending you a sweet smile. Taehyun followed his line of vision, his eyes scanning over your body as he notices you. The bartender returns with your water and other drink, and feeling pressured by the two men’s gaze, you slowly make your way towards them.

“Ah, there’s the birthday girl!” Yeonjun greets you, “Where have you been, princess? Missed you over here.”

You set your drinks down next to theirs on the bar, throwing a thumb over your shoulder towards the dance floor. “Dancing. It hasn’t even been a full thirty minutes since I last saw the both of you.”

Taehyun takes a swig of his drink before replying, “Thirty minutes drags by when you aren’t running your hands all over the both of us every five minutes.”

You shyly avert your gaze from him, earning a chuckle from Yeonjun.

“Are you guys enjoying your night?” 

You face Taehyun again, expecting an answer from him. Yeonjun stands from his stool, stepping behind you, his breath hitting your ear. You shiver at the sudden closeness.

“That’s what you're curious about?” Taehyun questions, leaning back in his seat.

“Well, I-” 

Yeonjun cuts you off, “What happened to the handsy girl from earlier? Thought you were gonna come over here with more obvious neediness.”

You only bite your bottom lip in response, suddenly feeling hot with Yeonjun's hands ghosting over your waist and Taehyun's gaze burning into you. “Obvious?”

Taehyun lets out a dry laugh at your meak response. You couldn’t linger on his reaction with Yeonjun's fingers trailing down your back, his eyes falling on the miniskirt you were wearing. Suddenly, he pushes you towards Taehyun, softly but still enough to have you stabilize yourself with your hands on his thighs. 

“What’s wrong, princess? Feeling okay?” Taehyun asks. You look at him with confusion written all over your face.

Did he miss how Yeonjun practically threw you at him?

“I’m… fine?” You remove your hands from his thighs, earning a look from him that you can’t quite read.

Yeonjun lays the back of his hand against your cheek, his chest flush with your back. 

“You sure? You’re feeling hot,” he presses, “we should get you home.. Don’t want you getting sick here on your birthday, no?”

You turn halfway to face Yeonjun, blinking at both men. Taehyun was mumbling something about telling your friends that you’d be leaving and grabbing your bag while Yeonjun softly brushed a piece of hair behind your ears, smiling widely at you. 

Sat in between the two in the backseat of an uber, you fiddle with your bag nervously. Yeonjun made small talk with the driver as his hand laid on your thigh, his pinky finger drawing circles right under the hem of your skirt. Taehyun on the other hand had his arm rested against the car door, eyes fixed on your exposed thighs. You only stared straight at the windshield in front of you.

The drive back to Yeonjun’s high rise felt almost suffocating, and not exactly in a bad way. The stunt they pulled back at the club was enough to tell you what was happening next, but when you read their faces–you only see emotions that make you want to apologize.

Leaning into Taehyun slightly as Yeonjun continues his conversation with the driver, you catch his attention, “I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to gh-”

“Doesn’t matter now–we can talk about it later if it bugs you that bad.” He cuts you off. You nod and settle back against the seat, Yeonjun’s hand squeezing your thigh as he shoots you a small smirk. He leans back into the seat, ending his conversation with the driver, who ends up turning the radio up.

“You’ll show us how sorry you are, won’t you?” His lips graze your ear, each word sending goosebumps down your neck. 

When you don’t reply, he only asks again, traveling his hand further up your skirt reaching his fingers under the band of your flimsy underwear. You breathe out a small yes, drawing a chuckle out of Yeonjun, who places a kiss against your head.

“Good girl.”

Suddenly, Taehyun is grabbing your hand and helping you out of the car. The journey up to the apartment is a blur as you’re too busy trying to steady your pounding heart.

As soon as you enter the apartment, he throws your bag and any other belongings he was carrying onto the couch while Yeonjun has his hands firmly on your waist from behind. 

“I mean, seriously.” Yeonjun is barely centimeters away from your ears, his hands sliding up your waist to grab at the end of your skimpy top. “One moment she's completely ghosting her two best friends, and the next moment she's all over them like a whore.”

You gulp at his words, the insult going straight to your core. “That’s not–I wasn’t trying to gho-”

“Oh, no baby, it’s okay~.” There’s a pause. “Right, Taehyun?”

You look up from the ground, suddenly inches away from Taehyun. You were now sandwiched in between the two men.

“Get out of that head of yours. You’re the only one convincing yourself that this is wrong.” He repeats the same words spoken the night you brought it all up to them.

The one button holding your entire shirt together was undone in an instant and Yeonjun dragged the top down your arms slowly, making sure to trail his fingers along your skin.

“I’m sure she can make it up to us.” Taehyun replies flatly. 

“Don’t worry, baby, it’s your birthday–it’ll be enjoyable for all of us.”

Standing just in your miniskirt in between the two men only made you grow hotter and wetter. The tension and cold air makes your nipples harden and by instinct you bring your arms to cover yourself–but Yeonjun is quick to grab them, shoving them behind your back.

“Just do what you're best at and take it, yeah?”

Taehyun steps out of the way as Yeonjun pushes you by your trapped wrists towards his bedroom. As soon as you enter, he shoves you, letting go of you in the process. You sit at the edge of the large bed clenching your thighs together, the wetness in between them is starting to become uncomfortable.

Yeonjun lets out a mocking laugh, “sitting so pretty for us, so cute how you know your place already. Giving me deja-vu right now, princess.”

He walks closer to you, standing directly in front of you, grabbing your chin and tilting it upwards at him. Yeonjun jerks his chin up, motioning for you to scoot back and you obey with zero hesitation, leaning back on your elbows towards the middle of the bed. He quickly runs his hands up your thighs, grabbing the band of your panties and yanking them off in one swift moment. 

“She’s so wet, Taehyun.” He runs a finger down your soaking slit. “You were thinking about this back at the club weren’t you?”

You whimper as his fingers tease your core, slowly trailing from your clit to your hole. 

“Answer him.” Taehyun speaks up from behind you. You feel the bed dip and a hand wrap around your throat, his thumb pushes your chin up, forcing you to stare up at him. “Did I stutter? Answer his question.” 

He releases your chin and you look back at Yeonjun, who continues to play with you, an amused look on his face.

“Y-yes. Since the club…” You buck into his fingers. “Just wanted you both–so badly.”

Yeonjun shoves a finger inside of you, quickly curling his fingers drawing a gasp out of you. He was clearly pleased with your reply.

“What a whore..” Taehyun replies, voice low. “Ignored us for almost a month but quickly crawled back to both of us for some attention.”

His hand remained on your throat as Yeonjun kept pumping his fingers inside of you, adding another to stretch you out perfectly for them. You whine and lean back into Taehyun.

“Must’ve missed us badly, huh? Cunts squeezing my fingers like crazy.”

You choke out a moan when Yeonjun’s fingers curl into your sweet spot with each thrust of his hand, he smirks and lays his thumb on your clit, pushing you closer to your release.

“Mmm–more, please!” You whine out. He presses his thumb harder into your clit, jerking it in circles while he continues to work his fingers inside of you. 

You bite your lip and gasp out loud as you cum onto his fingers, he continues these actions until you're shaking against Taehyun, who still has a firm grip on your throat–his other hand teasing your nipples.

Yeonjun pulls his fingers out of you, tapping your lips with them. “Suck.”

You let him shove his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on him as you wrap around his digits. 

“So dirty.” Taehyun says, watching intently as you suck on Yeonjun's fingers desperately. “Turn around.”

Releasing Yeonjun's fingers, you slowly turn around, settling on your knees. Taehyun lifts himself off the bed, yanking his belt off and slowly unbuttoning his slacks. He lets go and motions for you to crawl to him. “Wanna keep putting that mouth to use?”

You nod, unzipping his pants and yanking them down along with his briefs just enough to release his hardened cock. He takes your head in his hands and moves you slightly as you pump him. Taehyun grabs your wrist and brings it to his own mouth and spits, wrapping your hand tightly around his cock. 

You continue to pump him before bringing your head down to take him in your mouth. Before you could do so, your hips are being lifted harshley and Yeonjun kneels behind you, grinding into your wetness with his own cock. 

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” Taehyun yanks your hair down to him. 

Yeonjun lets out a breathy laugh as he enters you, stretching you out so well as Taehyun pushes his cock into your mouth at the same time. 

You groan around him, slowly bobbing your head and wrapping your tongue around him. Yeonjun thrusts into you once more, finding his pace. The force of Yeonjun slamming into you has you throwing a hand against Taehyun's thigh, his hand in your hair stabilizing you even if it did hurt. 

Your whimpers send vibrations through Taehyun's cock, making him throw his head back in pleasure. Eventually, with the pace Yeonjun set, it becomes too much and Taehyun's left to fucking your mouth on his own.

“Can’t even put that useless–fuck! Mouth to work.” He groans, shoving your head down on his cock. Tears fall down your cheeks at the roughness of both men. “Have to fuck you like a bitch, huh?”

Yeonjun continues to pound into you, smacking your ass harshly as Taehyun degrades you. 

“She can’t have it any other way~.” Yeonjun calls out from behind you, letting out his own string of groans. 

Taehyun suddenly thrusts into your mouth, causing you to choke around his cock. He only lifts your head to repeat the act. “Gonna swallow like a good girl?”

You nod quickly and he thrusts a few times before releasing deep into you mouth, you quickly force yourself to swallow so you don't start choking. Taehyun slips out of your mouth and releases your hair, dropping your head straight into the mattress. 

Yeonjun take this advantage to fuck you more roughly, his hips slamming against your ass as he fucks you into the mattress. “Waited weeks for this–fuck, baby, taking me so well.”

“Mmm–cumming!” You practically scream against the comforter of his bed, “Please please please.”

Immediately, you’re regretting even speaking up because Yeonjun quickly pulls out, ripping away your second orgasm. You weakly lift yourself up, “W-why? Was so close..”

“Shut up,” He says as he flips you over, “Y’talk too much.”

He enters you once more with one swift thrust, sliding in out of your wetness at the same pace as before. “You should be more grateful, Y’know? Shouldn’t–ah.. even let you come at all.”

Your release quickly builds back up with the new angles Yeonjun thrusts into you at. Gripping his forearms, you whine something almost incoherent as you cum around his cock. He only continues his pace until his hips are stuttering.

Yeonjun quickly pulls out, pumping himself a few times before his warm seed is landing on your tits and stomach. 

You barely get a second to breathe before Taehyun is sitting you up from behind. You let him lift you, your naive mind thinking they were done with you, bringing your own hands to wipe at the cum covering your torso.

Yeonjun smacks your hands away, “looks better that way.”

Taehyun continues lifting you up until you're settled on your knees once more and Yeonjun shoots you a sly smile, tapping your cheeks with his fingers before spinning you to face Taehyun. 

You give him a confused look as he spreads your legs with his own, lining his cock up to your entrance. 

“You didn’t seriously think we were done, did you?” He asks with a low voice, grinding his tip over your sensitive bud. “Wanna act like a slut–you get fucked like one.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before sliding inside of your warmth, but he doesn’t move. Taehyun only sits still as if he was waiting on something–or someone.

Your eyes widen when you feel Yeonjun prodding at your entrance, “nngh–wait! Wont fit” 

You turn your head to face Yeonjun, who doesn’t pay attention to your cries. Taehyun roughly grabs your chin to face him again. 

“Don’t complain, you’ll take it.” 

“It won’t.. You guys are t-too big.” You whine out.

Yeonjun coo’s at you from behind, slowly sinking his cock into you. Hot tears fall down your cheeks at the stretch. “Awe ~. Too big, huh?”

“Don’t act like you don't know the words to make this all stop.” 

Yeonjun finally bottoms out inside of you, ripping a loud groan from your throat at the feeling of being stuffed full. Your head falls against Yeonjuns shoulder as Taehyun slowly starts to move. 

Your body jolts with each thrust delivered from both men inside of you. Nothing but moans and whimpers escape your lips–never feeling this full in your life. Yeonjun and Taehyun were practically splitting you in half with both of their cocks, and you’re sure they aren't holding themselves together any better right now. 

Taehyun hisses as he sets a pace for him and the man thrusting from behind, “s’fucking tight.”

You grip Taehyun's shoulder, an attempt to stabilize yourself because despite being sandwiched between the two–you still felt like you were going to fall over at any moment. You attempt to pull yourself to sit up straight, but two thrusts that were delivered was enough to knock you back into Yeonjun’s chest, who lets out a breathy laugh. 

“You like this? Being filled so good–,” Yeonjun growls into your ear, “letting us fuck you however we want?”

You whimper in response, grip tightening on Taehyun’s shoulders. 

“Can’t even respond,” Taehyun mutters, grabbing your cheeks roughly, “use your fucking words. Wanna hear it–tell us how good we’re fucking you.”

“Yesyesyes! S-so good, wanted this–fuck!” 

“C’mon, baby, it’s not that hard.”

“Wanted it for so long..! Both of you–ah. Like this.” Your words are just as pathetic as the moans you let out. “Please, fuck!”

The grip Taehyun has on your hips is bruising as he continues to thrust roughly into you, Yeonjun doing his best to keep up with his friends pent up aggression, despite his second release nearing. 

“Fuck–gonna cum.” Yeonjun pants. “Inside her.”

Taehyun slightly slows down as Yeonjun’s thrusts get sloppier. It’s not long before he’s stuttering and releasing inside of you, not wasting a second before pulling out to save himself from the overstimulation due to Taehyun's brutal pace. 

The man still inside of you groans loudly before taking the chance and pushing you down onto the bed, manhandling your legs over his shoulders sloppily and fucking you deep into the mattress. Taehyun lands a smack onto your thigh and moves his other hand to your clit, rubbing at it with his thumb. 

Your stomach bubbles up with the familiar heat and you cry out at the sensation. You try your hardest to alert the man of your orgasm, and you aren’t even sure if you could get the words out before clenching around him and cumming hard. 

Taehyun continues to fuck into you, chasing his own release. You plead and whine that it’s too much but he doesn’t slow down once. His hips start to stutter as he bends your legs into your body, sloppily thrusting as he nears his orgasm.

“Fuckkk–.” He groans out before releasing deep inside of you. Taehyun rocks his hips a few more times before slowly pulling out, dropping your legs and sitting back on his knees to catch his breath.

“Took it like a whore, didn’t you?” You hear Yeonjun ask you, mockingly of course. Too tired to respond, you only pant and nod your head, giving him the response he wants.

“Good girl.” He chuckles. “Just means you can take more.”

[santaasi]

die with the smile

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

summary: a love once haunted by nightmares finds solace in a sunrise, where promises of healing and hope turn dreams of a future into quiet, steady certainty.

warnings: !major spoiler for obx4 final!, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, establish relationship, talking about death, mention of panic attacks, no use of y/n, jj calls reader angel, english isn’t my first language

word count: 3.9k

a/n: requested by this ask. thank u for request, love <з. and to everyone else – i'm waiting for your requests too.

ᯓ★ now playing…

lady gaga, bruno mars – die with the smile

IT WAS SUFFOCATING. After everything that happened in Morocco, it felt like your chest had been crushed under an unbearable weight. Breathing no longer came easy. Each inhale was a jagged reminder of the past, a sharp sting of memories you couldn’t escape. You hated sleep, hated the moments when your mind would surrender to the dark. Every night, the desert came back to haunt you, its endless stretch of sand suffocating. You saw JJ lying there, motionless, his body a broken promise beneath the burning sky. And surrounded by the Pogues, Rafe fucking Cameron, his hands digging JJ's grave, burying the love of your life six feet under.

You could still hear your voice, a fractured thing, torn from your throat as you screamed for them to stop. You fell to your knees, pleading with them to hear you, begging them to leave him there, to not let him go. But no one listened. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they just stood there, frozen, like they couldn’t see the life slipping away. Of course, it was just a dream — your brain's cruel joke, twisting everything you feared most into a nightmare. But in the stillness of the night, when you woke with your heart pounding and the cold sheets tangled around you, it didn’t feel like a dream at all. It felt too real. Too close.

And so, for three months, you lived like this. In the hollow space between waking and sleeping, where the line between nightmare and reality blurred beyond recognition. Three months of restless nights, clinging to coffee mugs as if they could fill the emptiness, while your eyes begged for sleep. But when you did manage to fall asleep, the dreams would return, relentless, each one leaving you more shattered than the last.

It wasn't as bad as it had been in those first two months, when every moment was suffocating with fear. When you couldn’t bring yourself to leave your house, couldn't bring yourself to stop waiting for that phone call from the hospital. The one that would confirm the thing you couldn't bear to imagine — that JJ was gone. Everything had felt like a fever dream: tracking down doctors, finding anyone who could help, getting him back to Kildare, the hospitals, the bills you could never afford, the ones that now you had to face. Your parents never asked you to repay the money, but you knew how much they'd given up for it. They'd been saving for years. It felt wrong to let it go without giving something back.

And then there was that month of rehab, where the days stretched on like a never-ending ache. Sitting next to JJ's hospital bed, listening to the faint beeps of machines as nightmares still held you in their grip, tormenting you while you tried to hold onto him in the real world.

You hadn't cried once. Not in those two months. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to — weeping felt like you were digging his grave in advance. Like if you let the tears fall, you’d lose him all over again. But now, he was here. With you. Alive. The JJ you knew, the one who cracked jokes, who lived without fear, without hesitation. And you tried to return to who you were before, but it was harder than you'd expected. He made it seem so easy, slipping back into his old self, but you felt like you were still drowning in the wreckage of what had happened.

For weeks, you sat beside him, feeling his skin warm beneath your touch, hearing his laughter echo in the spaces between you. But still, in the quiet moments, the fear lingered. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared waking up in another cold bed, alone. But each morning, you’d find him there, by your side. He was here, alive, and you began to let yourself believe it, piece by piece.

Slowly, the days started to fill with color again. It wasn't easy, but it was better. Breathing no longer felt like a battle, and with each passing day, you felt yourself letting go of the haunting fear, the dread that lived just behind your ribs.

And you never left his side. Once, it had always been JJ who took the lead — who reached for you first, who kissed you first, who pulled you close. Now, you were the one to reach for him, to thread your fingers through his, to press a soft kiss to his lips or his forehead. It was like you were holding him tighter, making sure he was still real, still here.

"If I had to almost die for you to get this clingy," JJ teased one evening, grinning up at you as you curled into him on the couch, "You could've told me sooner, you know. I didn't know I had a personal koala bear all this time."

You smiled at his playful jab, though your fingers gripped him a little tighter. You tucked your head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was like a song, a reassurance that he was here. That he was alive.

You were learning how to laugh again. How to joke. How to be you again. Or at least, almost. Because even though the world felt like it was beginning to make sense again, you couldn't shake the nightmares. They were still there, lurking in the shadows. Every time you closed your eyes, you feared that the night would swallow him whole once more.

But for now, he was still here. And in that moment, that was enough.

The chateau had become your sanctuary, a fragile semblance of home. But even here, in the quiet of its walls, you couldn't escape the void that followed you, the weight that pressed on your chest every time you woke up without him beside you. The comfort of falling asleep wrapped in his arms didn't seem to be enough anymore. It didn't stop the dreams from coming.

Every night, they came like a storm. JJ, dying in your arms, blood staining his chest. JJ, sinking beneath the waves after falling off the boat, reaching for you, but you couldn't reach him. JJ, spiralling off his dirt bike, tumbling into the dirt, and you couldn't save him. And then, there was the desert. Always the desert. You couldn't escape it, no matter how hard you tried.

But in the moments before the nightmare took hold, when you woke to the warmth of his body next to you, his hand resting lightly on your waist, his breath soft against your neck, you could calm yourself. You could breathe, steadying your heart before the panic could rise. He was there. He was alive. And you would cling to that reality until the night came again, bringing with it the horrors you couldn’t outrun.

JJ, of course, remained blissfully unaware. He slept soundly, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of someone who had earned a brief reprieve from the chaos. And you — you would lie there, bathed in moonlight, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, needing to touch him, needing to see that he was really there. That he wasn't slipping through your fingers. Over time, the nightmares began to fade. They became less frequent, their grip less tight. But just when you thought you could breathe freely, just when you thought the storm had passed, it came crashing back.

Two weeks of peace. Two weeks of deep, uninterrupted sleep. But that night, everything changed.

The dream returned. The one you feared the most. JJ, lying motionless in the sand, his clothes stained with dried blood, his body pale under the desert sun. The wind blew the sand into your eyes, blinding you, choking you, as Rafe stood above him, digging, his hands moving with the unholy rhythm of a grim reaper, burying your love beneath the earth. You fell to your knees beside the pit, the hot sand searing through your clothes, but you didn't care. You couldn’t look away. You couldn’t look away from the hole that was swallowing everything you loved. With each shovel of sand, the pit grew deeper, and with it, your heart.

The faces around you were blank — pale, cold. John B, Sarah, Kiara, Pope... they stood there, frozen, as if they were burying someone they'd never known. No tears. No grief. Just... emptiness. It broke you. It shattered you, piece by piece.

"No! No! Please! Enough!" you cried out, your voice cracking as you scrambled to your feet, your body shaking. You turned to them, your heart a fragile thing, desperate for anyone to react, to feel something. "Do something! He's not dead! JJ's not dead! John B! Sarah! Please!"

The tears fell freely, hot against your cold cheeks, choking your breath. Everything blurred around you, and all you could see, all you could feel, was his face. His beautiful face, pale and cold under the relentless sand. You reached for him, your fingers trembling as they traced the outline of his cheek.

"I love you, JJ... Please, don't leave me... don't you dare leave me," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the roar in your ears. You pushed the hair from his face, trying to pull him back to life with your touch. "Please, Jay, wake up. I love you. Please..."

The heart-wrenching sob that escaped you felt like it was tearing you apart, even as they began to throw the sand over him. As they buried him. Covered him. And the world turned dark.

Someone's hands grabbed at you, pulling you away, but you fought them, kicking, screaming, dying with him as the earth swallowed your love.

"No! Please, no!" The words tore from your chest like jagged glass, but it didn’t stop. It never stopped.

Then, a voice — soft, familiar, grounding. A warmth that pulled you from the nightmare. "Hey, hey, angel..."

You gasped, eyes snapping open, panic seizing you as the darkness of your dream lingered. The bed was empty. The space beside you, cold and vast. Your body trembled as sobs wracked your chest, but then arms wrapped around you, strong and steady. They held you close, pulling you into warmth, into the comforting scent of the sea and something more.

"Wake up... come on, angel, it's okay," the voice coaxed, his words gentle but firm, a tether pulling you from the depths of your nightmare.

You turned, eyes still blurry with tears, and looked over your shoulder. You half expected to see nothing. To be alone in the darkness. But then you saw him. JJ. JJ. His face was the same as it always had been — familiar, comforting, real. The soft smile on his lips made your heart stutter, and you found yourself reaching for him instinctively.

"JJ… you're here," you exhaled, your body relaxing, your mind calming for just a moment. But then the overwhelming relief struck you, and suddenly, you were gripping him as tightly as you could, clutching him like you'd never let go. You turned in his arms, wrapping yourself around him, pressing every part of yourself against him, trying to absorb his presence with every cell of your being. You needed to feel him, needed him to know how deeply you'd been shaken.

"I thought you were… you were… I saw…" you choked out, the words barely a whisper, breaking apart in fresh waves of tears that trembled through you. You buried your face in his neck, shuddering as his hand ran soothingly down your back.

"Shh... I'm here, love," he murmured softly, pulling you even closer. "I'm with you, and I'm not going anywhere." His hand traced gentle circles in your hair, his voice a soft balm over your wounds.

JJ knew how much you’d been struggling. He saw it in your red, swollen eyes each morning, in the tired shadows that lingered beneath them. He noticed how you would sometimes drift off mid-conversation, lost to a place he couldn't reach, as if carrying something too heavy to share. He felt it every time you’d reach for his hand, holding it tighter than you used to, grounding yourself in his touch. And he felt it every night you stayed at the chateau, choosing to lie beside him rather than in your own bed, pressing your ear against his chest just to hear his heartbeat.

JJ Maybank wasn't oblivious. He understood what haunted you, and he wished with everything in him that he could erase it. Because he knew — if it had been you, if you were the one hovering on the edge of life and death... he couldn’t even let himself think of it. You were his everything, his only certainty in a world that had never offered him much. And knowing you were hurting like this, knowing he was the reason, that was the worst thing he could imagine. It was worse than the death he’d nearly met.

And so he tried to help you in every way he could. He stayed close, always nearby, holding you tight whenever you needed it. He whispered sweet promises in your ear, spun dreams of the future for you both, reminded you every day just how much he loved you. He did everything he could to show you that he was here, that he wasn't going anywhere.

But seeing you now, shattered and trembling in his arms, feeling your tears soak his shirt, it tore at him. It was like a raw ache, a knife twisting deeper with every sob you released. You were suffering because of him, and he could feel the guilt clawing at his chest. He’d never wanted this — not for you.

As your breathing began to calm, your hold on his shirt loosened, and he shifted back slightly to meet your gaze. Your face was swollen from crying, your eyes rimmed red, and he felt a tenderness rise in him that he could barely contain. He lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb grazing your skin as he leaned in, gently brushing his lips over yours, a silent promise, as if he could kiss the fear away.

"I'm fine," you whispered, though your voice was trembling and raw. JJ just shook his head, unconvinced. He bent down, picking up his hoodie that had been lying on the floor, then draped it around your shoulders. The familiar, comforting scent of his cologne surrounded you, filling your senses, and you closed your eyes, sinking into the warmth.

"Let's go for a walk?" he asked softly, his voice gentle but insistent. You managed a small nod, slipping out of bed to follow him.

The sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as you reached the beach, bathing everything in a soft, golden light. JJ's hand was intertwined with yours, and his thumb traced delicate patterns along the back of your hand, grounding you. The breeze tugged at your hair, the salt air filling your lungs as you took slow, steady breaths, savouring the tranquility of the moment.

When you reached your favourite spot, tucked away behind the rocks, JJ settled down, pulling you between his legs, his arms circling you. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, and you felt a soft, involuntary smile tug at your lips. His heartbeat thudded against your back, steady and reassuring, and you let yourself melt into the safety of his embrace.

For a few quiet minutes, you both watched the sun rise, bathing the ocean in warm, shifting hues. Then JJ's voice broke the silence, low and hesitant.

"You know... for a second, I thought I was going to die," he murmured, his voice thick with an emotion he rarely let himself show. "When I blacked out, I thought... this was it. That y'll would leave me there in Morocco, that I'd lose everything."

JJ swallowed, as if trying to steady himself, and you could feel the tension in his arms as he held you tighter. He’d tried to laugh it all off before, hiding behind jokes and smiles, but now — now it felt real. The memories weighed down his words, and you could hear the unspoken fear beneath them.

"JJ, don’t," you whispered, your own voice catching. You pulled his hoodie closer around you, burying your face in the soft fabric to push away the memories of that day, the endless days that followed. His arms tightened around you, his cheek pressing against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he drew you closer, as if he could shield you from the memory.

"No, I need to say this… I need you to hear it," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. He took a shuddering breath, and you felt something wet land softly on your shoulder. A tear.

JJ gave a small, shaky grin and shook his head, leaning in close to murmur in your ear. "You've been with me through everything, angel. You saved me. You kept me alive."

The words settled into you, quiet and profound, and you turned to look at him, seeing the vulnerability he was baring, the weight he'd been carrying alone. You looked back at the horizon, feeling a deep ache inside, a pull that was both painful and reassuring, like your heart was finally finding its place.

You closed your eyes, concentrating on nothing but him — the feel of his arms, the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way his fingers tightened protectively around yours. You wanted to wrap yourself in this moment, to sink so deeply into him that you’d never be apart again.

"When I woke up for the first time… I heard your voice," JJ's voice trembled, breaking as fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. "The way you told everyone that I wasn't going to die... the way you begged me not to... not to leave you..." His words cracked, and you felt the weight of his pain seep into your bones. He was broken, and it tore at your heart.

You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the soft, trembling pulse beneath his skin. "I couldn't die... every time I slipped away, all I could think about was you," JJ whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "That I couldn't leave you. That I love you, and I don't want to leave you..."

He gently cupped your chin, lifting your face toward his. His eyes — red and swollen from crying — met yours, and in that moment, you saw how deeply connected you were. You were both raw, broken open, and yet, still whole together.

"I love you so much, that even at death's door, I fought with everything I had to stay here with you," he murmured, pressing his forehead to yours. His hand slid down your cheek, brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I put you through this, angel."

You felt your heart shatter for him, your lip trembling as his words hit you like a wave. Your hands moved instinctively to his face, cupping it gently, and you shook your head. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't his fault that life had dealt him such a cruel hand. It wasn't his fault that he had been made to suffer in ways no one should. You knew he didn't deserve this. He deserved better — so much better.

"I promise…" JJ's voice was tight with emotion, but he pressed on. "No, I swear... I will never make you go through this again. I swear it. I swear that after all this, I won't give you any reason to worry. I will always be here for you." His blue eyes searched yours, holding you captive with their intensity. The weight of his words felt heavier than anything you'd ever known. "I will be with you, no matter what. And I will build us the house you always dreamed of. A white house with big windows and a garden, where we’ll play with our dog — our dog, which we’ll name JJ Jr. And then... maybe a child, or two, or three...”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head, though tears still lingered. It had always been a dream, a fantasy you shared with him, but now, seeing the determination in his eyes, it felt like a possibility. It felt like something you could reach out and touch.

"I'll give you the world, angel. I'll give you paradise," JJ continued, his voice thick with promise. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure these stupid tears never fall from your beautiful eyes again. Do you believe me?"

There was a pause. His gaze was so sincere, so full of hope, searching for any sign that you believed in him, in what he was offering. You felt a warmth spread through you, a quiet certainty in your chest. You smiled softly, your heart swelling with a love so deep you thought it might burst.

Without thinking, you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow. You let your kiss speak for you — every unspoken word, every emotion that had built up inside you over the months, the fear, the longing, the desperation, and finally, the relief. This kiss was all of it, and more. You poured everything into it, every promise, every fear, every hope, every part of you that you'd been holding onto for so long.

You held him like you'd never let go, feeling the weight of time slow down, knowing that in this moment, you were safe, you were here, and he was here. Nothing else mattered — just the two of you, together.

"I believe you, Jay. I've always believed you, and I will, because I love you," you murmured, your words soft as they met his lips. He responded with a deeper kiss, pulling you into him as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he, too, was letting go of something.

You giggled as he playfully knocked you down onto the sand, its warmth wrapping around you like an embrace. The sand, once so haunting, now felt soft and grounding beneath you, no longer a symbol of loss but one of hope — a new beginning waiting to be written.

JJ leaned over you, his blue eyes softened by the first light of dawn, eyes that were once wild and filled with fear but now were steady, full of promises. "I love you more, angel," he whispered, his voice like a lullaby against your skin, "and I'm not going anywhere."

He leaned in, capturing your lips again, and this time, every kiss melted the edges of past wounds, pushing away the darkness of every nightmare and sorrow you'd held. Here, with his arms around you and the sky lightening into the day, it was easy to believe in something beautiful, something lasting. You kissed him back, savoring each touch, each brush of his fingers against your skin as he held you closer.

For the first time in months, you let yourself imagine a future unshadowed by fear. A life filled with morning sunrises like this one, laughter echoing between you, the warmth of a home you’d build together. As JJ pulled you even closer, you felt a quiet certainty settle in your chest — a certainty that happiness was no longer a distant hope but a promise waiting for both of you, right here, right now.

thankx for reading <3

i was literally crying while i was writing this and i felt like this for the first time in my life. so, i hope you liked it. you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

masterlist

[mindmelter]

Alone At The Frat House

Nelson woke up with a pounding headache, the kind that only an intense night of partying could deliver. He squinted as the sunlight invaded the room, hurting his sensitive eyes. He was trying to piece together the events of the previous night.

Nelson was never the party type; in fact, he was quite the opposite—a shy nerd who always avoided social interactions whenever possible and hated going to parties. Now, he parties almost every day with the most popular and hottest fratboys at Alpha Sigma Kappa, something Nelson never dreamed was possible. The previous night was just another one of their private parties. A party that only the frat members and Nelson could enjoy.

But now the house was eerily quiet; the only sound were of the birds outside and the sound of the window curtains. This was odd because since Nelson helped that alien crew take over the bodies of the entire frat house, he would always wake up with loud moaning in the next rooms.

Nelson glanced at the clock: 10 AM. The house should've been buzzing with life, with hungover frat boys messing around with each other, but it was like everyone was still sleeping. Maybe they just had too much to drink last night? Nelson thought.

Lying on Nelson's side was the frat president, Preston— or what was left of him.

His body was limp, his handsome features slack as he stared unblinking. He was still wearing the same underwear from the day prior.

Preston was a rich, arrogant jock with a body built to turn heads and a smile that could melt anyone. As frat president, he had a commanding and authoritative personality, the type that made everyone fall in line.

Preston was the kind of guy everyone wanted to know—or be. Charismatic and effortlessly cool, he was a magnet at every party, surrounded by friends and admirers who hung on his every word. He had a natural way of making people feel seen but was selective, reserving his attention for those he deemed worthy. His girlfriend, Jenna, was as striking as he was, perfectly matching his energy and status. Together, they were campus royalty—the couple everyone talked about, envied, and secretly wanted to be.

Last night at the party, Preston had been one of the most popular vessels; his alien occupant was none other than the captain of the crew, meaning he was the alien in charge of their secret operation on Earth. Taking over the frat president suited him well.

Later that night, all the frat boys were in nothing but their underwear, dancing and getting intimate with one another. Some were getting fucked, others were getting blowjobs, or making out.

Nelson was just sitting and enjoying the show when Preston walked over with a grin and pulled him into his room upstairs. Once in Preston's room, he got on the bed and offered his ass for Nelson to fuck. Nelson spent the night pounding the frat president until they passed out, hugging each other.

But now, Preston lay empty and frozen like a mannequin.

Nelson sat up on the bed. “Captain?” he whispered, gently nudging Preston's shoulder. No response. Nelson then noticed something slick and sticky inside Preston's left ear. He put his finger inside and pulled out a slimy string of alien residue that connected his finger to Preston's ear. Nelson knew what that meant: the alien had crawled out of Preston and left his body empty. The takeover process required the alien to hollow out the vessel's brain, so without an alien inside, the frat boys were nothing but empty muscles.

Nelson looked under the bed for the captain's small spaceship—each frat member had one hidden beneath their beds—but he found nothing under Preston's. That would explain why the window was left open, he thought.

Nelson sighed, his thoughts soon drifting toward his own vulnerable and exposed body. This was the first time he had Preston all to himself, empty. He buried his face in Preston's hairy armpit and took a deep sniff, the faint scent of dried cum and sweat from the night before still lingering. Nelson began to harden as he remembered how Preston had been before being converted into a vessel. He was such an arrogant prick, believing he was god’s gift to women and that everyone else was beneath him. Now, he was just a hot piece of meat, waiting for his brain to be filled again with an extraterrestrial being.

Unable to resist any longer, Nelson pulled his mouth from the frat president's armpit and slid down Preston's underwear. He lifted the jock's muscular legs over his shoulders and pushed inside Preston's tight ass.

Nelson moaned as he began to thrust, unable to shake the thoughts of how much his life had changed in the past months.

Three months ago, Nelson was just another campus nobody—an awkward, lanky nerd who barely registered on anyone's radar. Known for his obsession with aliens and the cosmos, he was often the butt of jokes, the “weird guy” who spent more time hunched over his computer or scanning the night skies than engaging with anyone. His classmates avoided him, especially the frat guys—those sculpted, confident jocks who seemed to own the campus. Nelson could only dream of what it would be like to have their attention, let alone any power over them. It felt impossible, almost laughable.

One night, Nelson was working late on his special school project—a machine designed to receive extraterrestrial signals, scanning the cosmos for signs of intelligent life. It had been routine, uneventful work until that night when his equipment picked up something extraordinary—a signal from deep space. At first, Nelson couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but the message quickly became clear: the aliens were communicating that they wanted to come to Earth but needed human vessels to blend in. They preferred to be in close quarters with one another, a place where their vessels could share the same house. Nelson’s mind began to race, and an idea sparked. He knew the perfect place for them: the frat house on his campus, packed with the hottest, most muscular guys around. Without hesitation, he sent the location of the frat house, fully aware of what awaited those unsuspecting jocks...

Nelson moaned loudly as he finished inside Preston, after a few minutes catching his breath, he pulled out of him, leaving the frat president with his legs frozen in the air and cum leaking from his ass. He stood up from the bed and wandered over to the window, gazing out at the scene below. The pool area was a mess—empty red cups and scattered clothes littered the ground like remnants of a wild night. He watched a lone red cup tumble across the pavement, caught by the breeze, until it finally tipped over and splashed into the pool.

"Where is everyone?" He asked himself.

He stepped out of Preston's room; he didn't even bother to put underwear on; he was used to walking naked in the frathouse, no one in the frat could even care anymore. The hallway was lined with doors, each leading to a room where a fratboy slept.

Nelson went to the next room and opened the door. Inside, he found Marcos, the football team's heartthrob, sleeping on his stomach, his athletic back exposed while wearing only a grey underwear, giving Nelson a perfect view of his muscular ass, built after years running on the field.

Nelson had fucked that ass last night too, actually, everyone at the frat did.

Nelson had come up with a spicy version of the game 'spin the bottle'. When he told the aliens about the game, they all loved it.

So they covered Marcos' body in a slick layer of oil. Then they guided him to lie on his back in the middle of the floor, his ass raised, inviting and exposed to everyone. The frat boys settled into a circle around him, their cocks throbbing in excitement.

Nelson took the lead, giving Marcos a spin, the oil allowing him to glide smoothly. As Marcos twirled, all the jocks looked in anticipation, when he finally stopped, his ass pointed directly at one eager frat boy, while his head aimed at another. The group of jocks all cheered and the designated pair exchanged mischievous grins, ready to take a piece of Marcos.

While one stuffed his ass, another stuffed his mouth, and so the game went on for many hours, with Marcos being spit roasted by all the fratboys.

Nelson stepped closer to the bed and gave Marcos' firm ass a gentle slap, watching the jock's ass bounce. "Wakey wakey sleepy head," Nelson called out.

No response.

Nelson sighed and then pulled down Marcos' grey underwear, exposing the jock's muscular ass; Nelson spread Marcos' cheeks and inserted a finger inside, feeling how loose he was from last night's party, he chuckled. "You slut," Nelson murmured, his cock growing harder. He couldn't resist the urge to give that ass more slaps, still, there was no response from Marcos.

Leaning closer to Marcos' head, Nelson noticed the same alien residue that he had seen in Preston's ear and there was also no spaceship under the bed. The alien inside Marcos had left too. Nelson grunted, frustrated, he gave Marcos' ass one last slap, this time more in frustration than for fun.

The next was Jayden's room. The muscular asian jock was sitting motionless on the floor.

Jayden was on the soccer team, which gave him an athletic and muscular body.

Nelson casually walked over to Jayden, grabbed both his ankles and lifted them to his face, making Jayden fall to the floor. Nelson then buried his face in Jayden's soles, inhaling deeply on the jock's feet. He felt his cock twitch as he remembered the time when he could only watch Jayden from afar at the soccer field; now, he could inspect every inch of his body and smell him up close as much as he wanted.

As Nelson licked Jayden's soles, he was not surprised to also noticed the same slimy alien residue in his ear, confirming that Jayden's alien had left him too.

Nelson gave Jayden's feet a quick passionate worship and then went to inspect the next rooms, some of the rooms were empty, meaning some of the fratboys were still downstairs.

In one of the rooms he found the Maddox Twins—Alex and Aiden. They were both popular wrestlers around campus and one of Nelson's favorites, he couldn't help but raise Aiden's arm, making him flex.

Nelson lost count of how many times he asked the Maddox's aliens to spit-roast him on that same bed. He also loved asking the twins to fuck each other for his amusement. The two aliens in control of them were more than glad to give Nelson the most incestuous and hot show possible.

Before the frat takeover, Nelson used to watch them from a distance, secretly wondering about the finer details, like if they were truly identical in every way. His mind often wandered, lingering on the thought of whether they shared the same cock size—a question that had seemed as unattainable as the twins themselves. But now, things have changed. With the twins under the aliens' control, Nelson finally knew the answer to that forbidden curiosity; Both of them had identical 7'9 Inches cocks.

After seeing the two brothers were as empty as the others, he walked out of their room and went downstairs to the living room, where he was greeted by the sight of the remaining of the frat house members scattered on the couches and the floor, all of them with the same telltale sign of an abandoned vessel - the alien residue leaking out of their ears.

The frat house was a total wreck—empty beer cans scattered everywhere, and the faint, unmistakable smell of sweat and cum filled the place. It was all the proof Nelson needed of last night’s chaos. He’d had the time of his life, feeling like a king as he took his pick of the hottest guys on campus, using them like they were his own personal playthings.

It was at that moment he realized he had the entire frat house to himself, filled with hot, ripped, empty vessels waiting to be enjoyed.

It wasn't the first time the aliens had left their vessels to go on intergalactic missions. But most of the time, only one or five would go, however, it had never occurred that all of them went on a mission together like this time. Whatever their mission was, it must have been very important for them to leave like that, Nelson thought.

He carefully stepped over the limp bodies and walked towards Miguel, who was lying on the couch, frozen while still holding his phone. Miguel was a homophobic douchbag before being converted into a vessel and he was notorious on campus for cheating on all his girlfriends.

Miguel's socks had a strong musky smell that hit Nelson's nostrils as soon as he walked closer. But this was not a bad thing for Nelson, he liked when the vessels were smelly and unwashed. The aliens didn't care that much about their vessel's hygiene; at one point, they were smelling so strong that Nelson had to convince them to shower their vessels at least once a week, to which they agreed, but only if Nelson did the washing.

Nelson hopped on the couch and grabbed Miguel's legs by both his ankles; he then pressed the socked feet together and buried his face between them, taking a deep and long sniff. After having his fun with Miguel's socked feet, Nelson sat on Miguel's lap, with his ass pressed against his bulge.

He grabbed the phone from Miguel's frozen hands, but was annoyed to find the phone screen was locked and required facial recognition. That, of course, was not a problem for Nelson, as all he had to do was place the phone in front of Miguel's blank face, unlocking the screen.

After doing so, Nelson saw an open message thread, it looked like the alien was texting one of Miguel's side chicks when the alien left his brain. They were having quite a spicy conversation, he even sent her some dick pics. Nelson saw that his last message was sent at 2 AM, giving Nelson the exact time of when the aliens left for their mission, which was four hours after Nelson fell asleep with Preston.

Nelson sighed and caressed Miguel's hard pecs, even pinched his nipples a little. He chuckled as he watched Miguel's blank face, he put his thumb on Miguel's shin and opened his mouth, leaving it agape, he then pulled his tongue out and moved his eyeballs to stare in different directions. Nelson couldn't help but laugh at how dumb Miguel was looking.

Just for fun, he took a photo of Miguel's face and sent it to his date. "I'm a dumb brainless puppet" he wrote.

"I think It's time to give life to you guys, don't you agree?" Nelson asked, gently patting Miguel's face and hopping out of the couch.

In the first month that Nelson started living at the frat with the aliens, the Captain taught him about the missions the aliens would have to go through and the procedure Nelson would have to follow when that happened.

Nelson went to the kitchen and took a heavy suitcase out of the fridge, he put the suitcase on the balcony and opened it. Inside, there were 24 tiny vials filled with a transparent slime.

Nelson took one vial and walked back to the living room. He sighed as he looked at all the frat boys spread all over the floor, he wasn't willing to do the procedure on all of them one by one, it would take forever. So he had an idea, he went to Miguel, opened the vial near his ear and watched as the transparent slime slid inside Miguel's ear, doing what it was programmed to do: To fill the missing part of their brains.

Miguel's body suddenly went rigid and started to convulse on the couch. After a few seconds, Miguel slowly stood up with a frown. He noticed Nelson standing near him, and then he looked at his frat brothers lying on the floor behind him.

"Damn, what a party it was last night huh?" Miguel said in a good mood as he stretched his strong arms.

The slimes inside the vials are synthetic organisms made by the aliens for the sole purpose of occupying their human vessels when they aren't inside them. The slime will have access to all the vessel's memories and will act like they were before being turned into vessels.

In other words, the slimes are a tool used to put empty vessels on autopilot mode. And now it was up to Nelson to make sure they were activated.

Nelson grabbed the suitcase in the kitchen and walked back to the living room. Miguel looked at him and chuckled.

"Where are you going with this suitcase dude? Are you moving back to the closet?" Miguel joked.

"Gosh, you're a jerk even on autopilot. I want you to implant the slime on all the vessels for me," Nelson commanded, but before handing the suitcase, he took one vial. He smiled at Miguel and patted his chest. "You can let Preston for me."

"Yes Captain," Miguel said, walking to his empty frat brothers on the floor, ready to fill their empty heads with slime, just like him.

Stepping back inside Preston's room, Nelson gazed over Preston's hot body, still lying on the bed just as he had left him after their morning fuck.

Nelson then opened the vial and poured the slime into Preston's ear. The frat president Immediately started convulsing, just like Miguel did, until suddenly Preston gained life.

His once empty unblinking eyes were now finally blinking again, though, if you looked closer you would still notice the emptiness in them.

Preston looked at Nelson for a few seconds, as if trying to make sense of what the nerdy gay boy on campus was doing in his room. He then suddenly groaned and his face contorted in a painful expression. "Fuck... my ass is hurting!"

"Sorry about that," Nelson said, but of course he didn't mean that.

Preston's face was shocked when he realized what Nelson's meant.

"You fucked me while I was empty?" He asked, more confused than mad.

"Of course I did, how could I resist such a sexy jock like you? You aren't mad at me, are you?"

It was the first time Nelson had Preston on autopilot, so he had no idea of what reaction Preston would have. He knew the slimes were programmed not to hurt him in any way, but still, he was a little apprehensive.

The real Preston would have been furious, he would have beaten Nelson down to a pulp, but the real Preston was gone at the moment the alien crawled inside his brain and hollowed it.

However, the synthetic slime was still able to mimic Preston's prior straight dominating personality. So Preston—in a sudden move—pinned Nelson against the wall, gently enough not to hurt him.

"How dare you fuck me, you little fag? I'm the frat president and no one fucks me! Turn around! I will show you how to give a guy a proper sore ass!" Preston grunted his voice was authoritative.

Nelson smirked and obeyed, turning his ass towards Preston's 8'5 Inches throbbing shaft. He felt Preston's tip pressing against his entrance, and he moaned against the wall when Preston pushed in.

"That's it, moan for me you bitch! Not so tough now that I have my brain filled again, are you?" Preston moaned against Nelson's ear, shoving his shaft all the way inside with a powerful thrust, making Nelson see stars, and not the ones he likes to see.

Preston then carefully lifted Nelson in his arms while still impaling him and walked them to the bed, where he lay Nelson on all fours and resumed his powerful thrusting.

Preston grabbed Nelson's head on both sides and planted a passionate tongue kiss on him. His strong tongue invaded Nelson's mouth as his rips worked non-stop, his massive cock being pushed all the way in and then half the way out. He gave a long deep moan against Nelson's mouth and came inside him, Nelson came together as he had his face buried in the mattress.

Once Preston finished, he pulled off him and lay on his side, with Nelson resting his head on his muscular chest.

Nelson was still recovering from the intense fucking he just received when he started hearing the sounds of conversation and laughter growing from downstairs, a good sign that the vessels were being awakened by Miguel.

The house now contained the sounds of a living frat house, the sounds that only a house full of hot, young and straight men could make when put to live together.

Nelson was hugging Preston's muscular body as he gently caressed Preston's chest, he looked into his empty blue eyes and smiled. "We should get downstairs for breakfast," he suggested.

"Of course Captain, let's go. I'm starving!"

________________________________________

It's been two months since the aliens left for the mission, and there was still no sign of the aliens coming back.

The synthetic slimes were doing an amazing job at puppeteering the jocks; no one suspected a thing. They all still dated their girlfriends, visited their family members, and attended classes normally.

But Nelson was starting to worry that the aliens had left him alone with the empty vessels. Not that it was a bad fate for Nelson—he enjoyed having full control of the frat guys. But he missed the aliens. He’d gotten close to them during their few months together, and without them, something felt lonely; none of the frat boys were sentient beings anymore.

They might sound and act real, but Nelson knew that talking with them was as effective as talking with a fridge.

It was a random Friday night at Alpha Sigma Kappa, and everything was pretty much going as usual. Nelson lounged on the couch in the living room, naked as always, legs spread wide, his throbbing cock proudly on full display. He had one arm around Preston, who sat beside him, equally naked and hard.

Around the two of them, frat members filled the living room, tangled together in different kinds of action, sounds of moaning and skin slapping filling the house. Some jocks were making out, others worshipping each other’s muscles, or fucking passionately.

Nelson's gaze drifted to Jayden—the hot Asian soccer player—he was pounding Marcos—the star of the football team—on the next couch. Marcos might have been bigger than Jayden, but Nelson always preferred seeing Marcos bottoming because of his big muscular ass.

Marcos was moaning like a depraved slut, his moans were the loudest of all the frat members, and that was starting to bother Nelson, so he decided to do something about it.

"Jayden, Marcos is being too loud, could you please take care of him?" Nelson asked.

"Yes, Captain!" Jayden moaned breathlessly, his voice filled with pleasure. Without slowing down, he gave Marcos a sharp smack, each thrust making Marcos moan louder. "Quiet, you loud big slut, you're making our Captain very upset." With a wicked grin, Jayden snatched up his discarded underwear from the floor, the fabric well-worn and musky from weeks of wear, and pushed it firmly into Marcos' mouth, muffling his cries.

Nelson chuckled as he watched Marcos' face, he looked like he was about to explode for holding his moans.

Opposite Nelson, Miguel lay sprawled out on one of the couches, his muscular body stretched out like a prize on display. Once the campus’s biggest homophobic jerk, Miguel had been notorious for cheating on his girlfriends and running his mouth about guys like Nelson. Now, he was lying frozen with his hands behind his head as he was being worshiped by five of his own straight friends. A couple of the guys were focused on his torso, eagerly running their hands over his chest and abs, worshiping the pecs that Miguel had spent so long building up. One guy was kissing along Miguel’s thick pecs and nipples, while another licked his hairy armpits. One muscular hunk with a buzzcut was riding his big 9'3 Inches cock, while the other two were worshiping Miguel's big manly feet like it was made of candy.

Miguel lay there completely relaxed, hands behind his head as he enjoyed his body being worshiped by his equally homophobic friends.

The sight was nothing more than breathtaking, Nelson couldn't help but feel proud of his work, he felt like an artist, and the jocks were the tools.

Nelson then looked down at the Maddox twins on the floor in front of him. They were eagerly wrestling each other naked, each showing off their skills, they were both dripping sweat after almost an hour of wrestling each other non-stop at Nelson's command. Nelson finally snapped his fingers, making the brothers stop mid-act: Alex was pinning Aiden down, with his cock pressed against his ass.

“Alright boys, that’s enough. Come over here and worship our cocks.”

“Yes, Captain!” they replied in unison, each taking a spot between Nelson and Preston’s legs. Aiden took Nelson’s cock into his mouth, and Alex went for Preston's, both twins working on the shafts with the same dumb, obedient smiles.

Nelson leaned back relaxed, glancing over at Preston, who had that cute, desperate expression he loved seeing whenever Preston got close to cumming. But Nelson was the only one who could decide when anyone here could cum. With a grin, he guided Preston’s face towards his, pulling him in for a deep, sloppy kiss.

Breaking it, he commanded Alex to stop sucking Preston and share his cock with his brother. Alex didn’t hesitate. Nelson moaned as the twins eagerly worshiped his shaft together, their tongues working in unison like two robots in synch, their tongues would often touch each other. Leaning over Preston, Nelson wrapped his mouth around Preston's tip, slowly teasing the slit with his tongue. Preston moaned louder, his muscles tensing, fingers digging into the couch as he teetered on the edge, desperate to finish.

"UUURRRGGHH fuuuuckkkk... please Captain, let me cum! I'm begging you!" Preston cried.

Just as Nelson was about to command everyone to release, something strange happened—the living room suddenly went completely quiet. Looking up, he saw Preston was frozen, his mouth open mid-moan. The twins were also frozen, each with a tongue on his shaft. Behind them, all the frat members were paused, stuck in the middle of their actions, as if time itself had just stopped.

Nelson was starting to freak out when suddenly everyone stood up at once, moving in perfect sync towards the back door, their faces blank, eyes unfocused. Nelson even tried calling out to Preston, but he didn’t respond. No one did. They all marched outside to the pool area, Nelson followed behind confused.

Out by the pool, each guy took a place along the edge, their bare bodies only lit by the moonlit night. The night was freezing, and Nelson shivered with cold, wondering what they were doing. They definitely weren't going to take a swim in this cold water, Nelson thought.

Then, they all looked up.

Nelson did too, and his eyes grew bright as there in the sky were twenty-four tiny blue lights, getting closer and brighter by the second.

The tiny lights turned out to be spaceships of the size of miniatures, each jock raised their hands together towards the sky, allowing the spaceships to land on their hands.

Nelson broke into a grin, feeling relieved—his little friends were finally back.

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: gn reader, non - con, kidnapping (hinted)

He's awfully gentle - and perhaps that's what you hate about him the most. The way your tears reduce him to a shell of a man, the way he holds you tenderly, like glass about to shatter from the wind. The way he looks at you - like you're the only person in his small grey world that's made of moving, breathing flesh and fragile breakable bones and splash of incoherent colour all over your cheeks. The way his irises move with feral speed when the ring on your sharp, barking laugh fills the stuffy mold - infested air with life, and his heart all but throbs out of his chest when you push him away.

He holds you at night through the nightmares and the screams, refusing to let go as you fight with all your might to break free, but it's pointless. He knows you - he's studied you, every creek and curve, every dream and fright, every single thing that makes your being tick and purr and surrender. He speaks your language, despite your best efforts to remain hidden, to remain a mystery, he's managed to slice through the protective shield of your psyche, of your most intimate fears, and he's made himself at home in your arms.

It's odd - perverse even, you realize in rare moments of rationale, how used you are now to waking up with his warmth inside of you, nested neatly between your folds; whispering soft little nothings in your flushed ear. Keeping you at the realm between sweet dreams and bitter reality, making you question every fluttering touch, every butterfly kiss against your throat. You're not sure what's real anymore, hot, throbbing pressure pulsating in the middle of your core, the honey nectar dripping down your thighs, back arching in a pleasure - fueled spasm so erratic you're left breathless. Overwhelmed by ecstasy, followed by guilt - ridden shame in a ruthless cycle you have no hope of escaping anymore.

To think it used to be different all those months ago when he first took you in. You would scratch and bite, kicking at will - acting as crazy as possible in hopes he'd find you too difficult to keep. But alas, his gaze never hardened, lips mouthing words of adoration in respond to your countless insults.

"I hate you. I fucking hate you, y-you - you maniac!" You'd hiss through clenched teeth, sweat forming under your brows as your whole body stiffened before his naked figure hovering over you, strong muscled arms keeping you close to his chest in an awkward mockery of a hug.

"Shh, I know you're scared, my love." He'd caress your hair softly, running his fingers through your wet messy locks, cooing as if you're a cornered animal. "I know you're frightened, but I am not going to hurt you, precious. I love you more than you could possibly imagine. You don't know how long I've dreamt of embracing you." He'd press hot, feverish kisses down your collarbone, stroking your numb fingers until you eventually unclenched your fists. "Just like that, you're doing so good for me, angel, so fucking beatiful for me, just lay back and let me show how much I adore you."

You'd relax your hips slowly, keeping your eyes fixed to the ceiling - yielding to the inevitable, yet making a last pitiful attempt to hide the growing heat between your legs.

"You're so perfect, angel." He'd say, slowly undressing you. "I need to feel you against me. I hope you can forgive me one day - but here, before you, I am just a man. Without you my life would lose all meaning, I can't let you go. Forgive me. Love me, please."

And somehow deep within your heart, you wonder if you truly can.

[mywritersmind]

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - LN4

↳ pt.2

summary : You and Lando’s mind games don’t stop with the sea breeze. A day full of being Sweaty, Messy, and Drunk might just change your view on eachother.

og summary : Its the vacation of your dreams! With your best friends, rich men, live music, and flowing drinks, nothing can ruin it. Even if a certain Formula 1 driver (who seems to have an affinity for annoying you) is there every step of the sandy way.

listen up : kissing🙈 suggestive content! language! thanks for all the love on pt.1 <3 i hope this lives up to ur expectations!! pt.3 is loading…

word count : 1983

⋆｡‧˚⋆

LANDO

I wake up and run.

I run on the beach, through the palm trees, up steps, and through shops. I run to the ocean, my feet stopping just before the tide.

I’m running because I woke up with a girl in my bed and my mind filled with another. She was pretty and liked me, we didn’t go all the way because she was shit drunk and i’m not a dickhead.

But I’m not bothered by my lack of a sex life, I'm bothered because I had an imaginary good one.

Y/n was there. Of course she was.

These past two days, she’s been there a lot.

Too much.

I know she doesn’t like me. Maybe that’s why I like her so much. I mean, I like messing with her. She’s annoying as hell sometimes.

But last night, she wasn’t being annoying. Probably because it was a dream and she was straddling me. I shake my head and sit on the sand, trying to forget how she felt against me in that stupid cooking class.

I get up and run again. I run to clear my mind and strengthen my body, but no matter how far or how fast, she’s always there.

⋆༺

YOU

I’ve always wanted to Jet ski. Today my dream has come true and it’s become even more magical because I'm beating Lando in a race.

“Please don’t die!” Kika yells at me from her own jet ski, holding onto Pierre.

I’m laughing so hard that my stomach hurts as I watch Lando fall off his water toy. I get closer to him, “Need help up, love?” He stares up at me, floating in his life vest as water drips down his face.

“Fuck off.” Is all he says before lifting himself back on the jetski. I immediately shut my mouth because the sight of his hard and wet body makes me go dumb. He clearly notices, “My eyes are up here, pretty.” He drives off without another word.

I pick up Alex who holds onto my vest and screams in pure happiness as we glide through the clear water. I’m having so much fun that I don’t realize everyone else has gone in, I turn back to drop off Alex who swims in while laughing. Lando is looking up at me when I leave Alex, “Let me give you a ride. I’ll show you how it’s really done.”

I want to laugh and scream ‘NO’ but I just smile, “Okay.” He grins and grabs onto the side, lifting him up to sit behind me.

“Switch with me.” As soon as his hand grips my life jacket, I take off. No way was I going to let my life be on the line with Lando driving. “Shit! Y/n!” He screams and scrambles to hold on, “Snake!” He’s holding onto me for dear life and screaming like a little girl. I’ve never had so much fun with him, even if I’m the only one smiling.

“Thief!” I yell right back at him. I hear him chuckle in my ear as we turn and see our friends on the beach. They’re jumping up and down and waving. When I lift my arms to wave back, Lando snakes his under mine, grabbing the handles and squeezing.

We take off with me not holding onto anything, “Norris!”

“Pretty!” He yells right back while mocking my voice, pressing up against me so I’m practically sitting on his lap. I have no choice but to hold onto his arms and scream.

“I hate you!” I scream as his curls brush my cheek.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Is all he says to make me even angrier. I take his compromising position and use it as my advantage. Grinding my ass into him, he clearly is taken by surprise and lets go of the handles to grip my waist and push me forward.

I grab the handles and take control again. What I didn’t expect was his hands to stay on my hips. His skin is cold against my bikini bottoms and I can feel how big his hands are.

“You play dirty.” He says in my ear as I grin and go faster. “I do something dirty but it’s not something I play at.” And with that, I spin us so hard that his grip on my hips loosen and he goes flying.

I feel no remorse even as he floats to the surface, looking deathly and pissed. He’s breathing hard and coughs as he looks up at me, his eyes being brightened by the sun and water, “You got mean.”

“I’ve been mean.”

“It’s hot.” I narrow my eyes at his tone. What is he playing at now?

I raise a brow, my hands still on the handles, “Me throwing you off a jetski is hot?”

He just shrugs his shoulders, “We all have our preferences.”

I roll my eyes and leave him there.

My friends yelled at me when I got back to the beach, seeing Lando slowly but surely swimming in. He's alive so they’re not too mad anymore.

Our second full day is filled with sun and sand. We rented just about every water sport activity, tried sailing (which did not go well) and ended up split. I’m at the spa with Alex, Charles, Kika, and Rebecca. While Carlos, Lando, Pierre, Alex, and Lily go golfing.

I get my nails done first with Charles squirming next to me while the lady gives him a pedicure. “How do you do this!?” He whisper yells at me while the lady gives him a death stare.

I laugh, “I think I’m just used to it by now.”

He shakes his head and sits stiller as the woman starts painting his toes. He goes on his phone, holding it up and taking a selfie, catching me completely off guard, “Charles! Delete that.”

He laughs, shaking his head, “It’s just to the group chat.” I hold back my true thoughts, not telling him that I don’t want to give Lando another reason to make fun of me. But as I think about it, my phone pings with the photo and I wonder if I don’t want Lando to see me in any weird state because I care more than I think.

Nope! It’s definitely because he’ll make fun of me.

⋆༺

“You’re gonna be mad at us.” I’m sitting in my hotel room having a girls night. We have face masks and Turkish treats. I can barely look at Kika without laughing at her face mask and hair pulled up.

I take a bite of my snacks as they all start smiling weirdly, “It was the guys idea!” Lily says quickly.

Rebecca nods, “We always want to spend time with you!”

I look at Alex to break the news, “We’re having a couples day tomorrow… so you’ll be alone. And possibly stuck with-”

“Lando!?” I groan, “I’d rather spend the day alone.”

I’m not mad that they want time with their boyfriends, just annoyed that my opinion is solitude or Lando Norris.

“That’s the thing…” Kika clears her throat, “We don’t want you to get kidnapped!”

Lily nods rapidly, “And Lando agreed!” I raise a brow. So they talked to Lando before me?

Rebecca sips her soda, “So we think it’s best if you two just stick together.”

“I’m not going to get kidnapped! I’m a grown woman-”

“And very pretty and no offense darling, but not very strong.” I gape at Alex, not believing that they’re this worried about my safety. But then I think what I would do if they were in my situation…

I flop back on the bed, “If I lose him, I’m not going on a search! I’ll continue my day in peace.” Lily squeals and hugs me, I can’t help but smile at her hair getting in her face mask, “Yeah yeah you totally owe me an ice cream.”

⋆༺

LANDO

I hear Y/n tapping her foot before I see her. She’s waiting at the front of the hotel, in shorts and a yellow tank top, her bathing suit top peaking out. When she turns, her expression turns from bored to annoyed.

I put on my best smile and walk up to her, “Morning, pretty.” Her expression doesn’t change but I catch her eyes narrowing just a bit.

“You’re late.” I blink at her, not really knowing what to say. She crosses her arms, “I have a schedule.” And with that, she walks away, not turning back to see if I’m following. I have the feeling that she wants to walk away without me, but I don’t let her.

“Okay little miss organized.” I slip my hands in my shorts pockets, “What are we doing first, then?”

⋆༺

YOU

I make him hike first. For someone so athletic, you would think he would be okay while walking for a couple miles.

Wow was I wrong.

Lando’s huffing and puffing, hands on his knees and sweat on his face, “You’re trying to kill me.” I scoff when I look at him, the landscape behind him is so beautiful and I can’t believe he’s complaining.

“I thought you ran every morning.” I snatch his camera from him and snap a photo of him and the landscape.

I turn to take more as he leans against the rocks, “I do! I thought you hated exercise.”

How does he know that? “I do… But this is worth it.” He stands up straight and finally looks past me.

His breath slows and I don’t dare look back so see how close he is, “You’re right.”

I make a face and have to turn to look at him now, “I’m what now?”

He rolls his pretty green eyes and takes his camera back, facing it towards me, “Smile, pretty.” I’m still not used to the nickname, and I flip off the camera instead. He tilts his head at me, his curls damp and falling in his face, “Charming.”

I make my way down the steps, watching the world below me. Everyone looks so small, the people on the beach and in the water look like ants.

I hear Lando’s steps behind me. We walk down in silence, my feet start to hurt but I keep my mouth shut.

The moment the sand starts to show and the crystal clear water comes into view, I slow my step as Lando catches up to me.

He pulls off his shirt and grins, slipping his shoes off and shoving his camera into my arms before taking off without me, “Lando!” I scream as he runs down the beach, “Lando we have to go-”

He turns and starts running backwards, grinning at me, “We don’t have to do anything! Come on Y/n, do you want to hang out with sweaty me all day?”

I groan, mumbling to myself, “I’d rather not hang with you at all.” He just motions me to join before running towards the water.

I contemplate how mad my friends would be if I left, but the sweat on my neck makes me practically drool at the sight of the cool water. And the sight of Lando in his trunks and tan skin.

I pull my clothes off quickly and throw them down with his things, walking down the beach at a much slower pace than he did. He stands up and watches me, his shorts low on his torso and a smirk on his face.

The moment he sinks back down to the water, I dive under, my body and mind cooling off immediately.

⋆༺

The beach stop took longer than I realized and now we’re completely behind and I have a man child following me around with a camera.

“I’m going to tell someone that a creepy man is following me.”

He snaps another photo, his face pressed against his camera, “You’re so ungrateful.” He tisks, “I’m basically a professional photographer.”

“You’re basically a professional idiot.”

“I didn’t know we were in second grade.” I whip my head back at him, “Jeez come here.” He grabs my arm but I pull it away quickly and simply follow.

We walk into a bakery, it’s tiny and empty except for the woman at the register. Lando smiles politely and asks for two sandwiches, handing over his money.

“Norris, I can pay.” I try but he just ignores me.

He just sits at the window and pulls the chair next to him out for me. I sit next to him and cross my arms, looking out at the people on the streets. The woman hands us our food five cruel minutes later and I almost moan at the taste.

“Better?” Lando asks, taking a bite of his own food, “You seemed hangry.”

Everytime he flirts with me, it’s not a big deal. Sometimes I entertain it because I'm bored and he never shuts up. But this is genuinely surprising.

“Thank you.” And I mean it.

Lando raises a brow at me, “Are you being genuine? For once? For me?” He clutches his chest as if it’s the most insane thing in the world. I’m back to being annoyed. He laughs a bit to himself, “You’re very welcome, pretty.”

“Don’t get too used to it.”

He smiles, “So what else is on the schedule of our forced day together?”

I wipe my mouth, “Well you derailed my schedule with your little detour… So honestly we can do whatever!”

He taps the back of my chair, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Lando is easily distracted and he won’t show me the google maps he’s following on his phone. He buys a new bracelet on the way and convinces me to buy a pretty jeweled necklace.

He’s so convincing that i’m worried he was a scammer in another life.

I’ve never known any of Lando’s interests. Besides driving and photography, he hasn’t mentioned anything else around me.

Or maybe he has and I just tuned him out.

So you see, that’s why I'm surprised when he takes me to throw pottery.

We sit in the back because we’re already late and apparently, Lando can’t tell time despite his million dollar watches.

The room is filled with people speaking Turkish and many groups of what look like locals.

The instructor eyes us but hands us two aprons and chunks of clay. “Have you done this before?” I whisper to Lando as he starts spinning his wheel.

“For my helmet reveal.” He whispers back, his hands slipping over the wet clay. His gaze flicks down to my dry clay staying still, “I’m assuming you haven’t?”

“I’m more of the paper and pencil type.” I screw up my face when the clay almost flies off and I press my foot down too hard.

The room is large and very open, but Lando and I are pressed up against the wall. The woman in front is talking but I'm too busy trying to get my clay to stay on the wheel.

Lando moves his hand off the clay, and relocates it to my knee, pulling my leg back softly so the pressure is less. The clay leaves a mark before he returns to his own creation.

I pretend like my heart rate didn’t rapidly go up, and ask, “What are we supposed to be making?”

Lando shrugs, his eyes still on his wheel. “No clue, let the art overtake you.” I let out a snort of a laugh as everyone turns to look at me. I see Lando holding back a smile as I apologize.

“Smooth.” He mumbles.

I lean over and squeeze extra water from the sponge onto his clay so his hands slip around and the top of his… mound? Flies off.

We’re both laughing now, I don’t know why. It’s one of those things where you start laughing and you can’t stop.

“Shut up.” I whisper as he gives me an accusatory look.

“Me? You started this!” He flicks his hand at me and water sprays onto my face. I scoff and do the same thing right back at him, a piece of clay coming from my finger and onto his cheek.

He wipes his face with his shoulder but just ends up swearing the orange clay more. I’m laughing harder because of his facial expression.

He seems even more lost and runs his hand through his hair, smearing the clay through his curls. I always cry when I laugh hard enough and today is no exception.

He takes his hands and lifts them closer to me. I flinch and scoot back in my chair which screeches against the floor.

The instructor comes to us with a stoney face, “Please keep it down and focus on your work.”

I nod as Lando mumbles an apology and we both turn back to our ‘works’. Mine is still how I started and Lando’s is now pointy.

I bite my lip and think of anything serious to keep me from laughing. But the moment Lando’s hand comes into view, I almost lose it.

I don’t look at him, just grit out, “I swear- I’ll choke you!”

I can hear the smirk in his voice, “Is that a threat of a promise?” My jaw drops and Lando takes my shock as extra time, rubbing his hand on my hair and down to my jaw and neck.

I scream and slap his hand away, smearing clay on his shirt and arm. He’s bent over with laughter, shaking his head rapidly and trying to control his volume. We both fail in the last part. “Excuse me!”

The woman is in front of us again, pointing outside as the people around stare in annoyance, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave!” We’re up and gone in seconds, not caring about our mess and how it’s getting on everything we touch.

I’m still laughing as we run down the steps, passing people and trying to get the hell away from that place. “The moment you fucking snorted, I lost it!” Lando wipes his hands on his shirt, cleaning his camera as well.

“You said some inspirational shit, How could I not!?” Lando Norris being dramatic while sitting and throwing pottery was something I’d never thought I’d see.

“The tears actually got me. Am I that funny?”

I shake my head, “No but you do have clay all over your face!” Without thinking, I push the one side of my hand that’s clean, and wipe off his face. My fingers brush the cut on his nose but only dry clay flakes off.

I rub his face over and over but the clay just won’t quit! I don’t realize he’s looking at me awkwardly until I place my hands back on my hips, “Won’t budge.” I clear my throat as he nods, “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, pretty.”

We find ourselves in a gift shop that’s white and covered in vines and flowers. The bathroom is small so he lets me wash my hands first.

I’m looking at the sunglasses when he comes out, as clean as he could get without a change of clothes.

I try on a neon yellow pair that’s too big for my face, “What do you think?”

Lando claps his hands together, “It’s a look, for sure!” He pulls them off my face and onto his own, grabbing orange ones and replacing mine.

“You and papaya.” I roll my eyes as I look into the small mirror, “Horrible color.”

He hums, “Yet you still look good in it.”

I tilt the glasses to the bridge of my nose, “You’re such a flirt.”

He flashes me his green eyes and does the same, “You make it easy…” He steps a bit forward, “It’s fun to watch you squirm.”

“I do not squirm!” I cross my arms, scoffing.

He licks his lips, smiling, “You’re doing it right now.”

I narrow my eyes, “I can’t stand you.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Whatever you say, pretty.”

“I tried to drown you.” I say, wondering if he’s forgotten every moment he’s hated me.

“I deserved it. Plus I had a great view of you leaving so…” I push him away, rolling my eyes and taking the glasses off.

“I hate you.” There’s no real reason behind it, I just feel the need to get something out that doesn’t cause attention to my reddening cheeks.

“Not like you did three days ago.” He’s right and I can’t stand him for it. Something about this trip, about today… has made me somewhat tolerate him.

“You should hate me.”

He puts the glasses back on the stand, “I’ve never done well with people telling me what to do.”

I pout, jutting out my bottom lip, “Right… Papaya rules?”

“Hey now- That’s too far! You can’t say shit about what I do on track until you come to a race.”

I raise a brow, “I’ve been to a race.”

“I mean wearing orange.” His tone is playful but I can tell he’s serious. His hand goes to hair, pulling something out that I know is not clay because I made sure I got it all out in the bathroom.

Just as I’m about to comment on that fact, An older woman comes up to us. She’s got gray curls that reach past her elbows and lots of jewelry, “Excuse me, I just had to tell you- you two are an adorable couple!” She has an accent but it’s not Turkish.

I’m shocked at first, then start talking, “Oh we’re-”

Before I can finish, Lando slips his arm around me so he’s holding my waist, “Thank you so much!”

The woman’s smile is warm and kind. A man, about the same age as her, approaches us and takes her hand, “Dear, are you bothering newlyweds again?” I almost choke at his words but regain my breath when she laughs.

“Oh don’t be silly, Paul. I was just complimenting them!” She looks at him with love in her eyes, swatting his chest where a camera lay. He looks like he’d hang the moon for her, “You two remind me of us, quick witted and in love- or at least we used to be quick!”

Paul kisses her cheek, “Still very much in love, though.” Lando’s hold on me softens and when I look up at him, he’s watching them softly.

“That’s…”

Lando starts to trail off so I lean into him and smile, “Lovely. And inspiring.” I feel his gaze shift to me but I keep looking at the couple, “I’m Y/n.”

“I’m Effie! And this Paul!” I get the feeling that Paul is quiet just because he likes to listen to her talk.

“Lando.” He shakes their hands as Paul looks him up and down. “You two are great. How long have you been together?”

Effie is very pleased by this, “Fifty years today! We’re here for our anniversary. How about you two?”

Lando responds quickly, “Almost a year. Took a second for her to talk to me without throwing something at me.”

Paul and Effie laugh, “Well we won’t hold you two up any longer! It’s almost sunset, going to be a beautiful one!”

“Pleasure to meet you both.” I smile, placing my hand over Lando’s, intertwining our fingers.

“Have a good night!” Effie smiles and goes to turn but is caught up by Paul looking at my fake lover.

“Hold onto her, Lando.” Is all he says before walking away.

I drop his hand the second they’re out of sight, we’re silent and I refuse to look at him. Until he clears his throat and messes around with his camera, “I need a drink.”

“I second that.”

⋆༺

LANDO

We decided to freshen up before grabbing a drink. It’s weird that we’re apart after the whole day together and that we’re both willingly getting back together tonight.

I run my hands through my hair in the mirror, looking at a nicely dressed version of myself.

I change immediately.

I land on a white, short sleeved, linen button down, and shorts. It’s too hot for anything else. I chug water as I check the time over and over again, but the clock ticks slower and slower each time.

I finally leave my room just to get some air, I feel weirdly nervous. I rarely feel nervous before dates, it’s never something I need to worry about. Not that this is a date!

This is us ending our forced day together!

It’s really hard to remember it’s not a date when I see her walk into the beach bar.

She’s wearing sandals that have a heel, her legs are tan and smooth, a baby blue dress falling right below her ass, and her hair wavy and being affected by the humidity in a weirdly good way.

Her eyes are big as she looks around for me and for a second, I want to leave. I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that Y/n is the same girl who started cursing me out on day one.

She slides into the bar chair next to me, smiling softly. Something that used to never be aimed at me. “I almost didn’t recognize you. All fancy and not covered in clay.” I smile, that’s the attitude I know and take comfort in.

“Well you’re smiling at me right now so… I’m just as confused as you are.”

⋆༺

YOU

The sunset is gorgeous but the darkness overtakes us far too quickly. I don’t know how many drinks in I am, but Lando and I end up on the beach again.

He’s leaning back on his arms, his legs stretched out as a bottle of wine sits between us. Our glasses are long gone and I can’t remember why, but Lando’s shirt is fully unbuttoned.

I’m definitely not complaining though.

“Alright- Next race, you’re coming to McLaren!” I smile at his drunken state, “I know for a fact that everyone would love how you bully me!”

I fake innocence, “I do no such thing!”

Lando shakes his head, sipping from the bottle. I watch his adams apple and his hand grip the glass before looking back to the crashing waves in front of us.

“No use in lying. It’s just us and this magical bottle of wine.”

I push my hand in the sand, feeling the granules between my fingers. “I had fun today.”

He sits up straighter at my words, “Wow! Y/n L/n, publicly admitting she had fun with me?”

“You just said it’s just us and the wine! I’ll deny it if you tell anyone!”

He meets my eyes, sarcastically saying, “I would never betray your trust like that, pretty.”

I groan, “Stop calling me that.”

“Why?” He leans closer, leaning against his arm so he’s looking up at me instead of down like usual, “It’s like the one thing I'm serious about with you.”

His words shock me, but his tone shocks me more. It’s the first time in a while that I genuinely look at him. I look at his freckles, trace them until they disappear beneath his collared shirt. I notice how his eyes are darker now, in the moonlight and looking at me so intensely.

“Norris.” I say seriously.

He eyes me, “Uh oh… last name.”

I give him a look to which he smirks at, drawing aimlessly in the sand, “Don’t be stupid.”

“Impossible.” Lando’s flat tone makes me laugh and the wine between us reminds me why I'm so intrigued by him, “I had fun today too, Y/n. Surprisingly so.”

“Am I surprising to you?” My voice is soft as he leans in.

“Yes. I like it.” Lando’s accent is like my kryptonite and he has no clue. When I don’t say anything else, he speaks again, “I have a proposal for you.”

“I don’t like you that much, Norris.” I eye his smirk.

“Let’s have more fun, civil fun, our friends will be happy. I think today is proof that we can be within five feet of each other without hurting one another.” I raise a brow as he continues, “If you still can’t stand me by the end of this trip, I promise you’ll never have to speak to me again.”

I look down at him, at his hand and his deep, meaningful eyes. “Alright.” He grins, “No funny business. Seriousness only. A truce.”

His hand meets mine, the difference in size evident, “A truce.” He repeats my words and shakes my hand, tugging me closer. I don’t really know how it happens.

I know that one second ago I was shaking his hand and now his lips are on mine. Our hands are still together but now his other one finds my waist as if it’s muscle memory. He’s got against me, his tongue in my mouth and tasting like wine and pure adrenaline.

His breath turns heavy when my hand goes into his hair and slides across his stomach. My heart is racing as his hand goes up the side of my dress, not overstepping, just feeling my skin against his.

Lando feels perfect against me, his lips are soft but I barely notice it because our kisses turn hungry and I moan into his mouth. He’s rough and he’s hot and he’s Lando fucking Norris.

I pull back stiffly, taking in what I've done, what we’ve done.

Lando’s chest rises and falls with the waves, his words shooting out of the same mouth he just devoured me with, “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Is all I can get out as he pulls back, looking out at the water with his knees to his chest. My mind is racing, my lips are tingling, and my body is on fire, “Goodnight.” I stand up and I run.

[nadvs]

hard to ignore (two-shot) (part one)

pairing singledad! zach maclaren x nanny! female reader

summary when you’re offered a job as a nanny, you can tell right away that you’ll grow fond of the little girl you’re taking care of. things are easy to manage until you realize you’re falling for her dad.

author’s note hugs to @nemesyaaa for sharing the idea of singledad!zach. i couldn’t stop writing (and the one-shot hit 15k words and became a two-shot… i love slowburn…) hurt and comfort. fluff. no smut. divider credit.

content warning parental abandonment

» masterlist

Zach is sure, without a doubt, that he has already lived the best day of his life.

The moment he held Ella in his arms was when the world bloomed into a color he didn’t know existed. Nothing could ever and would ever top that feeling.

He didn’t expect that before thirty, he’d already experience the worst day of his life, too. But he’s certain he has.

He was in a fog, a bad dream he kept trying to wake himself up from. He had stepped into the guest room to see a piece of paper on Jade’s bed and he knew before he even unfolded the letter that she was gone.

He read the last line of the letter over and over again. I can’t live like this anymore. Deep down, he always feared that she would give up on them. But not like this. And not this soon.

After Ella was born, bitterness permanently etched itself into Jade’s face. To her, the baby was always a mistake and Zach stopped being someone she loved and became nothing but the man she regretfully had a child with.

She became the antithesis of the girl he fell for. The love they’d once had was replaced with a cold distance. She started sleeping in the guest room. She ate her meals alone. She left the house as much as she could.

Still, he respected that she had learned to tolerate motherhood. While she didn’t love being a stay-at-home mom, he didn’t think she hated it.

But then she left. And if she could abandon them like this, four years in, not even having it in her to look into her little girl’s eyes to say goodbye, then that tolerance had a cruel end.

That’s why now, a month after her sudden departure, Zach is sitting in his living room, fingers curling the corner of the resume belonging to the woman scheduled to arrive in a few minutes.

Dishes clatter as his mother tidies up his kitchen. Normally, he’d feel guilty and nag her to sit down. But things aren’t normal and he’ll take all the help he can get. It’s been an uphill battle trying to pick up the pieces on his own.

His family drove in a few nights ago. They offered to visit as soon as he called with the news, but he didn’t want to put Ella through too much at once, so he waited a few weeks. Once he asked them to come, they dropped everything and set out for the four-hour car ride.

Ella’s playing in the backyard with her grandpa and aunt while Connie helps Zach run interviews. His team’s managers were understanding when he asked for time off, but Zach can’t be away forever. With his training and match schedule, he needs to find a nanny.

He’d rather not introduce a new person into her life, especially this soon, but it’s unavoidable. At least with a nanny, he can control that Ella will always be in the comfort of her home. A place she knows.

Moments like these, he wishes he hadn’t been drafted to a team a state away. If he’d stayed close to his hometown, Ella would see both sets of grandparents more often and he’d have dependable childcare until he figured out how to function as a single dad.

Zach looks over his shoulder through the window, swallowing the lump in his throat when he sees his daughter running circles around her grandpa in the morning sun. The chime of the doorbell throws him out of his trance.

Soft blue eyes meet yours when the door swings open. The stranger on the other side is tall and handsome and younger than you expected, his half-smile clouded by sorrow. You introduce yourself and he offers you a firm but gentle handshake.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Zach. Come in.”

You trail him into the large house, mind already racing with the potential of it becoming your workplace. The agency had set up the interview. You don’t know much about the client, except that he has a four-year-old daughter and that he requested a nanny who’s adaptable to a changing schedule.

After meeting Ella’s grandmother, you settle on a couch and make small talk and answer their questions. You learn that Zach is a professional soccer player and that his work can be demanding and inconsistent, but with your apartment being close by, you assure him that you’re reliable and flexible.

By the end of the interview, the idea of a nanny doesn’t make Zach nearly as uneasy as it did an hour ago. You’re kind and experienced and knowledgeable and every time you see his little girl through the window, you smile in pure endearment.

Zach likes the idea of his daughter being around someone joyful. Jade grew to be so cold that Ella learned to go to her dad whenever she wanted to feel reassured and loved. It’s comforting to imagine her growing to like you, maybe even love you, and to be met with the same warmth she’s so full of.

The rest of the interviews go fine, but Zach has always operated on gut feelings and you’re a clear winner. His mom agrees.

────୨ৎ────

After an agency rep calls to tell you that you’ve been offered a trial period, you spend five days at the house getting to know Ella while Zach shadows to answer your questions. He’s friendly and helpful, but visibly tense.

The final afternoon, you’re playing with Ella in the living room when Zach’s phone rings. Ella rushes over to his side, asking if it’s her mommy calling. You notice the nervous way his jaw clenches when he kneels to the floor.

“It’s grandma,” he tells her, holding his phone out so the camera will capture them both.

You pretend you didn’t hear Ella's question. You know nothing about her mom and you wouldn’t dare risk crossing a boundary by asking.

Soon after the call, Ella’s drawing at the dining table while you and Zach periodically glance across the room to check on her from the kitchen. He’s been teaching you how he prepares Ella’s favorite foods. He likes that you write everything down, asking him for details down to exact measurements. If he wasn’t sure that you took the happiness of his daughter seriously before, he is now.

He already told the story to his family and to Jade’s parents and to his closest friends, but that was with people he knew well. People who could comfort him. He’s not sure how to share with you that she left, but he wants to hire you, and this is something you should be aware of.

After he slides a pan into the oven, he stands to face you, towering over you as he wipes his hands with a tea towel.

“You have the job if you want it,” Zach says quietly. You smile at him appreciatively. You weren’t feeling confident, considering how on edge he’s been, but you realize it must not have been you he was nervous about.

“Thank you,” you reply. “I do.”

He nods, looking down as he leans against the kitchen island, and says, “She starts kindergarten next fall. You’d be alright with part-time hours then?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Uh, you should know…” he says, turning his head to look over at his daughter, “her mom left. A little over a month ago. It was out of the blue.”

Your heart twists in pain at his words, at the agony that draws itself into his face.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, staring up at his profile. Zach blinks a few times, gazing at his daughter. You press your lips together, wishing you knew what to say.

“Ella didn’t get a goodbye,” he tells you. Neither did he, not a real one, but that’s irrelevant. “I told her that her mom chose to leave and I don’t know why she made that choice, but I’m not going anywhere. If she brings it up, please say the same.”

“I will,” you reply with an understanding nod, “and only if she mentions it first.”

“Thank you,” Zach says. “I’ll be honest with you. I really don’t want someone to leave her again. You are planning on staying as long as we need you, right? Even when the hours get shorter during the school year?”

He had that same note of desperation in his voice when he asked you about your commitment to the job during the interview, too.

“Yes,” you assure him. “I understand that she needs stability right now.”

Based on the way Zach’s eyes lower, you can tell he needs stability, too. His wife not only left him, but she left him with their child. You can’t imagine the hole that it dug in his heart.

“Thanks,” he says. He takes a breath. He wasn’t strong enough not to cry when he told Ella her mom was gone and he’ll always hate himself for it, but at least he kept his tears from falling this time.

“Do you want to ask her what she thinks about it?” you offer. “I can go put away her laundry to give you some privacy.”

Zach nods in agreement. And as he expected, when he asks his daughter if she’d like for you to hang around here more often after he goes back to work, she gives him an enthusiastic yes.

You’re purposely slow with the laundry to give them time. You come back into the kitchen to see Ella happily eating a freshly baked muffin and swinging her feet, smiling up at her father as he sits next to her at the dining table.

“My daddy said you’re gonna be here every day,” she says to you with a grin, overjoyed by the news.

“Not every day,” Zach corrects her gently. “But most days.”

“Try this!” Ella exclaims, stretching her arm out towards you, the muffin in her fist. The way you happily accept the food even though it’s reduced to smushed fragments in his child’s small hand makes Zach’s heart feel a little lighter.

“That’s delicious,” you say after you take a bite, settling at the table across from them.

Zach’s still getting used to having a woman around who’s so sweet to his child. Jade would hardly ever accept Ella’s offers to share her food, telling him that saying yes to everything would only raise a spoiled child.

“My daddy’s the bestest cook,” she proudly says.

“Best,” Zach corrects. “Thank you, honey.”

“He really is,” you reply. “I don’t know how I’ll fill his shoes, but I’ll try my best.”

Ella’s face pinches in confusion as she kneels over in her booster seat to look under the table.

“I think his shoes will be too big for you,” she mumbles, pointing to your feet. You laugh, meeting Zach’s gaze, seeing the first genuine smile on his face. You didn’t know he had dimples.

He can’t remember the last time he laughed, really laughed, with someone like this. Life’s dealt him a tough hand, but you’ve given him relief.

────୨ৎ────

Zach is organized. So organized that it sort of amazes you. Not only does he give you his, and in turn, your work schedule a month in advance through a color-coded calendar, but he also provides you with a meal plan for Ella so that you don’t have to worry about making one yourself.

The first day on your own with her is perfect. She’s energetic, well-behaved, and loves to talk. Zach left for training at noon and you were surprised that he found the time to text as much as he did. You replied to his every message asking for updates, sharing what you’re doing and reassuring him that Ella’s doing okay.

He gets home an hour after Ella’s bedtime. He’s been on edge all day, worrying that all this was too much, too fast for his little girl. Maybe he should have taken more time off.

You’re finishing up loading the dishwasher when you hear his keys jingling. You turn to greet him as he paces into the kitchen.

“Hey, how was bedtime?” he asks.

“We read three books and she asked me to stay with her until she fell asleep,” you tell him. “No issues.”

Zach sighs in relief. He never liked afternoon training because he missed bedtime. Ella preferred bedtime with her dad over with her mom. She preferred everything with her dad, really. But hearing that she wanted you to stay is reassuring.

“And she ate well?” he asks. He settles on one of the stools lining the kitchen counter, watching you cross the room to stand opposite him.

“Yes,” you tell him. “She was great.”

“Sorry if I was annoying with all the texts,” he says with a small, apologetic smile.

“You weren’t, but I wanted to let you know that it’s okay if you want to set up cameras. I know some parents like having live video they can tune into throughout the day.” You’d already noticed the security cameras outside when you first came to the house. You understand why he’d be so protective.

Zach threads his fingers through his dirty blond hair, damp from the shower he took in the training center’s locker room.

“Alright, I was definitely annoying if you’re offering to be surveilled,” he mumbles with a chuckle.

“No,” you laugh. “Ella did get a little frustrated, though. We were playing princesses and she said princesses aren’t supposed to go on their phones this much.”

Zach breathes a laugh. You’ve only been here for six days, but he hasn’t smiled this much in a long time.

“Thank you for all your work today,” he says. “I won’t keep you any longer.” You give him a bright smile and wish him a good night before you head out.

When Zach trudges upstairs, he peeks into Ella’s room. She’s sleeping peacefully, curled up with her favorite plushie. Now that he has a semblance of normalcy back in his life, he realizes that beneath the sadness and betrayal, he feels anger.

It’s not typical of him to feel angry. But Jade set everything ablaze when she abandoned them and he’s been left in the ashes, trying to stay level-headed while he’s choking on smoke.

He knows he lost Jade’s heart long ago. She lost his, too. It’s the fact that she broke their daughter’s without any hesitation – that’s what kills him.

────୨ৎ────

Zach never takes you up on the offer to have cameras installed. He starts to let go, little by little, eventually going a full day without sending a single check-in text. It’s gratifying to know you’ve earned his trust.

Before you know it, you’ve been Ella’s nanny for two months. She’s made herself a home in your heart. The only way you’d ever leave her is if you were told to, and you can’t even imagine being fired. Zach often checks in to see if you’re happy with your job and asks if there’s anything he can do to make things better. He clearly values you and doesn’t want to lose you.

It’s mid-morning when you’re playing with Ella on the living room floor and Zach comes through the front door. She rushes to him and you smile as you watch him drop his duffle bag and happily scoop his daughter up.

He had an away game last night and flew in early. His skin is blanched, dark half-circles under his eyes, but like always, he finds energy for his daughter. You admire it about him, how she’s never too much for him.

“There’s a plate for you in the kitchen,” you tell him when he meets your gaze.

“You don’t have to–”

“I know,” you say with a laugh. Zach has already told you many times that Ella’s the only one you have to feed, but you can tell he appreciates coming home to a meal. “There were leftovers.”

“Were there?” he asks, brows quirked, an unconvinced smirk on his lips.

You shrug and laugh again. You’ve grown into a friendly level of comfort with each other and you appreciate how you can joke around with him.

Zach sits in the dining room to eat, listening to Ella tell him all about her playdate yesterday. You tidy up the living room as you overhear her chat about how her friend was showing her ballet poses and how badly she wants lessons.

You’d sent Zach a courtesy text before you fell asleep in the guest room last night: We had a great day. She had a lot of fun on the playdate. Just so you’re prepared, she’s VERY into ballet now and is going to ask you if she can get lessons. Sending some options. Then, you sent him a few links to children’s dance classes in town.

You woke up to two texts from him. The first said: Appreciate the warning and the research. Am I crazy for holding on to hope that she’ll like soccer one day? You smiled at your screen. You’d briefly talked with Zach about how Ella has no interest in the sport her father dedicated his career to.

The second text from him, sent fifteen minutes later, read: Would you be alright with taking her to 6-6:45 pm classes on Wednesdays when I can’t? The season starts next week.

You replied when you woke up: Definitely.

You enter the dining room to see Ella hanging off her dad’s shoulders while he tries to eat, continuing to rattle on about how she’d never miss a lesson and would always listen in class.

“Alright, take a breath,” he chuckles. When he tells her you found her a class at a studio uptown and that he’ll enroll her if she’s sure she can commit, she squeals in delight. She hugs Zach, then runs over to hug you, too, nearly knocking you over.

“Easy,” her dad tells her. Ella asks you to turn on the ballet music playlist you found for her yesterday and launches into twirls across the living room.

“Remember what I said,” you tell her over the music. “If you start to get dizzy, you…?”

“Sit down, I know!” she shouts. You meet Zach’s eyes, both of you wearing smiles. You can see the fatigue on his face under the bright dining room light.

“Do you want me to stay another hour so you can catch up on sleep?” you offer. “I don’t mind.”

He knows his heart shouldn’t skip when he looks at you, but it does. He can’t help it. You don’t see this as a job you clock in and out of. You’ve integrated yourself into Ella’s life, into his life, so seamlessly. He doesn’t feel like you’re an employee here. You’re a friend who goes above and beyond to help. You’re someone who his daughter adores. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out.

He looks down at his plate, embarrassed, as if you can read his mind. His head has been doing this lately, rushing into thoughts of you that are much more than professional. He shouldn’t be thinking that his daughter’s nanny is beautiful.

“It’s okay,” he tells you. “You can head home. We’ll see you soon.”

You nod and call Ella over to look at the calendar Zach made. It’s a routine with her every time you leave. She likes knowing when you’ll be back.

When Zach heads upstairs to drop his things off into his bedroom, he stops when he passes the guest room. You left the door ajar. Even though you always keep it neat, only leaving an overnight bag on the nightstand, there’s a lived in feeling, a warmth in the room that never existed before.

Once again, he has to remind himself that you’re paid to be here. But it’s hard not to like you, because even when Jade was living here, he felt alone, whereas having you around makes it hard to ignore that life doesn’t feel all that empty anymore.

────୨ৎ────

“Which one’s yours?”

You look over to the man sitting next to you on the dance studio bleachers. Young girls hop and whirl over the glossy hardwood floor in a sea of pink tutus, five minutes into their lesson.

“Oh, I’m...” You point to Ella. “Her nanny.”

Ella’s been in ballet for a few weeks now and it’s all she talks about. Zach’s schedule allows him to take her to most of her classes, but this is the second one you’ve come to and you can see just how much she enjoys it.

You make small-talk with the man and a few other parents, which makes the time pass quickly. When you get back to the house, Ella scarfs down her dinner and falls asleep during the first book you read her. You’re sitting in the living room when Zach comes home from training.

He’s nearing playoff season and he’s mentioned that he has much more practices booked in his schedule. At this point, he welcomes how you always pretend to accidentally make too much food. He doesn’t expect you to prepare meals for him, but after you’d reassured him that you don’t mind since you’re cooking anyway, he’s relieved to know he’ll have dinner waiting for him tonight.

“Hey,” you greet him from your spot on the couch. “Ballet was the best idea ever. It really tires her out. Bedtime was a breeze.”

“Right?” Zach says with a smile, pulling off his jacket. You look away to avoid gaping at his biceps under his t-shirt. You thought he was good-looking the moment you met him and getting to know him has only made him more attractive.

“I’ve been wanting to ask if you’d like any help with her birthday,” you offer, turning the tv off and standing up. Ella’s fifth birthday is in a month.

“I have some ideas for her party that I’d like your opinion on,” Zach tells you. “Do you want to stay for a few minutes? Or I can just text you.”

“I can stay.”

He’s relieved to hear it. He doesn’t have many moments with you alone. Usually you’re like passing ships in the night, chatting for just a couple of minutes to catch each other up about Ella before one of you leaves the house, so any window of time with you is something he welcomes. Your presence is comforting.

You sit at the kitchen island together. Zach eats as you scroll through his phone, gazing at screenshots of party ideas he saved.

“Oh, she’d love this,” you say, stopping at a photo of ballerina-themed cupcakes. He gazes at you in awe as you look down at the screen. You’re genuinely delighted at the idea of giving his little girl a perfect birthday. “Do you want to have the party here?”

“Yeah, do you think that’s a good idea?” he asks.

“Yeah. If you’re worried about decorating or cleaning up, I’d come early and stay late,” you tell him, continuing to scroll. “She deserves something big.”

He nods, swallowing down his food, too distracted to go for another bite. He can’t wrap his head around how sweet you are. You have no connection to Ella at all, but you treat her like she’s yours. Sometimes more than her own mother did.

You’ve been here for nearly four months now, which in the grand scheme of things really isn’t that long, but he likes that you have such a deep sincerity to you that he can trust that you care about Ella. That you won’t leave.

You look up at him and he glances away, worried he’s been caught staring, clearing his throat.

“Do you know how many people you’re thinking of inviting?” you ask as you hand him back his phone.

Zach’s face falls as he scratches the back of his neck. You’re suddenly tense, the air of familiarity between you now thick and uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure,” he says.

“Sorry,” you say, nervous you crossed a line. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“You didn’t,” he reassures you. “Sorry. I’ve just been going back and forth on whether I should invite her grandparents. From her mom’s side, I mean.”

“That must be hard,” you empathize.

“They’ve offered to visit a few times, but Ella hated the idea. She doesn’t even want to talk to them on the phone.”

“Was she like that before?” You don’t have to spell it out for him to know what you mean by before. The topic of Ella’s mom’s abandonment has been a silent cloud hanging over both of you.

“No,” Zach says. “I think she makes the connection that they’re her mom’s parents and she doesn’t want to be reminded of her.”

His lips close into a firm line.

“Well, I admire how you respect her comfort level and let her make decisions,” you say. “Maybe you start the conversation about who to invite and mention the grandparents to gauge her reaction?”

Zach nods, trying not to let his heart get carried away with the way it pounds from your words. He’s received compliments on his parenting from his friends and family, but you see the type of father he is more than anyone else these days. He cares about your opinion and it feels good to hear you approve.

“That’s a good idea,” he says. His fork clatters against his dish and he takes a deep breath before asking what’s been spinning in his head. “I figure you’d tell me, but… she hasn’t mentioned her mom, has she?”

You shake your head no. His forehead wrinkles in concern and it sends a pang to your chest. You lean a little closer, crossing the invisible boundary between you for the first time.

“She could just be processing,” you tell him. “And it might take her a while to talk about it. But she’s okay. She’s resilient. She got it from you.”

Zach hopes that he’s not blushing, but his cheeks are burning. He’s sure you’d be able to tell, but thankfully, you look down and stand straight again, as if what you just said wasn’t one of the most significantly unforgettable things he’s ever been told.

Ella is practically a physical copy of her mother. Zach never minded. But hearing that you think his daughter inherited his adaptability, one thing he’s always prided himself on, feels good.

He wasn’t very confident that he’s been doing a great job at adjusting since Jade left and you just lifted a weight off his shoulders without even realizing it.

“Thank you,” he says. You desperately want to ask how he’s been since his wife left, but you’re afraid you’ve already crossed a line with your boss tonight and you certainly don’t want to risk doing it again.

“Sure,” you reply. “I should go. But I’ll let you know if I think of any ideas for the party. I think the ballerina theme is the way to go. This place will be so pink.”

Zach laughs, trying to ignore the way his chest hollows when you expand the distance between you, stepping away.

“Can’t wait,” he says. “Thanks for dinner.”

“There were leftovers,” you reply, even though both of you are already well aware that every time you say that, it’s not true.

────୨ৎ────

It’s only half an hour into Ella’s birthday party and you’re spent. You’re reaching for napkins from the cupboard to clean up a spill in the dining room. When you turn out of the kitchen, a girl runs past you, tripping and accidentally pouring most of her juice onto your dress.

“Sorry,” she says worryingly, eyes wide as she stares up at you.

“It’s okay,” you reply with a giggle, dabbing at the fabric with one of the napkins. “I came prepared.”

Zach just entered the room, witnessing the moment, wondering if he’s ever going to see you do anything that won’t just push him deeper into his crush on you. But once again, his head is no match for his heart when it comes to you.

He’s been trying not to lose his mind today and it’s not because of the chaotic party that’s taken over his house. It’s because it’s the first time he’s seen you in a dress. While it’s appropriate for the occasion, it shows enough of your figure to make his mouth go dry.

You toss the napkin in the garbage, collect more, then start to make your way to the dining room, looking up to find Zach’s eyes.

“Hey,” you say over the noise. He realizes that your voice somehow settles his pulse and makes it race at the same time. “There might not be enough napkins in the world for this party.”

“Invite everyone she wants,” he teases, imitating the way you convinced him to go along with Ella’s idea to invite all twelve kids from her ballet class.

“I take it back,” you chuckle. When you move past him, the fresh scent of his cologne dances over you and it’s so nice that you don’t want to leave his side. But you shake away the thought and tidy up the spill, then head to the living room to mingle.

It’s better to keep your distance from Zach. You have to remind yourself of it almost every day now. You’d been spending more time together to plan Ella’s party and at this point, it’s actually frustrating how kind and funny and charming and perfect he is.

It took a few evenings of party-planning at the house, your voices low as Ella slept upstairs, to start to get to know each other outside of your job. You’ve learned little things about him, like that he’s left-handed, and that he has a sister ten years younger than him and growing up with her helped him practice parenting, and that he likes a cup of tea before bed because it relaxes him.

You also noticed that he drifts into a more timid version of himself whenever the topic of his profession comes up. You’d mentioned that Ella could eventually grow an interest in soccer, that you’d take her to one of his home games if she wanted, and he nodded with a shy smile, saying he liked the idea.

Every side of him is intriguing, and while your conversations haven’t fallen into anything too personal, you want to know more about him past the friendly distance that stands between you.

Ella quickly darts past Zach in the kitchen and he reminds her that tag is an outside game. He’s relieved that she seems happy and careless today.

He’d asked her about inviting her mom’s parents and she answered with a quiet no. He called them to tell them that this birthday would be too difficult to celebrate together and they understood, opting to send a present in the mail.

Zach is glad he took your advice. As he rounds the corner, he sees you chatting with Ella’s friend’s dad. You probably know him from ballet. Zach has spoken with him, too. He knows the man is divorced.

Jealousy swirls in his chest. He shouldn’t care about you talking to another man. Even though you’ve started to share more about your lives with each other and he’s pretty sure you’re single, you could have a boyfriend you haven’t mentioned.

Again, while he tells himself not to feel things for you, it’s so much easier said than done. He has to look away, wondering why he feels like someone who’s not even his is being taken from him.

All the stress leaves your body the minute the last attendee leaves through the front door. It was a great party, but it was exhausting.

Ella’s eating her dinner as you, Zach, and his family tackle the mess. You make conversation with her while you clean the kitchen, happy to hear her rave about what a good birthday she had.

She asks if you can cuddle her for bedtime. Zach overhears and trudges into the kitchen, crumpled decorations in his hands. He rolled the sleeves of his shirt up and you try to ignore the fact that the mere sight of his forearms makes your stomach go numb with butterflies.

“It’s been a long day,” he says to you quietly. “I can take bedtime.”

“I got it,” you reply. He mirrors your smile. You like that he’s not the type of parent to be bitter that his own kid prefers you sometimes. He’s just happy that Ella’s happy.

When you’re leaning back in Ella’s bed, chatting as you wait for her to doze off, her arm is draped over your body and her cheek is on your shoulder. She’s grown to be totally comfortable with you, always taking the opportunity to be affectionate.

Your eyelids are heavy as you ramble about what she’ll be doing with her grandparents and aunt in the next few days, as they’ll be staying in town for a bit. Zach gave you the next three days off since childcare will be covered.

“I heard your grandma say something about taking you to the beach tomorrow,” you tell her. “Are you excited?”

“Will you come, too?” she asks. You chuckle softly, kissing the top of her head.

“I have work, remember?” you tell her. You and Zach had decided long ago that you don’t want to tell her you’re paid to be here, that your job is taking care of her. You always just refer to yourself as her dad’s friend.

“Okay,” she sighs. She lets out a big yawn. “If I tell someone my birthday wish, will it not become true anymore?”

“I’m pretty sure the rule is that you can tell one grown-up,” you play along, “and it’ll still come true.” She nuzzles in. You assume she’ll mention a gift she wanted but didn’t receive today.

“I wished that you were my mommy,” she mumbles into the dark.

Your throat tightens and your heart sinks and you hate that the sweet, innocent child clinging onto you has to carry the weight of being abandoned. You kiss the top of her head again and try not to cry.

“I love you, okay?” you tell her. She nods and squeezes you tighter and within minutes, her breathing grows deeper.

When you head downstairs, you see that almost all of the mess has been tidied up. Zach is hauling a full garbage bag to the front door, giving you a tired smile when he sees you.

“Do you need any help with–”

“Go home,” he interrupts, faking irritation. You laugh in defeat.

“Fine.” You step into the living room to say goodbye to his family, antsy to have some time to yourself so that you don’t have to force down your tears any longer.

A few seconds after the door shuts behind you, Zach remembers that he’d set aside a container of leftover treats from the party for you.

You pace down the sidewalk into the cool evening air, unlocking your car remotely, unable to stop your tears from building. When you hear Zach call your name, you quickly wipe at your eyes, realizing you’ve smudged your make-up.

“There were leftovers,” he says when you turn to look at him.

“That’s my line,” you try to joke. You take the container. “Thanks.”

He notices the shine in your eyes immediately.

“Are you alright?” Zach asks softly. You gaze up at him, heart breaking a little more at the concern in his expression.

“Just a busy day,” you tell him.

“Did something happen?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Or– yeah, but I was going to tell you later. Without the tears.” You offer a pathetic laugh to break the tension, but he’s too worried to laugh, too.

“What is it?” he asks.

You look up to Ella’s bedroom window. The first time you’d walked up to this house, you were oblivious to the fact that the two people living in it would steal your heart. You know you need to tell him what his daughter said. But you’d hoped you’d have more time to process it.

“Before bed,” you say, your voice thin, “she told me she wished I was her mom.”

It takes all the air out of Zach’s lungs. He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s without words. He crosses his arms, looking down at the pavement.

“I know. It’s a lot,” you mumble. Your temples ache as more tears build up, frustrated that this is Zach and Ella’s reality. “It just makes me so sad. I don’t want to say anything bad about your ex-wife, but I don’t understand how she could just leave you two. Has she not called to check in on her? Or to wish her a happy birthday?”

Your heart starts to thrum even harder. Your words were impulsive, surprising you even though you’re the one who said them, and the fear that you just crossed a line and exposed your feelings for him rushes through you.

“No,” is all Zach is able to say. He stares at you, speechless, biting the inside of his cheek.

“When Ella said… what she said, I told her that I love her,” you say. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is,” he says, his tone tender. Your lips twist into a sad smile. You want to hug him. But you step back. Because he’s still your boss and you don’t want him to think you can’t remain professional. You’re already anxious and regretful that you brought up Ella’s mom.

“Thank you,” you say. “I should go. Good night.”

Zach’s dazed the rest of the evening. He watches you drive off. He goes back inside to finish cleaning up. He spends time with his parents and sister, but soon heads upstairs to sleep, too distracted to keep up conversation.

His mind keeps him awake as he lies in bed. He stares up at the darkened ceiling, watching the shadow of the trees by his window rustle in the wind. In a matter of a minute, your relationship reached a new level of vulnerability.

And now that he has time to wade through his feelings, beneath the pain he feels for Ella and what she told you, he can’t deny that his heart fluttered when you said you don’t understand how someone could leave him and his daughter. Maybe you feel the same way about him.

This is not just a crush. He’s falling for you.

────୨ৎ────

You stare at the text Zach sent you a few minutes ago as you brush your teeth the next morning.

Sorry for bothering you on your day off but Ella has asked me about 50 times (give or take) if I can ask you to come to the beach today. I told her you’re busy but you know her. No pressure but we’d all love to have you. Would count as a work day, of course.

It was already hard to keep your feelings for Zach at bay when all you can think about is his smile and his voice and the way he makes you feel more comfortable than any man ever has, but now, you’re afraid it might be awkward when you see him. You’d said something so heavy last night, then left abruptly.

Nonetheless, the love you have for Ella and the love you’re starting to have for Zach is louder than the worry you’re feeling.

You reply: Don’t count it as work. It’s how I’d like to spend my day off. When and where?

A minute later, he sends you the address and time.

It’s late morning when you text Zach that you’ve arrived at the beach. He heads to the parking lot, leaving his parents, sister, and daughter by the shoreline so that he can speak to you alone. He hates that he was too in shock to thank you last night. But it was all so much to take in.

He spots you pulling a bag out of your trunk, greeting you with a soft “hey” to not startle you. It’s so nice to know that you’re here because you want to be.

You turn to see Zach in his swim shorts, his hair wet, water droplets scattered atop his muscles. You close the trunk, hoping he didn’t catch the way your eyes lingered.

“Hey. What’d you tell Ella about the ‘work’ I had today?” you ask, trying to establish a lighthearted tone. “Did my boss let me leave early?”

“We can say that,” he says with a smile. “He sounds like a good guy.”

“He is. It’s my other boss that’s kind of a nightmare,” you joke.

Zach takes you in, squinting a bit.

“You don’t really think of me as your boss, do you?” he asks, realizing he hates the implication. It makes him feel like even thinking about you as more than a friend is deeply unethical. Like there’s a power imbalance and he’s taking advantage of it somehow.

You still for a moment.

“I mean, I don’t know,” you chuckle. “It doesn’t feel like it, but aren’t you?”

“I guess.” His brows furrow. “It just doesn’t sound right.”

“How about we say… Ella’s my boss? And yours, too, now that I think about it.”

Zach laughs, “That works for me.” He nervously crosses his arms. “Uh… before we go, I wanted to thank you for handling last night so well. I think you said exactly what she needed to hear.”

Your face drops slightly. Remembering the way Ella sounded when she told you her wish, resigned but hopeful, breaks your heart every time you think about it.

“Of course,” you say. It’s a relief that he’s not upset about anything you said. “Is she doing okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Being her usual self. I didn’t tell her you were coming, so she’ll be excited.” The way you smile at the idea of making her happy is something he’s grown to adore about you.

You make your way to the shoreline, and as expected, Ella squeals when she sees you, running straight for you. You crouch to hug her tightly, thrilled that you were invited today.

You sit on a line of towels with Zach and his parents and his sister while Ella explains to you what kind of sandcastle she wants to make. You make conversation with everyone over the soothing sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and eventually, you point out a small rubber ball by the cooler.

“You wanna play soccer?” you ask Ella.

“I’m not good at it,” she replies.

“You have the best coach right here,” you say, pointing to Zach. “Let’s give it a try. Maybe we can all work together to score a goal against your dad.”

Zach smiles in surprise when Ella actually agrees. You help him create a makeshift goal line with pebbles and shells as Ella kicks the ball over the sand with her grandparents and aunt. After you set up, you join Ella while Zach makes an exaggerated show of stretching.

“Is that how you always warm up?” you ask him.

“Is there something wrong with it?” he answers. Ella laughs as he dramatically stretches. By now, you can tell by the type of dad he is that he was always on the playful side.

Ella imitates his stretching, then determination flashes over her face and she darts forward to try to kick the ball past him without warning. Zach pretends to be too slow to react, reaching after the ball has already whizzed past him, and lets out a defeated groan.

He picks his daughter up as she jumps in victory, jokingly demanding she tell him when she got so good at soccer. You smile as you watch them share a moment of joy in the sun.

“Ella, would you ever want to go to one of your dad’s games?” you offer.

“Yeah!” she exclaims.

“Yeah?” Zach says. “Why don’t you say yeah whenever I ask?”

“Just take the win, Zach,” you say with a laugh. He grins, loving the way his name sounds when it comes from you.

You enjoy the rest of the afternoon, talking with Zach’s family, playing with Ella, catching glances at Zach when he’s not looking. They invite you to dinner, but you politely decline, figuring you should give them time alone. You thank them for the fun and go home feeling lighter than you did when you woke up.

That evening, as Connie helps Zach clean up after dinner, she mentions how good you are for Ella. He glances down at his mom as she hands him a rinsed plate to put in the dishwasher.

“She really is,” Zach agrees.

“I think she’s good for you, too,” she says with a hint of a smile.

“Real subtle, Mom,” he chuckles nervously. “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” she says with an unconvinced tone. She takes a beat. “I just need to say–”

“Of course you do,” he mumbles with an amused smirk.

“–that I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time,” she speaks over him. “I haven’t seen you be you. But you are again, especially when she’s around. It’s just nice to see you smiling so much again. I know things have been tough for you.”

Zach’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. His mom is right; things have been tough, even before Jade left. He desperately wanted companionship, to at least come home to someone he could call a friend, but Jade couldn’t give him what he needed. He hasn’t felt full of life in a long time. Not until you knocked on his door.

“I’m better now,” he says.

Connie nods, sadness filling her features as she pulls Zach in for a side-hug.

“Hey, I’m alright,” he consoles her. “Don't worry about me.”

“You’re a parent. You should know the worrying never stops.” She pulls back. “So, you’re really going to deny it? I see the way you look at her.”

Zach shakes his head with an exaggerated scoff.

“You’re relentless,” he jokes.

“You used to tell me everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Alright,” she sighs. “She looks at you the same way, you know.”

“Mom.”

Connie laughs and hands him another plate. He knows that the idea of you looking at him the way he looks at you won’t leave his mind any time soon.

(part two)

[muwapsturniolo]

𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒔𝒕 ᥫ᭡. c sturniolo

“I just-she left…”

✗ Angst, mentions of sex but no actual smut, cliffhanger

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

Love was a tricky thing - Bittersweet.

It could make you feel so whole and warm, like your life has meaning. On the other hand, it could break you down completely, as if you weren't worth anything.

This was something that scared Chris. He told everyone he had commitment issues, but they took it as he couldn't settle for one girl specifically, or he was scared of women. In reality, it was the idea of not knowing how your love with someone could end.

So when he dove head first into a relationship only for it to crumble right in his hands, he was distraught. It was so sudden, he thought everything was fine. He was happy, she was happy.

At least he thought she was.

"You're love is just too much Chris...I can't do this."

Her words hurt, they broke him.

He didn't understand how him showing how much he loved her was too much. Isn't that what girls want, for their partners to be open and loving?

After that night it was like she never existed, and it wasn't Chris's doing. The girl had deleted her socials, moved away from LA, and cut everyone off. He could only feel what was left of her, but he wasn't able to feel her.

He wished he knew where she went, what she was doing. He wished he knew how the hell she managed to make him fall in love with her, only to break him.

Did she ever love him?

He refused to be the type to marinate in his emotions, so he threw himself into his work. He forced Nick and Matt to film videos back to back, the brothers quickly becoming exhausted. He decided it was finally time to get his license and a car, hoping that if he betters himself she would come back to him.

But she didn't.

Everyone could see the change in him. He started going out more without his brothers, partying with Sam and Gnar. He'd come home with a different girl on his arm every night, and a bunch of money being spent from the joint account he shares.

That phase only lasted a month or so before Nick finally put his foot down, yelling at Chris and telling him to "Get the fuck over the breakup, she's not coming back."

"I know Nick I just....She left. She fucking left and said my love was too much! What does that mean? I-I did my best!"

He broke down, crying harder than he ever had in his brothers' arms.

"Why did she have to leave? Why won't she just come back?"

It seemed like after that, his whole personality and life did a 180. He grew quiet, no longer being the loud one. He was more snappy, staying in his room and locking himself away from the world.

When questioned about it, he told Matt and Nick that everything reminds him of her. The couch where they watched movies all night, the coffee shop she would force him to go to, and the overall energy of LA.

After a long talk, the three of them decided to leave LA. It seemed like a drastic change, but none of them were happy.

Matt never wanted to come to LA, Chris couldn't handle the memories, and Nick just wanted his brothers to be happy. So after a month of dealing with their management and trying to find a place back home, they finally were back in Boston.

Matt was happier, Nick was happier, and Chris was slowly doing better. He was eating more, laughing again, and even hanging out with friends. He still had trouble sleeping at night, his dreams filled with the memories he shared with her.

He'd wake up wishing that he spent more time savoring those moments instead of taking them for granted. He knew nothing lasted forever and yet he was naive enough to believe they would.

There was a specific night when he couldn't sleep, his mind silent as he stared at the wall. It irritated him, he was tired but something was keeping him awake. He dragged himself out of bed and went to the kitchen to find tea, hoping it would put him in a tranquil state, but there was no tea to be found.

With a sigh he slipped on his shoes and grabbed the car keys, sending a quick text to Nick and Matt, letting them know that if they woke up and he was still gone, he was just grabbing something from the store.

He planned on going to Walgreens, but on the way there, he saw a 24-hour coffee shop. It was small, the lighting giving up a warm glow that was already lulling him to sleep.

He parked the car and walked inside, the smell of the coffee grounds and lavender infiltrating his nose.

It reminded him of the coffee shop they would go to.

He stepped up to the register, looking at the menu for a second before ordering a large chamomile and lavender tea. It only took a second for the barista to hand him his drink, wishing him a 'good night' and telling him to 'be safe'.

With a brief smile he turns around, immediately locking eyes with her.

He could feel his heart fall to the pits of his stomach, his tea long forgotten and dropped to the ground.

"Hey Chris...."

[vrystalius]

Live to see another day

After the Mugen Train incident your husband Kyojuro is slowly recovering with your help.

Pairing: Kyojuro x gn!reader

Despite all his injuries and great pains, your husband’s bright smile matches that of the sun. You dream of it every night, how life was before Kyojuro went on that damned mission that caused so much suffering and pain for the both of you. Yet, despite everything, he pushed through and forces himself through physical therapy in hopes to recover fully. Your head was resting on your crossed arms, on the hospital bed your husband was laying in. You weren’t planning on falling asleep like this, but you were so, so tired from everything yesterday.

Shinjuro came to visit and caused nothing but make Kyojuro’s heart-rate rapidly rise, his eye sight in the injuried eye got worse, his resistance to the pain-medication that Shinobu assigned to him increase and with that his pain got more intense. You thought your husband was getting better. Last night you were even able to crawl into his narrow hospital bed and cuddle with him. The first time in months. It was so nice to feel his arms wrapped around your body. His touch felt so securing and as if nothing in the world matters anymore, as if Kyojuro can protect you from anything. Even if he may be bedridden for so many more months.

You didn’t want to open your eyes yet despite waking up. You can’t look at your husband’s bandaged body yet, it’s too early in the morning for that. Your body relaxed in the awkward position you were in, your arms stretching and spreading out to carefully rest them over his legs. You wanted to feel him close but weren’t sure where you’re allowed to touch him without him giving you a pained smile and gently reminding you that what you just touched was making him want to cripple in pain. You left Kyojuro’s legs shift beneath your arms and you carefully pulled them back to your body, fearing you might did exactly what you were afraid of doing— hurting him. You slowly opened your eyes but didn’t lift your head, staring at your husband’s handsome, bandaged face from where you were resting your head. He was surprisingly awake already, staring right at you. Was he watching you sleep? You gave him a weak grin and rubbed your eyes, sitting upright on the incredibly uncomfortable chair you were sitting in, stretching your tired limbs. Kyojuro watched quietly.

“Good morning. You shouldn’t sleep like that, my flame. You will get back aches.”

You stretched your back and groaned loudly, proving his point. He laughed quietly, his eyes sparkling at the sight of you. His hand slowly reached out to your cheek and pulled your attention back on him. You carefully leaned into his touch, placing a small kiss into his palm.

“How are you feeling? You need anything for the pain?”

Your voice was still laced with sleep. Kyojuro shook his head slightly and pulled you a little closer.

“I’m fine love. Just stay with me, please.”

How could you refuse that wish? You scooted closer with your chair and rested your head on the edge of his pillow. His arm weakly wrapped around your shoulders, his fingers tracing loose patterns on your arm. His head slowly moved closer to yours, resting on top of yours. His warmth was radiating off his body and his touch was relaxing to the point of melting against his body. You lifted your arm and hovered over his chest and glanced at him, silently ask for permission to wrap your arm around his shoulders. A smile spread on Kyojuro’s face and he planted a kiss on the side of your head, nodding quietly. Slowly, your arm lowered to rest on his shoulder. You closely watched for flinches or pained expressions in case you were hurting him in any way, but wrapping your arm around his shoulder seemed fine. Tension left out of your body as you smiled softly. Kyojuro sighed contently and closer his eyes for a moment. The morning sun began to illuminate you two, the comforting warmth acting like a cozy blanket tucking you two in.

“I love you... Thank you for everything, my love.”

He turned his head slowly to look at you, his hand giving your arm a weak squeeze. There it was again, Kyojuro’s brightest smile that was able to brighten up even the most depressing days. You can’t even begin to comprehend how glad you are that your husband returned back to you, to your arms.

What would you do without him?

🎃

Fictober prompt: “It’s a new day, let’s go.”

I was planning on posting something for Akaza today, but a mutual randomly reminded me that today is the fourth anniversary of the Mugen Train Arc release date (in Japan) and I thought I should write something for our best boy <3 I miss him greatly. I just noticed that I need a plushie of him or a figurine, I have neither although he was my first favourite character in the whole series. I want a big, huge plushie of him :(

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves <3

My event masterlist 🎃