#sorry for doing a man first in this series

[starmapz]

what you know - ch13: tribulations || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. legal drama (likely with inaccuracies). tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 16.2k.

❦ a/n ; it's heeeere!! so before everyone reads i just wanna give a small update. chapter 13 and 14 were written all at once and ch14 should be ready in about a week. they were originally intended to be one chapter, but 36k words felt unreasonable for a single chapter LOL, so i've split them in two. they do read somewhat as a part 1 and part 2, so the second part of the legal battle will be out next week. as well, please note that the legal details are heavily based off of a mix of canadian and australian laws and processes, so it may not match up with your local laws. with that out of the way, enjoy!

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

The sound of your text chime has you cracking your eyes open before dawn even breaks. You hardly even recognize the sound, so accustomed to having your phone on vibrate. With a weak groan, you flip onto your side, peering at your phone.

It’s not even six in the morning yet, and you barely got home by midnight.

Your eyes slip down to the message previews, and you frown. Taking a moment to let your body adjust to being awake, you plop down on your mattress, draping your arm over your eyes. In hindsight, probably not the greatest idea as you jolt back awake when another text arrives.

Pulling your phone off the charger, you squint at the bright screen.

5:39 AM Kuna || yujis awake

5:39 AM Kuna || he keeps banging on their door but cho wont answer

5:52 AM Kuna || sorry

Dragging your hand over your face in an effort to wake up, you stare at the messages once more before typing your response.

5:54 AM You || Why are you sorry?

5:55 AM You || I’ll be there soon

His response comes fairly quickly in spite of the chaos you’re sure is taking place in his apartment.

5:59 AM Kuna || its early and shit

Pushing yourself out of bed to get ready, you find a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

6:01 AM You || I told you to text me, didn’t I?

6:02 AM Kuna || yeah

6:02 AM Kuna || thanks

That’s the last message you receive from him as you shower, put on a hardly noticeable amount of makeup, and throw on a comfy pink hoodie and leggings. If you could drive in a cocoon of blankets, you’d probably do that too, but you digress.

You’re standing in front of his door barely a half hour later, having gotten ready faster than ever in an effort to help. You’d definitely figured Yuji would sleep in longer, but Sukuna isn’t a particularly lucky man, so here you are before the sun has risen.

The look on his face as you open the door speaks to his luck as well. Defeat is emboldened across his features, etched into the dark circles under his eyes. A white V-neck that’s so thin you can make out his chest and shoulder tattoos beneath it hangs over his shoulders, while a pair of black sweatpants adorns his lower half. They hang so low on his hips that you can make out the band of his boxers, and lord knows you don’t need your mind going any further than that.

He may be attractive, but at the end of the day, you can’t let yourself get hurt again. Not like that.

“Hey,” he grunts tiredly, swinging the door open as the sound of Yuji sobbing fills your ears.

Shooting him a sympathetic look, you follow him inside without a word, where he leads you to Yuji. The boy is slumped against the door to his and Choso’s room, tears and snot trailing down his face as he sobs and hiccups, calling out his brother’s name between wails. Sukuna clearly tried to calm him down, based on the blanket tucked around the little boy and the plush clutched in his hands, as well as a pile of tissues that surrounds him.

Your heart drops at the sight of the little boy who holds such a dear place in your heart so devastated as he cries out for Choso. You want nothing more than to hold both kids close and let them know everything will be alright.

With his eyes shut tight, the little boy hasn’t spotted you yet.

“How long has he been crying?” You whisper to Sukuna, trying to figure out the best way to work through the situation.

Sukuna casts a glance at his phone in his pocket. “Since five.” Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he sighs. “Don’t wanna pick the lock n’ force Cho out if I don’t gotta,” he shrugs.

In all honesty, you’re a bit shocked at how strangely calm he is handling the situation, as well as how reasonable he’s being. You can’t be sure what exactly it is that’s dulling his sharper edges, between the dejection in his tone, how long this has been going on, or the weariness plaguing every movement he makes. On the other hand, it’s those same reasons that have you worried for him as signs of life seem to drain from his eyes more and more each time you see him as of late.

You spend one more moment examining Sukuna before turning your attention to Yuji.

Leaning down in front of him, you finally gain his attention. His sobs turn to sniffles for a moment as he peers at you with a lidded expression, having completely exhausted himself already. He whispers your name questioningly between gasps as though he doesn’t quite believe it’s you, wiping his nose on the back of his hand.

“Hey sweetheart,” you greet him with a soft smile. Before you can even begin comforting him, in a flurry of blankets and arms, he’s clinging to your leg, gripping you with as much force as he can manage. With a sad smile, you hug him as best as you can with him stuck to your leg like glue.

“I- m-missed-” he sobs, gasping to catch his breath, “you.”

“I missed you too, Yu.” Your voice is tight as you rub his back gently, blinking in your best effort to keep yourself from crying at the sight of the sweet boy hugging you with all his might.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on, honey?”

He backs up an inch, wiping his face again with his hands. With a hiccup, he barely manages to get out a very broken explanation of what’s going on. “Cho-” a sniffle, “won’t-” a broken sob, “let me innnnnnn,” he bawls, his words devolving into full sobs once more.

Settling on the floor in front of him cross-legged, you extend your arms, offering him a hug that you’re sure he needs. He clambers into your lap in a flurry of tears, burying his face into your shoulder.

Maybe a pale pink hoodie wasn’t your brightest choice of clothes all things considered, but that’s the least of your concerns.

Quietly hushing the little boy, you hug him tightly and rub his back. His entire body shakes violently in your arms as he’s wracked with sobs, gasping for air between each one.

“Shh, it’s okay, honey.” Your voice is quiet and gentle, gradually soothing his sobs into quiet cries and gasps. Even as he begins to calm down in your arms, he doesn’t move, clinging to you like a lifeline.

Sukuna hasn’t moved either, frozen in place as he watches the way you effortlessly calm his brother down. He can only blink as he watches you, his mind moving too groggily, too slowly, to properly process just how well you understand Yuji. But really, it’s not just Yuji, is it? It’s Choso too, and even Sukuna himself.

Deep in thought, the tattooed man scowls to himself, as yet again he finds himself considering Uraume’s words. At least before the fight, you liked him, right? Do you still, now? Does this prove that? Does last night prove that?

His heart beats in his throat at the thought and he has to swallow to choke down the feeling, because it reminds him of a much bigger question he’s been avoiding.

Why is he chasing the answer like a damn bloodhound? Does he want you to like him?

His eyes trail the length of your back as he watches the way Yuji clings to you, his fingers buried in the fabric of your pink hoodie. Your shoulder is already stained in snot and tears, but he knows you don’t mind. You’re so painfully accommodating of his family that self-reproach constricts Sukuna’s chest and he finds himself unable to move. Unable to do anything but watch.

Time and time again, you’ve told him to reach out, that he should ask for help, even as recently as a few hours ago, and yet seeing you sitting on the floor before him doing something that he should be able to do himself sends guilt straight through his heart. With the full force of a fist, it hits his chest and knocks the breath straight from his lungs.

He knows he’s only one person, that they aren’t his kids and this whole situation has just been a case of winging it from the beginning, but this is the one thing he should be able to do as a brother.

Basking in his shame and frustration, he fixes you with a scowl that isn’t made for you. 

Why are you so selfless?

Why is he so selfish?

Why is he taking up all of your time when he has no right to ask for it?

Gritting his teeth, he scratches at his stubble-dotted jaw, finding the wherewithal to sit at your side on the floor.

You cast him a glance, surprise flickering in your eyes as he takes a seat beside you. His expression is more familiar, sitting somewhere on the spectrum of grumpiness, though you’re not sure where his sudden attitude came from. In this particular moment, that’s the least of your concerns.

Yuji shuffles back slowly to look at you with glossy eyes and puffy cheeks. “I- I-” He stammers between sniffles, wiping his tears on his sleeve. “I wanna see-” he hiccups, “- my brother,” though between all the tears and his sniffles, it comes out more like ‘bwother’. “Is he-” he sniffles, “is he mad at me?”

“No, sweetie,” you soothe, “I don’t think he’s mad.” You rub his back, leaning back to get a better look at him. His chest is heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his eyes flickering every which way across your face as he tries to make sense of everything. Unfortunately he’s far too young and naive to figure out the bigger picture, which only makes everything more difficult. “I think your brother’s sad, Yu, just like you.”

He wipes his face again, a string of… saliva (?) sticking to his sleeve as he pulls back. “Sad? Why?”

You take a deep breath as you search for an answer that a five-year-old could understand. “Do you remember the person who came by to talk with Kuna yesterday?”

Yuji nods, hiccupping.

“Well, Choso didn’t like something they said.”

“Why not?”

You suppose you should have seen that coming. Children are always looking for answers where there are none.

“I don’t know yet, sweetheart. I’m gonna see if we can talk to him, okay?”

“Okayyy,” Yuji whines, rubbing his eyes.

“Why don’t you go sit with Kuna?”

Yuji stares at you for a moment as he contemplates your words before nodding, crawling off your lap in a bundle of the blanket he’s wrapped in. He grabs his plush tiger before slowly approaching his older brother.

Sukuna may not be able to provide the words his brother needs to hear, but he does still open his arms and let his brother cuddle into his chest. You shoot Sukuna a reassuring smile before pushing to your feet to knock on the door to the kids’ room. There’s no way Choso isn’t awake given Yuji’s wailing, and you’d wager a bet that he even heard everything you said just now.

Still, there’s no reply to your knock.

Turning back to Sukuna, you can see that Yuji is on the verge of tears once more and shoot him a reassuring smile before tilting your head to Sukuna. “Did Choso eat last night?”

Sukuna shrugs. “Dunno. I shoved some shit under the door but I didn’t hear him move.”

“Why don’t we make some breakfast and see if we can get him to come out for food and a talk? He’s gotta be hungry.”

Sukuna mulls over the option before nodding. “Y’want pancakes, Yu?”

“Yeah,” the boy sniffles, wiping his tears. “With lots ‘nd lots of syrup.”

Sukuna lets out something between a hum and a scoff, effortlessly setting his little brother on his feet and pushing up to his full height. “C’mon,” he urges, leading the way into the kitchen. You cast one last glance at Choso’s locked door before following Sukuna.

The brutish man begins gathering ingredients, setting them on the counter beside a large mixing bowl while Yuji grips the counter, just barely tall enough to see what Sukuna’s doing.

“Let’s get your hands washed,” you encourage Yuji, turning on the tap and lifting the little boy up so that he can reach the kitchen sink. Making sure he uses soap, you place him back down on the floor. He wipes his hands on his very messy hoodie, effectively negating anything the handwashing had done in the first place, but it’s not like you can get into his room to get him changed into something clean.

Sighing, you lead him to the table and lift him onto a chair. A bead lizard sits on the table in front of him, and he entertains himself with it for the time being.

Returning to Sukuna as he washes his hands, you follow suit, turning towards him to take the hand cloth from him.

“You’ve got a little-” you point at his shoulder, covered in stains from Yuji’s sobs.

Glancing down at his shirt, Sukuna grunts with a frown before evaluating your outfit. “We match,” he comments dryly, rolling his shoulder to emphasize the drying patches on your shoulders. “You need a new shirt?”

“Um-” you glance over at Yuji, before shaking your head. “No, I have a feeling these aren’t the last tears that’ll be on my hoodie,” you surmise with a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep light of a situation that clearly has the whole family worn to the bone, with nothing left to give.

Sukuna hums again, about to ask you to cut some bananas for the pancakes when Yuji turns towards you, weakly calling your name.

Turning your gaze to the little boy, you scoot a chair up next to him and give him your full attention. “What’s up, Yu?”

He sniffles, swallowing a lump in his throat. “Um- I made-” he pauses, holding the lizard he’d been playing with earlier up to you. “Made this for-” he stammers again, hiccupping, “-for you.”

Holding your hand out, you delicately take the bead lizard from him. One of its legs has four toes rather than three, and its tail is slightly lopsided, but it’s positively too cute.

“Um-” Yuji continues, his eyes dropping to his lap. “-but then you were-” as if the memory alone shakes him to his very core, his lower lip wobbles, parting with a sob. “-you were goooone,” he cries again, clinging to your side. It takes all of five seconds before he crawls off of his chair into your lap.

“Shhhh,” you soothe, smoothing his hair back off his forehead and rubbing his back. “I know honey, I’m sorry,” your throat is tight as he wails in your arms. “I’ve been busy with work and school, but I never stopped thinking about you, Cho, and Sukuna, you know that?” You tell him, leaning back in an effort to see his face. With puffy cheeks, he swallows a sob as he looks up at you. Holding your wrist out, you show him your bracelets, letting him fiddle with them. “See? I always had you with me.”

Sukuna’s spoon comes to a halt in the mixing bowl as he watches your interactions with Yuji. He damn-near drops the utensil too, fumbling with it until he can set it down. His heart doesn’t just flip or flutter as usual, no, it hammers in his chest when you utter something so sweet that it’s sure to cause him a cavity.

He lifts a hand up to his chest, the feeling of his heart beating erratically resounding through the tips of his fingers. His lips part as he stares down at the bowl in front of him, blinking at the half-mixed batter.

“‘M always with you,” Yuji repeats the sentiment in agreement with you between broken gasps and sobs, reaching up to fiddle with your friendship bracelets.

Sukuna can only watch the interaction from the corner of his eye as he struggles to run from something that he fears has been creeping up on him for a long time. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind sits a realization that he’s never once bothered with because it simply couldn’t be true. Now, though… His crimson eyes flicker towards you. Your features are soft as you smile for his little brother, giggling as the child gently tugs at the twine around your wrist.

A month. A full goddamn month you kept those on. You were resigned to never seeing Sukuna again and still, you kept them on. You never deleted his number. You kept him in your thoughts when your company had an open position. He knows you needed the help for your own gain, but he’s not foolish enough to think there’s no coincidence in the fact that you called him, let alone even thought about him.

He’d spent so long running that he’d never stopped to consider how he felt about all that.

His brow furrows as he turns his attention back to the batter, glowering as if it’s personally offended his whole bloodline. He doesn’t have the fucking time for this.

In an attempt to keep up his pace and continue running from his thoughts, he unsteadily grabs the spoon again and mixes the batter with a fervor that catches your attention as you cast him a questioning glance. He’s too busy scowling at the batter to notice, but you figure he’s simply stressed.

“Your big brother knows how to reach me if you kids ever need me, okay?”

You jolt at the sound of metal clattering behind you. Twisting in your seat, you catch a glance of Sukuna muttering curses to himself as he picks the spoon back up, his brow bunching up more intensely by the moment.

You make a mental note to ask him what’s up later, turning your attention back to the little boy on your lap as he slowly turns the twine tied around your wrist. His breathing begins to settle again, satisfied with your explanation as he explains the reasoning behind his color choices with the bead lizard. You listen intently, because if you don’t, his words sound more like hoarse mumbles, difficult to make out.

Yuji explains in great detail that he designed the lizard for you out of pink and purple beads, because those are the prettiest colors, just like you. You’re grateful in that moment that Yuji is too busy looking down at his creation and Sukuna is behind you, because tears finally do prick at the corners of your eyes. Yuji is positively precious and you can’t deny the fact that you adore him as though he’s your own family.

Maybe that makes things messy given your shaky connection to Sukuna, but you can be there if the kids need you, at the very least.

“Ready in two,” Sukuna mumbles behind you, barely audible.

“I’m gonna go talk to Choso, okay sweetie?” You gently let Yuji know as you set him back in his own chair. He nods, sniffling as he watches you head back towards his room.

Knocking on the door again, you wait to see if you get an answer, but there’s nothing. As far as you can tell, Choso isn’t even in the room.

“Cho?” You call gently, letting him know it’s you. “Please come have some breakfast. Kuna made you some pancakes.”

It’s deathly silent behind the door and you’re beginning to wonder if he’s somehow managed to run away, but that doesn’t seem feasible in an apartment. Not to mention that given what Choso’s upset about, you can’t imagine him leaving.

Trying again, you keep your tone gentle, but loud enough that you’re sure he can hear. “I’ve missed you, Choso. I’d love to see you,” you offer, but there’s not a sound to be heard. Frowning, you begin to wonder if picking the lock might be the only option. “Cho sweetheart, I’m worried about you. Remember when we talked about using words when you’re upset?”

From beneath the door, you just barely catch a hint of a shadow. Relief floods through you as you realize he’s there and listening to you.

Knowing that he can, in fact, hear you, you lower your voice to try to have a conversation more with him than the whole apartment. “It’s okay to need space, Cho, but it’s important to ask for it,” you explain. It’s moments like this that you can tell he’s learned a couple of bad habits from Sukuna. “Pushing everyone away when you’re upset isn’t good for you.”

The shadow beneath the door moves again.

“Do you want a hug, sweetheart?”

Click.

The door creaks open just enough to make out Choso’s face peeking through the gap. The room behind him is dark, the curtains drawn. He must have been laying in bed all night and morning.

You smile softly, pushing gently on the door to see if he’ll let you in. He hesitates for a moment before relenting, but the moment the gap is wide enough for Choso to slip through, he gingerly pads across the floor and hugs you.

Behind you, Sukuna and Yuji exchange a few words in the kitchen, followed by the sound of Sukuna’s footsteps behind you, but they stop a short distance away.

“I’m sorry,” Choso murmurs, silent tears trailing down his face as he hides his face in your hoodie.

“It’s okay sweetheart,” you soothe, holding him tightly. “I’ve got you.”

You don’t dare pull back first as he quietly shakes in your arms. He clearly needed this, but didn’t know how to seek comfort from Sukuna, and Yuji simply doesn’t understand.

Satisfied that Choso’s at least okay, Sukuna backs away to serve pancakes to Yuji, giving Choso whatever space he needs. Even if he’s guilty for entrusting this to you, he doesn’t have the luxury of being picky when it comes to his brothers’ well-being.

You can hear the clinking of forks and knives and occasional muttered conversation in the kitchen as the other two brothers eat breakfast. It takes a couple of minutes, but Choso’s breathing gradually evens out. With a final deep breath, he takes a small step back, his vision trained on the ground.

Smiling gently, you move his long hair from his face to see him better. He coughs into his elbow quietly, his voice hoarse as he speaks for the first time since last night, or perhaps even longer knowing the withdrawn child. “I thought you and Kuna weren’t friends anymore,” he murmurs, his voice cracking midway through his sentence as he wipes his tears.

“Why not?” You query, curious what Sukuna told him. Choso is far too smart for his own good if Sukuna didn’t say anything. Lying to the little boy about what happened isn’t your first choice, but you will if it helps his mental health.

He shrugs, though there’s clearly something on his mind.

“Everything’s okay,” you assure him, smiling. “What would make you feel better? Do you want breakfast, or do you wanna talk?”

“Can we-” he pauses, clearing his throat, “- can we talk?”

“Of course,” you assure him, turning to lead the way to the kitchen to talk with his brothers, but he stops you with a tug on your sleeve.

“Just you?”

Tilting your head sympathetically to his situation with his little brother and his horribly emotionally constipated older brother, you nod. He leads you back into his room, leaving the door open just a crack. You can hardly make out the floor with how dark the room is, hissing as you step on a toy dinosaur. It would be a triceratops you stepped on, wouldn’t it?

Shaking the horned dinosaur from your poor foot, you make your way to the window and crack it open. It’s still fairly early but dawn offers enough light that at least you aren’t stepping on the stegosaurus next, or the squished fruit snacks that Sukuna must have slid under the door.

Choso squints slightly as he sits on the edge of his bed. Taking a seat beside him, you’re able to finally get a good look at him. He’s still in a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, so you can only assume he laid in bed all night and couldn’t be bothered to change into pajamas. His hair is unkempt and oily, and his face speaks nothing more than utter defeat.

Though it doesn’t show much in Yuji’s personality (yet), it’s clear that Choso’s picked up a lot of Sukuna’s traits over the years. Unfortunately it seems that includes his tendency to shut others out and attempt to deal with everything on his own, which is just about the worst lesson he could have picked up from the eldest brother.

Choso kicks his foot out, his brow furrowed as he organizes his thoughts before speaking.

“Do you think Kuna can win?” He whispers hoarsely.

You can’t afford to hesitate as you reply. “Of course. He’s putting a lot of work into getting a good lawyer and putting together evidence.”

Choso nods, blinking down at his mismatched socks as he wiggles his toes in front of him. “I don’t get it,” he murmurs.

“Don’t get what?”

“Why she wants us.”

That’s a question you’re vastly unprepared for, and horribly devastated by. A child should never need to question their parent’s love. Is the right answer to comfort him and offer a reason she might want him, or to vilify her further when that’s clearly what Choso’s already thinking? Is there a right answer at all?

“I don’t have an answer for that, Choso,” you reply with painful honesty.

Choso’s brow furrows, scowling at the triceratops that nearly took you out. No wonder the poor kid locked himself away if his thoughts are plagued with wondering whether his mother even loves him.

And if she does love him, you’re sure he hopes she’ll let him go. No child deserves to handle this sort of pressure, or these sorts of thoughts. In the short time you’ve known Sukuna and subsequently his brothers, they’ve all been through a lifetime of hardship, and you can only imagine the things that would do to a twelve-year-old. He’s been forced to mature too quickly, and it’s apparent in the way that he struggles with the weight of that maturity that he doesn’t really know how to handle it.

Sukuna’s a good parental figure, at least where it matters, but he can’t teach either of his brothers how to handle something of this caliber when he can’t even handle it himself. He may have had a few extra years to grow accustomed to life, but he was still just a kid when he lost his dad. How was he meant to learn this lesson himself when no one was there to teach him either?

Choso’s eyes flit around the room in thought, but he doesn’t seem to know where to go with his thoughts or how to organize them.

“Do you want to talk about her?” You set the cards on the table, offering him the opportunity. You don’t want to push him into anything, but you hope he’ll heed your words about talking through his issues regardless. It seems to comfort him more than a hug, from what you’ve gathered.

The little boy is silent for a moment, rubbing one of his eyes with his knuckles. “Um- I don’t know what to talk about.”

“Anything,” you offer him a smile. “This is about you, Cho. I just want to help get your mind off of things.”

In the bleak darkness of the room as light very slowly begins to peek through the blinds, it becomes glaringly obvious just how much of a weight this little boy carries. It’s as though he thinks he has his own duty to uphold, one that he silently and without protest holds tight to his chest.

“I don’t remember her very much,” he croaks, clearing his throat. He kicks his feet a couple of times as he contemplates his words. “I remember playing board games with her and Dad.”

“What board games?” You query, keeping the conversation going.

Choso hums in thought. “Monopoly and Life,” he murmurs.

“Life is fun.” No comment on Monopoly.

Shrugging absently, Choso falls back into a steady silence. It’s hard to tell if he wants to stay on this subject at all given his curt replies, but between the raspy timbre of his voice and the fact that he seems to have repressed the memory of her, you can’t blame him.

“I- I really don’t remember her,” he whispers, shaking his head. He wasn’t that young when she left as far as you’d gathered that he shouldn’t be able to remember her at all, but the thought of him locking the memory away tightly feels painfully realistic. Maybe he’d even thrown away the key, given how distraught he is over the lawsuit. “She went on a business trip before Dad got sick, and- um- she never came back. Dad said she was making lots of money so we could be happy.”

Sukuna had never told you exactly what happened, just that she was gone the moment things got tough. She may have never been fond of Sukuna, but from what you can piece together, you can’t see why she wouldn’t like her own children. Still, you find yourself asking the same question as Choso previously had.

It can’t possibly be money that she wants the kids for. Sukuna’s made it pretty clear that the government aid doesn’t help enough to offset the cost of caring for kids, so it has to be out of love, right? Pettiness towards Sukuna maybe, but real love to be willing to take the kids back.

She sure has a funny way of showing her love, but you can’t possibly begin to imagine what else could bring this on.

Maybe she only ran overseas out of fear of losing her husband? It’s cowardly, but it’s the only explanation you can find in a situation where there’s no sense to be found.

Yet… didn’t Choso say she left before Jin got sick?

It doesn’t alleviate any of your doubts surrounding her motives.

“Did you talk to her on the phone?”

“Um- usually every week. When Dad did.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” Really, what more can you say? There’s nothing easy about this situation, especially in the eyes of a child that’s been able to do nothing but sit back and watch as his life is decided for him.

When was the last time Choso really got to be a kid? Christmas?

Your heart drops at the mere thought.

“I miss Dad,” Choso mousily whispers, his shoulders dropping as a silent tear falls from his cheek, down the tip of his nose. He wipes another tear on his sleeve and yawns. You wonder if he slept at all last night in spite of being locked in his room. “Dad always knew what to do.”

That’s twice now that you’ve heard that same phrase from the trio of brothers. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach at the hole his departure left in their family.

“Dads are like that. They’re good with advice,” you agree, doing your best to keep yourself neutral, letting Choso come to you with the details he wants to share. The more he can get his thoughts in order on his own, the better off you think he’ll be.

“He always made soup whenever we felt bad.”

With a lopsided smile, you tilt your head to look at the little boy. “Is that where you got your cooking skills from?”

To your surprise, something glimmers in Choso’s eyes. A hint of life. A hint of more than the dull fog he’s been cocooned in. He shakes his head with a hummed ‘mh mh’. “It was just in a can.”

“There’s nothing better than a plain can of soup when you’re sick.”

Choso nods. “Yeah. Or when you just feel sad.”

“Huh, I guess soup is a cure-all,” you hum in an attempt at keeping the air lighthearted. Choso’s opening up bit by bit and the last thing you want is to bog down the flow of conversation.

Choso begins kicking his feet consistently, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed. “Kuna makes good soup, too.”

“From a can?” You query.

Choso shakes his head.

“From scratch?” Your brows raise. It’s not that Sukuna’s a bad chef by any means, he’s actually got the craft down. In fact, your reaction doesn’t come from surprise at all. Sukuna’s a great chef, and if he had the money for the ingredients and the time to cook, you don’t doubt that he would go the extra mile to take care of his brothers. He already does if he can.

Your reaction is purely from the realization that Choso’s love of cooking likely doesn’t come from Jin. It comes from Sukuna.

“Um- I think so. I mostly just put things in the pot.”

You find yourself smiling at the thought. Choso loves cooking because it’s how he bonds with his older brother. Just like he loves Pokemon because it’s how he bonds with his younger brother.

“Kuna’s a good chef, isn’t he?” You encourage him, willing a reaction. To your delight, he blinks a few times and nods.

“The best,” he whispers.

Your eyes flicker up at the sight of a shadow under the door. Wood creaks beneath heavy footsteps that slowly retreat, the shadow dissipating. 

“Well you know, your chef brother made you some pancakes,” you tell him softly, moving a hand to rub his back encouragingly. “They’ll be cold if you don’t eat soon.”

Choso looks up at you now, a series of emotions flooding his worn out eyes. Sadness, uncertainty, confusion, and fear all swirl within deep brown irises. It’s clear he’s still braving the mess that is his mind, but he’s wading within the emotions rather than pushing them down until there’s nothing left to feel but emptiness. You’d much prefer this to the blank stares you’ve been getting so often.

He finally nods, finding it in himself to hop off of his bed to his feet as he heads for the kitchen.

“Can you hit the light?” You ask before daring to move a muscle. There may be more light than before, but that stray stegosaurus that you know is in here somewhere is too daunting to ignore. With the light on, you avoid stepping on any horned beasts or stray lego and follow after him to the kitchen.

Yuji and Sukuna still look like the better part of a disaster, obvious tear trails covering Yuji’s face, while Sukuna leans against the kitchen counter cutting a banana so slowly you’d almost think he forgot what he was doing. Because he has, in fact, forgotten.

The sound of footsteps pulls the man from his trance as he turns to see Choso. Relief flickers through his eyes as he shoots you a look that says thank you.

As Sukuna finishes up what he’s doing, Yuji cries out for Choso, hopping down from his chair to barrel into Choso at full force. Nearly toppling over, the middle brother embraces Yuji with a hint of a smile. It’s heartwarming, despite the tense air that continues to hang over the family.

Yuji’s words tumble out of his mouth in a flurry as he hugs the brunette, tears trailing down his face again. Choso may be the one who hasn’t used his voice for the better part of two months, but Yuji’s words are somehow more hoarse. “I missed- y-you, Cho, please-” he sobs, catching his breath in a flurry of gasps. “- Don’t leave me,” he gasps.

Your own expression falters as you feel uncertainty tug at your own heart strings. There’s a lot to unpack within Yuji’s words as well, and while you know most of the situation they’re in goes over his head, he’s a smart kid, too. You can’t help but wonder if he’s handling everything worse than he lets on.

“‘M sorry, Yu,” Choso mumbles between Yuji’s pleads, toppling down onto the floor as his little brother squeezes him tighter.

Sukuna remains silent as he sets down three more plates at the small dining table, cutting through the quiet only to inform the three of you, though mostly you and Choso, of breakfast. “Come eat,” he mumbles just loud enough to be heard over Yuji’s cries.

Neither of the boys are paying Sukuna any mind as Yuji hugs his older brother.

You take a step towards Sukuna as he opens his mouth, likely to tell them again that breakfast is ready. “Give them a moment,” you whisper softly. You lean in close enough to keep those words between the adults, but your close presence is gone before he has the chance to appreciate it.

And Sukuna, he’s just not sure what he’s even meant to make of that thought. When has he ever needed to stop to appreciate you being close to him?

He supposes since he tore into you over something that seems so trivial now.

He swallows hard as he turns his attention to his little brothers. You kneel beside them, gently rubbing Yuji’s back as you talk to him with so much care that Sukuna’s chest tightens.

“Your brother just needed some time to be alone, right Choso?”

The little boy nods.

“In the future if you need space, you’ll talk to your brothers, right?”

“Right,” Choso hoarsely agrees.

Sukuna scratches at the back of his neck. His brother’s voice sounds foreign to him in a way that he can’t quite identify. The twelve-year-old’s never been all that chatty, and he’s been quieter than normal since Sukuna had explained the lawsuit to them, but this is likely the longest single period of time he’s gone without so much as moving. He almost sounds sick. He almost looks sick.

Is Sukuna that bad of a guardian?

He averts his gaze to the large window by the table, pushing his worries down into the plague of other doubts he harbors. He doesn’t have the luxury of worrying about that, not when his opposition is a mother who didn’t even answer a call coming from her deceased husband’s phone.

The kids deserved better, but Sukuna has to remind himself that you’re right. You’ve told him time and time again and he has to start listening to you. His brothers want to stay with him. They love him.

And he loves them, too.

His gaze flickers to you as you smile at the boys. Sympathy, care, and something akin to sadness all swirl within your eyes as you take a seat at the table. Sukuna takes a seat beside you, leaning on his elbow.

As the boys both make their way to their respective seats and begin cutting into their pancakes (or in Yuji’s case, picking up a whole pancake on his fork and taking a bite), Sukuna can only watch in relief. He can’t remember the last time Choso and Yuji both seemed okay, despite the lines of dried tears running down their faces. Letting out a breath, he shuts his eyes as the air around him seems to lighten and he feels like he can breathe again.

You watch from your peripherals as Sukuna relaxes and finds it in himself to eat. His pancakes are more dense than yours and likely filled with protein, probably to make up for the fact that you rarely see him eating lunch.

Breakfast is silent, but words don’t need to fill the space for the meal to surround you all with an unspoken warmth.

Yuji finishes first between the boys, kicking his feet (im)patiently as he waits for Choso to finish.

“Will you play with me, Cho?” He asks, the moment the middle brother’s fork hits the plate.

Gingerly nodding, the two boys begin to hop down from their seats.

“Go change your shirt first, Yu.”

He turns to face Sukuna. “Why? This one’s clean.”

Sukuna’s lip curls in disgust. “No, it’s not. Go change.” He casts a glance at Choso, who’s still in yesterday’s clothes as well. “You too, Cho.”

Choso glances down at his clothes and nods, following slowly after Yuji to their room.

With an exasperated huff, Sukuna runs a hand over his face, shoving his plate forward on the table. There’s too many things on his mind and you’re at the center of them all. Hell, even the familial shit that you shouldn’t be a part of, he somehow ties back to you.

About to offer you a shirt again, he opens his mouth, but you voice your thoughts first.

“I should head out. Shoko and I are studying today and I need to get a couple of things together and printed,” you explain, picking up your plate and getting to your feet. “And change my hoodie,” you mumble as an afterthought, one step ahead of Sukuna.

As you set the plate in the sink with a gentle clank, Sukuna taps his fingers on the table with a grimace. A part of him wonders if you’re lying, though he has no right to think you might be. The only reason he even finds himself doubting your words is because he wants you to stay, which he realizes isn’t fair given your tense relationship.

Casting aside his doubts, he slides his chair out and gets to his feet. He trails after you, standing a short distance away as you throw your coat on and stand at the door.

If ever there was a time that the scar in your friendship was visible, this is it. There’s an ugly rift that stands between you, and for all the clawing and biting that Sukuna’s tried to tear through it, you patch it back up each and every time.

It’s not fair.

He wants to believe that, anyway. Every fiber of his being wants to believe that sentiment.

But it is. And he needs to live with that. If this is all you ever are to him, a distant kindness that exists in a vacuum of space that lives between you, then he supposes he can deal with that. He sucks in a sharp breath, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Silence stretches between you after pulling on your boots. Sukuna’s scowl is aimed at the floor, unable to meet your gaze.

“The court date is next week, right?” You finally break the silence.

“Yeah. Thursday.”

“Do you have any more meetings before that? Will the kids be okay?”

Sukuna inhales. Long, and drawn out. “Yeah. Uh- the lawyers exchanged documents n’ shit last week n’ ordered a house study. It’s Tuesday.” He pauses, mulling over the process. “Then the court date.” Pulling a hand from his pocket, he scratches the back of his head, unable to meet your gaze. Choso won’t be fine, he knows that much, but he can’t bear the thought of taking up your time anymore. “Yeah, they’ll be fine,” he lies.

His response seems off given his lacking confidence and frustrated scowl, but he’s always been tough to read, so you give him the benefit of the doubt, but there’s still one thing you made a mental note of earlier. “What about you?”

Something unrecognizable flickers within those cherry irises before he nods. “Yeah. I’m alright.”

You smile, and for a moment he swears the world falls away under his feet, leaving just you and him. “Good. I’ll catch you later, then. Text me if that changes, okay?” With a pointed look, you wait for his nod before you turn to head out.

Before you can shut the door fully, Sukuna grabs it, barely stopping you in time. “Hey, uh-” he second-guesses himself before finding his resolve. “Will you come to the court? I can have someone there… for support.”

Your expression softens from surprise to sympathy as you nod. The idea of Sukuna being alone, without even the support of his brothers, doesn’t sit well with you. “Of course.”

Relief clouds his senses. “I’ll send you the details,” he gruffs out. You nod, attempting to shut the door again, but his hold on it is steady. “Thanks.”

You can’t help but smile. You’d have to be a fool not to see the effort he’s putting into fixing his mistakes. There’s obvious changes in the way he’s thinking through his words and reactions before he says or does anything, and he’s making an effort to let you in.

It warms your heart, and it makes it every bit more difficult to pull away each time as you feel your resolve beginning to wear away. Though you do need to study.

“You’re welcome, Kuna.”

His lip quirks into the barest hint of a smile the moment the nickname slips effortlessly past your lips. He nods, relenting and finally letting you shut the door. The sound of the lock flipping behind you is the last noise you hear from the apartment as you make your way to the library to get some printing done for your study session.

–

“Wait up!” Shoko calls out as she falls into step with you on campus the following Tuesday, catching you off-guard. “You headed to work?”

“Yep! Don’t you have class right now?” You query as she follows you to your car.

“Prof’s sick,” she shrugs. “My next lecture’s in, like, four hours.”

“That’s brutal,” you grimace. “Are you gonna study more?”

She nods. “Toji asked for help in his Physical Sciences class, so I’m meeting up with him in a few.” Glancing at her phone, she shoves it back in her pocket after noting the time. “Anyway, did you hear from Sukuna after all that shit over the weekend?”

You nod. “Yeah, a little bit. He’s been updating me on his brothers.”

Shoko hums along, waiting for you to continue as she senses you’re withholding something.

“He asks a lot about my day and how I’m doing.”

Her brow raises. “You know, when you mentioned he seemed like he was actually trying to fix things a couple of weeks ago, I didn’t think it’d last.”

“Me either,” you admit, kicking at gravel as you approach your car. “I honestly thought I was just being stupid by letting him back in even a little bit,” you chuckle in embarrassment, mostly to yourself. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“I just can’t believe he’s proving me wrong,” she shrugs. “Didn’t I tell you people like him don’t change?”

You nod. “You and Kento both did at girls’ night.”

“Okay, you gotta admit it was good advice at the time.”

Reaching your car, you open the door and toss your bag in before turning back to her. “At the time, it made me feel a lot better,” you agree with a chuckle.

“Not so much anymore, huh?” She laughs along with you.

“Not so much,” you click your tongue, fiddling with your keys.

“Some fucking guy, that Sukuna.”

Your brows raise and tilt your head in some form of agreement, your thoughts preoccupied with the pending lawsuit. After a brief silence, Shoko pipes up again.

“You still like him?”

You find her gaze, your brow furrowing in thought. “I do, it’s just…” You trail off, searching for words to describe the strange limbo you’ve found yourself in. “I guess it just feels like I’m kinda getting to know him again?” You try to explain with a small tilt of your head. “Does that make sense?”

“Like, because you didn’t see him for a month, or because he’s acting differently?” She queries.

Poking your tongue into the side of your mouth, you narrow your eyes in thought. “Both? I guess I’m still getting used to him making the effort to be a good friend.” Your keys jingle between your fingers. “Okay, wait. Do you remember when I told you that Sukuna’s kind of a different person when he’s actually being himself?”

“Mhm.”

“Sometimes I see that side of him for a moment here and there, but… sometimes I’m not quite sure who I’m talking to.” You pause, contemplating exactly what you mean by that. “He’s definitely putting in effort and being nice, but sometimes I don’t recognize him at all.”

“Isn’t that mostly a good thing?”

“I don’t know,” you hum, dragging your boot through the gravel and kicking up dust as a small remainder of the last snowfall flicks onto Shoko’s shin. She shoots you an unimpressed look as you lean down to brush her pants off while you continue. “It’s just weird. I guess it’s just that, like-” you pause as you stand back up and brush your hands off. “- Sometimes things are back to normal and everything is great, but sometimes…” you shake your head, shrugging. “I’m not even sure if he knows who he is.”

“Do you think the stress is getting to him?” Shoko clarifies.

“That could be it,” you agree as she makes sense of your rambles.

“Is he that much different?”

“I mean, the Sukuna I know is still there,” you chuckle. “He’s still quiet and kind of a dick sometimes,” you explain, recalling how quiet and standoffish he’s been in the lunchroom to your co-workers since starting at the publishing house. “I think he’s actually thinking about what he’s saying more, though. Like he’s trying to be better.”

The thought brings you back to Saturday night when he’d snapped at you, only to reel himself back in. He’s still the same man, he’s still sharp and hardened, and he’s definitely still got walls up that he’s not letting down anytime soon, but it’s like he’s more aware of that fact now.

You chew on your bottom lip briefly, recalling the way he’d been unusually calm upon your arrival on Sunday morning when you went to help the kids. “But sometimes it seems like he’s just a different person. He’s not angry or anything either. He’s just not there at all.”

“Well, shit.” It’s the best Shoko can offer. It does sound like stress. Like he’s being beaten down and flattened into something he’s not.

You nod, casting a glance at your phone. “I gotta go, but text me? I’ve got some time at work today.”

“Sounds good. I’ll text you when I meet up with Toji.”

“Catch you later,” you grin cheerily as you turn towards your car.

After your conversation with Shoko, you barely have enough time to rush home, change, and make the bus in time to get to the office.

You’re at your desk seconds before your shift starts, panting after rushing up the stairs.

Amused, Yuki’s brow raises from where she sits at her desk opposite you. “Running a bit late?”

“Yeah, I lost track of time.” Taking a moment to catch your breath, you lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.

“You know no one cares if you’re a bit late, right?” She chuckles.

“I know,” you sigh, “but I want to make a good impression, maybe keep my position.”

Yuki’s eyes shine as she smiles at the thought, but she’s quickly distracted by movement behind you. Smirking, she motions past you with her pen when you finally lift your head.

Staring at the back of your head is a familiar pair of crimson irises, his expression unreadable and aloof. The muscular man’s hair is disheveled, hardly pushed back with strands falling over his forehead and into his line of sight as though he hadn’t had time to use hair gel. His shirt is also particularly wrinkled today, overall looking like he’s had a morning.

He extends his arm towards you, a familiar cup held within his hand. His hand lingers for a moment as your fingers brush when you pull the cup from him, holding its warmth between your hands.

“You’re a lifesaver,” you grin.

He hums, a hint of a smile playing on the corners of his lips although it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you, Sukuna.” You take a sip, smiling as warmth floods you, seeping into your very bones. “It’s perfect.”

“Good. You got a moment?” He asks, eyes flickering to Yuki in a silent question oh whether he can borrow you. Yuki just shrugs, careless as ever.

“Yeah, let me just log in.” You move quickly to get settled before grabbing your drink and following after Sukuna. He leads the way to his office, shutting the door behind him and leaning against his desk.

Somehow the fact that he’s not as put-together as usual with hair askew and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, you find your thoughts spiraling more than they usually do.

Or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve come to the realization that Sukuna’s not just trying to be better for you, or for his brothers, but he’s trying to be a better version of himself in general, and that only endears you to him more.

He takes a sip of his own drink, grabbing it from his desk, only to hold it out and stare at the label with a wrinkled nose.

“Did they get your order wrong?” You tilt your head questioningly.

Sukuna squints at the label, holding it a bit further back. “It has a caramel shot in it,” he mutters in reply, clearly bothered.

“Do you… need to get your eyes checked?” You raise a brow questioningly.

“Probably,” he grumbles.

“You should do that. Our benefits cover it.”

“We have benefits?”

You purse your lips. “Yeah…? Sukuna, did you read the contract at all? Even I get them and I’m an intern.”

Shrugging, he smirks. “I skimmed it.”

That’s the Sukuna you recognize. Stubborn, a little sly, but full of life in spite of his quiet demeanor.

Rolling your eyes, you giggle to yourself. “Go get your eyes checked.”

His smirk remains in place as he hums, quietly watching you laugh as though he’s trying to commit the scene to memory.

You quiet down, leaning back against the door to his office. “Anyways, what did you wanna talk about?”

“Mm,” he hums in acknowledgement, his smirk dissipating as he grows more serious. “Can you be at the courthouse on twelfth street at ten on Thursday?”

“Oh,” a lump forms in your throat at the realization that the court date is growing painfully real now. “Yeah, of course.”

Sukuna lets out a breath, nodding. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, the material of his shirt pulled taut.

And this is the shirt that actually fits him correctly.

Not fair.

“Thanks, princess.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, the sharp edges of his features seeming somewhat dulled and almost sweet as he gazes down at you.

You can’t help the smile that graces your lips as you nod.

The silence that follows allows you to get a good look at Sukuna. Although he seems to be more at ease at the publishing house and the hours he’s working between this and the occasional shift at the auto shop aren’t nearly as grueling as they used to be, life continues to take its toll on him. His eyes lack their sharp and cunning glimmer, and every movement he makes borders on languid.

“How are you holding up?”

He knows what you’re really asking. You may as well say ‘what’s wrong?’. It’s a fair question, but it’s one he hates to answer because even now his shoulders are tense and his chest aches. He’s had a headache since dawn rolled around on Monday morning.

“I’m fine,” he lies, brushing the question off as he turns back to his desk.

Sukuna’s not easy to read by any means, and anyone else probably would have believed him, but you see right through him. He doesn’t give you the chance to question him as he leans over his desk. “My lawyer doesn’t think we’ll be there long on Thursday.”

“Why not?” Your brow furrows. “Shouldn’t it be long?”

He grinds his teeth in frustration as he replies. “I don’t really get it, shit’s fucked. I guess this isn’t even the real trial, this is some sort of conference bullshit,” he explains. “It's supposed be for us to come to an agreement, but Kaori’s lawyer laid out the shit they’re asking for and it’s not fucking happening.”

“What does she want?”

“Sole custody with no visitation.”

Your eyes widen, taken aback. “You wouldn’t even be able to see them?”

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his knuckles going white as he drags his fingers across his desk until they’re directly under him, crinkling a blank piece of paper beneath him. “She’s never liked me and she made sure I knew, even as a kid.”

“I’m so sorry,” you offer sympathetically. Much like your talk with Choso the other day, you’re not sure what more to offer.

He flashes you a glance of acknowledgement, grunting. “It’s whatever. Point is, it’ll be the first time I’ve seen her in years and her lawyer’s gonna push for a full trial.” He can only shake his head in exasperation. “Her evidence is just bullshit from my school records n’ whatever.”

She’s clearly using whatever force is necessary to take the kids out from under Sukuna’s nose, leaving a slimy feeling in the pit of your stomach. What could she possibly have against her own step-son to pull this kind of move against him? She’s purposefully backing him into a corner, and you see now why his lawyer had their work cut out for them despite the case seeming like an obvious decision to anyone who’s met Sukuna and his brothers.

Picking up his iPad and shoving the papers on his desk aside, he turns on the screen and taps around the device. “You won’t believe how much this bullshit costs, too,” he grumbles. “I swear she’s doing it on purpose.” He taps on the screen a couple of times, his mounting frustration becoming obvious as he taps harder each time. “She’s fuckin’ dragging everything out, too. This all just leads to another fucking court date and more fucking money for my fucking lawyer, and she’s putting Choso n’ Yuji through so much shit, and-”

As Sukuna’s rambling grows in intensity, you push off from where you were leaning against the door, running your hand over his rigid back as he faces away from you. He stiffens, his speech cutting off the moment your fingers run along the muscles. “It’ll be okay. You’ll win,” you smile reassuringly, dropping your hand and stepping off to the side to see his face as he fiddles uselessly with his iPad.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

His temple twitches as he grits his teeth, his gaze fixed on the device in his hands. “And if I don’t?” He growls. His brow is pulled together in a tight furrow, and although his eyes blaze with frustration, it’s not directed at you.

“If you don’t…” you chew on your lip, gingerly reaching out to soothe your thumb over his hand that’s fidgeting with the volume buttons on the side of the iPad, clicking them with enough force to damn-near break them. His fingers steady as you run your thumb over his knuckles like second nature. “Then you’ll figure things out.”

His eyes flicker wildly around your face, as though he’s searching for something. He swallows hard, his gaze returning to his desk.

“Don’t worry about that, okay? You can face that if it comes to it.”

He inhales sharply and nods, twitching his fingers into yours, only for you to pull away. He knows you mean well and he still appreciates your support, but it serves as another reminder of what he’s lost.

“Right,” he agrees, turning his attention to the iPad as he opens his latest project.

Peeking over the screen, you catch a glimpse of a character that you recognize instantly despite having never seen it before. “Is that Baby Whale?”

“You can just ask to see it, brat,” he grumbles, pulling the device out from under your nose as though you’re Yuji obnoxiously trying to get a peek at whatever Sukuna’s working on.

“Sorry,” you grin innocently.

Rolling his eyes, Sukuna tilts the screen towards you. A sweet little purple whale beams at you with pink rosy cheeks. You’re forced to bite your lip in an effort to stop yourself from giggling at the sight of the brute before you who’s drawn the most cutesy character you can possibly imagine. There’s nothing wrong with it by any means, but it’s definitely not his first choice of character, you’re sure of that.

“Yeah, it’s Baby Whale. Do you guys ever get original shit or should I be worried about gettin’ a fast porcupine or some shit next?”

“Mm, I’d worry. We get them here and there, but…” you shrug.

“Great,” he sighs, reaching down to his desk to hold up a few of the pages he’d just printed to get Maya to sign off on. “Here.”

Your eyes light up as you sift through the pages. They’re for a horror-type series of some sort, as far as you can tell, of two children on an adventure, though you aren’t quite sure what it’s a knock-off of, if it is one. Each cover has a vastly different environment, from a jungle beneath a volcano to an abandoned cityscape. Though it’s not in Sukuna’s traditional sketchy charcoal style that you’ve grown to love, they’re still gorgeous. The painterly effect he’s given them is stunning, reminiscent of a watercolor painting.

“These look amazing,” you breathe, sifting through the pages. You come to land on one cover of the two kids in a crystalline cavern with a lizard crawling towards the reader of the novel.

He hums. “I don’t mind the job when I’m not drawin’ knock-off shit.”

So it is original. “I mean, even when you are, it’s gotta be better than stocking shelves, right?” You ask, gaze trained on his artwork.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Still owe you for this.”

“I thought we talked about this,” you smirk, raising a brow as you come to meet his gaze.

He lets out a breath through his nose in somewhat of a laugh. “Thanks, princess.” He pokes gently at your arm as you smile at him and for a moment a familiar air of comfort settles over you. It’s gone before Sukuna can really relish in it, though, as you pull away with a sigh.

“I should get to work. Let me know if you need anything?”

Sukuna frowns as you retreat. “Yeah. See ya at lunch.”

–

You’ve passed the courthouse a number of times on your way to get-togethers with friends across the city, but it’s never seemed to loom over you quite like this. From what Sukuna mentioned, this conference thing seems to be little more than a formality and a requirement and you’re pretty sure no decisions will be made today, unless his step-mother has some sort of miracle change of heart.

From the way Sukuna’s described her, you don’t get the feeling that’s likely.

Having never been to the courthouse yourself, you arrive decently early in case you need to fill out forms, or something of the sort.

It never really occurred to you just how little you know about the world of legal proceedings until you’d found yourself online researching proper attire. You’d landed on something you would usually wear to work anyway, a pale white blouse and a pair of fitted slacks that hug your hips in all the right areas.

A pair of simple black heels adorn your feet as they click across the ground. A stark flash of pink catches your eye, the man himself leaning against the smooth faux brick of the courthouse, smoke spiraling into the air. His head leans back against the outer building wall as he watches the smoke billow and rise.

A suit jacket hangs over his shoulders, a tie done up to his neck, though he seems to have tugged it a bit loose. His hair is pushed back out of his face with gel, though it’s so long it’s somewhat unruly anyway as a few strands still tickle his forehead.

You can’t deny that your heart palpitated once, maybe even twice at the thought of how handsome he looks with his broad shoulders pulling the suit jacket taut. It gets harder to deny your own feelings when every time you see him, he continues to prove that he has changed, and you find yourself forced to listen to the blood roaring in your ears as your heart rate skyrockets.

“Hey,” you greet him, catching him off-guard. His head whips down, his eyes trailing your outfit and lingering a moment too long on your hips. Any other day, he’d mentally scold himself for staring, but his mind is such a mess that he hardly realizes he’s doing it until you jut your hips out expectantly with a hand on one side when he doesn’t reply.

His eyes shoot up to meet your gaze, flitting down to the shy smile you wear, having blatantly noticed the way he checked you out. Clearing his throat, he grunts in reply.

Your cheeks are warm, even as you consider the emotions drawn across his face. You can’t say for sure what’s going through his mind, although you can make an educated guess when the muscles in his forehead twitch. He isn’t quite scowling, nor does he wear the familiar pride on his sleeve that you’ve grown accustomed to.

It’s exactly what you mentioned to Shoko.

This isn’t Sukuna. It’s not the frustrated man who masks his unease and fear with anger, lashing out needlessly. But it’s also not the sly and cocky asshole who’s surprisingly thoughtful and conscious of others.

It’s like he’s someone else, someone you can’t identify and don’t know how to help. His fear isn’t getting the best of him, his anger isn’t overflowing and misdirected with nowhere to go. Those, you know how to handle. But now, he’s simply lost.

“How are you feeling?”

Grateful for the nicotine calming him enough to give you a competent answer, he tilts his head in a semblance of a shrug. “Fine, I guess. Not like there’s any point in this bullshit.”

With a grimace, you take a step towards him. “Do you really think this is for nothing?”

Sukuna inhales deeply as he takes a drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke within his lungs as he considers your question. “She’s tryin’ to bleed me dry of cash. That’s all this is. If she really cared, we’d settle shit here.”

“Shit,” you breathe. Sukuna casts a glance at you, but ultimately chooses not to comment on your choice of word. “I really thought this was meant to be the actual trial,” you admit.

Blowing smoke over his head to keep it out of your face, he nods. “I did too. My lawyer explained it last week and I meant to tell ya, but then shit happened and Choso,” he motions his hand lazily through the air before dropping it at his side. “I dunno. I don’t get the point of all this shit.”

“Your lawyer just told you last week that this isn’t the full trial?” You gape. Had Hiromi steered Sukuna in the wrong direction? Shouldn’t he know this?

He shrugs again. “Nah, I just didn’t get it.”

“Oh.” Fiddling with your thumbs, you nod. “So what’s after this?”

Dropping his cigarette on the pavement at his feet, he stomps it out, grinding his foot on it. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shakes his head, frustrated with the system. “We wait a couple of months until the actual trial.”

“A couple of months?” You’re not sure if their family can make it through waiting a couple more months with Sukuna and Choso acting so distant that even Yuji’s been affected. It’s strange to think that a system meant to take every precaution and is bleeding them dry. Of money, of time, and of life.

Sukuna seems to share your dismay as he adds, “at least we get more time to prepare, I guess.”

Whispering an ‘I guess’ in agreement, you let Sukuna usher you inside with a hand on your lower back. Though he drops his hand as you head through security and check-in with a clerk at a grand wooden desk in the center of the large lobby.

It’s not long before you’re sitting in a couple of uncomfortable wooden chairs in a room full of strangers. Sukuna deliberately sits near a woman with a short brown bob, leafing through paperwork as she reviews the case she’s working on, although he doesn’t say a word to her.

“Is that your lawyer?” You ask, tilting your chin towards the woman beside Sukuna in a pristine-looking suit. She’s the definition of confidence as she flips through what you assume are notes, which helps settle your nerves a bit.

Sukuna nods, clearing his throat. “Yeah, uh, Ms. Harte,” he addresses her before introducing you both.

She smiles warmly at you, extending a professional hand. “Mr. Sukuna mentioned you would be here to support him. I’m glad you could make it,” she shakes your hand firmly.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you greet her in return. Though you have no part in the proceedings, it’s at least nice to know that Sukuna and the boys are in good hands. Sukuna definitely owes Hiromi a favor, though he doesn’t need that reminder now.

“Case number 2493, Sukuna versus Itadori.” A clerk with a clipboard in his hands waits for both parties to join him, and it’s then that you see a face so painfully familiar, yet completely foreign. You’ve never met her, but you recognize her instantly. Choso is a spitting image of Kaori Itadori, with deep umber eyes and dark brown hair. Yuji, on the other hand, clearly got Jin’s genes.

Beside her is a tall man in a full beige suit, sporting a well-kept graying beard. He walks with the same confident gait as Ms. Harte on Sukuna’s opposite side, but he carries himself with an air of superiority that you assume only money can buy. Money that Kaori clearly has, if the massive diamonds adorning her collar are anything to go off of.

Sukuna’s step-mother eyes him with disgust before her gaze trails the length of your form. A chill runs up your spine, sending ice straight through your veins that matches the look in her eyes. She regards you with so much disdain, yet it’s the mild interest that gleams in her eyes that makes your skin crawl.

The clerk leads the way down a hall to a small room labelled ‘Private Meeting Room 2’. Within the room is one long table with a number of chairs on either side. Both parties take their seats on the same side of the table, keeping a small distance between one another. Sukuna’s lawyer advises you to take a seat and keep to the back of the room, as you can’t participate in the discussion.

From your seat, you can see the way Kaori folds her hands in her lap, grinning at her lawyer as she laughs at something he says. The stark contrast to Sukuna’s silence as he leans over the table is immense, but in contrast to the nerves you expected him to have, he keeps a straight  face.

In the informal meeting room setting, there’s no need to rise as an older gentleman in judges’ attire enters the room. His pale blond hair thins at the sides of his face, gentle wrinkles accentuating his features. He takes a seat on the opposite end of the table, the soft edges of his eyes crinkling as he evaluates both parties and yourself.

You’re grateful for the intimate setting of the meeting, as it eases your own nerves. While the courthouse itself does no favors to settle the growing discomfort in your stomach, the small room has an almost cozy feel to it. There’s an air to the man before you that he wants to help and understand the case that sits well with you, as well.

“Judge Marcos will be overseeing this case conference this morning in the matter of Sukuna versus Itadori,” the clerk begins the session.

The judge settles back in his chair, clasping his hands over the documents laying in front of him. “The purpose of this conference is to come to a resolution before the matter goes to a trial.” He proceeds to explain that a case conference aims to narrow down issues prior to a trial and that this will be a more open conversation with more wiggle room than a traditional trial. He then confirms that disclosure of all evidence has taken place. With all expectations set on the table, the judge sits back as Kaori’s lawyer begins.

“Your Honor, my name is Richard Cahn and I represent the applicant, Kaori Itadori.”

Ms. Harte follows suit at Sukuna’s side, sitting upright to introduce herself as the counsel for Sukuna, the respondent.

“Counsel for the applicant, please begin.”

With the court, if you can even call the small meeting room that, now in session, mounting tension fills the air. It’s overbearing, the way the gravity in the room seems to drag down on every person in the room, yourself included.

“Your Honor, my client is seeking sole guardianship with no visitation rights of her children Choso Itadori and Yuji Itadori. We have reason to believe that Mr. Sukuna is a negative influence on the children for a number of reasons and it is Ms. Itadori’s maternal right as their mother to raise her children,” Mr. Cahn begins without faltering, introducing their points succinctly.

Clearing her throat, Ms. Harte responds with equal clarity. “Your Honor, my client is more than fit to be their guardian, as he has demonstrated over the past three years. The children’s needs are met, they are in school, and Mr. Sukuna has a clear record with no need to raise any concern regarding his abilities. My client would like to remain in sole custody of the children, however he is open to Ms. Itadori having visitation rights as their mother.”

Of course, she left out the part where that portion is much to his dismay and he’d only grant that right at the request of the kids. That’s not for the opening statements, though.

Much like Sukuna anticipated, Kaori is unwilling to cooperate. Every single option is shut down before the conversation can begin. Although he remains as an unbiased third party, even the judge seems somewhat perturbed at the obvious disdain shared between Sukuna and Kaori. Their dislike of one another runs far deeper than even that of most ex spouses that end up in this room.

What starts as a polite and orderly conversation primarily between the lawyers quickly devolves into some sort of familial tension that clearly extends beyond the courtroom. You can’t see either of their faces from your position at the back of the room, but you can feel the heat radiating from Sukuna as he seethes through each deceitfully polite performance from Kaori, but even she begins to crack when Sukuna pushes back.

“Your Honor, with all due respect, I won’t tolerate any settlements. I don’t feel comfortable leaving my children in the hands of my step-son,” Kaori repeats herself for what feels like the fifth time as the judge attempts to find a middle-ground, but she’s completely unwilling to budge. Even visitation rights for Sukuna seem to be so far off the table they may as well be six feet in the ground, along with any love she may have had for her step-son.

“You didn’t have a problem with it when I couldn’t reach you three years ago,” Sukuna quips, his anger clear through his tone although he remains even. He may be anxious as hell and equally furious, but knowing that this is all for naught and his lawyer may as well be a bill whose total increases by the second, his frustrations grow fiery.

“Ryomen, we’ve provided all the medical documents that were requested as proof of my illness and I would appreciate if you didn’t dismiss them.”

“Oh, bullshit!” Sukuna finally bursts, slamming his hand flat on the table.

“Mr. Sukuna,” the judge warns sternly, leaning over the table. “I expect proper courtroom etiquette, even here. We’re here to discuss the matters at hand, not your opinions of the applicant.”

Sukuna’s chest rises and falls as he physically bites his tongue to keep from saying something he’ll regret. Leaning back in his chair, he casts a glance at the door, desperate to escape from this room. Unlike the rest of the legal proceedings, this whole conference just serves to piss him off.

“Apologies, Your Honor, my client is simply stressed as he cares very deeply for his brothers,” Ms. Harte steps in, clearing her throat to put Sukuna’s thoughts into a court-approved statement. “While my client was unaware that Ms. Itadori was ill, he did use multiple methods of contact to reach out, and Ms. Itadori didn’t respond.” Turning to address Kaori, she clasps her hands together. “Should it not be your responsibility to inform your step-son and husband of your new contact?”

Kaori’s lawyer pipes in. “As we stated earlier, she was required to change all contact information and moved closer to her office upon starting with her new company. She shared her contact information with her husband, however it seems he didn’t share this information with Mr. Sukuna, or save her updated number before passing.”

The tattooed brute has to physically mask his scoff. He coughs into his elbow, shaking his head. He’d called from both his cell and his dad’s cell, he’d sent letters both from him and Choso, he’d emailed, and even searched social media. How convenient that she somehow had everything accounted for. That’s not even mentioning the additional money Sukuna spent to have land titles for her name pulled just to see if she had purchased new property, only to come up blank.

She had completely and utterly dropped off the face of the earth. As far as Sukuna was concerned back then, she made her position on her family clear.

As far as Sukuna is concerned now, he’ll do everything in his power to show her not to fuck with him. He doesn’t care how much his chest tightens, he doesn’t care if it feels as though he’s watching everything around him as nothing more than an observer outside of his own body. He doesn’t care if his mental health suffers for all the shit she’s putting him through.

He’ll move heaven and earth to save his brothers from her.

The judge frowns, having heard this argument already. The meeting room is running in circles like a dog chasing its own tail, they were never going to get anywhere at this rate.

“Mr. Sukuna did his due diligence and has taken care of the children for three years, they are healthy and cared for and there is no evidence against-”

“I’ll believe that when I see the house study,” Kaori interrupts, the first phrase to come from her that feels genuine as she diverts her attention to a small window at the edge of the room. Sukuna’s hand balls into a fist on the table.

“Ms. Itadori. Let the respondent finish.”

“Thank you, Your Honor. There is no evidence to disprove my client’s ability to care for the children. No one has ever expressed any concern to him. The children attend school with good attendance and have remained healthy over the years. Mr. Sukuna earns more than enough to keep a roof over their heads and put food on the table,” Ms. Harte continues.

“Your Honor,” Mr. Cahn addresses the judge. “I would like to see the house study before coming to any conclusions.”

Sukuna sighs, leaning back further in his chair. Kaori’s lawyer had pushed for a rush assessment, but even with the rush, it isn’t meant to be ready anytime soon.

“My son Choso has always been easily influenced, and I worry while he’s under Sukuna’s care.”

Sukuna’s fist hits the table. “Please-” he gripes.

“Mr. Sukun-” The judge tries to interject, but it’s no use.

“You never cared, you’re just feeding them the bullshit they want to hear!” He snarls, flipping in his chair to face her. “You care about them about as much as you care about me!”

“Mr. Sukuna. I understand being emotional in this situation, but I will not allow this behavior to continue. We will proceed without you if you feel the need to act without respect.”

Sukuna shoots Kaori one last glare before sitting back in his chair. He’s not doing himself any favors by lashing out, but he can’t help but feel as though this entire system is playing a game against him and he isn’t even aware of it. It’s as though everyone is a puppet in Kaori’s little game and the kids are prizes to be won.

Rubbing his eyes, the tattooed man sighs. “Sorry… Your Honor.”

“Ryomen, I’ve always cared about you,” Kaori sends him a disingenuous look of sympathy. Her lips curl into a false smile, but to any outsider, Sukuna knows it would appear genuine.

Even to you, it’s hard to tell.

Gritting his teeth, Sukuna keeps his gaze set dead ahead. If he doesn’t keep his cool, he knows he’ll be thrown out of the room. “Do you know when I realized you didn’t give a shit about me?”

“Watch your language,” Ms. Harte warns quietly at his side in an attempt to keep the judge at bay.

The conversation doesn’t exactly pertain to the case, but the judge remains silent. Sukuna’s question is met with no opposition.

Kaori swallows, watching with a furrowed brow as Sukuna’s adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Dad told me to go find you at my grandfather’s funeral. He was cryin’, needed some time alone. Do you remember where you were?”

Kaori’s eyes flicker down to the table. Her tongue swipes across her lower lip before she bites it momentarily.

“Do you remember where you were?” Sukuna pushes in a growl now, leaning over the table.

“Objection, Your Honor, this is not pertinent to the case,” Kaori’s lawyer speaks up, setting his foot down as he realizes that this doesn’t bode well in their favor.

“Where were you, Kaori?” He snarls, his voice gravelly as he grips the arm of his chair with white knuckles.

“Objection sustained. Mr. Sukuna, stay focused please.”

Sitting back harshly in his chair, Sukuna’s practically shaking. You may not be able to speak, but certainly as his support person, you can support him, right? Gingerly, you slide your chair forward quietly, wincing as it scrapes lightly against the floor. It catches Kaori’s attention as she shoots you a glare. You have half a mind to shoot that same glare back but that’s not important right now.

Close enough to reach Sukuna, you slip your hand over his much larger one that still grips the arm of his chair. Your fingers slide between his, slotting so easily into place as though they belong there. Your heart does a flip at the thought, but you keep your attention fixed on Sukuna and his needs.

From the corner of his eye, he glances down at your hands. His chest continues to heave in frustration, but as the conversation rolls back around to the subject of the kids and points begin getting reiterated and repeated until Sukuna’s hardly even paying attention anymore, he finds himself beginning to calm down. His shoulders gradually slouch, his fingers folding over yours as he gives your hand a grateful squeeze.

Kaori should be grateful to you, because Sukuna’s sure he would have torn into her if you weren’t here. He would have been thrown out, sure, but at least for once he might get answers to his own mistreatment by his step-mother.

How can the judge not see that the information is relevant? He huffs to himself, earning a couple of looks, but no one mentions it.

After hearing about Sukuna’s supposed inability to care for the kids for the fourth time, the judge finally raises a white flag.

“Coming up on the end of our time, I see we aren’t getting anywhere. A trial date will be scheduled for after the house study is received. Any further evidence must be submitted via the official disclosure process both to the court and each party.”

Your friend sighs at your side. Another two hours of his lawyer’s time. Another bill. More money down the drain. He knew how this would play out from the beginning.

“I would suggest you continue mediation between now and then to see if you can come to an agreement. I encourage you to attempt to understand one another outside of the court,” the judge adds, but Sukuna can’t even bear to look at Kaori. It’s of no use, and everyone within the room is well aware.

“I will issue my endorsement for a trial in writing. This matter is now adjourned.”

Breathing out a disdainful sigh, Sukuna squeezes your hand once, before untangling his fingers from yours as he pushes up out of the chair. It’s hard to get a read on him as you follow him out of the meeting room into the lobby. Standing off to the side, you allow him a few minutes to speak with his lawyer, watching the way he seems painfully frustrated as he lazily shrugs his shoulders. Even from this angle you can tell every time he rolls his eyes.

As Kaori and her lawyer approach Sukuna, his shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry the circumstances couldn’t be better, but it’s good to see you aga-”

“Don’t pretend like you give a fuck!” Sukuna barks, turning heads. Your eyes widen as all attention is suddenly on your group. Even standing off to the side, you find yourself shrinking away from the prying eyes.

“Ryomen, you know this isn’t what I wanted,” Kaori replies evenly, easily keeping her cool under Sukuna’s searing gaze.

He scoffs, waving his hand through the air in exasperation. Always the picture of a calm and perfect wife, of course she had Sukuna’s father wrapped around her finger while she went off and did her own thing. Jin could never be that upset with her so long as she batted her lashes and doubled down on her innocence.

“I don’t fuckin’ know what you want,” he mutters, laughing dryly as he casts his gaze to the side of the courthouse. His voice returns to a reasonable level, though it drips with venom. “So, what the fuck is it, then? You want money, you want to tear me down because I know what you fuckin’ did?”

His step-mother’s eyes darken in such a subtle way that an outsider might not even realize her smile is a facade. Nothing more than painted lines on a meaningless canvas. You can’t help the way a shiver runs up your spine as you slowly make your way back to Sukuna’s side when you notice security is keeping a watchful eye on him for any more disruptions. He should consider himself lucky he’s even still in the building at this rate.

Settling beside your friend, you can feel just how red hot his fury is. Kaori casts a curious once-over of your form as you stand alongside her step-son with a curious smile that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sukuna as he steps between you. He knows he asked you to be here, but he’s not about to let Kaori say a single damn word to you. You may be his support, but you won’t be involved in whatever lies she’s brewing.

You can only blink in surprise as Sukuna’s hand finds your forearm without glancing back, keeping you safely behind him where she can’t even so much as glimpse at you. Blinking up at him, you can only make out the edges of his tattoos and a glint of the uneasiness that sidles his anger.

“That was a long time ago, Ryomen. I want us to be able to move past that.”

“Yeah? Is that why we’re here? To move past everything?” He hisses in a mocking tone, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

“You wouldn’t have cooperated if I tried to work with you on this, sweetheart.”

Even from your spot behind him, you don’t miss the way your friend visibly recoils at the term of endearment. “Don’t fucking call me that,” he hisses.

“Mr. Sukuna, I think it’s in our best interest-” Ms. Harte makes an attempt to de-escalate the situation, to no avail.

“You don’t give a shit, do you?” Sukuna blows past his lawyer’s warning, his voice rising in decibels. “Cho and Yu don’t want this!”

Kaori remains eerily calm as she shoots Sukuna the most fake sympathetic stare you’ve possibly ever witnessed. “They’re kids. They’re too young to know what they want.”

“They’re smart!” Sukuna barks.

Stern voices sound behind you and you cast a glance at the quickly incoming security guards, where Sukuna will surely be ushered out.

Not that he cares at this particular moment. “They don’t care about you! They don’t even know you!” He continues, his jaw tightening. “You never even fucking visited! Don’t you know how many Christmases Cho spent asking if you called or mailed something?” Sukuna waves his hand through the air, his eyes wild with rage. If Kaori’s affected by his words at all, it’s carefully masked. “You fucked your own family!”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” a large man in a black security vest is followed closely by two other equally large men as they approach the brutish man in front of you.

In such a blind rage, their words don’t even register to Sukuna.

“If you gave a single shit about Jin, about any of us, you would have been there for the funeral,” he snarls, his chest heaving.

The security guards slowly advance towards Sukuna as Kaori replies. “I wanted to be there. I wish I could have been.”

The lawyers continue to try to defuse the situation, all the while the security guards’ intensity increases as they get infinitely closer to grabbing him and physically throwing him out. The guards may be big, but you can only imagine a man like Sukuna is still daunting.

Setting your hand on his back, Sukuna straightens, casting a glance at the guards that he’s now overly aware of, only to realize it’s not their hand. His head whips towards you as he gains clarity on the situation, his crimson eyes blazing with rage. Subtly leaning into your touch, he raises his hands in surrender, addressing the guards.

“I’m leavin’,” he mutters, his hands falling down to his side with a plop as they collide with his slacks on either side. “Thanks, Ms. Harte,” he mutters as he turns to make his way out.

The security guards follow him closely, tensing as he turns back to Kaori for one moment, his tongue poking into the side of his cheek as he contemplates something. “I didn’t tell him, by the way.” He examines her face, some sick form of satisfaction pooling in his chest as her mask breaks for a moment. Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting, but Sukuna doesn’t want to hear whatever she has to say.

You cast a glance between the two, not daring to ask any questions with Sukuna ready to blow a fuse.

Stalking through the security checkpoint at the front of the building, he pushes the large wooden doors with enough force to cause them to slam on their hinges as you follow him out into the cool outdoor air.

“Fuck!” He barks straight up at the clouds above, dragging his hands through his hair as he stares up at the overcast sky. His fingers tangle in the pink locks, tousling the strands as more hair falls out of place. “She’s such a fucking-” He cuts himself off, only because you’re still at his side. Huffing loudly, he leans over the masonry fence at the edge of the stairs out front of the courthouse, his hands covering his face.

You’re silent as he remains there for a moment, coming up slowly beside him. Leaning on your hip against the smooth brick beside him, you peer over at him.

Sensing your presence, Sukuna’s hands drop, crossing over one another out in front of him. Letting out a breath, he absently cracks his knuckles, staring at the bare winter trees that extend in front of you. His chest heaves with every breath he lets out, his muscles tensing with each time he barely holds back the choice words he wants to say about his step-mother.

You stay silent at his side, offering quiet comfort in your presence, but it’s your hand on his bicep that truly calms him. His entire demeanor shifts as your hand gently rubs up and down his arm in a soothing motion. With one long inhalation, he tilts his head to look up at you.

He’s not sure why he expects to see a look of disappointment. Deep down, some part of him expects you to retreat back into your shell after he caused a scene, but you only peer down at him with understanding and what might even be grief. He’s not sure why he would even suspect you to regard him with disappointment when that’s not who you are. You get him.

His brow furrows further the longer he stares at you, growing frustrated with himself for projecting his own negative thoughts onto you.

“What’s on your mind?” You query at the sight of his glower.

Averting his gaze, he shakes his head. “Nothing.” He shifts slightly into your touch, reaching up to rub your hand with his opposite one. With one last pat on your skin, he stands upright, rolling his shoulders back as he turns away from you to face the courthouse with a huff. “I should let you head back,” he mutters, barely audible.

“Actually, um-” you pause, shamelessly watching the way he raises a large, veiny hand to his shoulder to attempt to rub at a knot in his muscles. Tearing your gaze away, you push down the uneasy flip that your stomach does at the realization that the grumpy man standing in front of you has changed and even if things are never the same as they once were, you’re happy to stand by and support him and his family. After all, you don’t need to let him carve the same place in your heart that he once had, right? He can be important to you without holding such a big piece of your love.

If anything, maybe the distance between you will help you overcome your feelings and be what he clearly needs.

A friend.

It may hurt to know your feelings aren’t reciprocated, but you’re happy to hold him dear as a friend if it’s all you ever are to one another. Once you overcome your infatuation, you’re sure you can find a comfortable place within his life that makes sense for you both, rather than hoping for something that will never work.

As you hesitate with the mess in your mind, Sukuna turns to face you, raising a brow expectantly.

“Sorry, um- did you want to grab lunch? I’m hungry.”

His eyes widen briefly at your offer. Not an offer for help, or support for his siblings or what he’s going through. Just an offer to hang out. To be friendly.

He’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“I, uh- I can’t really afford lunch. I’ll just-”

“I’ll pay,” you offer without thinking twice.

His brow furrows as frustration crosses his features.

But he’d have to be an idiot to say no.

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?” He gruffs in spite of his standoffish expression.

“A new ramen place opened up near me that I’ve been wanting to try but their hours are awful so I can never go after class or work, but I bet they’re actually open right now.”

“Whatever you want,” he agrees. “Lead the way, princess.”

As you shyly avert your eyes at the nickname with a sweet smile crossing your lips, two things occur to Sukuna as he follows behind you to your car.

The first; he’s never considered himself a particularly lucky man, but when it comes to your place in his life, he may have won the lottery. He can still see your walls, he knows he hasn’t patched the bridge that stands between you, but at least if he treads carefully you’re still there and for that he’s beyond grateful.

And the second; no matter how tense his muscles are, no matter how empty his bank account is, no matter how badly he wants to tear into Kaori in a courtroom and have the judge take his word for how shitty she is, you still manage to make him smile.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter - coming soon

❦ a/n ; i put together some husband!wyk!sukuna headcanons if you wanted to check those out here and i put together a playlist here <33

helloooo!! thanks for all the patience with the delay between chapters, i appreciate it <33 it gave me the time to not only write out both ch13 and 14, but also ensure they fit well with one another and all the details make sense.

a lot of research went into this and i want to thank my two absolutely lovely followers @/aagathokakologicall and @/notcharliw for all their help with the legal details as well! information on proceedings isn't super readily available and they were a huge help! i also took a few liberties to try to make sure the processes are easy to follow and interesting for the audience, so hopefully i've pulled that off here! i was hoping to land somewhere between tv drama and realism.

if you notice any errors in the legal processes... no you didn't :) LMAO

i say it every time and will continue to say it: thank you so much as always for all the love for wyk <33 it makes my day and it's a big driving factor in my motivation to write, so thank you. i appreciate you all and i hope you enjoyed 🫶

❦ taglist ; OPEN. please comment here or on the masterlist if you would like to be tagged. age MUST be easily visible on your blog.

@yenayaps @kunascutie @aiicpansion @fushitoru @gojoscumslut

@hellish4ever @cuntyji @theonlyhonoredone @catobsessedlady @timetoletmyimaginationfly

@clp-84 @coffee-and-geto @candyluvsboba @favvkiki @gojodickbig

@spindyl @ohmykwonsoonyoung @kyo-kyo1 @officialholyagua @jeonwiixard

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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune

[julymusings]

i could be yours part one

i could be soft and sweet, i could be hard and loud, i could be anything you ever need somehow.

prequel to simplicity!!!

or; an entire summer of chance encounters with the so-called prince of gotham [9.5k]

Jason todd x f!reader warnings: intoxication & vomiting (w/ description), suggestiveness, discussions of toxic relationships (cheating, emotional manipulation, misogyny); special dedication to @fluffy-anna who inspired this au with the ask that started it all‼️‼️😳

part one | part two | series masterlist

June 12th

Jason finds his brother at the entrance of the event, waiting for him with crossed arms and looking displeased.

“You are very late, Todd.” Damian looks up at him. His face is shadowed in front of Jason, whose head blocks the sun from Damian’s view. He wears a t-shirt with the Wayne Animal Sanctuary logo printed across the front and a name tag on the left side of his chest.

“Sorry, kid,” Jason says, and he means it. “Traffic.”

“No matter. I have a job for you.” Damian turns toward a table with a sign that reads, ‘Volunteer Sign-in”, but Jason stays rooted in place.

“What? No, I’m not letting you put me to work,” Jason scoffs.

“Why else would you be here?” Damian asks, looking affronted.

“You asked me to show up, I showed up. Isn’t that enough?”

“It is not, Todd. All you have to do is sit in a chair and ensure no one steals a dog. Is that too much work for you?”

“If someone manages to steal a dog from you of all people, they deserve to keep it.”

“Flattery is not going to get you out of doing work. Do not push me.”

Jason snickers. “Don’t push you? Or what? You’re half my size. I’m so scared.”

Damian huffs. His bright eyes narrow to something more menacing. He takes a sharp breath in for what Jason thinks is an attempt at puffing his chest and appearing intimidating— he’s wrong.

“Wow, Todd,” Damian bursts out loud enough for the surrounding tables to turn their attention. “You think we should send them to a kill shelter? Shame on you!”

Jason can feel the scathing stares shot at him without breaking his glare at Damian. “Funny. That’s really funny, Damian.” Jason says, sarcastically. “I’m leaving now.”

“You think we should abandon them on the side of the road?” Damian shrieks. “That’s low even for you.” He shakes his head disapprovingly.

Jason doesn’t engage, only turning around to walk back to his bike. He stops short, however, when he sees a little boy looking up at him with widened eyes. He's frowning, one tiny hand fisted in the hem of his cat-decorated shirt. The other is wrapped around the fingers of another man, presumably his father. Though Jason towers over him, the father looks at him with disgust.

He stifles a groan and turns back to Damian, who sports a brilliantly cheerful smile. Jason drops his head and sighs. “Where do I go?”

“You have to sign in, first.” Damian leads him to the center table, and Jason accepts a pen from the stink-eyed woman behind it to add his name to the list.

“Will you be making a donation?” Damian asks. When Jason hands back the pen, the woman purses her lips in contempt. Jason glares at Damian, but he is unmoving in his fake oblivion.

Jason reaches for his wallet.

“You could at least pretend you’re excited to be here.”

You hold your hand in front of your face, shielding it from the brightness of the afternoon. “Why?” You grumble. “I doubt the animals care.”

“Of course they do!” Your friend is much too bubbly for someone who stayed up until early morning drinking wine and watching reruns of nineties sitcoms on cable. “They can literally smell your emotions. They’ll know if you hate them.”

“I don’t hate them.” You roll your eyes, though it’s blocked by your large sunglasses. “I would just really rather be in bed right now. And I’m surprised that you wouldn’t. How are you not hungover?”

“Um, maybe because I didn’t drink an entire bottle all on my own.” He takes your hand and leads you through the throngs of people gathered around playpens of cats and bunnies.

“Did I drink that much?” You say it quietly, more to yourself than to him, but he picks it up anyway.

“Yeah…I only drank, like, two glasses? You didn’t notice?” He’s stopped at the end of a line leading to a pen of small rescue dogs.

You tilt your head, squinting at him through your sunglasses. “Does it look like I noticed?”

The line moves up as others clear out, having had their fill of playing with the dogs. The late spring sun beats down on your neck and arms, the light and sounds intensifying your headache, and you can’t help but sigh.

“Oh, what now? I planned this for you. I thought you wanted to adopt a dog.” He says, lifting up your sunglasses to get a peek of your eyes before you swat his hand away.

“To adopt a dog, you need a place to live.” The two of you move up forward in the line. “I’m sleeping on your couch right now.” Your stomach twists, and you’re not sure if it’s from the hangover or the reminder.

“Right now,” he reminds you. “But you’ll find a new place, and a new guy, and then you can take it on walks to your old place and make it poop on the lawn.”

Your forehead crinkles as you draw your brows together. “The guy or the dog?”

“Whichever one you want.”

This earns your first (sober) smile all week, and he brightens up.

“I don’t think I want a new guy just yet,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Well, you don’t need, like, a serious guy,” he says. “Just, like, a rebound.”

“A rebound? Seriously?” You scoff at the idea.

“Yeah, seriously. Just to get back out there, you know? Take your mind off of…” His voice fades out, both of you already knowing where he was going.

“I don’t think a rebound is what I need right now,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “I just need to find a new place to live.”

“Not even if it’s him?”

You follow his gaze to the person manning the area, his face coming into view as more patrons clear out.

“Damn.” Your friend fans himself as he comes into full view.

“You are so dramatic,” you say, but you can’t stop your gaze from sliding across his broad shoulders.

“Oh my god, I think I’m about to pass out. He looks like marble.” He grips your arm, pushing his weight onto you with a pleading cry of your name. You swat him away. “Please. Please. If not for you, for me.”

The man is…well, he really could pass as marble. His face is composed of sharp angles and rigid features, with a hard facial structure and crooked nose stolen from David himself. He sits in a chair next to the playpen with a relaxed posture, his arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of him. He looks indifferent to the noise around him—lazy, even—but there’s no mistaking the alertness of his eyes, the way they scan along the length of the park, surveying each passing patron with mechanical precision; as the line moves up and people speak to him, he studies their faces, eyes falling to their hands, their pockets, and their shoes. It earns him some uneasy glances— the discomfort his probing, baring gaze causes, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn’t care.

By the time it’s your turn, the crowd has lessened. The sun is just past its peak, and the late-afternoon drowsiness has set in for most people. The dogs are romping around in the shady grass underneath a tent to protect them from the heat, and you’re grateful to get a break from the harsh sunlight when you approach, finally able to lift your huge sunglasses and rest them atop your head.

The man—Jason, the sticker on his shirt reads—takes your tickets and you let yourselves into the playpen. He looks you up and down with the accusatory eye of a trained spy; you begin to feel guilty for things you never did, every small mistake you’ve ever made coming to the front of your mind. He looks at you like he can sense it. Now that you’re seeing him up close, there’s a small tuft of white hair at the front of his hairline that, from afar, looked like a reflection of sunlight. It’s a bit jarring, making someone so young-looking stick out in a crowd. You catch yourself staring, and so does he. His jaw tenses and he looks away.

“Five minutes,” he says.

Immediately, you and your friend are overrun by small and medium-sized dogs jumping onto your legs and climbing over each other for your attention. 

“Okay, wow. Hi there!” You squeal, kneeling on the ground as they crowd around you and your friend. All the dogs have tags on their collars with their names and the Sanctuary logo on the front. Your friend zeroes in on an excitable retriever puppy who jumped into his lap and is licking all over his face. 

“Lucy,” he reads from her name tag. The dog’s tongue lolls out, teeth baring in a smile as he scratches under her chin.

“Cute,” you say, watching their interaction. Lucy jumps into his arms and he coos, attacking her with kisses.

“Isn’t she?” He scoots closer to you. “Aren’t you feeling better?”

“I guess so,” you sigh, patting another dog's head before it notices two other dogs fighting over an enticing twig and scampers away to join.

“You know what would make it even better?” He asks, and you raise your eyebrow, though you know where he’s going.

He jerks his head towards Jason, eyes widening suggestively. When you stare at him, unamused, he scoffs and smacks your arm with the back of his hand.

“Come on, he’s perfect!” He whisper-shouts. “Just look at him. God, if I were single…”

You roll your eyes but look at him anyway. He looks flushed from the sun. That, or his decision to wear jeans and a leather jacket in this weather.

“I’m not sure I trust someone who dresses that warm in June,” you reply.

“Why worry about how he’s dressed? Just worry about un-dressing him.” Your friend snorts at his own joke, and Lucy startles at the sound, sniffing around his face for the source.

“Besides,” he continues, “I’m not sure you’re in the place to judge what he’s wearing.” His gaze drops to your shirt. “Like, I get the whole ‘putting-in-no-effort-post-breakup’ thing, but what is that shirt? Why is there a cockroach on it? And why is he holding a briefcase?”

You’re a little offended by that. “It’s…it’s The Metamorphosis. We read it in high school. Together.”

He narrows his eyes. “You know I blocked out everything from before I turned twenty-one.”

You press your lips together. “Fair enough.”

You spare a quick glance back to Jason, but he’s busy staring down someone walking by. Near his chair, in the corner of the pen, you notice for the first time a slightly older dog sleeping under small streaks of sunlight that seep through holes in the corner of the tent. It’s almost silly how it mirrors Jason— dark, furry legs sprawled out in the grass against black denim doing the same. Its ears flop open, just like the black waves that stick up in some places. The dog is even graying around its nose, white whiskers stark against the expanse of black fur.

You shuffle over on your knees, and the dog’s ears twitch, brown eyes opening to peer at you.

“Hi,” you murmur, palm outstretched for him to sniff. His tail thumps against the grass. You rub his belly and he rolls completely onto his back, tail wagging harder. 

You can’t help but giggle. “What are you doing all the way over here? Didn’t want to play with your friends?”

“Senior dogs aren’t as popular.”

You look up; Jason’s gaze is fixed on you, calculated, yet unreadable. You feel warm under his stare.

“Sorry?”

“He’s a senior dog. Most people prefer the puppies. More energy. Cuter.” He looks across the pen, to where your friend is holding multiple puppies in his lap. “Easier, emotionally speaking. ‘Cause they’ve got more life left.”

Your heart sinks as you look down at the dog in front of you. He pushes himself onto his legs, and it's clear he moves much slower than the younger dogs, but he’s just as adorable. His nose pushes at your hand— a request to keep petting him.

“That really…sucks.” You scratch behind the dog’s ear and his back leg twitches.

“Not much we can do about it.” He sounds aloof, but he rubs at a spot over his chest as he says it.

“Well, I’d adopt him if I could. Little…” You check the tag hanging from his collar, leaning closer to make out the engraving. “…Monster…Truck?”

Jason’s brows knit together. “Seriously?” He turns toward you, and you show him. He laughs— it surprises you. He looks so different when his face is broken into a smile. Nothing like the guarded, indifferent look he wore until now.

Jason looks behind you, squinting. “He seems…eager.”

Your friend is lying on his back, laughing as the dogs climb over him.

“He is.”

“Good idea to come here,” Jason notes. “Seen a lot of couples around; fun place for a date.”

Your lips quirk up and you shake your head, opening your mouth to correct him when you’re interrupted.

“NO!”

You both whip around and see your friend bolting upright. The dogs skitter away from him, and he crawls over to you.

“We are not a couple, I guarantee you.” Your friend is close to shouting. “I’m actually—” He flicks his wrist down, and you stifle a groan. “And also taken. So this—” He gestures between the two of you. “Not happening.”

Jason nods. “Oh, okay. Um…sorry.”

He points to himself. “Not single,” he says, then points to you. “Single. Not single,” he points to himself again, then back to you. “Single.”

“I think he got it.” You keep your eyes locked on the ground in front of you.

“Just making sure! You know, we’re in the middle of a misinformation crisis. So, you should always be fact-checking.” He pats you on the back and looks Jason right in the eye. “She is single.”

You face him, eyes wide with pursed lips. “Thank you,” you say, through gritted teeth. “For that.” 

“Anytime,” He flashes a bright smile and shuffles away.

You take a steadying breath and slowly turn back to Jason. He looks confused more than anything else.

“Sorry.”

“No—no worries.”

You stay silent, patting ‘Monster Truck’ on the head.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” Jason says, after a minute of silence.

“Oh! Thank you,” you grin. “Do you…like Kafka?”

“Yeah, I do. Is The Metamorphosis your favorite?”

“Definitely. Although I might be biased; I have a preference for tragedies.”

Jason leans closer. “You think it’s a tragedy?”

You tilt your head. “How is it not? Gregor never wanted to become what he did, but his parents still blamed him for it. They hated him, hurt him, and were relieved when he died when all he wanted was to keep being their son.” The dog rests his head on your knee, and you move your scratches to his back. There’s a quirk in Jason’s cheek, like an almost smile. “But the tragedy is that, in their eyes, he stopped being their son the second he changed. He was a monster to them, and he stayed that way until he died. He hoped that they would love him again, but he was doomed from the day he changed.”

“You don’t think Gregor was a monster?” Jason asks amusedly; you didn’t mean to get so passionate about Gregor Samsa today, but he’s clearly not complaining.

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Do you?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. I’m surprised you don’t think it’s a tragedy. What is it to you?”

He shrugs. “Horror?”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, sure.”

He chuckles. “You don’t agree?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Seems like you don’t,” Jason teases.

“Please don’t put words in my mouth, Jason.”

He laughs again, louder this time, and it sounds like music. You can’t help it; you break into a grin—something about his laugh is so contagious. You want to swallow the sound and be drunk on it for days.

“Seems unfair that you know my name and I don’t know yours,” Jason says.

A high-pitched squeak sounds from behind you, followed by a gruff throat-clearing, and a mumbled Sorry. You ignore it, eyes squeezing shut in a silent prayer that he can’t sense the sheer amount of heat radiating off of you.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. Like it’s something special to be held close.

He tears his eyes away from you when more people approach the pen, a line beginning to accumulate. You realize you’ve been here way longer than five minutes, and stand, brushing grass and dirt from your knees.

“We should probably…” You nod towards the people waiting.

“Yeah,” Jason agrees, sounding disheartened.

He stands, offering a hand so you can step over the playpen walls. His skin is rough, but warm, and your skin buzzes under the contact. As you swing your legs over, Monster Truck whines and paws at the walls of the enclosure.

You frown, leaning down to give him one final scratch under his chin. “Sorry buddy, I’ll miss you.”

Your friend climbs out after you, but steps away, giving you some distance.

“Maybe, um…” Jason’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. “I’ll see you later?”

You nod, smiling. “Definitely.”

The sun is setting, and you’re drowsy and sun-tired from spending the day walking around the park. At every table and tent you visited, application forms for adoption and fostering taunted you from their piles, and you thought about little Monster Truck, old and lonely in his cage at the shelter, while there’s nothing you can do about it. Then you thought about Jason, his interesting views on literature that you’d love to hear more about, and how good he looked under the dappled sunlight shining down on him through the trees. Maybe he could be a good rebound, you think as you walk around the park, stealing glances at where he sits in the hopes of catching him as he leaves. But the more you think about him, the more your traitorous mind, too romantic for your own good, spins ‘rebound’ into possibilities of ‘casual’ into ideals of ‘relationship.’

Your friend is pulling the car around when you spot him a few tables down, an easy smile on his face as he talks to a beautiful woman with red hair and glasses.

He’s standing so close to her, you notice. He laughs at something she says. It’s the same laugh he gave to you. It leaves a bad taste on your tongue.

How much do you even know this guy? One conversation isn’t enough to gauge his character. You were presumptuous to assume he was flirting with you; there’s no way someone like that is single. Looking at him now, you’re brought back to days as a bright-eyed tween girl with a crush on the pool’s college-aged lifeguard. In other words— delusional.

He leans down and kisses the top of her head.

‘Relationship’ suddenly follows a thread of lies, manipulation, and excuses, all woven into a tapestry bearing nothing but three wasted years.

And for what? Ideals?

Shame sinks into your stomach, burning through to the surface of your skin. It’s like he can feel your stare because he looks up and his eyes immediately find yours. Frustrated tears prick at your eyelids as he squeezes the woman’s shoulder in goodbye and makes his way over.

Two seconds too late, the car pulls up to the park's edge. Your friend waves you over, and you’re half-tempted to make a run for it. But Jason calls to you, and on instinct, you turn.

“Hey, I was looking for you.”

You manage a strained smile, unable to form any words.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mhm.” You give him a nod.

The minute tilt of his head tells you he knows something is off.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Okay, well, there’s a good place for coffee not far from here. If you’re interested.”

“I’ll be sure to check it out.”

There’s a shift in the air. You both feel it.

“Actually, I meant…if you wanted to go now,” he says.

The fucking nerve of this guy.

“Why would I want to do that?”

This gives him pause. He looks at you with those calculating eyes, searching for something you refuse to give him. After a few too many seconds, he responds.“I thought you maybe wanted to—”

“Oh my god, Jason, no!” You spit. The force of it catches both of you by surprise.

He clears his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Okay. Sorry to bother you.” He walks away before you can say anything.

Your legs carry you through your haze of indistinguishable emotions and into your friend’s car.

“What was that?” He asks, as soon as your seatbelt clicks into place.

“I don’t know.”

You spare one last look at the park. You have a clear view of Jason through the crowd, back with the same woman and now joined by another man. He’s shorter than Jason, and a little more tanned. He claps Jason on the back in a warm, familiar fashion. He and the woman’s hands are interlaced, and from the way she looks at him, it’s clear you made a mistake.

“Oh, fuck me.” You lean back against the headrest, taking a deep breath to soothe the stabbing pain in your chest.

“Do you want to go back?” Your friend offers. He peers at you sympathetically, and that only makes you feel worse.

“No. No, please just drive.” You drop your face into your hands, voice cracking.

His palm finds your shoulder. “Maybe it’s for the better. Like, everything happens for a reason, you know? For all you know, he could be a murderer. Or something.”

You want to find comfort in his attempts, but you just can’t.

“Drive. Please.”

“Things are gonna get better for you. I can feel it.” He shifts gears and peels away from the curb. The park disappears in your rearview mirror, and you can only hope he’s right.

June 30th

Things got worse.

On one particularly difficult day, you drag yourself back to the animal shelter because you just couldn’t get Monster Truck out of your mind.

“For the record,” the employee says as he leads you to his enclosure, “We just call him Monty.”

Monty, having already heard your voice as you approached, was waiting at the gate with wide eyes. His tail swung from side to side, and the sight of him had you melting.

The employee unlocks the gate and Monty lumbers out, panting happily and jumping onto you as you kneel.

“Hi, buddy!” You smush his face between your hands. “I missed you.”

“Have you filled out an application?” The employee asks.

“Oh.” You flush. “I’m sort of…in the process of moving right now. So…no.” It’s a half-truth. Your stuff is all in boxes and ready to be moved. You just don’t know where yet.

“That’s okay, you can still fill one out now! The process might take some time, anyway. Where are you moving to?” He has an unsettlingly bright smile. You feel like he’s already judging you.

“I’m…not sure. Yet.”

“I see.” He smiles even wider, somehow. “Then where are you living now?”

You blow out a sigh. “At a friend’s.”

“So, you’re essentially homeless?”

“Woah, dude.”

“If you aren’t planning to adopt, then you can’t visit the animals as you please. This isn’t a petting zoo.”

You share a few choice words with the employee, including a not-so-whispered ‘jackass’ (to which he says, ‘I heard that’ and you shout a ‘You were meant to!’) on your way out the door.

Later on that month, you heard about a modest one-bedroom apartment from a friend of a friend, whose friend knew the landlord; a little above your price range, but you could manage. You went through all the proceedings— references, background check, credit check, coming up with the money for a deposit—you were all ready to sign the lease and move in when you got the call.

These things fall through sometimes, the landlord said. Sorry it didn’t work out.

So tonight, when your friend, sick of your week-long pity party on his couch, hauled you into his Uber to join his date night, you thought, what the hell. Sure. 

Your friend and his boyfriend are insufferably cute. Normally, you’d smile at the way they’re all over each other on the drive to the club; kissing each other’s palms and stroking one another’s hair. 

Now it feels gloating.

Although this, you suppose, is your normal now, and while you can bear their playing footsie in the Uber, bear the hands in each other’s back pockets while waiting in line, bear playing photographer for them over the first round of shots, you draw the line at the sensuous, touchy dance moves happening three feet away from you. Not wanting to be the jealous and bitter third-wheel, you manage to grab their attention long enough to point to the bar and make your escape.

Still fairly early in the night, most of the stools are empty. You slide into one, and the bartender, a dark-haired woman whose name tag reads ‘Luisa’, approaches with a smile.

“What can I get you?”

You order a shot and, after a quick glance back to your friends (they’ve escalated to full-on grinding), you add a cocktail.

You throw back the shot with barely a grimace and start downing the cocktail. Luisa whistles.

“Everything okay?”

You merely shrug, not bothering to remove your mouth from the glass. Or breathe. The liquid level lowers at a steady speed until you’re left with only a few ice cubes.

Someone from a few chairs down scoots over to the seat next to you. 

“Wow.”

You don’t look at him, but the voice sounds male.

"I like a girl who can handle her liquor. Can—"

“No,” you say, not lifting your eyes from the counter.

You hear him scoff from beside you. “You could at least—"

“Nope.” You swish the straw around in the glass, pushing the ice cubes about. They clink against the corners of the cup.

“There’s no need—“

Something about this guy, and every guy to ever exist, fills you with exhaustion and rage. You drop your head into your hands, and groan. Loudly.

You hear his footsteps receding, as well as some curses flicked your way, but take an extra minute to hide in your hands. You think to yourself, when did men get so much audacity?

Another glass is set down in front of you. You look up; it’s Luisa. She wears an understanding grimace.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Break-up?” She asks, and you nod. “This one’s taken care of.”

“By who?”

“Don’t worry about it. Though, I do expect a generous tip later.” She winks, and you crack a smile for the first time that night.

“Why are men so…” You pause, searching for a word that adequately sums up what you’re feeling, but come up with nothing. She seems to get the point.

“Trust me, I know.”

“Yeah? What happened to you?” You sip the drink; the glass is cold in your hands, and it feels good against the humidity of the packed club.

She sighs, resting her forearms against the bar counter, fingers playing with the edges of her apron. “What didn’t?” At your sympathetic look, she continues. “I was with this guy for a few months, and everything was great. He was so sweet and loving. I thought he was, like, the one. Met each other’s families and everything. He started talking about moving in together…I was worried we might be moving too fast but he kept pushing it, saying stuff like ‘I want to be with you for the rest of my life, and I want the rest of my life to start right now!’” She accentuates her imitation with finger quotes and a high-pitched voice.

You squint at her with furrowed brows. “Isn’t that…When Harry met Sally?”

She laughs dryly. “Yeah. I hadn’t seen it. You want another?” She nods toward the glass you set down, now empty.

“Please.”

While assembling yet another cocktail for you, she resumes her story. “So I agreed, and he moved into my place, and then…” Luisa trails off, muddling mint and lime juice at the bottom of a shaker.

“Then…?” You prompt.

“Well, I found out that the day he started pressuring me into moving in together…that was the day he got his first eviction notice.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She pours your drink into a fresh glass and adds a straw, then slides it over the counter to you. “And I found out because he was four months behind on rent, and the landlord came to my place looking for him.”

“Oh my god!” You gasp, your chest burning with anger on her behalf. “What did you do?”

“I called my sisters. While he was at work, we changed the locks, packed up all his stuff, and left it on the curb.” She smiles at the memory. “Then I never saw him again.”

You snort into your hand. “So…you evicted him.”

“Essentially,” Luisa shrugs. “What about you?”

You huff. “Cheated,” is the only word you can get out, shoulders sagging as you fiddle with the straw.

“I’m sorry,” Luisa says.

"S'not your fault," you slur. Your three drinks are catching up to you. That doesn't stop you from ordering another.

Later into the night, when the crowd density around the bar has almost doubled, Luisa excuses herself to tend to the rising drink demand. You miss talking to her as soon as she leaves, but it's no matter because you're not sure your speech is even intelligible at this point. You're left with a grand total of three cocktails and two shots, the empty glasses surrounding your personal pity party at the bar. You're entertaining yourself by stacking the glasses atop one another when you hear a second set of footsteps behind the counter, though you're in no condition to comprehend the exchange.

"Hey, have you gone on break yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Okay, go. I'll cover you."

Your phone vibrates, and it takes a few tries for your clumsy hands to wrestle it out of your jeans' minuscule front pockets.

Unknown Number hey i want to fix this we can't throw away three whole years just because of one silly argument

You sho is yhid

Unknown Number i had to get a new number because you blocked me

You new nuumbrt who ids oj

Unknown Number wait are you drunk right now?

You y7es

Unknown Number i can't believe you, i'm trying to fight for our relationship and you're out drinking?

You fuvk ogg twat

"New number my ass. D'you see this shit?" You hold the phone up, facing the screen to Luisa. "How much you wanna bet he jus' borrowed— oh."

When you look up to where Luisa's face was, you're met with...nothing. A black void encapsulates your entire field of view.

"Am I passing out?" You ask, to no one in particular.

"What?"

The sound comes from above the black, and you follow it.

"Oh, shit."

You find a pair of green eyes narrowed at you, scanning you up and down. If you were more sober, you might feel somewhat intimidated by the burning stare. But any hint of sobriety has been thrown out the window and apparently took your filter along with it.

His face is somewhat blurry, but the unmistakable streak of white hair has you ninety percent confident that it’s...him in front of you.

Jason. From the animal shelter. Who you got along with, and then treated like shit.

“Woah! What’re you doin’ here!” It comes out as an exclamation more than a question and your words blend together, the alcohol making any speech require ten times the usual effort.

“What am I doing here?” It’s not accusatory, but rather genuinely confused. His voice is even, distant. Not a trace of the warmth you had last time to be heard.

You mimic his expression. “Do you, like…work here or something?”

He stares at you, dumbfounded. His face reads, this must be a prank. His mouth reads, after a moment’s pause, “…Or something.”

You sweep another look down his body. A black, short-sleeve T-shirt, well-loved jeans, and a pair of work boots grace his deific figure. You linger on his arms for a few seconds.

He clears his throat, and you’re drawn back to his face. He raises his eyebrows, unamused. The morning will be clouded by a haze of regret for how openly you check him out. But the morning’s not here just yet.

“You’re the barten—the bar…bar-man?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but you answer your own question.

“Nah, you’re…you are…can’t be bar-man. You don’t gotta apron!” You point at him, jabbing your finger so aggressively it shakes your whole body—a clear mistake from the way it makes the alcohol slosh in your stomach.

He says nothing and steps away to deal with the other customers. You return to your cup-stacking but, a moment later, the glasses are pulled from your reach. Your arm follows them with a whining protest, and a tall glass is placed in your hand.

“I didn’t order any more rum.”

“This is water.” Jason begins to turn away, but stops. “Did you think I brought you a full glass of rum?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’m kinda drunk,” you mumble. You take a few sips, and then place it back on the table. 

“Oh, are you?” His tone has a bite to it. You look down at the cup, tapping your nails against the glass. You don’t give yourself the right to be offended; you deserve it, you think, as the events of that day replay in your head.

“Sorry for being such a bitch.” It comes out quieter, scarcely audible over the raucous sounds of the club.

“All you said was, ‘You’re not wearing an apron’.”

“Not now. Before. Last time.”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, “Just drink the water.”

“No, I’m gonna go throw up.”

“Wait—”

You jump from your stool, threading through the hordes of sweaty bodies to round the corner and bolt for the bathroom. You barge through the first door marked ‘vacant’ that you see and hurl in the toilet. Several times.

When your stomach is finally empty, you sit back against the wall, head hitting the tiles. A mixture of vomit and spit dribbles down your chin and onto your top. You take a deep breath, but the air stinks of sweat and smoke and you retch, but there’s nothing left for your body to purge.

The cold tiles do little to soothe your damp, heated skin. You need water. Water and fresh air and maybe a time machine, so you can go back and warn yourself to eat something before going out, or to pay more attention to what’s right in front of you, or maybe just go back and make sure you never say yes in the first place to that fucking—

“You in here?”

A swift knock on the door. Stern enough to knock you to your senses, and also rouse some shame. The amount of times you’ve embarrassed yourself this month alone— it brings another wave of nausea.

You don’t answer—you can’t, not with the acid and bile burning your throat and your head spinning from the glaring fluorescent lights. The door handle is pushed down achingly slowly, rusty hinges screaming in protest as the door is cracked open. Jason peeks his head in, the familiar tuft of white poking out from behind the door first, followed by the rest of him.

“Can I come in?” 

You nod. He leaves a crack in the door and approaches carefully, as if you’re a wounded animal in the wild, ready to bolt at the first sudden movement. He squats down to eye-level, careful to avoid touching his knees to the floor. Smart, you think, becoming acutely aware of your shoes sticking to the ground by way of some mystery substance.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” you croak, closing your eyes in the hopes that it will relieve some of the ache.

“It’s fine.”

“No,” you slur, “’s not. Can’t stop embarrassing myself.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen much worse.”

“Doubt it.” You open your eyes to look at him. He remains a respectable distance from you, so his features are still a bit fuzzy, but you can make out the thin line of his lips pressed together. He’s indecipherable, and you wonder if it’s on purpose that he hides himself, or if that’s just his face.

“Can you stand?” He asks, rising back to his full height. Still delirious, you manage a soft groan from the back of your throat and extend your arm to him. He gets the message, taking ahold of your elbow and pulling you to your feet with ease like you weigh nothing.

You hobble over to the sink and splash cool water on your face, wiping at your mouth and neck and cursing at the stains on your shirt.

“Do you need a new one?” 

It almost doesn’t register over the ringing in your ears, which is only compounded by the loud bass that bleeds through the walls and reverberates through your skull.

“You…hm?” Your voice crackles as you turn to face him. He’s oddly relaxed in his stance where he leans against the door, hands in his pockets and watching you intently. 

“I can give you a shirt. If you want one,” he says. His voice is soft, but whether it’s from sympathy or pity, you can’t tell. 

“Yeah, sure. Fine,” you reply, breaking eye contact to stare at the grimy wall behind him. More than anything else, you want a break from the way he looks at you; as if he’s peeling back your layers and staring right into the center of you. It makes you feel like a scolded child, walking to the principal’s office with a pit in your stomach and no idea what you did wrong, but knowing there must be something.

Your hands feel cold, suddenly, and you flinch at the unexpected sensation. Looking down, you see Jason pressing a bottle of water into your hands. You hadn’t even noticed he stepped closer.

He slips out the door, closing it behind him. You rinse out your mouth a few times, but the dry, acidic burn in your throat remains, so you go for the water bottle, but your fingers are too weak and shaky to remove the cap. You set it down forcefully on the sink’s edge and lean your weight against the sink, hands gripping the porcelain so hard your knuckles turn white. You stare at them, unable to bear your own reflection. You can feel the pressure building behind your eyes and screw them shut, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle the choked-out sob that breaks from you.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself, wiping away at the moisture. “Get it together.”

You’re trying to steady your breathing when he knocks on the door, his request to come in muffled through the wall.

A stiff “Yeah,” is all you can manage; it’s so quiet you don’t think he heard you, but a moment later the door creaks open again and Jason’s head peeks in. You steal a quick glance at him in the mirror, and that’s all it takes for him to notice the shine of your red-rimmed eyes. He freezes, hovering halfway into the bathroom, unsure if he should come in or give you your privacy.

“Here,” he says quietly. You turn around at the light rustle of him holding out a large, light blue t-shirt, and a plastic grocery bag. “I’ll let you—”

“Wait,” you say, without thinking.

He looks at you expectantly, and after a few seconds of silence, you realize you need to say something.

“Can you—” You fumble for the water bottle that sits on the sink and hold it out to him. “Can you open this?”

He twists the cap open and hands it back to you. You take a small sip. The two of you stare at each other.

“Is there…anything else?”

“I, uh…”

There is something else. But you’re not sure what it is. The only thing your drunk—and clearly stupid—mind can think about right now is how much you want him to stay.

“You remember Monty?”

“Monty?” Jason raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you know. Monty.” You lean against the wall, resting your head on the tiles that are definitely carrying some kind of virus. At least they’re cold.

“No, sorry.” He shakes his head.

“Jason.” You cross your arms. “Monty!”

“I don’t…know who that is.” His ears are turning pink as he looks you up and down, likely wondering if the bacteria in this bathroom can cause hallucinations.

“Monster Truck. The dog.”

You can see the gears turning in his brain, and the moment the light bulb flickers on. “Oh,” he sighs. “Yeah.” His shoulder leans against the doorframe, and he pushes the door open a few more inches.

“Y’know I went to see him?” 

He hums in response and tilts his chin up, signaling for you to continue.

“Motherfuckers kicked me out.”

At this, his mouth falls open. “They…what?”

You nod vigorously, grateful that you’re not alone in your outrage. “Said if I don’t have a place to live, being there’s basically loitering.”

At his silence, paired with his microscopic frown, you wonder if he agrees. It occurs to you that this is the first he’s heard of your living situation—you rush to defend yourself.

“I had a place to live. Then I moved out. Was about to move into this new place, literally jus’ had to sign some shit, but this old bitch pulled it out from under me. Worst part is, she’s not even gonna live there. Just wanted it ‘cause it was around the fashion district, an’ I guess she just wanted a place to, like, put her feet up or something after a long day of shopping.”

If Jason wants to cut in, you don’t notice. You’re fully aware that you’re rambling, but can’t bring yourself to care; it feels nice to finally get all this out. Even if it is making you look even worse in his eyes.

“And you wanna know the worst part? I had the apartment. Was basically mine already. But then she had to go and bribe the damn landlord with all her…damn rich lady money!” Your volume increases as you go on, getting angrier at the injustice. “And then he lied to me about it! Said it just ‘fell through.’ Then I showed up to talk to him in person about it, and he broke like a…like—like something that breaks easily, I don’t know. Like, if you’re gonna fuck people over, at least be good at it. Don’t be a snitch!

“And, apparently, the lady—she said that she wanted that apartment because it was ‘the safest she could find’ and she didn’t wanna ‘get mugged,’” you say, using air quotes. “Bitch! If you wanna live somewhere safe, get the hell out of Gotham!” You’re practically yelling now, and Jason suppresses a smile. You know it’s probably mocking, but still, he listens patiently to your rant.

“But, actually, she was kinda right. It was a nice place. On Tyler Street. Totally bougie—the muggers don’t even come out ‘til after midnight.”

He actually snorts at this, and you feel yourself smiling at it.

Your eyes fall to the shirt in your hands. You hold it up to get a good look. It’s an icy-blue color with a monocled cartoon penguin in front of an iceberg. Underneath is written ‘The Iceberg Lounge: Gotham Waterfront.’ 

It’s so cheesy, you can’t help but laugh. “Why do you have this?”

“From the gift shop.”

“What kinda club has a gift shop?”

Jason shrugs. “This one.”

He steps out, shutting the door behind him. You peel off your old shirt and stuff it in the plastic bag before tugging on the new shirt; it’s soft and surprisingly good quality. After a few moments of deliberation, you decide to stuff the plastic bag in the trash—it’s not like you’ll miss it.

You open the door, startled when you see that Jason is waiting outside.

“I’m good, you can go back to work,” you tell him.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“‘S fine,” you mumble. “I’ll jus’ call an Uber.” You drag yourself out of the bathroom, leaning one hand against the wall for support. Jason follows, hovering like an anxious parent. You shoot your friend a text letting him know, and he replies telling you to call him from the car.

“That’s—” He rests his hand on your back and maneuvers you around a flock of drunk dancers whom you’re too absorbed in your phone to notice. “I can give you a ride.”

“It’s okay. You’re working.” You don’t listen for his answer, making a beeline for the exit. He stays on your tail, and you realize as he guides you in the opposite direction that you don’t actually know your way around this place.

“Not anymore.” He pushes open the front door and holds it for you.

“You can’t just leave in the middle of your shift, Jason.” The door swings shut behind you, and sounds of traffic and light chatter replace the ear-splitting music. Jason nods to the bouncer at the entrance before turning back to you.

“I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leads you around the side of the building.

“No, I will worry about it. You already hate me enough. I can’t be the reason you get fired.”

Jason stops walking. “You think—”

“I’m calling an Uber.” He tries to interject, but you don’t let him. “Look! George is three miles away, and he has a five-star rating.”

“I don’t want you getting into some rando’s car. I can take you home.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What’s your problem? You don’t like George?”

“I don’t trust anyone in Gotham this late, and neither should you,” Jason says firmly.

“Then why should I trust you?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. You scroll through your recent messages, surprised to see your ex’s ‘new number’ has called you four times in the last hour. Two of those calls have voicemails.

You skim through the voicemail transcripts. “Fuckin’ weirdo,” you seethe.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asks.

“Nothin’.” Your shaky fingers try to navigate to the ‘block’ button, but the screen shifts to an incoming call. It’s him. Again. You decline it. Not even a moment later, he calls again.

“Leave me alone,” you mutter, rushing to press ‘block’ before he can call again.

Releasing a heavy sigh, you drop to the curb, head falling into your palms. After a moment, you hear Jason sit down next to you.

“Is someone bothering you?” His tone is rigid, and it’s a shocking switch, abrupt and cold enough to send a chill down your spine. You lift your head to look at him. “If you don’t feel safe—”

“No, it’s just my stupid ex. Probably only calling ‘cause his fuckin’ mistress finally left him. Good for her, I guess. Bad for me, though. Now he’s lonely and won’t leave me alone.”

“How many times has he called you?”

“I don’t know, five? It’s fine. He’ll give up.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod. His shoulders relax. Barely. You don’t miss the way his jaw tightens, or how his hand flexes as he stares at your phone.

“If he keeps harassing you, tell someone.” At the way he speaks, you almost fear for your ex.

“I…don’t know if I’d call it harassment. He’s just an idiot.”

Jason looks you in the eye. “That’s not an excuse.” His gaze is sharp. You look away, something burning in your chest.

Quiet settles in the space between you.

“Feels like you’re judging me,” you murmur.

“I’m not judging you,” he says gently. “Why would I judge you?”

“I don’t know, just…for being with someone like that.”

It takes him some time to respond.

“People change.”

“And what if I told you he was always like that?”

“I still wouldn’t judge you.” This time, his reply is immediate.

“Maybe you should. I was with him for three years.”

“Why?” He asks, but it’s not critical; it’s curious.

“We were friends for a while first. I guess I was kind of a late bloomer if you wanna call it that. Never got much attention from…whatever.”  The alcohol’s lingering effects weigh heavy on your tongue, making all your admissions come too easily. “Then one day, that changed. He was the first guy who asked me out. Claimed he’d ‘always had a crush on me’. Guess I got excited, or something. I was so high on the feeling of being…wanted. Never noticed how selfish he actually was.”

“What did he do?”

“It was subtle. He wasn’t the only one who started noticing me; I started getting approached more. But it felt worse, almost. ‘Cause it’s like…I don’t know…I didn’t even change anything.” You hug your knees closer to your chest. “But then all of a sudden I was getting all this attention. And I didn’t know why, and he was like, ‘you really don’t know? You got super hot over the summer.’”

You hear Jason wince next to you. You tilt your head back and take a deep breath, filling your lungs with fresh air when all the remembering brings a familiar pressure to your chest.

“And I know it was supposed to be a compliment,” you continue, feeling yourself sobering at the memory. “Every time it happened, I would tell him about it, thinking we could laugh, but then he’d say some shit like, ‘Well they only like you now. I was the only one who liked you even before.”

“So, until now, you…lived with him?” Jason’s eyes are on the side of your face, you can feel it, but you don’t dare to look at him.

“Yeah. Moved in together after graduation with a lease in his name ‘cause I didn’t know any better.” You chuckle self-deprecatingly. “Found out in the spring that he’d been cheating on me for months, so I moved out. Been moving between friends’ couches ever since.”

A bout of heat runs through your veins as the gravity of everything you’ve told him settles in. You breathe out a long sigh, keeping your eyes trained on the sky above. There are no stars in Gotham, not since the sudden boom in factories and highways and airborne bio-weapons, and the moon is barely visible, waxing on the edge of a new moon. The sky is an endless expanse of gray.

“What about you? Don’t make me the only naked one here.”

The blinking light of an airplane catches your attention, and you track it across the sky. The alcohol has slowed your cognition; it’s nearly a full minute before you realize Jason hasn’t responded. You finally look at him—his lips are parted, eyes narrowed.

You frown. “What?”

“…Naked?” He asks.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “Never heard that before? It doesn’t mean naked naked. It means, like…naked.”

His face remains blank.

“C’mon, Jason, I have no interest in seeing you naked naked.” You look him up and down with distaste, hoping to support your statement, but get caught—again—on his arms. But who can blame you? You’re drunk, and lonely, and his sleeves are hugging his biceps like that, and they look big enough to crush your head.

When your eyes find his again, his jaw is tensed.

You dart to your feet, too quick to help your dizziness and burning with embarrassment.

“Whatever, can we go?”

“Please,” he says, and leads you down the street.

You stumble, tripping over your own feet as you walk and almost crashing into him. Jason huffs and reaches out to wrap his hand around your upper arm. His grip is firm, but not painful, and it holds you upright for the remainder of the walk. In the back of your mind, you wonder if he’s holding up your entire body weight in one hand.

“Wait a second–wait.” You freeze in the middle of the sidewalk, and he jerks to a stop. “That thing? ‘M not gettin’ on that.” You swallow back the lump forming in your throat as you stare at the massive motorcycle parked at the side door.

“Why not?” You can tell he’s getting antsy now, having to look after you like a babysitter, but not even the fear of being a burden can outweigh the uneasiness that comes from…that.

You take a step back. “That’s—you know how dangerous those things are?”

He looks to the sky, taking a deep breath. “Only if you don’t know how to drive them. I do.”

“Look, I get it, you got that whole thing goin’ on, with the bike, and the leather, and the big muscles—” His eyes widen a bit at that last part. “—But do you know what the chances are of being injured when you’re in a motorcycle accident? Do you, Jason? Ei—”

“Eighty-two percent,” he cuts in.

You jerk back, narrowing your eyes. “How’d you know that?”

He scoffs. “How did I know that? You don’t even have a motorcycle!”

“You don’t know that!”

“I do,” he snaps. “Because if you did, you wouldn’t be throwing a fit right now. So please, just get on the bike so I can take you home.” Jason shoves the helmet out to you, his expression fiery and pleading in a way you’ve never seen before. Still, you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip and looking between him and the helmet.

Your eyes meet, and he sighs. “I’ll drive slowly.” He speaks softer, and somehow, it settles some of your nerves.

You take a deep breath and take the helmet, sliding it over your head. Jason tightens the strap below your chin, and his fingers brush against your neck. You feel dizzy again, your eyelids drooping with sleepiness. With him standing so close, you can smell the cologne wafting from him, layered on top of something deeper; a mixture of fresh soap and natural musk. 

“You smell good,” you murmur.

He snaps your visor shut.

“Good?” He asks.

“Good,” you say, though it’s muffled through the helmet, so you nod.

Once you’re both on the bike, you wrap your arms around his waist, squeezing tightly for fear of falling off. You feel his body vibrate as he says something, but you’re too tired to worry about what it is.

He revs up the bike and takes off, circling back to the front of the building and merging onto the main road. And yeah, he’s not going that fast, but it’s fast enough to leave your stomach a few feet behind. You cling to Jason, pressing yourself impossibly tighter to him.

Your eyes are closed the whole way, but the cold wind blowing against you feels nice on your skin. You’re so lost in the hum of the engine sending relaxing vibrations through you, how soft Jason feels, and the helmet drowning out the sounds of Gotham traffic that you don’t even notice when he stops in front of your friend’s building and takes off his helmet. When the light taps to your knee don’t work, he squeezes your leg with a stern call of your name. You jump in surprise, knocked out of your reverie, but pry yourself off of his back.

He gets off first, holds his arm out to offer stability as you clamber off, then undoes your helmet. By now, you’ve sobered up considerably, but you still lack just enough of your senses to stand on your toes and throw your arms around his neck. It’s a split-second embrace, so quick that you barely catch the fresh earthiness of his scent before pulling away. You swear the air feels heavier on your lower back, warmth bleeding through fabric where a hesitant touch hovers, but when you step back his arms are firmly at his sides.

Looking up at him, the tips of his ears are dusted with pink, and his eyelashes flutter in a gust of summer wind. 

“Thanks for putting up with me,” You mumble through a drowsy grin. “‘Specially after I fumbled you that badly.”

Jason blushes harder. “Get some rest,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “And call your friend,” he calls as you climb the steps. You wave goodbye, and he just nods, waiting until you get through the door to mount his bike again. 

He’s just about to kick it into gear when he pauses. He stares at the door for several seconds, fighting with himself, before groaning out a string of curses, pulling out his phone, and searching up Tyler Street.

divider

there are so many notes bc this was so long omg. it ended up being longer than i anticipated so i split it into 2 parts don't hate me🫥

omg...the birth of an au...i still can't believe so many people liked the first part, this is a prequel for how they met. ty for reading my writing🤭i looove writing iceberg lounge jason!! part 2 of this fic and more parts coming soon!!!

so uh...maybe i'm going crazy but i could've sworn that wayne animal sanctuary was a canon thing when i started this, but then i tried to look it up and couldn't find anything :/ but then i included it anyway bc i'm The Author and i can do whatever i want!

the metamorphosis shirt is based on this "working bug" design that i ❤️ (i have the sticker!).

the motorcycle accident stats were for 2013-2017 from the new jersey division of highway traffic and safety website- basically if you were in a motorcycle accident in those years you had an 82% chance of sustaining injuries from it. wasn't sure if it was clear😬

[joonjuul]

hii, are u comfortable with writing teacher x student trope?

chalk dust. jjk

pairing: professor!jk x delinquent!reader

wc: 6.2k

warnings: englishteacher!jk, softdom!jk, strict!jk, badgirl!reader, obsessive!reader, reader is a crazy tease but goes soft for jk, reader is of age, dorm sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up), head pushing, light fingering (f receiving), pet names, creampie, this is absolute filth

a/n: tysm anon for requesting !! not only am i comfortable, but i lowkey love this trope and can feel a series blossoming… chalk dust jk™ has a nice ring to it no?

╋━

professor jeon was a poised man.  he was intricate, careful, took pride in his control and restraint.  he was a man who showed no weakness — and you were a girl who had nothing to lose.

it was your first semester at your new college prior to transferring, due to let’s say… academic differences.  you were never the perfect student, far from it.  you skipped class, kicked cigarette butts out your dormitory window, and scrawled half-assed answers on nearly all your assignments.  all but your english assignments at least.  

english was always different to you though, more specifically; poetry.  you didn’t always try, but the moment your pen hit the paper, you found yourself peeling open like an onion, exposing sides to yourself you never even knew were there.  and the topics that fell from your ink were never those that were comfortable for a casual reader — they were deep, intimate, and often times inappropriate for even a college school setting… especially when you wrote about him.

you had never been attracted to a teacher before, so it caught you off guard the way you would purposefully linger after class was over just to breathe in his air a little longer.  but something about him was so compelling to you, especially the thought of making him lose control, break the rules just for once, just long enough for him to take you on his desk and leave ink stains on your skirt.

“what did you think, miss y/l/n?” his words cut you out of your daydream that isn’t entirely innocent as you realize you had been drifting longer than anticipated.  he looked too good today… too good for you to stay focused.

“i’m sorry?” you blink up at him slowly.  you should feel embarrassed that you were caught red handed, anyone else would’ve been, but not you.

“what do you think wilde meant when he wrote, ‘the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.’” his calloused hands with traces of chalk etch the sides of the book as his eyes thin out in front of you.  he was the greatest test of all, a test of how far you could truly go to get something you want.

“are you asking for a literary analysis, sir?” the way you speak isn’t particularly respectful, but it’s laced with something else, something only professor jeon is able to catch on to, as most of the other students in your incredibly small class were paying attention elsewhere.

“that is the expectation, yes.”

“expectation… right.” you huff as you lean back in your chair, your voice coming out in a way that’s confident… too knowing.  “well it’s just an excuse, isn’t it?  wilde isn’t talking about temptation as a fleeting thing, he’s saying that once the thought exists, once you’ve imagined it… you’re already lost.  the real choice left is whether you act on it or let it fester.”

the class is still, no one seeming to notice the change in atmosphere, the subtle weight of your words, except professor jeon.  his jaw tenses slightly as his eyes narrow in your direction, reading between the lines of your words, the distinct way you looked at him while speaking, the smirk threatening to tug at your lips.

“that’s quite the interpretation.”

“maybe, but it’s the truth.  wilde knew that resisting something only gives it more power.  because the moment you tell yourself you shouldn’t think about something… it’s already all you can think about.” your head subconsciously cocks to the side as your smirk now turns into a devious smile.  your eyes rake his body language carefully as you admire the way he lets out a slow exhale at your words, his eyes never leaving yours.  he should move on, call on someone else, change the topic at least, but for a fraction of a second, he forgets how to breathe.

“moving on.” he turns away from you, his voice sharp as his attention falls onto the chalk board behind him, outlining a different subject that he deems more pressing than entertaining your obviously suspicious behavior.

but you, your work here is done, as you’ve already planted the seed.  in fact, you had been planting seeds for quite some time now, and the biggest one was going to come to fruition in about 21 minutes.  your eyes flick over to the clock on the wall, the smallest hand ticking painfully slow as you recall the previous night.  your hands fighting for breath as you wrote vigorously in your 3-ring notebook.  you purposely bought a red one so it would easier garner his attention, but what would really catch his eye were the words written throughout the pages.

because see, it wasn’t just a normal red notebook, it was a confession — of boredom, of frustration, of a sharp, all-consuming fascination with him.  your words were far from innocent, phrases and long run-on sentences describing the way he runs a finger over his mouth when he’s thinking, or the way his voice shifts when he’s discussing mature themes.  you wonder, in writing, what it would take to make him snap.  and you’re ready to plant it right where he can see, where his all too curious mind will force him to keep reading, even when he knows it’s wrong.

you feel your breath hitch in your throat as the bell rings abruptly, ripping you from your devious daydream of what only felt like a couple minutes.  you struggle to hide the growing smirk on your face as you hurriedly throw everything in your bag, everything except one simple red notebook, and quickly rush out the door.

normally you’d take your time, enjoy the scenery and take one final smell of the chalk infested air before retreating his classroom for the day, but not this time.  you couldn’t risk premature exposure, everything had to go according to plan, and you had a slight feeling it already was.

professor jeon’s eyes flick across the room before realizing how quickly it had emptied.  normally there were a few stragglers, at least just you, but today there was nothing.

he lets out a long sigh as he turns back to the chalkboard, bringing an eraser up to his already forgotten lecture and wiping it clean, ready for whatever tomorrow may bring.  his mind danced between a new topic within wilde’s book, and something slightly more intense — you.

you were always a question mark in his mind, a level of confusion he never quite knew how to decipher.  you were incredibly smart, and anyone with a brain could see that, but you weren’t nearly as dedicated as you could be.  you didn’t participate in any extracurricular activities that would distract you from your school work, nor did you get involved in any on-campus drama.  yet you were still completely, and purposefully disobedient.  it was almost as if you couldn’t care less about your education, nevermind the topics you always found a way to bring up in class.  it was almost as if you were trying to crawl under his skin, infest his mind with your out of control behavior.  it was nearly intolerable.

he turned away from the board and his eyes quickly fell on a notebook, a red one.  he felt a brow quirk on his face subconsciously and before he knew it he was already taking leaping strides towards your desk.

you always submitted such incredible work.  whether it could be considered inappropriate, or slightly out of range of what you had been discussing in class, it always found a way to linger in his mind, leave him questioning even his own class regimen.

before he was able to decide whether or not reading what could’ve been your personal work was an appropriate thing to do, he was already turning the pages to reveal your most intense inner thoughts.

his eyes widen as he finally realizes — the true extent to all your subtle innuendos, every time your eyes lingered on his longer during class, the way you would let out a gentle exhale of relief as he would call your name… it was all starting to make sense.

and not only that, but they were dated.  they weren’t simple mindless phrases or sexual references sprawled across the paper with no direction.  they were organized, almost like a collection of memories, of fleeting thoughts that you wanted to last longer.

september 14

Maybe he thinks restraint is noble. That if he denies it long enough, it will dissolve into nothing. But that’s the thing about hunger, isn’t it? It doesn’t go away. It just waits.

september 29

I started a new habit today—writing things just for him. Slipping them between the lines of my essays, curling them into the margins of books I know he’ll flip through. I wonder if, when he reads them, he feels it. That sharp, electric jolt of knowing something he shouldn’t.

October 25th

Tonight, I had a thought I shouldn’t have.

I imagined the moment—the exact moment—when he gives in. The silence before it. The way his breath would hitch, the way he’d close his eyes just for a second too long. The way his hands, always so careful, would finally stop hesitating.

he feels his blood thicken as he continues to read, the words rambling through his mind anxiously as if they’d have no ending.  his heart rate quickens, his hands gripping the notebook tighter as he flips through the pages at lightening speed, barely slow enough to properly digest the gravity of your writing — until he lands on the final page.

his mind stutters as he arrives at the final entry, your handwriting much clearer now and he can almost hear your voice speaking it with perfect confidence and dictation.

October 31st

I wasn’t going to write this down. I wasn’t going to let it exist anywhere but inside my head, but I need to let it out.

I want him.  Not in a way I should.

I want him in a way that sits heavy in my chest, in a way that makes it hard to breathe when he’s too close. In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.

And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?

I think I want to find out.

he feels a lump crawl at his throat as his eyes fall to the bottom of the page, meeting your perfect handwriting in a lighter, much smaller format.

If you’re reading this, then I already won.

after a few painfully long moments, he finally lets out the gasp of air he had been holding in the moment his finger tips met the notebook.  and for a second, just a second, he imagines it too — the feeling of losing control.  it’s just enough to scare him into putting your notebook back down, but not enough to shake away the tugging in his loins and the burning in his chest.

he finds himself pacing, more than he’s probably ever done before.  his feet driving him in circles with his hands in his air as he realizes what he’s done, the situation he’s put himself in.  someone who’s normally so controlled, prepared for nearly any situation, is suddenly doubting his lack of weakness.  and for just a moment, he’s afraid.

he needs to put an end to this.

—

you’re unable to hide your smile of premature victory knowing there’s no way he was able to keep his curious paws off your notebook.  your feet confidently carry you through the hallways, your mind littered with thoughts of how he’d try to tell you it’s wrong, try to deny how your words made him feel, maybe he’d even threaten to turn you in, but it was all apart of your plan.

see, confidence is key here.  whether or not he ever had any feelings for you, or any sexual desires towards you didn’t matter, because you had already planted the seeds.  so even if he felt like all your comments were merely innocent flirtations in the past, they gave him brief visions of what could be, maybe even more, and that guilt alone is enough to drive him to think about you further, especially after reading your notebook.

you feel your stomach tense as you approach his door, it wasn’t time for class yet and you knew he had a free period, so you timed your walk across campus to perfectly align so he’d be reminded of your presence again today, even though you knew he couldn’t think of anything else.

your breath hitches momentarily as he emerges from his door, nearly cutting you off in your tracks.  his eyes narrow in on yours as he signals for you to enter his classroom.

you hide your victory smile quickly before following him into his classroom, watching as he approaches his desk, the red notebook sitting perfectly centered between his ungraded papers, almost as if you were his first priority.

the air was thick with tension, and you were loving every second of it.

“close the door.” his voice is rough, almost sleepless but you don’t question it, only following his orders and taking deliberate steps forward until there’s only the desk between you.

“tell me what this is.” he wraps a cold calloused hand around the rings of the notebook, his eyes narrowing in on yours.

“you already know.” his jaw tenses at your words, and his eyes flicker down to the notebook, memories flashing through his mind of your sinful words.

“you think this is a game?”

“isn’t it?” his gaze lands back on yours, sharp, unreadable — but there’s something lying beneath the surface, almost close enough for you to touch.

“you don’t understand what you’re doing.”

“that’s a lie.”

“enough.” he warns, his grip on the notebook tightening.

“why?  are you afraid?” the question lands like a blow.  he inhales sharply, but he doesn’t answer, and that’s all the confirmation you need.  you take a slow step forward, your hands falling onto the desk as you tilt your head down at him.

“you read every word, didn’t you?”

“you crossed a line.” his voice is strained, almost as if he’s holding back.

“did i?  or did i just say what you wouldn’t?” your voice drops down softly, just above a whisper as you’re unable to hide the smirk tugging at your lips, but his expression quickly changes, something in him snaps.  

“this ends now.” his voice is firm as his grip tightens further on the notebook, his other hand pointing directly at you.

“sounds like you’re convincing yourself more than you’re convincing me.” your smirk turns into a smile as you watch his knuckles turn white, his silence deafening as he stares up at you coldly.

you lean off the desk carefully before turning back towards the door, walking away without any permission to leave.  your hand curls around the doorknob as you turn your head to catch his final reaction, one of confusion and a breaking resolve.

“you can keep the notebook, professor jeon.  i’ll just start a new one.” you smile at him before turning away completely, your feet carrying you to your next class in strides instead of steps.

this was going to be easier than you thought.

but for him, it was the most difficult.

his eyes stare at the door, wide and in shock as he feels the heavy air, still full of your presence glide over his skin, leaving goosebumps in its place.

he exhales sharply, his hand releasing the notebook like it’s something filthy, but he doesn’t walk away, he can’t.  his hands move before he can stop them, the notebook falling open and mindlessly flipping to the page he already knows is there — your confession.

“I want him.”

his breath catches in his throat as the words stare back at him, bold and unforgiving.

“Not in a way I should.”

“In a way that keeps me up at night, staring at the ceiling.”

“Wondering what it would take to make him finally snap.”

“And I wonder—if I stepped too close, if I said something I shouldn’t, if I asked—would he?”

“I think I want to find out.”

he quickly slams the notebook shut, his heart drumming restlessly against his chest as his jaw locks so tightly into place that it nearly aches.  he feels something strange brew inside him, the unbearable pull of something he refuses to name.

he should go to the principal, he should call your parents, he should put an end to this.  but instead, he presses his hands against the desk as he leans forward, his breathing unsteady as he allows his eyes to close.  and for one brief, damning second — he imagines it.  the moment you wrote about.  the moment you break.

he sees it too clearly, feels the heat of it curling in his stomach, the inevitability of it tightening within his throat.  but it isn’t disgust that makes his breath hitch, nor guilt that makes his fingers tremble, but the fleeting image in his mind of his hand wrapped gracefully around your throat as you breathlessly moan out his name.

he swears under his breath, low and sharp before shoving the notebook into a drawer and slamming it into the desk.

but it’s too late now, he can’t unread your words, and he can’t stop the temptation now that it’s started.

—

the night was colder than normal, the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window as your eyes mindlessly scan the pages of the book you thought you were once reading.  your mind stutters in its daydream at the sound of a knock at your door.  

you freeze for a moment.  no one comes here this late.

you feel your feet carry you out of bed as you slowly approach the door, the hardwood floors cold against your bare feet as your fingers curl around the doorknob, your mind going blank as you see him there.

his tie is gone, his shirt which is usually pristine is now rumpled like he’s been running his hands through his hair, through the fabric, like he’s spent hours fighting himself before landing here.

and now he’s standing at your door.  soaking wet.

you lean against the doorframe, allowing your head to tilt to the side just enough to tease him.

“you shouldn’t be here, professor jeon.”

he swallows, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides.

“i know.”

you consider teasing him further, maybe even making him feel a little guilty knowing it’ll only intensify his feelings further, but you decide not to, knowing it’ll only driving him crazier, only stepping back just enough to allow the door to swing open further — an invitation.

his eyes flicker across yours for a moment as he hesitates.  every expression questioning whether or not he should, or if he even dares.  but he finally let’s go, taking a step inside as the door closes behind him, almost like a surrender.

the air is thick, nearly electric as he stands still, something predatory in your gaze as your eyes drag over his wet figure, something about it almost made you feel sorry for him.

“you don’t know what you’re doing to me.” his voice is hoarse as his tongue darts over his lips quickly, his eyes barely meeting yours as he desperately tries to keep his distance.

“i think i do.” you take a step closer.

“no you don’t.” he takes a step back.  “i shouldn’t be here.”

“but you are.” your voice is calm and controlled as you do your best to talk him down from his inner turmoil.

“but you don’t understand this is wrong.  it’s… it’s dangerous.” you watch as he takes another step back from you, his hands tightening by his sides as his knuckles turn white.

“i’m your teacher.  i have responsibilities.  i’m supposed to protect you, not let… this happen.”  his voice cracks as he speaks and you can almost feel a trace of guilt within your chest knowing he really does care about his students.  but you simply couldn’t take it any longer, you were both consenting adults, it shouldn’t matter, and you were determined to show him that.

you take a step forward and slowly bring a hand up to his arm, the feeling of the wet fabric against your fingertips sparks something inside of you, a heat blooming within your stomach.

“let… this happen?” you feel him flinch slightly under your touch, his eyes landing on yours, a warning sign flickering between them.

“y/n, stop.” you hear a tinge of desperation behind his voice despite his warning tone.

you take a step closer to him, a dark smile on your face as your hand draws up his arm, your finger tips set ablaze above his body heat, your stomach twisting at the thought of him finally giving in.

“i said stop.” your shocked at his sudden movement, his hands going up to grab your wrist, holding it in place in a way that’s firm but not rough.  

“i’m not a boy you can tease until i break.  i’m a man, and if i break — i won’t be gentle.” you nearly have to hold yourself up, your knees becoming weak from his words alone.  you take a breath, stabilizing yourself before taking another step closer, your faces merely inches apart as you breathe in his air, his closeness becoming intoxicating, like a high you can’t get enough of.

“i don’t want gentle.” your voice is soft, but his features are furthest from that, his eyes holding every last bit of restraint he has as you watch them darken by the second.

silence closes the gap between your bodies as you watch his control slowly slip away.  every thought, every image that ever crossed his mind, all playing at full speed, and it’s completely overwhelming.

he lets out a slow, shaky exhale.  his eyes shutting carefully, almost like he’s preparing himself, before he tightens his grip on your wrist, the feeling of your pulse quickening under his touch only fueling him further as he pulls you into him, closing the gap between your bodies completely.

“god can you shut that pretty mouth for once?” you feel your heart skip a beat at his words, his demeanor quickly changing at he looks down at you, his eyes half lidded and full of lusted, sinful thoughts.

“what—“

“you wanted me to lose control?  fine.  but don’t say i didn’t warn you.” his voice is deep as it reverberates through your chest, your mouth slowly opening to make a response until he quickly cuts you off with his lips fully encasing yours.

you tense into his mouth, your eyes widening until you’re finally able to melt into his touch.  his hands lowering to your waist to pull you taught against his abdomen, his belt rubbing roughly against your stomach, nearly hard enough to leave marks even through your shirt.

you moan into the kiss, your hands falling to the back of his neck at your fingers quickly find his hair, tugging it in multiple directions as your mouths fight for dominance.

you feel his grip on your waist tighten, his knuckles white as he uses your shirt to pull you closer, his feet frantically walking you backwards as you feel your back collapse against your bed, breaking the kiss just long enough to see his perfectly swollen lips and broad shoulders cradling above you.

“this is what you’ve been begging for, huh?” he shoots you a sly smirk before bringing his body to hover over you completely, his knees settling between yours as he uses them to guide your legs apart.

you subtly swallow a gulp, feeling more intimidated than you originally anticipated.

his smirk deepens at your silence, his head dipping down to your ear carefully as he brings his hands up to the hem of your shirt, his cold fingertips slowly running up the skin of your lower abdomen.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?  thought you could handle it?” you can nearly hear his smile through his voice, his large stature on top of yours making you feel almost completely helpless.

“i can.” you internally curse yourself for sounding so meek, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by professor jeon as a deep, low chuckle emits from his throat and directly into your ear, his hands slowly dragging up further as he begins to lift up your shirt.

“tsk, don’t lie to me baby, you’re already in enough trouble.” his voice is dark and hoarse, his fingers cold from rain as his movements pause just below your breasts, your cheeks heating up softly as you realize you weren’t wearing a bra.

he leans further into the crook of your neck, placing a gentle kiss on your supple skin, your back unconsciously arching into him as you let out a breathless moan.

“is this okay?” his fingers carefully tracing just below your mounds.

you quickly nod, your eyes rolling back as you relish in the feeling of his body against yours.

“words, sweetheart.”

“yes.  this is more than okay.” you say softly, earning a small smile from him as his hands slowly run up your shirt before cupping your breasts fully, his large hands encasing them like they’re his own.

“so perfect.  all for me.” he mutters before diving back into the crook of your neck, his lips dancing along your skin, carefully tracing every patch your body had to offer, the speed and neediness from before being replaced with something more tender and sweet.

you can’t help the moans that leave your mouth as his fingers begin to trace your nipples, examining them with the pads of his fingers as he drags his tongue to the base of your collarbone.

he pulls away from you momentarily to fully lift your shirt off, leaving you exposed and vulnerable to the cold.

“so beautiful.” his hushed praises go straight to your core, your body responding to his every calculated praise.

he leans down, his face eye level with your chest as he takes each nipple in his mouth one at a time, taking care of them with ease, lapping over the buds and leaving you feeling desperate for more.

you feel worn, your breath quickening as you press your legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the heat bubbling within your core, only to quickly be denied by the strength of his knees keeping you pried open for him.

after feeling satisfied with his ministrations, he pulls away, his eyes landing on yours — dark and lustful.

“do you know what you are?” he husks, bringing a hand down to your sides to soothe them gently.

you tilt your head to the side, leaning it against your pillow softly, a small smile creeping onto your face, your eyes hooded, nearly enough to look high.

“what am i?”

“you’re my biggest lesson.”

you quirk a brow at his response, feeling slightly confused and he notices your change in demeanor, his touch becoming slightly more rough as he grips at your sides, pulling you down so your closer to his pelvis.

“i stand in front of that classroom every day, teaching restraint, structure, rules.  but you — you’re pure temptation written between the lines.  you’re like the forbidden fruit.  i should’ve closed the book long ago, but instead, i’m here, crumbling before you.”

his hands grip your sides tighter, his eyes traveling down your body as he speaks, taking a momentary pause to relish in your beauty, everything laid out so perfectly for him.

“you’re the forbidden fruit i can’t put down.  the bad thought i can’t shake from my head.  the red notebook i should’ve never picked up.  and now I want to ruin every page.”

you can almost hear your heart rate increase at his words, every breath more tempting than the last, threatening to leave you laying beneath him for an eternity.

he brings a hand down to the band of your sweatpants, his fingers ducking beneath them just enough to tease you beyond repair.

“let me ruin you.” you nearly let out a moan from his words, only able to respond with the slight shake of a head before he starts undressing you like his favorite book — the cover, the sleeves, tracing each page along the way.

you feel like his muse, a piece of artwork laying beneath him, his eyes scanning you ravenously, taking in every curve and dimple on your body, his hands following suit, you almost didn’t notice when he had undressed as well, too distracted at his hushed praises as he hovers over you on the bed, a hand cupping your hair gently as his eyes gaze into yours.

“i need to hear you say yes, sweetheart.” his voice is a hushed whisper, his hair messily hanging over his forehead as he brings a hand beneath your bodies, his cock nudging at your entrance slowly.

“yes… i want this.” your voice is soft as it fills the air, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he brings a hand up to your mouth, cupping it gently, his head ducking into the crook of your neck.

you close your eyes tightly as he slowly pushes forward, his cock nearly splitting you in two as you let out a sharp gasp into his hand.

��shhh.  good girl.  that’s it.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice knowing you would struggle with his size, but his hushed praises are appreciated nonetheless.

his girth was unexplainable, spreading you apart in ways you never knew were possible.  you certainly weren’t inexperienced, but it somehow didn’t matter.  it felt like an eternity before he bottomed out in you, his hips stalling to give you time to adjust, but you’re nearly shaking when you finally come to, the sound of his breathless panting in your ear bringing you back to reality, his hand slipping away from your mouth and down to your hip.

“jungkook?” you whimper, not even realizing that you’ve never called him by his first name before.

“you feel… heavenly.” he groans, his hips stuttering forward sending shockwaves through your core, a small moan slipping past your lips at the sudden jerk.

“so goddamn tight.” he rolls his hips forward slowly, his cock grinding against your walls with ease.

“ahh — jungkook.  please.” you didn’t mean to beg, but his teasing was making it nearly impossible for you to control yourself.

“fuck, you have to be quiet for me, sweetheart.  can you do that?” he continued to slowly roll his hips forward, your body shuddering with every small movement.  you’re only able to nod at him, gentle whimpers falling past your lips as you bite them tightly in an attempt to stay quiet.

he shoots you a glare, but decides not to tease you too much before he sets in on a quicker pace, his cock driving into you with intensity, but not too fast where you’re fighting for your life.

every stretch of his cock was delicious, his fingers digging into your hips as he pulls you down to meet his thrusts, occasional groans leaving his mouth and falling into the air as you stifle back desperate screams.

“fuck.  you’re perfect.” he grumbles, his voice low with need as he dives back into the crook of your neck, licking it ravenously and you’re unable to suppress a moan, coming out much louder than you had intended.

jungkook slowly pulls away, his eyes meeting yours with a glare as he quirks a brow at you, watching as your face contorts with both pleasure, and discomfort at his size and the inability to be heard.

“sweet girl, you can be quiet, right?” he smirks, his voice teasing as he brings a hand up to grab yours at the wrist, pinning them above your head gently, as if he thought you would break from any more force.

you whimper again, your voice shaky as you let out a meek, “y-yes.”

he tsks at your response, unbelieving as he dives back down into the crook of your neck, his hips picking up their pace as he places gentle kisses on your skin, a deep contrast to the way he was fucking you now, pinned up like a doll.

“wouldn’t want anyone to catch us now would we?  a cute little girl and her teacher, that wouldn’t blow over well i’m sure.” you can nearly hear the smirk in his voice as he speaks in between kisses, trailing them down to your collarbone as your fingers wiggle under his hold.

“n-no.  i’ll be quiet.”

he chuckles lowly, pulling away from you momentarily to appreciate your fucked out state — your forehead slick with sweat, lips puffy and swollen and eyes bloodshot.

“good.  because i have ways to keep you quiet if you’re not sure how.” he drives into you forcefully, a squeal leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion, your stomach feeling like it’s being prodded with every thrust.

he quirks a brow at your noise, his demeanor changing to one slightly stricter as his eyes zero in on yours, almost like a warning.

you bite your lip, shutting your eyes as you feel his thrusts quicken once more, the feeling of his cock driving into you was almost too much, and you couldn’t help the whimpers that left you with every movement of his hips.

he lets go of your wrists gently, his hands going down to your hips as he quickly flips you onto your stomach, a loud gasp from you easily being muffled as he places a hand on the back of your head, pressing it deeper into the confines of your pillow.  you let out a moan of relief knowing you can at least make some time of noise now.

his thrusts quicken now, his other hand going under your stomach to angle your ass up for him, giving him the perfect view as he smirks to himself at how easily you respond to him.

“that’s a girl.  feel better?” his cock prods your g-spot with every flick of his hips, pushing you closer and closer to the edge till it was nearly unbearable.

you shove your head further into the pillow as you moan loudly, your impending orgasm sneaking up on you quickly with the change of positions, making it nearly impossible for you to respond to him.

he feels the way you’re tightening around him, and he can’t help but throw his head back at the sensation of your walls closing in — it was heavenly.

“f-fuck why are you so tight?” his voice gets huskier with every word, his grip on your side tightening as his thrusts become messy, the feeling of your cunt wrapped so deliciously around him driving him to insanity.

you felt euphoric, teetering on the edge of your orgasm and every stroke of his cock only pushed you closer to the brink, it was almost enough to make you dizzy.

“p-please.” you moan, muffled into your pillow but you can tell he can hear you by the way his hand snakes in between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit with perfect accuracy.

you’re barely able to comprehend what’s happening before you’re sent spiraling over the edge, your legs shaking aggressively as you feel a wave of warmth run over your body.

“holy shit.” jungkook curses as he feels you cream over his cock, your cunt tightening so hard it makes it difficult for him to move, his hips stuttering as he does his best to continue his pace.

you’re a moaning mess, your head shoved deep into the pillow by his hand as you feel his cock continue to plow into you, your mind going blank as your body recovers from your orgasm.

“that’s it, baby.  good girl.  shh, i’m right here.” he mumbles barely understandable praises as he messily drives his dick into you, the tension on your g-spot quickly becoming all you can think about as your pleasure suddenly turns into overstimulation.

you’re writhing, unable to respond properly or tell him it’s too much due to his hold on the back of your head, your legs trembling harshly as you feel his hand settle back on your hip, his fingers digging into you hard enough to leave bruises.

“so perfect, fuck.” he breathes out before bottoming out into you, his cock twitching as he spills his seed deep into your cunt, your walls drinking up every last ounce he has to offer, not letting even a drop go to waste.

he lets out a deep moan, his head collapsing against your chest, his breathing unsteady as he rolls into you one last time, your walls milking him for every thing he has left to give.

you bring a hand up to the back of his head, the feeling of his hair between your fingers as you settle into his locks soothing you in ways you didn’t know were possible.

he slowly pulls away from you, your eyes meeting as he smiles at you softly, a hand going down to your hair as he tucks a strand behind your ear peacefully.

“you’re a lot to handle, you know that right?” he chuckles looking down at you.

“i think you did a pretty good job.” 

he smiles softly, “now i just have to learn how to handle you in class.”

[zepskies]

Omg yay!! @tofics Welcome back, friend!! ❤️❤️ I'm so glad you're tuning into this one because you'll see some Smoke Eater type stuff in this mini series too - with the added fun of a plus-sized reader. 😘

Okay, first of all - love love loooveeee @redhoodieone for requesting this and @zepskies for bringing it to life. Firefighter!Dean just does things to me. And yes, Alex, it's all your fault. (Thank you!) And now the reader is an ELEMENTARY TEACHER? ARE YOU KIDDING ME! That only happens to be what I'm studying! It's like this trope was written for me 😭

Omg that's right!! I love that you can relate to this story on multiple levels, and the reader being an elementary teacher was part of the request too! ❤️

Now. I know I've said it before, but as a plus-size girly myself, reading fics where the reader is plus-size herself not only helps with the immersion, but also becomes even more of a delight when they're pictured as desirable. And you did such a good job with that. The repeated slaps on reader's ass, his obvious attraction to her, but most importantly, his outrage when she calls herself fat. Like he can't even believe she'd think of herself that way, because that title simply never occurred to him. Such a rewarding and healing thing to read! 🥹

Ughhh I feel you so much here. Me being plus-sized myself, it's always fun for me to give myself this escape and write how I wish all of us would be treated, especially when we get down on ourselves. That scene at the end was very self-indulgent in a way, but at the same time it made sense for the reader character and how Dean sees her! And also, I just feel that Dean wouldn't mind having his hands full. 😏❤️‍🔥

And god, all those feelings of comparing herself to Lisa and Jo. I wish I didn't know that sinking feeling in her gut when she talked about how she had to slim herself down to fit into the dress, while Lisa and Jo do it so effortlessly. Or the absolute gut-punch that was Lisa's talk about "sticking to a clean diet for the baby" - as if she gives two shits about the little one growing in reader's belly 😒 Ten bucks say she secretly wishes there was no baby to begin with (which, honestly, theoretically I can't blame her for...), nor that she cares about the reader's "health". Fat shaming packaged as "caring". 🤮 Ugh, it made me so mad just reading it! (You wrote it so well 🥲)

lmfaooo pure personal experience on this one! 😅 While I'm sorry you can relate to the reader here like I do, I'm glad you thought it was written well! Lisa being a total bitch in this one loll, disguised in "niceness and politeness" to me is always worse than being blatantly nasty for some reason. It's more like the kinds of things we probably deal with on the day-to-day, when you don't know if something knows they're being a bitch or not, or if they're really trying to hurt you.

GIRL. Now why was this so freaking hot. Jesus Christ. And then his admiration when she's on top next morning 😭

Because who would expect a selfless (generous) man on a one-night stand? 🤭

*dreamy sigh* And this. THIS. The moment where he catches her disappointment. (Cause, ngl, I would've been uncertain as hell myself if I'd just slept with this guy for the third time in one night and suddenly he's scrambling to leave...)

It's an important moment! Shows that Dean is not trying to make her feel like he just used her for sex, he really just is running late. 😂 He's a good guy, he just has a lot of growing to do. 💓💓

Oh, Dean Winchester, the man you are. Alex, I can't wait to see where this goes! Lisa as a more bitchy version is quite the interesting read, and their little unintentional three-way set-up is bound to cause some drama 👀 And I'm here for it!!! Can't wait for the next chapter - coming out on here just one day after my birthday! Can't wait to read it 💓

He's extra something special, all right. 😩

Girl I can't wait to share Part 2 on Sunday!! (Soon and very soon!) It's a huge rollercoaster of emotions we're headed down, and this is only the first leg of it. 😂

Omg Happy early Birthday!! 💕

IF I STAY - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Yes, here’s another firefighter AU! Based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @redhoodieone. She requested pretty much all the major beats of this story, so hopefully I did her request justice! This is also partially inspired by Fools Rush In, a beautiful movie with Salma Hayek and Matthew Perry (Rest in Peace, King).

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis

Word Count: 8.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, thick thirty, hints of body insecurity, but also body appreciation, angst, and hurt/comfort.

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 1: Fools Rush In

Slowly, your eyes slide open into the waking world. Your head is resting on something warm, firm…and a little sweaty. You pick your head up, despite the disorienting, muddy feeling of a slight hangover.

A groan bubbles in your throat. Your gaze travels downward, and you realize that what you’re looking at is more of a who.

Your eyes widen. Oh…my…God…

Not only are you very naked, but your firm pillow is too. It happens to be your best friend’s brother.

Yes, holy fucking shit! You slept with your best friend’s brother.

Biting the inside of your lip, you can’t help but take him in, here in the raw light of day as he lays peacefully on his back. His head lolls to the side on your usual pillow. Your eyes roam over the bow of his lips, the dark eyebrows, lightish brown hair that's softer than it should be between your fingers.

He’s painfully handsome. There’s a slight hesitation in your touch, but you softly trace the cut of his jaw and the stubble spread across it. That roughness feels familiar, and not just under the pads of your fingers, though the thought makes you blush. You begin to remember the night before, almost like a movie reel through your mind… 

Ooooh, right. That’s what happened.

It starts at Sam Winchester’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party at a nice hotel downtown. He and Eileen aren't the "strippers and coke" kind of party couple. They're more the "wine and brie en croute with pickled olives" on the expensive crackers you can't afford—kind of couple.

They look perfectly in love, if a bit long-suffering while Dean gives a hilarious, somewhat inappropriate, but still ultimately heartwarming toast to their happiness. After lowering the glass of champagne from his lips, his gaze catches on yours in the crowd. You suck in a subtle breath. 

Technically you’ve met him already, being one of Eileen’s bridesmaids, but there’s something about his green eyes that pin you to the floor. When he hands over the mic to Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, his head turning away from you to offer her a smile breaks the spell. It allows you to breathe.

Dean later finds you by the bar. You’re drinking a rum and coke with your slice of cake, trying not to get a single crumb on your dress. You've put a lot of work into affording it, let alone fitting in it. He leans his elbows casually on the counter and looks over at you.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he nods at you with a smile, subtly taking you in first. Then, his eyes go to your plate. “Ooh, red velvet. Gotta get me some of that.”

You smile back at him. “It’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, looks good in your hand,” he says, adding a teasing wink for good measure.

You don't know why that does it for you, but a half-flattered, half-nervous laugh tumbles out of your mouth. Sam has warned you before about Dean. Apparently his older brother is a bit of a flirt; a ladies’ man.

A man whore, are the words Eileen used.

You’re honestly surprised he’s talking to you when Eileen’s other bridesmaids, Lisa and Jo, are sipping martinis together down at the other end of the bar. Guess they didn’t want cake.

They look beautiful in their lithe, strapless little cocktail dresses. You’ve had to give up chocolate, bread, and cheese for three months straight to fit into this dress, something slinky and red that drapes over your thicker, curvy figure. But you’re proud of the fact that you’re letting yourself eat cake tonight, even though you’ve often felt like Mrs. Doubtfire while standing for pictures next to Lisa and Jo.

They’re Eileen’s friends, not so much your crowd. No matter how much you’ve tried to get to know them while helping the wedding planning in whatever way you can, you still get a high school clique vibe from the women, if with more “polite smiles.” Then they’ll typically go back to talking about crystal centerpieces—or whatever in-depth conversation they were having before you were there. 

But right now, Dean’s focus is on you. When he asks you more about yourself, you tell him about recently earning an elementary education degree.

“Ah, but you already knew that, because Sam told you we graduated college together,” you realize, with warmth tingeing your cheeks. That subject came up pretty quickly when he introduced you to his brother.

Dean’s smile confirms your suspicions, so you just keep filling the silence on reflex.

“Well, I actually just started teaching my first ever semester of second graders. They’re a bit of a handful, but overall, they’re really sweet.” Your smile falters. “Except for this one kid who likes to put little tacks on my chair. He’s kind of a menace, but I think if I bribe him with enough lollipops, he’ll give it a rest. I mean, it’s a behavioral issue and I should probably call his parents. But it's kind of hard to tell them their son is trying to make my ass into a pincushion."

Dean's laugh comes out in a sharp burst, like he wasn't expecting what just came out of your mouth. You didn't either, honestly. You giggle more out of embarrassment, ducking your head.

"He’s in second grade, you know?" you say, in between laughter. "I don't think that little footnote needs to end up on his permanent record. But then there's Micah. He's so friggin' smart. He can read at the fifth grade level already. Can you believe that? And I know I'm not supposed to have favorites, but his grades on his spelling tests get him a spot in the comfy bean bag chair pretty much every Friday. Honestly, I think that's what I like about working with kids. I get to see that spark on their face when something just finally clicks for them. Their little faces get all bright and happy and…ugh. God, I'm sorry. I'm rambling, right?”

You stop yourself with a hand sliding over your mouth, not quite covering your smile of embarrassment.

Dean’s grin just widens, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. 

"It's okay. I kinda like it," he teases.

You duck your head, biting your lip against a groan. He chuckles and reaches out for your hand, earning your nervous glance. He quirks his head.

“Hey, you're passionate about what you do, helping kids. That's nothin' to be ashamed of,” he says, brushing his thumb over your hand. “But sweetheart, I gotta ask. Am I making you nervous or something?”

God, yes, you think, especially at that sweetheart thing. It’s making your heartbeat tick up a syncopated rhythm, but you shake your head, biting the straw of your rum and coke.

“No, not at all,” you say, in a hopefully “breezy” kind of way. You touch your fingers to his wrist. “Tell me about you though. Sam mentioned that you’re a firefighter?”

“Ah, yeah. Firefighter in training,” he says, with a more genuine smile.

He just started at the Fire Academy, and he tells you about all the drills he’s had to learn and all the training he’s had to do to be able to keep up with his classes. You subtly eye him while you sip at your drink, and you notice the crisp cut of his buttoned-down shirt and leather jacket, the definition of muscle across his thighs under the slacks, even while he casually sits.

Your gaze subtly travels down his long bowed legs, smart dress shoes. His cologne is woody and masculine, but not overpowering; maybe bergemot and sandalwood. It pleasantly wafts under your nose every time he gestures with his hands while he talks.

“Aw man, I can’t hold out anymore. I think I need to get me some of that cake before it’s gone,” he says, getting up from his chair.

You’re a bit disappointed that he’s leaving, until he stops short.

“You want another piece?” he offers, gesturing at your empty plate that’s been resting on the counter.

You blink in surprise, but you shake your head. “Oh, no. I probably shouldn’t.”

“Why not? It’s a party,” Dean reasons. His grin is too damn infectious. It has you smiling, and begrudgingly agreeing.

Not only does he bring you more cake, but you watch him eat three whole slices before he asks you to dance.

The rest of it flashes through your mind like strobe lights—the way he’d started small and respectful with his larger hand closed over yours and the other along the curve of your waist. He guided you closer and closer, until you were turned around into his arms, and you could feel his warm breath on your neck.

You felt his lips teasing your skin. Then those hands tantalizingly drifted down your every soft curve, as if showing you a preview of everything he could do to you, and every way he’d make you come apart. You believed him.

And when he whispered in your ear, asking if he could take you home, you let him.

You let him drive you in that big black piece of history he drives. Used to be my dad’s car, he said. A Chevy something. You couldn’t really remember much when his hand was drifting up and down your thigh like that.

His presence burned hot at your back when you two eventually got to the front door of your apartment, your hands just barely shaking as you got the key in. Twist and click—

He waited until you flipped the lights on. Then he turned you around slowly in his arms and pulled you in close, all the while asking you with his eyes and raised brows. This okay? You want this?

“Do I still make you nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching at a smile when yours do.

You nodded, uttering a small giggle. “In a good way.”

That was when he finally kissed you, hot and slow, like he meant to devour you whole. He moaned at the taste of you, at the feel of your ass squeezed in his hands. You clung onto him strong, breathing into his kiss and trying to meet every single demand of his lips.

It soon became a fiery tear to your bedroom, one lamp flicked on, hot breaths and nice clothes crumpled to the floor. You didn’t feel self-conscious even once when he guided you under him on the bed, because he wasted no time in taking you apart, inch by inch.

His lips kissed and licked and sucked a burning trail down your neck, over your collarbone and between your breasts. You felt his hardened length trapped between your bodies while his hands explored you, teasing your breasts and sensitive nipples, and he mapped his way down with his lips.

You explored every part of him you could—every dip of muscle, firm shoulders and the slopes of his back, and then back up to tangle in his hair. Your heated gasps and whimpers filled the room when his sinful mouth found what it was looking for between your legs.

It wasn’t often that you had a strong pair of shoulders to rest your thighs on, but Dean’s grip was hard enough to leave deep fingerprints of pressure on each thigh while he slipped his tongue through your folds and feasted on you.

“D-Dean, oh God,” you gasped. Every sound you made was a sensuous symphony in his ears, washing over his skin and making the well of his desire churn hot in his lower belly. He had to roll his hips into the mattress for some relief for his aching cock, even while he moved his mouth up to your clit, circling the swollen bud with his tongue. He had enough room to slip two fingers deep inside your sopping wet channel, exploring you deeply, stroking and twisting to find what you needed.

Your thighs trembled and squeezed tight on either side of his head. When he sucked your clit tight between his lips, you uttered as gasping moan as that coil snapped its release. Your inner walls fluttered around his fingers. Yours clenched tightly in his hair, threatening to rip out a few strands.

Dean stroked you all through your first orgasm, giving slower licks to your clit. He seemed to sense when you couldn’t handle anymore though. You tugged more sharply on his hair, and he finally pulled away, moving back up your body to gauge your reaction.

You’d collapsed boneless against the bed, but you still managed to smile up at him as you caught your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked. But his self-satisfied grin almost made you laugh. You took his glistening face between your hands and pulled him down for a grateful kiss.

After a moment to savor your lips, he broke away for a second to catch his breath himself. You stroked his back all the while.

“You know, for a minute down there, I thought you might not let me come back up,” he teased.

You choked on a laugh, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Honestly wouldn’t have minded if you did suffocate me,” he chuckled, accompanied by a slap to your left ass cheek. You squealed, and blushed hotly at the way he was grinning down at you.

“Ready for more, baby? Or you want to call it a night?” he asked. His tone was playful, but it was actually a serious question. You blinked in surprise. You’d never had a guy be this, well…generous, and not expect anything in return, especially not for just a hookup.

But you shook your head and sat up, slipping a hand behind Dean’s neck. After a beat of hesitation, you guided him down to you for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“No, I don’t want to call it a night,” you whispered. Your hand drifted down his bare chest, and lower still. You showed him just how well you could return the favor.

And now, come the morning, you’re blushing down to your neck as each scene flashes through your mind. You feel the ghost of his hands all over your body, and how you’d never quite felt quite as bold and sexy and beautiful with a near stranger as you had with Dean effing Winchester. Your best friend’s brother.

You begin to worry your bottom lip with your teeth. How the hell are you going to tell Sam? Especially after he warned you about exactly this. Plus, there’s a reason you don’t typically do the one-night stand thing, and this has the potential to become something very complicated.

You know what, it’s fine! you think. We’re two consenting adults. We’re both single. And maybe…maybe it could be more than a hookup. Maybe we can see each other again, see where it goes.

“What’re you thinking so hard about?” Dean says, his voice croaking with sleep.

You look down at him in surprise. His eyes have cracked open and he has your hand captive, stopping you from continuing to idly trace patterns on his bare chest. You smile in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” you say. Again, you bite your lower lip. “Um, good morning.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” he grins lazily. “You sure wore me out last night.”

Your smile becomes more genuine, even if you turn your face away somewhat shyly.

“Aw, don’t do that,” Dean says. He slides his hand up your arm and behind your neck, tangling into your already tangled hair when he guides you down to his lips for a kiss. “You were awesome.”

You giggle against his lips. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah,” he says, kissing you again.

You shake your head a little. “You were…”

Amazing. Unbelievable. Probably the best night I’ve ever had.

“Perfect,” you decide. Because it’s the truth. The word comes out of your mouth before you can filter yourself though, making you pause. Dean does too, but after a beat, he slowly smiles.

“Oh yeah?” he asks.

You lick your lips, and you nod. “Definitely.”

“Well, then,” he says. His hand moves down to squeeze your hip. “You down for a repeat performance?”

You smile. “Only if I get a turn.”

Bracing your hands on his chest, you slide your thigh across his lap so you can straddle his hips. Dean grins and goes along with your idea. He gets a nice healthy handful of your thighs and helps settle you on top of him. But first, he reaches over into your nightstand drawer and finds another condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

Just like you did for him last night, you take the packet, as well as his generous length in your hands. You gently stroke him to full mast, smiling pleased at his groan of pleasure. Then you carefully fit the condom over him.

“You’re so gentle with me,” he teases. 

“Just returning the favor,” you quip, just before you position him at your wet entrance. Slowly, you sink down over his cock.

You both moan at the feeling of him stretching you again, warm and thick and fitting perfectly nestled deep inside. There had been moments last night where he wasn’t all that gentle, actually, but his passion had only spurred yours on more. You know you’ll probably find fingerprint marks on your thighs and ass, but it’s fucking worth it, you think, as you begin to bob a rocking rhythm that serves you both.

Dean arches his back underneath you, his knees coming up to press against your ass.

“Goddamn, baby. Givin’ me quite a show,” he says, in a panting voice that’s deep as sin.

You utter a breathy laugh.

Dean means it though. He’s enjoying the way you brush your hair out of your face, your beautiful tits in his face while you truly let loose for him. He guides you by the stronghold he has on your hips, his fingers pressing into your soft flesh as he ruts up into you, meeting your thrusts.

Your breath quickens, your nails digging into his chest on reflex, and your heart races as that delicious pleasure builds. But when Dean snakes a hand between you and further parts your folds to massage tight circles over your clit, your vision flashes white. You utter a scream of pleasure on his name, your inner walls choking him tight as you throb around his cock. His release hits him like a goddamn freight train.

“Aw, fuck,” he grunts.

He slams your hips down hard, making your thighs slap against his. A ragged groan escapes him in a rush. His hands move to your thighs just under your ass, where his fingers press into flesh hard enough to leave forensic ID, giving him leverage to bury himself deep into your pussy as he spills a hot release into the condom.

Goddamn…

He can almost imagine that he’s coming free inside you, that you’re milking his cock for every drop, until there’s nothing left for him to give.

The thought surprises him. It almost takes him out of the moment, honestly. That’s not a thought he’s ever had before—not with a woman he barely knows (which is most of his hookups, if he’s honest).

In that delicious, fractious moment just after it hits, it’s like those few seconds are suspended in zero gravity. Your arms are shaking, and your forced to collapse against his chest. Dean welcomes you there for a little while, letting you come down while he smooths a hand over your hair.

Though he can't help the urge to let his big hand drift down over your dewy skin, down the gentle slope of your back and over the curve of your generous ass. He gives one cheek a teasing slap. The sound echoes in the room.

"Goddamn perfect ass," he says roughly, smirking at your squeal. You end up grinning hard against his neck.

"'S that my new nickname?" you quip.

He chuckles deeply, moving you along with his chest. "Hell, sweetheart, if you want it to be."

Eventually, you lean back to give him a smile and one last kiss before you pull away from him. You slip off his lap to find your robe, at least. You definitely need a shower.

“So I’m thinking, after we get cleaned up, I could make us some breakfast,” you offer. “Or if you want, maybe we could go somewhere. I know a little diner down the block.”

“I like the sound of food,” Dean agrees with a smile. Ge reaches over for his phone on the nightstand, to check the time. His eyes widen. “Oh, shit.”

He has to get his ass over to the Fire Academy. He has class in barely twenty minutes.

He tears out of bed and nearly trips on the coiled sheets.

“Sorry. Gonna need to take a raincheck,” he says. He hurries to find his clothes strewn all over your bedside floor.

“What’s the matter?” you ask with wide eyes. You cross your arms under your breasts, but it’s more like you’re hugging yourself over your robe. You watch him tear through your bedroom in a tempest of movement.

Dean spares you a glance, but not much else as he yanks up his slacks and belt and dress shirt.

“Gotta get to class,” he confesses. Thank God he has his uniform in the trunk of his car for exactly these kinds of emergencies. He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys, and quickly kisses you on the cheek. He gazes down at you apologetically. “Sorry I gotta cut and run, sweetheart, but it’s been fun.”

Your smile barely reaches your eyes. He’s pressed for time, but he still notices.

He slows himself down and cups your cheek. “Hey.”

He gets your pretty eyes looking up at him, and he gives you a real kiss, nice and slow. He cradles your cheek and brushes his thumb across your skin.

“Thanks,” he says. His now familiar grin manages to make you smile. “And I mean that.”

You shake your head at him. “Okay go, Mr. Future Fireman. Be safe out there, okay?”

He gives you a playful salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

You can’t help but laugh. This guy’s too much. But you don't think you've had this much fun having sex in...

All right, let's not put a timeframe on it.

You watch him leave your apartment, even though you have a sinking feeling in your chest. You knew this was just a hookup for him, for both of you. Part of you just couldn’t help hoping that it could’ve led to something more. 

Dean means to call you.

He really does.

After that truly awesome, you shook me all night long, kind of a night, he thinks about you more than he’d like to admit over the next few weeks. However, he finds himself locked into his training. He’s so close to finishing strong and earning his badge, he just can’t afford any more distractions.

Still, he should’ve known that Sam would find out—either through Eileen, or through you directly. He also should’ve expected the way his brother let him have it.

“And you didn’t even fucking call her. See? This is why I don’t set you up with any of my friends anymore,” Sam bitches at him from his side of the small two-seater dinner table. They still share an apartment, though in just a month and a half, Sam’s going to be moving out. He and Eileen already found a house that they’re moving into after the wedding.

“Look, I was going to call her, man. They’ve just been bustin’ my ass at the Academy!” Dean argues.

“Bullshit.” Sam levels him with the same finger that holds his beer.

Dean’s brows raise, high and annoyed. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah, I’m calling bullshit. Because if you really liked her, respected her, and respected me, you would’ve made the time,” Sam says.

That falls heavy between the brothers for a moment while they eat their pizza.

“Look, I know her. She doesn’t do hookups that often, which means…she probably liked you,” Sam adds. “And honestly, when are you going to give it a real try with someone? You can only visit that free clinic so many times.”

Dean shoots him a glare. He’s had a clean bill of health from said clinic for six months straight.

“Jesus Christ. Enough, all right?” he grouses. “What’re you, Mom?”

“I’m just saying,” Sam says, lowering his crust to the plate. He levels his brother with a more earnest look, lightening up from his anger. “Look, if it’s about what happened to Dad—”

“What, you mean the way he drank himself to death after Mom died?” Dean says. His voice cuts through whatever softball glove Sam is trying to handle him with. “You think that’s the kind of thing I should be looking for in my life?”

“Oh, and what, do you think I’m making a mistake marrying Eileen?” Sam counters.

Dean sighs, shaking his head. “Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth. That’s not what I’m saying, it’s just…I don’t know. Maybe that kind of life—the house, the wife, the 2.5 kids and the dog. Maybe that’s just not my life, okay?”

Sam gives him a long look. He lets go of a deep breath, and he shrugs.

“Okay,” he says. “If you think hooking up night after night for the rest of your life is going to make you happy, then fine.”

Dean nods, glad that they can put an end to this little After School Special.

“Okay.”

Still, he can’t finish his third slice of pizza. He keeps picturing your face when he left you that morning. No matter how you tried to hide it, he still saw the tinge of disappointment in your eyes. It brews something uncomfortable in his stomach, and a sting in his chest.

You’re eating lunch alone in your classroom, finally on your break, when an unfamiliar number flashes across your phone screen. You look down at it in confusion, but with all the caterers and florists and things you’ve helped Eileen with on the wedding, you figure it could be important. You pick up the call and greet whoever’s on the line.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

You drop your ham and cheese on your keyboard, gaping in surprise.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he chuckles slightly. “Sorry, I know it’s been a minute.”

You frown, because you’re confused more than anything.

“Yeah, like almost a month,” you reply. You put the call on speaker so you can grab up your sandwich and quickly brush off the crumbs from your keyboard. You struggle to say something cool, clever, sexy even. “I’m okay. Just, um…what’s up?”

Smooth, real smooth. You cover your eyes with your hand.

“Nothin’, I was just thinking of that night,” he says. “I had a good time.”

Your frown deepens, despite the beginning of a blush warming your cheeks. If he’s calling you just for another hookup…

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.”

And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

“I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

That part throws you though, you’re not going to lie. What, is this a Netflix and chill situation—with a side of fries?

You consider it. You weigh pros and cons at a frightening speed in your mind, almost like Sherlock Holmes contemplating the layout of a dead body and deducing within moments that his wife committed the murder, despite the man no longer wearing a ring.

You want to let yourself be bold and spontaneous and carefree...but it's just not who you are at your core. You're a planner, a cautious person who looks three ways before crossing the street. Letting Dean take you home that night was certainly one of the most spontaneous, wild things you've done since your friends took you out to a strip club after you aced your final round of exams back in college.

(Sam hadn't been there that night, but he did get an embarrassing drunken text from you at 3:00 a.m., along with a few shame-ridden pictures fueled by questionable substances. Yes, he still had the evidence.)

You just don't know if it's smart to let yourself hookup with Dean again. Mostly because you know your heart has the tendency to get attached, no matter how much you warn it not to.

“You know, Dean, I’m pretty busy with my job right now. I just started here a couple of months ago, and I think I just need to focus on that right now,” you say. Part of it isn’t a lie, even though your soft heart is stinging.

“Ah, okay. Yeah. I get that,” he says. You hear his disappointment too. “But I just need to say, I really am sorry for not calling you sooner.”

Your lips tug at a smile. “It’s okay, Dean. Look, you’re Sam’s brother. I just feel like, maybe it’s better if you and I stay friends.”

“Friends, huh?” Dean says wryly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have three rounds of steamy hot sex with any of my friends.”

Your blush comes swiftly again, burning in your cheeks.

“Be that as it may,” you say, “I just don’t want to do anything that will distract from Sam and Eileen’s wedding.”

“Oh, I’m a distraction, huh?” Dean says flirtatiously. 

You begin to smile in earnest. “I think you know damn well what you are, Dean Winchester.”

His deep chuckle practically resonates through the phone and into your chest, going straight down to your pussy. You clench on nothing just at the sound of his voice, making you cross your legs under your skirt. Dear God…

How are you supposed to be even remotely normal around this man now? 

But for Sam’s sake (and your own), you’ll have to try. 

Two months later, Dean has taken Sam’s dating advice to heart. A week or so after you turned him down, he ran into Lisa Braeden, Eileen’s Maid of Honor, while he was at the grocery store buying beer and Twizzlers. She was a smart, sharp, sexy brunette. A yoga instructor, he soon found out. So he took a chance on asking her out. They’ve been going slow and steady ever since. 

Dean hasn’t heard from you since the rehearsal dinner, but he sees you again at his brother’s wedding. All the bridesmaids are wearing long, royal blue dresses that drape off the shoulders and hug the bust and waist, flaring gently at the skirt. Lisa and Jo wear it beautifully, their hair perfectly smooth and coiled. 

But when you step out into the hall outside the church ballroom to join them, Dean actually pauses in what he’s saying to his brother. He nearly double takes when you enter his line of vision—mostly because he hasn’t seen you in a dress since that night. You were sexy as hell then, a lady in red. 

Today, you’re absolutely stunning. 

After greeting Sam with a warm hug, you turn to him with a nervous kind of smile. “H-Hey, Dean.”

With that, he snaps out of it. Dean smiles, eyes crinkling, and goes over to give you a hug as well.

“Good to see you,” he says, trying not to inhale too much of your nice perfume. It’s even in your hair.

“You too,” you reply. Your smile is a little brighter, more genuine. Though there’s something behind your eyes that he can’t quite place.

What he doesn’t notice is the way Lisa is watching you and her boyfriend, a hint of suspicion on her face.

You do though. You pull away from Dean and assemble into a line with Lisa at the helm. As the Best Man, Dean stands with her, followed by Jo and Brady, another one of Sam’s buddies. You and Benny bring up the rear. Benny’s dad used to work with John, Sam and Dean’s father, on the police force.

According to Sam, John Winchester worked a beat for twenty-six years before his liver finally gave out on him. Dean almost went to the Police Academy to follow in his dad’s footsteps, but Benny, already working his way up to Lieutenant, suggested Dean become a smoke eater instead. The suggestion stuck.

Benny Lafitte is slightly shorter than Dean, but just as broad-shouldered, his auburn beard neatly trimmed. Even though you might’ve thought he was rough around the edges at first, his kind blue eyes spoke the contrary. He offers you his arm like a gentleman.

“Well aren't I lucky, getting the prettiest girl on my arm,” he says, with a charming smile.

You smile, and even begin to blush at the way he subtly takes note of you from head to toe.

“Well, thank you. You’re very handsome yourself. Although, hold on.” You slip your arm out of his for a moment so that you can fix his tie. It’s slightly crooked. You make sure that it lays flat under his collar, smoothing down all the edges and picking off any small dust particles that landed on his collar. Benny watches you with an indulgent smile.

“Am I good?” he asks.

“Very,” you reply.

“I appreciate it, thank you,” he says. You don’t know if he means to sound flirtatious, but his voice is a deep drawl that washes over you pleasantly. You find yourself blushing down to your neck as you slip your arm back around his.

You also don’t notice how Dean glances at you and Benny over his shoulder.

As much as you love Sam and Eileen, it’s difficult for you to keep your mind from spinning into fractals as the ceremony goes on. You can’t help but glance at Dean. He stands there behind Sam dutifully, but you see brotherly pride in Dean’s eyes, in his smile. It makes you smile too. You too love Sam like a brother, and it brings a well of happy tears to your eyes to watch him have his moment with his new wife.

It just also reminds you of what you need to do.

After the ceremony ends and the bridal party files out behind the bride and groom, you excuse yourself from Benny apologetically. You wait until Lisa and Jo go off to take pictures with Sam and Eileen, and you grab Dean’s wrist, pulling him aside.

“I need to talk to you,” you whisper.

Dean gives you a confused look. “They’re gonna need us for the pictures.”

“I know, but this is important,” you say. Your voice trembles with nerves, and so do your hands. Dean notices, frowning in concern. He grasps your arm to try and steady you.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Just come with me,” you implore him. You take his hand and lead him into the women’s dressing room attached to the church sanctuary you all just came out of.

Dean raises his brows at the mess you and the rest of the bridesmaids have made of the room—pantyhose and makeup and clothing litter the floor and most available surfaces, while leftover breakfast sandwiches, grapes, salami, and cheddar cheese cubes are splayed out across one of the vanity counters. Dean is tempted to steal a morsel, but he focuses on you first.

You close and lock the door, which makes his brows raise high again. You know he has a girlfriend now, right?

“Uhh, look, I’m not sure what’s going on here, but—”

You heave a sigh. Again, you take his hand and guide him to sit with you at the vanity. The old stools squeak, the overhead lights a bit too bright. This is not where you want to do this, but you can’t hold it in anymore.

“Dean, I’m pregnant,” you confess.

He freezes. His breath stills in his lungs. His eyes slowly widen as the words click in his brain.

“What?” His head tilts, as if he didn’t hear you right.

You squeeze his hand; to ground him or yourself, you’re not sure.

“I’m about two months pregnant. I found out last week.”

Dean swipes his free hand over his mouth while he tries to compute. He squeezes your hand, tighter and tighter. He points to himself.

“It’s…it’s me? It’s mine?”

You give him a weary smile. “You’re the only one I’ve been with in the last few months. It could only be you.”

Oh fuck. The man’s face begins to pale as he descends into shock.

“But we…I used a condom,” he reasons. “All the—all the times!”

You bite your lip. If you weren’t freaking the fuck out yourself, you’d probably be laughing right now. Granted, you’ve had a bit more time to process this than Dean.

“I know, I was there,” you reply, releasing yet another sigh. “One of them probably broke. That’s all I can think of… Honestly, Dean, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony or cause a scene before the wedding. But now you know.”

Dean falls silent then. He hasn’t let go of your hand, which you think is a decent sign. He’s likely forgotten that you’re still holding it as he stares off into the middle distance for several seconds.

Eventually, he shakes his head and returns his gaze to yours. He looks uncertain, his handsome face the true epitome of holy fucking shit.

You know the feeling.

But he asks the most important question.

“What do you want to do?”

Briefly you close your eyes as you take a breath. You squeeze his hand before you let go of him.

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and…I’m keeping the baby,” you tell him, though you raise placating hands. “I don’t want money, or anything like that. I just wanted you to know that it’s yours. How much you want to be in his or—or her life, that’s up to you.”

Dean takes a beat before he answers, but you don’t have to wait so long holding your breath.

“Okay. Okay, yeah. I’ll help you. Don’t worry,” he says.

And just like that, all the time you spent giving yourself pep talks for this, telling yourself that you’ll need to be strong no matter what he says, all of it crumbles into relief. Your lower lip trembles, and your body shudders as you break into tears. You try covering your face to hide your shame, but Dean grasps your shoulders.

“Hey, hey. It’s all right,” he says. He tentatively pulls you into a hug. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You nod into his dress shirt, probably staining him with your running makeup.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Thank you so much.”

He holds you a bit tighter in response.

You and Dean agree to keep this to yourselves for now, at least until Sam and Eileen get back from their honeymoon. It’s difficult to explain why your eyes are all red and your makeup is smudged, but you promise Sam that you’ll tell him later. You know it’s pointless to lie to him though. As a lawyer, his bullshit meter is far too high.

However, you also know that he’s half guessed it by the time you all make it to the reception. When you and Dean came out of that dressing room to join the bridal party for pictures, you're sure that you looked emotionally wrecked. Dean had looked pale as a sheet, his body coiled and tense, as willing himself to seem normal. Sam had clocked both of you with a raise of his brow, but he didn't say anything then, especially after you gave him a pleading look.

While Eileen greets her family without him for a moment, Sam pulls you aside. He notes your glass of diet coke, in a moderate sea of guests drinking champagne and cocktails.

“Are you okay?” he asks knowingly.

Tears well up in your eyes again. You don’t know if it’s your damn hormones going haywire, or just the way Sam asks you, with the love of a friend in his eyes. He squeezes your shoulder gently, prompting you with your name.

“Yeah, I think I will be,” you say.

"Is it the same reason you're not drinking?" he asks. "You and Dean earlier..."

You hesitantly confirm with a nod. Sam blows out a harsh sigh, raising folded hands to his mouth as he processes. You begin to look around on reflex, trying to see if anyone's watching you and Sam have this conversation in the middle of the reception. To your relief, everyone around you seems occupied with drinks, hours d'oeuvres and conversation.

“What did he say when you told him?” Sam asks. His gaze is firmer. You get the idea that if he doesn’t like what you tell him, then he’s about to go grab his brother by the ear himself.

You grab his wrist and give a placating squeeze. “He said he's going to help me, be there for me.”

“Damn right. So will I,” Sam nods, and glances back at Eileen, his new bride, with a smile. “We both will.”

“I know,” you nod as well. “I’ll be okay, Sam. You don’t have to worry so much. Just enjoy your wedding day. It’s the only one you’re gonna get. Well, you know…hopefully.”

You tease him with a wink.

Sam laughs, cupping your cheek. He kisses your other cheek.

“I love you, you know that right?” he says.

You give him a trembling smile through your tears.

Meanwhile, Dean has a beautiful woman in his arms. He turns Lisa on the dancefloor, trying not to trip on his own dress shoes, all the while knowing that his brain isn’t here in his body. It’s across the ballroom, watching you talk to Sam. Dean can tell that he knows, just in his Big Bird body language. He’d also recognize that accompanying Bitch Face anywhere.

“Dean, what’s wrong,” Lisa asks him, and not for the first time. She’s getting annoyed, he can tell. She finally looks over to where he keeps glancing, and she notices you with a frown. It’s also not the first time she’s caught him staring at you tonight.

“What was that earlier in the dressing room? She didn’t really get food poisoning, did she?” she asks pointedly. “What, did you two used to date or something?”

He gives a wan smile. “Yeah, kinda. We…had a thing once.”

“What kind of thing?”

Dean closes his eyes and tries to keep himself calm. He’s pretty sure if he tells her the truth right now, she’s going to find the nearest cocktail and dump it over his head.

But shit, here it goes.

“Well…”

After a long day at school, you drive over to Dean’s apartment. You’d agreed to meet there and wait for him to get off his shift at Firehouse 83, where he just started as a full-fledged firefighter on probation. When he gets home, he’s supposed to go with you to an important appointment with your OB-GYN. 

You were hoping he’d already be done with work by the time you got to his place, but Lisa's there to open the door for you. Apparently, he’d already given her a key.

Moving kind of fast, but okay, you think. A second later, you could’ve rolled your eyes at yourself. Pot, kettle, me. Got it.

Lisa greets you with a “polite” smile at best, but she does offer you water at least. You really can’t blame her for not liking you though. She found out her boyfriend got another woman pregnant right before he started dating her. Really, she has more balls than you for staying with him. You wouldn't put it past Dean to somehow have smooth-talked her into giving him a chance.

Or she really loves him. The thought sobers you as you lower yourself down to the couch beside her. Both of you sit there in silence for a moment, trying to figure out something to talk about.

“So, you’re what, six months pregnant?” she asks.

You correct her in thinly veiled annoyance. “Three months, actually.”

“Oh, wow. I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t know why I thought it was six.”

You have a feeling her awkward chuckle is fake, however. She knew good and damn well that you’re not six months pregnant. In her eyes, you must be the size of a parade float. 

“If you want, I can recommend a holistic diet to help you get your body back after the baby’s born,” Lisa offers. “No pills, no chemicals. Just good clean weight loss.”

You feign interest. Honestly, you’d like her to cram that offer right up her hooch.

“I can even give you a discount if you want to try out yoga,” she says. “It’s low impact, but you burn plenty of calories. I have a beginner’s class, not too strenuous. Even my least flexible clients manage to do the poses.”

Is that why Dean likes you? Because you’re bendy? Bet if I sat on you, you’d pop like a fucking balloon.

You hide all of these thoughts behind a “polite” smile of your own.

“That’s really nice of you, thanks,” you reply. It’s non-committal enough, but hopefully it’ll get her off your back.

No such luck.

“You know, maintaining a healthy diet is really important for the baby’s health too,” Lisa adds. “It’s not just about avoided raw fish and dairy products. Oh, and processed food is obviously a no-go. Like, I’m sure you haven’t been hitting Taco Bell and all that stuff, right?”

As a matter of fact, you’ve been eating clean since long before you got pregnant. Not that it’s any business of hers whether you enjoy the occasional quesadilla or not.

Your temper snaps at its leash. You open your mouth to reply, when the front door unlocks and opens to Dean, stepping in through the threshold.

Thank God, you and Lisa both think. She gets up quicker from the couch than you, greeting her boyfriend with a kiss. You avert your gaze while you begin to get up yourself.

Dean reaches out to help you, grasping your arm in support. You shoot him a smile.

“I can still get up by myself,” you snip.

“Yeah, all right. Just in case,” he says with a smile. “Ready to go?”

“Oh, yeah. Let’s rock and roll,” you say, trying to hide your worsening mood. You’re exhausted, and irritated, and probably more than a little hangry. Except now, the idea of food just has you feeling guilty for even being hungry.

“Bye, hun. Hope you have a good appointment,” Lisa says, giving your shoulder a pat. You give her the most genuine smile you can muster as you thank her. It's possibly that she's one of those women who don't realize when they're being cunty, but you find it highly unlikely. She's too smart for that.

You follow Dean out the door and over to his car, big and black and sleek as you remember. You settle into the passenger seat with your arms crossed in silence. Dean switches the cassette to one of his favorite Led Zeppelin albums, though he notices your grumpy face.

“Something wrong?” he asks.

You give him some side-eye, but you’re reluctant to say anything. You just shake your head. As irritated as you are, you don’t want to be the friend who badmouths his girlfriend.

God, are we even friends? You wonder. Or am I just his knocked-up baby momma?

And again, you realize that this whole situation is probably hard for Lisa. You just don’t know if she’s jealous, or if she just…doesn’t like you.

“I’m okay,” you tell Dean.

He raises a skeptical brow. Looks like Sam isn’t the only one with a finely tuned bullshit meter.

“All right, how about this,” Dean says. “Let’s grab some burgers after this, huh? From your favorite spot. Shake Shack, right? Side of fries, frozen yogurt. I think I’ll get chocolate this time… Hmm, I doubt Lisa will want anything. She’s gone on an all-vegan kick or something.”

For one shining moment, you were happy and touched at his consideration. But now your body stills in your seat when you remember Lisa’s words. Tears well up in your eyes with a hot sting, and a sob escapes your throat.

Dean is cut off from thinking about getting extra bacon on his burger. He looks over at you in alarm. “H-Hey, what’s the matter?”

You scoff at him through your tears. “Are you kidding me? I can’t eat burgers anymore, Dean. I was already fucking fat. Now it’s just gonna get ridiculous.”

“What?” Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, along with his deepening frown. It gets worse as he tries to watch the road ahead, while at the same time, watching you continue to crumble.

“And after the birth, I’m just going to be an even fatter slob who can’t take care of her baby,” you sniffle and weep, trying in vain to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself.

Dean grits his teeth, his jaw twitching. Fuck it.

He turns the steering wheel sharp enough to startle a gasp out of you.

“Dean!”

He pulls the car over onto the side of the road, ignoring the honking SUV behind him. He shifts into Park and shuts off the radio—a big red flag, in your opinion. He’s upset too, and fucking serious, more so than you’ve ever seen him. You stare back at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve never once heard you say that you’re fat,” he says.

You blink at that, but eventually, you’re able to get your tongue to unstick from the roof of your mouth. You wipe the remnants of tears from your cheeks. Your face is already hot from your upset, now tinged with embarrassment.

“You haven’t known me very long,” you say quietly.

It doesn’t help. Dean’s jaw ticks again.

“Well, I’ve never thought it. Not even once,” he says. His jade green eyes are firmly set on yours, and he gestures between you and him with a pointed finger. “The reason you and I are here right now, is because the minute I saw you, I wanted you.”

One corner of his lips kicks upwards. “And that night, you didn’t disappoint.”

Your mouth falls open slightly. You don’t know how to respond, but you do know that a full blush is warming your face and neck. His words have power, and unbidden, they bloom a similar warmth between your legs. You swallow a bit nervously as you bite your bottom lip.

Dean glances down at your mouth when you do. He can remember what your pretty mouth did for him that night. Oh, he remembers all too well. He even had the shade of your lipstick streaked across his skin until he showered up at the firehouse.

He locks that all away when shifts the car back into Drive. If you’re going to make it to this appointment on time, he needs to get going.

And you both have to leave whatever that was right here by the side of the road.

AN: Woo! 😮‍💨 Yep, this is only Part 1, friends. Lisa is a bit different in this. My take was that without Ben in her life, she might be less mature and a bit more catty. As we get into Part 2 I'll leave it up to you to decide why she decides to stay with Dean, and perhaps more importantly, where the reader and Dean can go from here as co-parents. 🤔

If you enjoyed Part 1, please let me know!~

Next Time in Part 2:

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look, I…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours, and achingly familiar.

⋆˙⟡ Read Part 2 on Patreon now!

⋆˙⟡ Coming to Tumblr/Ao3 on 3/23

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[cece693]

I'm not ignoring your requests, but I just have so many to get through that sometimes I want a small break. And that's when this idea came to mind: what if Hannibal only tolerated Franklyn if there was a more interesting figure during his therapy sessions? I can make this into a short series if you'd like, I have so many ideas of how this can end.

Bound by Obsession

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: you find Hannibal creepy, rightfully so, Franklyn is oblivious and seeking hannibal's approval like always, kidnapping, mentions of Stockholm Syndrome

From the moment you first stepped foot into Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s office, you sensed something was off. You blamed the subtle hush in the air and the impeccable décor—tasteful lamps, pristine leather armchairs, and delicately arranged artwork that felt more like exhibits than comforting décor. But deep down, you knew it was the way Dr. Lecter’s gaze lingered on you.

Franklyn had introduced you to the psychiatrist weeks ago, insisting you accompany him to his therapy sessions for “moral support.” He was your cousin—a persistently anxious, overly enthusiastic man—and you were the only family member who still bothered to show up in his life with any consistency. So you went, believing you’d sit quietly in the waiting room while Franklyn poured out his insecurities to this reputedly brilliant psychiatrist. But that first session, Franklyn all but dragged you inside.

“No, no, you should meet him properly,” he’d insisted with a bright grin, eyes shining. “He’s the one person who really gets me, you know? It’ll help if you’re there.”

Against your better judgment, you obliged.

Dr. Lecter was polite—astonishingly so. He asked after your work, your daily routines, and the nature of your relationship to Franklyn. Whenever your cousin prattled about how kind you were, Hannibal’s dark, steady gaze would fix upon you. It felt clinical, as though he were dissecting the smallest shift in your posture or the faintest quiver in your voice. “Family is a profound bond,” he’d remarked in that smooth voice of his. “Would you say that sense of duty compels you to attend these sessions?”

You’d shrugged awkwardly, more keenly aware of his attention than you wanted to admit. “Something like that,” you’d replied. A near-smile traced his features before he returned his focus to Franklyn’s open eagerness. Yet you couldn’t ignore the undercurrent in his eyes.

Over the next few weeks, the routine solidified: you accompanied Franklyn, sat through his half-hour of swirling anxious chatter, and then quietly excused yourself to the waiting area or to the office corner. But with each passing session, Dr. Lecter’s questions seemed to inch closer to you—what you liked to read, how you handled stress, what your upbringing was like. More disturbingly, Franklyn fed him answers. He was so desperate for Lecter’s approval and “friendship” that he eagerly offered details about you: your favorite foods, anecdotes of your school days, your social life (or lack thereof).

You felt you had no control over these intimate tidbits being tossed around like conversation starters. More than once, you shot Franklyn a glare when he’d start rattling off personal details you’d never authorized him to share. Yet Hannibal only nodded calmly, occasionally turning those dark eyes on you with an unreadable expression—some combination of fascination and smug certainty.

The more you noticed his quiet scrutiny, the more it unsettled you. There was a tension in Dr. Lecter’s presence—like a coiled spring. He was polite, charming even, but you couldn’t dispel the prickle of alarm that raced along your spine whenever he stepped closer. One evening, after you and Franklyn exited the office, you cornered your cousin in the hallway.

“Enough,” you hissed under your breath. “I’m not coming back. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep doing this.”

Franklyn blinked, crestfallen. “What—why? Hannibal likes when you’re there. I can tell. It helps our sessions go smoother. He even told me how grounded you are.”

“That’s exactly why it’s weird,” you muttered, fighting a shudder. “He’s too interested in me. And it’s making me uncomfortable.”

Franklyn’s face fell, stricken. “Please, you can’t leave me to do this alone. He’s—he’s my friend, but I need you there. You stabilize me. Hannibal notices that, too!" Exasperated, you relented for two more sessions—just two. And after that, you were done for good.

Those two final sessions were excruciating. You felt Dr. Lecter’s attention on you like a beam of heat, though he remained outwardly composed. Franklyn was delighted with your continued presence; he bragged to Hannibal about some upcoming dinner party, how he’d love for them to meet outside the office. Hannibal responded with perfect courtesy, but beneath that polished veneer, you sensed he was attuned to your every breath.

At the end of the second session, you managed to slip away quickly. Franklyn badgered you outside the building, hands gesticulating as he tried to persuade you to stay on indefinitely.

“You and Hannibal—there’s some sort of connection,” Franklyn insisted, missing the mark in a spectacularly naive way. “He’s so curious about you! If you just gave him a chance—”

“That’s exactly the problem,” you cut in. “I’m done. I’m sorry, but I can’t keep going. This is it. No more.”

Franklyn hung his head, but you didn’t waver.

You stayed true to your word. The following week, you did not accompany Franklyn. Nor the week after. Franklyn’s messages piled up on your phone, growing in urgency.

“Hannibal was asking about you—where you’ve been, if you’re okay…”

“Please come, just one more time?”

“He’s so disappointed you’re not around!”

You left them all on read, your resolve firm. The sensation of Hannibal Lecter’s stare had haunted you enough. For a brief moment, you actually relaxed. Without those sessions, you felt your tension loosen. No more forced small talk, no more dissecting looks, no more sense of being cornered by a cunning intellect that seemed to see too much.

But that comfort was short-lived.

Rain pattered on the pavement as you hurried from your car to your apartment building. Lightning illuminated the street in fleeting flashes. You fumbled for your keys, hyper-aware of every rustle of the wind. Suddenly, there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled, adrenaline rushing—only to find a soaked figure in a dark coat: Dr. Hannibal Lecter. His eyes, even in the dimness, glinted with an intensity that seized your breath.

“Doctor—?” you began, stepping back. “What are you—?”

Before you could finish, he pressed a cloth to your face, the sharp smell of chemicals overwhelming you. You struggled, lurching away, but he held you in an iron grip. The world spun, your vision tunneling, your thoughts scattering. Then everything went dark.

You woke slowly, your head heavy and your body weak. A metallic tang coated your mouth. Panic hit like a jolt of electricity when you realized you couldn’t move your arms—or your legs. Breathing hard, you blinked the haze away and found yourself in a softly lit room. It was tastefully furnished, reminiscent of Hannibal’s style: all refined elegance, from the plush rug under the chair you were bound to, to the delicate arrangement of a small side table.

And there he stood, watching you with a calm, almost gentle expression.

You tried to shout, to demand an explanation, but your throat was too dry; it came out as a ragged gasp instead. He stepped forward with measured grace, holding a glass of water. “You’ll feel better if you drink,” he said softly.

You wrenched your head aside. “What the hell is this?” you croaked, voice shaking. “Untie me!”

A flicker of emotion—something dark and fervent—rose in Hannibal’s eyes. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he answered smoothly. “You left me little choice. You were slipping away.”

Your stomach lurched. “You can’t do this,” you rasped. “It’s illegal, it’s—insane!”

He inclined his head, strangely tranquil. “Perhaps by society’s standards. But I’ve never been one to confine myself to such limitations.” Desperation flooded you, and you yanked at the restraints, trying to break free. The cords, however expertly tied, held firm.

“You’ve lost your mind. If you think I’m just going to sit here and wait for you to kill me—”

Hannibal bent slightly toward you, voice soft but unyielding. “I have no intention of harming you,” he murmured. “On the contrary, I want you here, safe, under my protection. You and I both know there is something between us.”

You shivered, disgust and fear twisting together. “That’s your delusion,” you spat. “Just let me leave. I’ll never speak of this if you just—”

He gently shook his head. “And lose you all over again? I don’t think so. Perhaps you’d return to that hollow life, insisting you feel nothing. Eventually, you might even believe it. But the connection we share is undeniable.”

Your chest heaved, tears pricking behind your eyes. “That’s not a connection; it’s obsession. You’ve kidnapped me!”

Hannibal’s composure wavered, only for a fraction of a second, revealing a flare of frustration. “You needed a direct demonstration of how much I care,” he said, voice like satin over steel. “You’ll resent me now, yes. That is understandable. But with time, you’ll see the devotion behind this act.”

“Devotion?” Your voice cracked on a bitter laugh. “You’re sick.”

He took a measured breath, regaining his poise. “One might call it an extreme, but many forms of love could be deemed pathological. So often, we label such bonds in neat categories—Stendhal Syndrome, Lima Syndrome, Stockholm Syndrome—but ultimately, these terms only describe how two souls adapt to captivity, to closeness.”

He leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back. “In time, you’ll realize I’m the only person who truly sees you. I will provide everything you need. Shelter. Sustenance. Comfort. That is not sickness, but a profound intimacy.”

You stared at him, a flicker of horror coiling in your gut. “You can’t just…make me love you.”

Hannibal tilted his head, a trace of pity in his gaze. “Not make, no. But I can help you see that you already love me in your own way. Stripped of outside influences—Franklyn’s pushiness, your own fear—you’ll find solace with me. There is no reason to deny what must be.”

Your eyes burned with tears you refused to shed. This man stood before you in calm certainty, weaving his rationale for holding you prisoner like it was the most natural thing in the world. He reached out, touching your cheek with the back of his fingers, a gesture that made you recoil. His lips curved in a gentle, almost sorrowful smile as he withdrew his hand.

“I expect you to fight,” he said, voice hushed. “That’s part of human nature. But eventually, acceptance will soothe your pain. My methods may be unconventional, but in time, you’ll understand that everything I’ve done is in service to what we could share.”

Your breath rattled in your chest, part of you screaming to keep resisting, to never surrender. But another part—terrified, uncertain—couldn’t ignore the chilling inevitability in his words. His unwavering belief that this was right threatened to unravel your hope. Fury warred with fear. Yet as Hannibal gently dabbed at your temples, as if tending to a faint bruise, you realized he’d planned every detail with excruciating precision. You were truly at his mercy.

[piastrisun]

now i wonder why.

─────⠀ don’t smile series: part two.

pairings: lando norris + singer female character.

summary: after six months is too late to talk? or can it finally be fixed?

faceclaim: sabrina carpenter.⠀warning: none.

notes: officially turning this into a short series because i’m too invested to just leave it in two parts. i hope you enjoy it!!!! and sorry for taking too long on this.

previous part ⠀ ⠀series masterlist ⠀ ⠀next part

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MARLENE’S CHATS: WHITNEY.

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LANDO’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

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marlene added to their story.

replies to your story

username playing clairo? yeah you’re spiralling

chappellroan you look too pretty to be this sad

marlene LMAO I LOVE YOU

marlene i’ll get over it promise

chappellroan you won’t

marlene shhhhh i’m trying to get it together

username2 this better not be a sad album i’m not strong enough

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MARLENE’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

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landonorris added to their story.

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username men will literally drive at 300km/h instead of going to therapy

georgerussell63 you’re not subtle at all

landonorris that’s the point

username2 YOU are the problem and YOU are the solution. fix it!!!!!

keeganpalmer just call her bro

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MARLENE’S CHATS: WHITNEY.

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landonorris thinking too much

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username about your ex? 😭😭

username2 i am thinking things and none of them should be shared on this app

username3 is this a bad time to say #needthat

username4 this is killing me

maxfewtrell i swear i’m deleting your account

username5 RUN LANDO RUNNNN

username6 ln4 lover first, human second

username7 at least the breakup is getting us FED

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LANDO’S CHATS: ALEX ALBON.

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liked by tyla, username and others

marlene got diagnosed with severe melancholy so i had to leave the country to reconnect with nature

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clairo 🩷🩷

username i’m drooling

username2 wowowowow

coreyfogelmanis dream come true

username3 SHUT UPPPP they mean so much to me

whitneypeak YOU LEFT THE COUNTRY???? CALL ME WHEN U WAKE UP

marlene good morning to you too gorgeous 🤍

username4 she didn’t even tell her bff she took a flight to the other side of the world lmao

username5 she’s the most beautiful girl in the world but she has to do something silly every five minutes or she’ll die

username6 blondie of my life

milomanheim 😍

username7 okay girl we see you

username8 no we don’t. GET OUTTTTTT

username9 talk to him already ♥︎ liked by author

username9 SHE LIKED THIS

username8 just fell at my knees

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MARLENE’S CHATS: MAX FEWTRELL.

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MARLENE’S CHATS: WHITNEY.

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liked by marlene, oscarpiastri and others

lando.jpg 🖤

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username he remembered the password and FOR WHAT 😭😭

username2 he can’t even pretend he’s happy anymore

username3 fr this is NOT the same guy who was acting like he was fine a few months ago

username4 are we gonna acknowledge the second picture bc…

username RIGHT those are literally marley’s ☹️

username5 why am i so invested in this

username6 am i the only one who feels like marlene’s been ignoring this man? like come on, he’s laying it out for her

username7 she liked this so i wouldn’t be so sure about that

─── ⋅ ☆ ⋅ ───

MARLENE’S CHATS: WHITNEY.

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MARLENE’S CHATS: LANDO.

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 25’.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

the first appointment rafes able to go to🥹🥹 the nurse knew you knew the gender but didn’t realize rafe doesn’t know so when she says it rafe feels all these crazy emotions about the pregnancy

our little girl - rafe cameron

series masterlist

content: pregnancy check up, fluff, gender reveal,

word count: 829

You tried not to let the nerves show as you sat in the slightly uncomfortable chair of the OB-GYN’s office, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your sweater. The sterile smell of the clinic, the quiet hum of medical equipment, the faint sound of a baby crying somewhere in the hallway—it all felt so routine now. You had been here countless times already, had gone through every scan, every checkup, every little milestone without him. But today was different. Today, Rafe was here.

Even though you knew Rafe’s absence wasn’t his fault, it still stung—the loneliness, especially during a time like this, was hard to ignore. Pregnancy wasn’t something you could navigate alone, even when surrounded by people. But now, sitting next to him in the exam room, everything felt different. His knee bounced with quiet energy, his fingers gripping yours tightly, grounding you. He was here. Not just physically, but emotionally. Since he found out about the pregnancy, he’d stepped up in ways you hadn’t expected, becoming more mature, more present—more than you could have hoped for. He was trying, trying so hard to be the man you and your baby needed.

Rafe had been quiet on the drive over, uncharacteristically so, and now, as you glanced at him, you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his other hand clenched into a fist on his thigh. You nudged him gently. “Nervous?” He scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “No.” But then he sighed, squeezing your hand. “I mean… yeah, kinda. I don’t know what to expect.” You smiled softly. “It’s just a normal check-up. You’ll finally get to see them, though.” His lips twitched at that, a ghost of a smile passing over his face before it was gone. “Yeah.”

The door opened, and the nurse stepped in, her warm smile instantly putting you at ease. “Alright, how are we doing today?” she asked, flipping through your chart. “Good,” you answered as Rafe nodded beside you. “Excited, Dad?” she asked with a friendly grin, glancing at Rafe. He blinked at the title, as if it hadn’t quite sunk in before now. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, I am.”

The nurse chuckled knowingly before moving toward the ultrasound machine. “Well, let’s get a look at your little girl.” Your stomach dropped. Rafe’s entire body tensed beside you. His fingers tightened around yours almost painfully, and you didn’t even have to look at him to know he was staring at you, his chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths.

The nurse must’ve noticed the shift in the air because she glanced up, confused. “Oh—wait…did I—?” You swallowed hard, finally turning to look at him. His face was unreadable, eyes locked on you, lips parted slightly. He was stunned. “Rafe…” you started softly, guilt swelling in your chest. “You knew?” His voice was quiet, almost hoarse. Your heart clenched. “I—” You sighed. “I only found out last week. I didn’t—” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, and for a moment, you thought he was upset. But then he exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face as he let out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

A girl, he murmured, like he was testing the words on his tongue. The nurse gave you both a sheepish smile. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize he didn’t know—” “It’s okay,” you reassured her quickly before looking back at Rafe. His eyes were still distant, unfocused, like he was trying to process everything all at once. “You’re having a daughter,” you said gently, squeezing his hand. Something shifted in his expression then. His brows furrowed slightly, his lips pressed together, and when his eyes finally met yours, they were glassy. Overwhelmed.

A daughter.

You could see the realization hitting him all at once—the gravity of it, the weight of the responsibility, the fact that this pregnancy wasn’t just some abstract idea anymore. It was real. She was real. Rafe inhaled sharply, nodding slowly. “Okay.” His voice was thick, uneven. “Okay.” And then, for the first time in months, you saw it—the pure, unfiltered emotion in his eyes, the raw vulnerability he rarely let himself show. It made your own throat tighten. The nurse gave you both a moment before she cleared her throat gently. “Do you still want to see her?”

Rafe nodded immediately. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.” As the nurse prepped the machine, Rafe turned to you, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed over your skin. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. You could see everything written all over his face—the awe, the fear, the love.

And when the screen flickered to life, when the grainy black-and-white image of your daughter appeared, Rafe let out a quiet, shaky breath.

“There she is,” the nurse murmured.

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered.

And for the first time since this pregnancy started, you knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that he was all in.

taglist: @littlelamy @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt

[sensorytuna]

── LOVE ME NOT.

synopsis . as the guidance counselor of south park middle school, you support students, parents, teachers and administrators to ensure that the highest levels of student success can be obtained. but when two children with familiar last names keep on landing themselves a trip to your office, you're left with no choice but to break no contact and call two men that you have dug deep in your past.

notes . occasional swearing, age gap change between the mccormick siblings and broflovski brothers, lowercase intented, aged up chatacters (in their 20s) a choose your own ending series

♡ : kyle broflovski / kenny mccormick (K2) x reader

- your office is a mess of paperwork, a half-eaten granola bar, and stress-induced regret when the clock hits 4:30PM

- "so," you start

- "why am i seeing you two again?"

- ike broflovski and karen mccormick sat across from you, both in their respective chairs like two gremlins awaiting judgment

- you are one bad argument away from strangling them both

- you sigh, rubbing your temples as you glance at the two kids

- both of them have matching indifferent expressions like this is a normal tuesday for the two of them

- (which unfortunately it is)

- "didn't do anything," ike shrugs

- karen snorts at that

- ike is staring at the ceiling like it just personally insulted his entire family

- karen is slouched in her seat, legs stretched out with her hood up

- she's a sweet child, really

- until ike roped her into—

- "uh-huh," you flip through the files and the angry comments from their advisors in colorful sticky notes

- "let's see—oh wow, property damage? do i even wanna know?"

- ike grins like a little shit while karen shrugs, still not looking at you

- "depends," he says

- "do you want plausible deniability?"

- you pinch the bridge of your nose

- "okay, whatever. we'll get to that later."

- you spin your chair to the voip phone resting on your table, grabbing the handset and furiously dialing the phone numbers you saw from the scribbled emergency contacts in both kids' information files

- first up; mrs. broflovski

- ring... ring... ring...

- suddenly, in full speaker mode—

- "hello! you’ve reached the broflovski residence! if this is about a fundraiser, we already donated! if this is about a petition, send me the link and i’ll sign it! if this is about a complaint—just know that i am a mother, and i will not tolerate any nonsense about my family! leave a message after the beep, and i’ll get back to you when i can. kisses!"

- there's a short pause at that

- followed by a muffled "sheila, you need to shorten that—" before the voicemail cut off

-

- you hung up without leaving a message

- ike sighed loudly at the end of the voicemail, rolling his eyes

- "told you she wouldn't come here"

- karen snorts, who had been listening to the voicemail too

- you weren't even sure if you should call mrs. mccormick

- but you try to anyway

- ring... ring... ring...

- "yeah?"

- it's gruff, vaguely annoyed, sound just like mrs. mccormick herself

- "uh.. mrs. mccormick?" you start

- karen straights up slightly

- there's a pause, then a long drag of a cigarette

- "who's askin'?"

- you take a deep breath

- "this is the school counselor. i'm talking about karen."

- there's another pause

- in the background, there's a muffled voice of man speaking

- "who the hell is that?"

- carol sighed like speaking was too much effort for her, "the school."

- more muffled grumbling, then carol comes back to you

- "she ain't dead, is she?"

- your stomach twisted at that mere thought

- karen shook her head, going "god dammit, mom..." under her breath

- "no! no, she's—she's fine. but she and a friend got into some trouble at school, and we need a guardian to come in."

- more silence

- she takes a slow drag on the other side, then a sharp sniff like she was holding back a yawn

- suddenly

- "yeah, that ain't happenin'."

- you blink

- "i'm sorry?"

- "i said, that ain't happenin'. whatever it is, tell her don't do it again. there. problem solved. 'kay, bye."

- click

- she hung up

- you stare at the handset with an unreadable expression before putting it back in the voip

- right

- that went just as how you expected it to be

- karen bit the inside of her cheek, scoffing before looking away

- you took the hint of saying nothing about that before glancing down at your own phone

- being a guidance counselor pays off apparently, judging by the current model of your phone

- you still have their numbers

- kyle and kenny

- you pause at the sight of their contact names, your hands beginning to get all clammy at the abrupt thought of them

-

- you text kyle first

- you: ike is in my office again. your mom isn't answering, come get him

- in under any circumstances DO NOT CALL: are you serious

- in under any circumstances DO NOT CALL: jesus christ i'll be there in five minutes

- you let out a sigh of relief you didn't realize you were holding before going to kenny

- you: karen's here, your parents said fuck no so can you come by

- scam likely: lol what did she do this time

- you: kenny

- scam likely: yeah yeah i'm coming over

— ♡ —

- kyle arrives first

- you hear his footsteps down the hall, brisk and determined

- your office door swings open and there he is

- dressed in business casual, sleeves rolled up, glasses on, looking like he just walked out of an important meeting that he absolutely had to interrupt to deal with his brother’s bullshit

- damn

- "ike," he gritted his teeth

- "are you fucking kidding me?"

- "wasn't me," ike immediately counters while kyle took a seat on the couch

- "oh my god."

- you clear your throat, hiding your smirk

- "kyle—"

- "sorry," he says, shaking his head

- "hi. long time, no see."

- he gives you an awkward smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes

- possibly because he's holding in the urge to strangle his brother right in front of you

- "thanks for calling me."

- he turns back to ike, his curt smile immediately disappearing

- "i'm telling mom when we get home, dipshit."

- just then, the door creaks open once more

- kenny peeks his head in, looking far less rushed

- "hey babe,"

- you blink

- "excuse me?"

- his grin widens, "sorry, force of habit."

- that was NOT a force of habit

- kenny steps inside, still in his car workshop uniform like he's visiting an old friend

- technically

- he is

- "hey kenny!" karen grins, looking at her brother

- "hey sweetheart," kenny greets back, ruffling her hair while he sat down beside kyle

- "so what's the damage?"

- "yeah, they broke the sink."

- kenny snorts, whereas kyle groans

- a sharp contrast between the two

- "hell yeah, that's my girl."

- "christ, dude. nothing changed about you."

- you sigh

- "okay, okay. let's just... deal with this."

- "so what's the punishment? detention? suspension?" kyle looks at you, expecting you to be the other adult in the room

- you glance at kenny, who's sitting beside him like he lives here

- and then your eyes wander to the kids, completely unbothered

- "it's a one month suspension. they broke a damn sink in the bathrooms."

- kyle scoffed, running his hands through his face

- "great job, sweetie." kenny grins, fist-bumping karen

- this is gonna be a long day

TWO DAMN BITCHES AT THE SAME DAMN TIME 😜😜😜😜 (want a part 2? it's coming soon teehee)

[flowery-mess]

THE FIRE WITHIN

chapter 4 (series masterlist)

Pairing: firefighter Noah x female reader

reader has a name (Theresa Monroe, but the story is written in 'your' POV)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! / sexual content (oral m receiving, protected sex) / description of tragical call - death, explosion, burns / hospital / I think that's it, if there' anything else let me know!

Words: 10k

Author's note: And the main storyline of Tess and Noah is done❤️‍🩹 I'm gonna keep writing one shots for them, I already have a few ideas! Feel free to send me your thoughts and headcannons about them. I love this little universe a lot, so thank you for reading it❤️

Be aware you're reading this at your own decision, it contains sensitive topics, so please think twice before reading as I wouldn't want to cause anyone any discomfort while reading my work!

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You got back to work after one week of laying in your or Noah’s bed, pretty excited to be around people again.

You and Noah enjoyed the time you got to spend together, but it also started your first argument.

This morning your neighbour knocked on your door to tell you that she has a wet spot on her ceiling, right under your washing machine. You apologized and promised to call someone to look at it as soon as possible. But Mr. Know it all told you he can fix it. Not that you didn’t trust him, but you were in a rush to get to work on time, but he still insisted on looking at it before you leave.

You left him in the bathroom and went to pack your things. You were finishing your morning coffee when you heard loud noise and “Fuck!” followed by shits and fucking hell’s.

You found Noah covered in water and a broken pipe in his hands. He quickly covered the holes so the water wouldn’t run out, changed his clothes and finally left your apartment. The drive to the station was silent, you were mad at him and he was mad himself too.

You managed to be only half an hour late and when Nick asked you where the hell have you been you just pointed to Noah and said “Ask him.”

His hair was still wet and with a dramatic roll of his eyes he went to change in the locker room.

It wasn’t a big argument, but it was your first and you didn’t know how to act now, so you avoided Noah as much as you could.

There was a call where you had to join the crew. In the end it wasn’t anything big. Older man in his late 70s locked himself in a bedroom and didn’t come out for hours, his wife got scared and called 911. Because she was scared and panicking, they also sent you in case the man was in danger. He wasn’t, he wanted to change their door lock and when he sat down on the bed to read the manual he fell asleep.

He was telling you the story as you stood next to Noah and Jason who were repairing the broken door.

“How smart of you to read the manual first.” you said loud enough for Noah to hear.

“Hold this Jason.” Noah instructed the probie ( = a firefighter who has recently joined a department).

“Are you sure you don’t want Jason to do it? Maybe he’s not as clumsy as you are today.”

Jason looked very uncomfortable, feeling like a third wheel between you.

“You know what, why don’t you go check on Ms. Black and have tea with her?” Noah bit back.

Before you could protest, Mr. Black grabbed your shoulders and led you to their kitchen “He’s right sweetheart, let us treat you.”

The ride back was silent and back at the station you hid in your office again.

When you were packing your things you were contemplating your options, you either leave without saying bye or swallow your pride and apologize.

Before you could choose one option the door to your office opened and you saw Noah standing there. You kept staring at each other for a minute, both obviously thinking about the same thing.

He was the first one to say “I’m sorry for this morning. And for the call.”

“I’m sorry too. I know you just wanted to help and I should’ve kept my mouth shut on the call.”

“I should’ve read the manual first.” Noah said and his mouth twitched with a smile.

“You really should have.” you laughed, the picture of Noah kneeling in front of the washing machine with wet t-shirt was suddenly more funny then it was in the morning.

You took your bag and made your way to him, still between your doors.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” you whispered and put your arms around his shoulders.

“Yeah.” he brushed his nose along your cheekbone before giving you the sweetest kiss on your lips.

—

Nights without Noah were always cold and lonely, but you still waltzed with a smile into the station. You met some of the guys from A shift already leaving, so you made your way to their lockers to make sure you don’t miss Noah on his way out.

“Good morning.” you smiled at him when he came out of the room.

“Morning.” he didn’t smile back.

“What’s up?” you were scared that he was still mad from yesterday.

“Cap wants to talk to us again.”

“Oh no.”

You walked together to the captain’s office like two school kids that got in trouble. He spared you the “I knock you talk.” argument when he opened the door as if he was expecting you.

“Thanks for coming, sit down.” you couldn’t read his emotions, but the atmosphere in the room spoke for itself. “I have good and bad news for you. Good news, your complaint came back, captain Wilson’s pay will be reduced for the next six months.”

You heard Noah scoff next to you, he was furious. That man risked your life and he only gets his pay cut.

“I’m gonna go straight to the point. Bad news, one of you will have to change stations.”

“What?” Noah was now sitting straight after hearing that.

“There were complaints from someone that they don’t feel safe with you working together on a call, saying you get easily distracted. You’ve been seen sneaking around the station and also having arguments on calls. That person told me they want me to do something about it and I don’t want to risk them taking it higher.”

“That’s bullshit! We don’t interact on calls and we had one argument on yesterday's call.” Noah protested. Then it hit you, Jason. He was new here and he was with you yesterday.

“I’m sorry Noah, I can’t risk my career for you. I don’t want to be the one that makes the decision, so please, let me know who’s going to leave 25 as soon as possible. You can go now.”

“But-”

“Noah.” you told him, seeing no point in arguing.

Noah followed you to your office and even by the way he walked you knew he was angry.

“He can’t do that.”

“You know he can.” you led him to your couch and when he sat down you straddled his lap.

“I like working with you.” he pouted and made puppy eyes at you.

“I like working with you too, but we knew from the beginning that this was a risky idea.” you ran your fingers through his hair in an attempt to calm him down. He rested his hands on your hips and made putty lips. You laughed at his childish behaviour, but leaned down to kiss his lips.

“I don’t want to decide who’s gonna leave.” he rested his forehead on yours and said between taking breaths.

“It’s gonna be me, I thought that’s obvious.” you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Of course it’s going to be you.

“What do you mean?” “Noah, this is your station. Your crew, your friends. You’ve been here for years, I’m not gonna let you even think about leaving.” you stated the obvious.

“But they like you too.”

“Nuh uh, there is no room for discussion. I’m gonna ask John to switch stations with me. That way I know you’ll be in good hands. Also, he’s at 19 so I know the guys there too. And it’s still close to your place.”

“Tessa.” he felt bad, but he knew you were right. It made more sense for you to leave.

“I can still go out with you and the guys, it’s not like I’ll never see them again. Don’t make this harder than it is.” you silenced another one of his attempts to argue with kissing him again.

You rocked your hips against his and felt his grip on your waist tighten.

“What are you doing?” he had a smirk on his face when he leaned his head against the back of the couch, looking up at you.

“Using our last chance to sneak around for one more time.” you said and rolled your hips again, already feeling the bulge in Noah’s pants.

—

You told your captain the decision on the same day and the guys insisted on taking you out as a member of station 25 for the last time on Friday, because you were starting at 19 on Monday.

Noah was very touchy and clingy even before you left his apartment, but he couldn’t keep his hands off of you at the bar.

His hand was either on your thigh, around your shoulders or interlocked with yours on the table. He was making heart eyes at you every time you were speaking to someone and he earned a few comments from the boys. But he didn’t mind, he wanted everyone to know he loves you.

“I think we should leave.” he whispered in your ear when you leaned into his side.

“Why so soon, lieutenant?” you teased him with his rank and your hand on his thigh.

“I think we’ll have more fun in my bed than here playing darts, hm? Let’s go.” he nudged your shoulder with his.

“Is that an order lieutenant?” he just growled in your ear and took your hand in his. He barely said bye to the guys and threw some cash on the table for your drinks. He threw the cash also at the driver of uber when he stopped in front of the building where Noah’s apartment was.

Together you moved messily through Noah’s place, clothes flying everywhere until you were both left in your underwear and in his bedroom.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you, so pretty.” Noah gave you compliments when he positioned himself above you. “So pretty and all mine.” he nudged your clothed breasts with his nose, teasing you with his tongue around the hem of your bra.

“Take it off lieutenant.” you whispered into his hair and when he looked up at you his eyes were dark and full of hunger. He has a rank kink, confirmed. “Do you like it when I call you that, lieutenant Sebastian?”

He took both of your hands in his and pinned them over your head. His dick was begging to be released and you desperately wanted to touch him. But his grip on your hands remained strong and he used his other to slide your panties to the side and wet his fingers in your juices.

“So wet, all for me.” he tortured you with his fingers sliding between your folds, carefully avoiding your clit. He was looking at you squirming under him and he was enjoying himself.

“Noah, I need you.” as much as you loved his fingers and mouth on your pussy, tonight his possessiveness made you eager for his dick.

“You have to wait baby.” he continued teasing your pussy, finally applying pressure to your swollen clit. “You like that huh?”

“Yes.” you moaned in response.

He saw the way you were squirming under him and knew you’re not going to last long. He rolled your bodies over so you were on top of him. You regained your dominance and used your nails to slide down his chest, even over his sensitive nipples.

You leaned down to kiss him while he slid his underwear to the middle of his thighs.

“Ride my dick pretty girl.” pretty girl, if he was already inside you he would feel the squeezing of your walls at the nickname. You quickly pulled out a condom from the first drawer and rolled it down on Noah’s hard dick.

Your hand reached down to pull your panties more to the side and then line his cock to your entrance. You sank down and took him fully in, moaning at the feeling of stretch and fullness it gave you.

“Noah fuck.” he let you get used to it, kissed your forehead and rubbed soothing circles on your thighs. After a while he used his strong hands to start guiding your hips, moving you up and down his shaft.

“That’s it, ride my cock. Just like that.” he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You were sitting on top of him, looking like a goddess. Your eyes were closed and mouth open, the sexiest of moans leaving your lips when he hit the sensitive spot inside you. He reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, throwing it on the floor.

He guided your hands until you were touching your boobs, squeezing them and teasing your nipples.

“Feels good huh?” Noah asked you when he noticed your fingers playing with your nipples. He liked this position, fully inside you with the best view.

“Noah I’m close.” you dropped your hands on his chest to stabilize yourself before quickening your pace. Noah’s hips met you halfway, lifting himself from the bed so he could see you fall apart on his dick.

“Let go, I got you pretty girl.” he encouraged you and you felt his fingers on your clit. It didn’t take more than five strokes and you were spasming around him. Your legs were shaking from the intense orgasm and Noah was still fucking into you.

He grabbed you by your neck and pulled you down to kiss you. As he gave you messy kisses you felt him cum. You continued moving your hips slowly to ride your orgasms out until he stopped you from being too sensitive.

“You’re so fucking pretty.” he whispered to your ear when you collapsed next to him.

He carried you to the shower and made sure to wash every inch of your body. You had those three words on the tip of your tongue when you saw his focused face on washing your hair, his fingers softly massaging your scalp, careful not to hurt you.

“I’m so tired.” you said instead, leaning your head against his chest.

“Almost done here.” he rinsed the shampoo out of your hair and then wrapped you in a big black towel.

In silence you both did your night routine by the sink, enjoying the domestic side of your relationship.

You felt like you wouldn’t fall asleep if you finally didn’t tell him your feelings. You took his phone out of his hands and laid it next to him. You weren’t scared, you didn’t need him to say it back immediately, you just wanted him to know.

“Noah I want you to know that you make me really happy, I feel like the happiest girl on earth when I’m with you.” you leaned your forehead against his and his lips turned into the cutest smile. He knew what was about to happen.

“Noah I,” you couldn’t keep eye contact and your breath was shaky.

“Say it.” he encouraged you with a smile. “I wanna hear it.”

You playfully smacked his chest for ruining the moment, except he didn’t, it was perfect.

“Noah, I love you.” the weight lifted from your shoulders and you could breathe again.

“Again.” he begged you.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you Noah.” you laughed at his happy face, squeezing his cheeks and giving him kisses. He let you kiss him until he was ready to say it back.

“I love you too, pretty girl.” you felt butterflies in your stomach. You were giggling so much that your cheeks started to hurt and you hid your face in the skin of his chest.

“And,” he lifted your head so he could see your face, “I have one more thing to say. I don’t want you to feel any pressure and if you say no I’ll understand.” now he looked very nervous. “Wouldn’t you like to move in with me? I was thinking and it’s closer to your station and we wouldn’t have to keep moving things between our places and-”

“Yes.” you answered.

“Yes?”

“Yes.” 

“This is the best night ever.” you laughed at him when he threw his fist in the air, a gesture of happiness of a little kid.

After making plans for the next few days, when you’re going to move your things to his place and saying I love you a few more times, you fell asleep in the arms of a man who loves you.

—

Living with Noah was a dream. He let you rearrange some stuff saying that it’s your home now too. You had to do grocery shopping together, cooking, cleaning and anything else that comes with living with your partner.

Your favorite moments were cosy nights in. Just like today. Noah had a day off so he picked you up at work and you went to grab some groceries.

At home you started cooking dinner while Noah prepared the living room for a game and movie night. He put blankets and pillows on the sofa, making it snuggly and comfy. You both had your own “places” at the sofa, Noah’s corner was usually the place where you both ended up cuddling together.

After finishing dinner you played Mario kart together, something that Noah taught you.

“I wanna win too!” you sighed when your character finished right behind Noah’s.

“You can still win, it was just the first race.”

“But it’s not fair, you’re too good at this.” you never played games like these before, so you admitted you were bad at it. Noah didn’t care, he was just happy to have someone to play with him.

“Don’t give up.”

At the start of the next race you noticed Noah didn’t move his character and waited.

“Why are you giving me time, you’re still gonna win.” you shrugged your shoulders stating the obvious.

“You never know.”

“I don’t wanna win this way.” you focused on moving your character as fast as possible, but when Noah’s character passed by you you threw your arms in the air dramatically.

You finished second, right after Noah.

“But you’re second baby!” Noah laughed at your pout.

“I don’t like being second.” you tried to hold your laugh in, but failed when Noah looked at you over his shoulder.

“Let’s watch the movie.”

“We’re never gonna watch a movie I want, because you’re gonna win every time.”

“I’m gonna teach you how to win, don't worry.” he kissed your forehead and pulled you into his side.

It was Friday so you didn’t have to worry about setting an alarm for the next day. You fell asleep on the couch, bodies tangled together in a way you’re both gonna end up with hurting backs, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

—

“Attention station 19! Multi-vehicle accident on Highway 25. Hazardous materials involved, possible fire, multiple victims. All units respond. Hazmat team is on the way.”

Your pager started screaming at you, telling you you’re going on the call too.

After almost a month at 19 you felt like part of the team and your cooperation on calls was smooth. John told them about you, only good things, so they gave you a warm welcome. You went out with them a few times, which were the times you missed 25 the most, but you were always welcomed to join them too.

“Tessa in the engine.” you followed your captains orders and climbed inside the big truck. You left the station in less than 5 minutes after receiving the call and you were already making a plan with your partner on how you’re going to assess the scene.

“If we’re first on the scene we take the lead and you’ll be the commander.” Travis, your partner for the day, told you. “If other stations are there first we’ll just follow their orders.”

“Agreed.” you nodded and zipped up the big jacket with your name on it.

You felt the adrenaline in your body. You felt weird, like if something was wrong. You never had a good feeling when it came to hazardous materials on scene, especially when there were wrecked cars that could explode any minute.

Reaching the scene you saw chaos. There were already a few trucks from different stations, you managed to catch one of the trucks that had 25 on it. Blue and red lights lightened up the scene, at least two dozens of firefighters running around and around 6 cars crashed within each other. Then you saw the big lorry laying on its side in a pool of fluid leaking from its back.

Your stomach twisted at the sight, you were worried for those who were still trapped in the cars.

After you opened the door, you could hear the chaos. There were people crying, screaming, begging to be saved. Orders were being shouted and the loud sirens didn’t help to ease the situation.

Noah is at work today, he must be somewhere here too, running around or getting someone from the crashed vehicle with the jaws of life. You wanted to find him and tell him to be safe, but you knew you couldn't do that. Your priority now was to help those who needed it and after you saw bodies in black plastic bags you knew it won’t be easy.

“Tess? You hear me?” Travises voice took you out of your safe bubble.

“Yeah sorry.”

“There were few casualties, there are still some people trapped in those cars. We were sent to the medical tent to treat those who were saved.”

“Sure, let’s go.” you shook off the bad feeling of your shoulders and ran in the direction of the medical tent.

Your heart hurt for the crying and bleeding people you saw. Every single person was injured, even if it was just a small scratch. There were kids who were crying for their parents. It was a heartbreaking sight.

“Hi, I’m Tessa and I’m gonna help you now, okay?” you dropped on your knees in front of a woman who couldn’t be more than 30. “Are you hurt? Do you need medical attention?” she was holding a blanket over her shoulders and her eyes couldn’t stop staring at the disaster happening in front of her.

“No.” she said and you could barely hear her.

“Were you alone in your car?” you had to find out how she was affected to know how to treat her.

“No.” another one word answer, but it was okay. She was in shock so even one word was a success.

“Who was with you?” you rubbed your hands up and down her arms, trying to calm her down, but it seemed like she didn’t even notice the gesture.

“My husband.” she said in a voice full of pain. “He’s dead.” she kept staring somewhere behind you.

“Was he transferred to hospital?” you needed to be sure of her husband’s condition before you talked about him as a dead person. She could see him injured and thought he was dead, when in fact he could have already been on a hospital table.

“He’s dead.” she repeated.

“What’s his name?”

“Derek.”

“And yours?”

“Shannon.”

“Okay Shannon, I’m gonna find out if Derek was in one of the ambulances for you.” you were about to stand up when she grabbed your hand.

“He’s dead. He’s in the black bag. I saw him.” and for the first time since you approached her she started crying. Tears were running down her cheeks and she started hyperventilating. She couldn’t take a breath in and when her eyes rolled to the back of her head you called a doctor over. She lost consciousness and had to be transferred to the hospital.

You had to do your job, you couldn’t be shaken up by something like this, you trained for this. But you couldn’t stop from turning around and watching the scene. More bodies were covered by the black plastic now. Tragic, this was just tragic.

In the sea of moving bodies you saw “SEBASTIAN” and you felt relief. He was okay. He was working on getting other people out of those cars.

You turned back and made your way to another woman, this time an older one.

“I’m okay sweetheart. My husband is okay too, he’s over there.” she pointed to the left where you saw an older man getting his hand treated for some minor cuts.

“Do you need anything? Blanket? Water?”

“No, there are others that need your help.” after you made sure one more time she was okay, you went to talk to a teenage boy sitting next to her.

“Hey, what's your name?” you smiled at him.

But before he could tell you that information there was a loud explosion. Everyone started to panic and a new wave of screams filled the tight space.

You turned around and saw that one of the cars exploded and the liquid caught on fire.

Your eyes scanned all of the firefighters who were running around trying to extinguish the fire, desperately searching Noah’s name. Last time you saw him he was standing next to the black car, which was now on fire.

“No. No, no, no, no.” you repeated. You felt your breath quicken and before you could think you started walking in the direction of the fire.

Karlsson. Ruffilo. Hughes. Bennett. Meyers. Carter. Those and more you could see, but the name you wanted to find the most was still nowhere to be found.

“Where are you going?” your captain caught you by your arm before you were too close to the fire.

“Noah.” you couldn’t get anything else out of your mouth.

“Monroe stand back. Get back to your job.” but you couldn’t move. Your eyes still searched for any signs of Noah and you couldn’t move.

“Monroe! You have a job to do!” he yelled in your ear. He knew you and Noah were in a relationship, but he didn’t care. You were here to do your job which you currently failed to do.

“I need to know if he’s okay.” you managed to say a full sentence.

“The only thing you need to do is your job.”

“He was standing next to the car. Just tell me he’s okay.” you begged him and tried hard not to cry.

“I will when I find out. Go back to do your job.” he repeated his orders again, but then you saw it. You saw Noah’s jacket laying next to the car and his unconscious body carried by two other men.

“Noah!” you screamed and your feet started moving on their own.

“Move! Move! Move!” the firefighter who was holding Noah’s shoulders yelled for everyone who got in their way. The paramedics were running to meet them in the safe zone with stretcher where his big body barely fit. You saw more firefighters in the same state as Noah being pulled out of the fire.

“Tessa don’t.” you heard a familiar voice behind you. You knew it was Nick without even turning around, but you couldn’t tear your eyes off Noah's body.

His eyes were closed, but his chest was going up and down, that was a good sign. Your eyes slid down to his arms and you saw burns on his skin. Some were small, but one was big, red and bleeding.

“Oh my god.” once again you couldn’t move as if you coming closer to him would hurt him even more. “Oh my god.” you cried out again.

“He needs to go to the hospital Tessa. Let them work.” Nick’s hand took yours and he tried to take you somewhere else.

“I wanna go with him.” you tried to walk towards Noah, but Nick pulled you back.

“You know you can’t.” he told you and you just stood there, watching Noah being loaded in an ambulance. Once the sirens were on and the vehicle started moving, you broke down.

“Monroe, get your ass in the truck. You’re done here.” your captain who was obviously angry yelled at you. Nick helped you to stand up, but his hands were needed with the fire.

You ran off to your truck and closed yourself inside, blocking off the sounds of tragedy. You could see Noah’s body in front of you even if you closed your eyes. You cried and cried until there were no more tears.

You failed. You failed your job, your captain, your team, you failed Noah. You knew what happened today was not going to be overlooked. That was unprofessional and if you just ruined your career, then so be it. You wanted nothing more than to know if Noah was okay. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

—

8 hours later you were finally back at the station. Everyone was silent after witnessing that kind of call. It was way past your work time and you just wanted to leave and go to the hospital.

“Monroe, my office, now.” you followed your captain, knowing that whatever was coming was unavoidable.

He closed the door behind you and started walking back and forth, meanwhile you just stood there.

“What the hell was that? Explain to me what was that supposed to mean? You were sent to a different station because of your relationship and now you do this? What do you think is gonna happen?”

You remained silent with your eyes fixed on the floor of his office.

“Can you say something?” he pushed again.

“I’m sorry sir.” was all you could say. You were sorry for your performance on the scene, you knew you did everything wrong, but you couldn’t take anything back now.

“You’re on suspension from now on until I call you to come back.”

“Yes sir.” and with that you left his office. You took off your gear and left the station still in your uniform. You didn’t say goodbye to anyone and went straight for your car.

Inside you finally felt like you could finally breathe and process what happened. Another wave of crying hit you and your head hit the steering wheel. You felt exhausted, physically and emotionally.

You probably just ruined your career and you still didn’t know if Noah was okay.

The thought of Noah made you pull yourself together and start the car, leaving the station and speeding to the closest hospital.

—

You always hated hospitals since you were a kid. Being in hospital never meant any good. You moved like a ghost in the direction the receptionist told you until you saw Nick sitting in the waiting room.

When he noticed you he stood up and opened his arms. You needed a hug and it seemed like he needed one too. You let his strong arms hold your tired body, keeping you from collapsing right there on the floor.

“He’s okay Tess. He’s okay.” he kept repeating.

“Is his hand okay?”

“That burn was deep and it will take time to heal, but once it does he should be okay. He has a few smaller burns and bruises from the pressure of the explosion. He woke up in the ambulance and other than the burns he seemed okay. He was lucky.”

“When can we see him?”

“When they’re finished treating the burn they’ll let us know.”

After that Nick sat you down next to him and you waited together for the doctor to let you in Noah’s room.

—

“Are you here for Mr. Sebastian?” after more than an hour a doctor finally came for you. He took you to Noah’s room and told you that he needs to rest so you should make it quick.

You were preparing yourself for the worst, being in this situation for the first time ever. You never imagined what it would feel like visiting your firefighter boyfriend in hospital, even if you knew the nature of the job.

Nick opened the door and stepped in first, you followed in complete silence.

Noah was laying on the white hospital bed with eyes closed, but when he heard someone come in his eyes shot open. You didn’t see any dirt and ashes on his body, they probably wiped all of it from his skin when they treated his injuries. He was shirtless, probably only in his underwear. His body was covered with a blanket up to his chest so you could see the bandages around his arms.

“Man, you scared the shit out of me.” Nick let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and stood on one side of the bed, you took the other one.

Noah let out a small laugh, but his eyes remained on you. His gaze softened when he saw your red eyes and wet cheeks.

“Come here.” he patted the bed next to him and you sat down.

“Oh Noah.” another wave of tears spilled from your eyes when you saw the blood leaking through the bandage at one particular place where his biggest wound was.

“I’m fine, okay? I’m fine.” he reassured you and tried to lift his hand to touch you, but it was hard and painful.

“Can you give us a moment?” Noah asked Nick who just nodded and left the room.

“Come here pretty girl.” Noah lifted his right hand and motioned for you to lay on his chest.

“You’re hurt Noah.” you protested.

“Cuddles will heal me.” it made you laugh, a good sign that his sense of humor didn’t leave him.

You slowly and carefully maneuvered your body to lay down, his bandaged arm around you pulling you closer to him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” he whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but I know how it feels to see you hurt on call. So I’m sorry you had to see it.”

“Are you in a lot of pain?” 

“I’m doped with pain killers, so not now. I saw the burns and it's not that bad. The one on my left hand is deep, but not big. Doctor told me I’ll be out for a month, that sucks. The other ones are small and I'll probably have a few bruises from the fall. I’ll be okay.” he kissed the top of your head.

You lifted yourself so you could look at his face. He was tired and you could still see some dirt around his eyes, but he was still beautiful. His warm brown eyes looked at you with affection and love.

“But I’ll need you to bring me some clothes.”

“Oh yeah sure. Whatever you need.” you smiled at him and cupped his cheek. Your fingers traced his cheekbone and then his lips. You wanted to kiss him so bad, but you were scared you’re gonna hurt him.

“Can I kiss you?” you asked.

“Of course you can kiss me.” he laughed, finding your question ridiculous and pulled you down so he could capture your lips with his.

It was a sweet slow kiss, filled with all of the unspoken words that you both held inside.

Just as you pulled away to get some air the door to his door opened and the doctor came in. You quickly stood up from the bed and shook his hand.

“So Mr. Sebastian has burns on both of his arms. His body suffered a hard fall so we expect bruises mainly on his torso to show in the next few days. We’re gonna keep him here for two days and then he’ll be able to come home. He should be able to do almost everything by himself, but he’ll need help with changing the bandages on his wounds.” the doctor gave you instructions and you nodded your head, taking everything in. “I’m gonna ask you two to leave as soon as you can today. You can come see Mr. Sebastian tomorrow during visiting hours. If you’re gonna bring him some personal items and clothes, leave it with the nurses. Do you have any questions?” after you all nodded no the doctor left.

“Well I’m gonna give you two a minute before he kicks you out.” you pointed to Nick, “What do you want me to bring from home?”

“Just some clothes, a toothbrush and my phone.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.” you leaned down to give him one last kiss before you left the room.

—

“I’m bored.”

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen table. After you dropped Noah’s things off back at the hospital he hasn't stopped texting you and telling you that he’s bored.

“I should’ve brought you a book.”

“Have you ever seen me read a book?”

“There's a first time for everything.”

“I’ll pass.”

You rolled your eyes and cuddled more into the sheets that were already covering your body. You were tired, exhausted. Your body and heart hurt and you felt alone in your big bed without Noah.

You kept thinking about what your captain told you and how you’re going to tell Noah.

“Are you asleep?”

Another message from him.

“Almost.”

“Nooo, don’t leave me.”

“I’m tired Noah, you should get some sleep too.”

“You sound like the nurses.”

“They’re right.”

“Okay… good night then pretty girl.”

“Good night Noah, I love you.”

“I love you more.”

You put your phone on the nightstand and fell asleep the second you closed your eyes.

—

After two days of visiting Noah at the hospital you finally got to take him home. So far you avoided any questions about work, but you knew you couldn’t do that forever.

You picked up all the supplies from the pharmacy and left to go home.

“Can we order some food please? That shit was disgusting.” you felt like you picked up a child, he was bouncing with joy when he got to leave the hospital bed, telling you about how he can’t wait to play Mario Kart with you, because he was so bored and he sent you pictures of every meal with disgusted emoji.

“Sure, what do you want?” but how could you say no to him?

The first week was great, you enjoyed the time spent together with cooking and playing games or going on walks. Noah’s burns got better and you helped him clean them every night. The bruises on his body were finally fading and he wasn’t in so much pain anymore. Everything was great, except it wasn’t. You told him you took some time off so you could take care of him. You lied to him and you hated yourself for it, but you didn’t want him to worry about that.

It all took a turn when day nine came around. You were together 24/7, it was only a matter of time until you had an argument.

“Let me do it Noah.” you saw him cooking a dinner, but you heard him hiss in pain when he reached for something that was high and he had to lift his arm.

“I can do it.”

“You’re hurt.”

“Let me do it.” you stood in silence and watched him stir the pot. He went to put the box back on the shelf, but while doing it he groaned and the box fell on the ground.

“I told you you shouldn’t do it.” you muttered under your breath and went to pick the box up.

“I’ll put it back.” he reached his hand for the box, but you pulled away.

“No you won’t.”

“Give me the damn box.” you could see the frustration building inside of him. After a week of being taken care of he wanted to do something himself.

“Noah it hurts you to lift your arm this high, I’ll put it back.” he threw the spoon in the sink and turned around to walk away, but then you noticed a red spot on the bandage. “You’re bleeding, let me-”

He pushed your hands away and told you “I can do it.” before he locked himself in the bathroom.

You tried not to cry, he didn’t mean it. You two were just getting in each other’s hair after the time spent together. You occupied your mind with cleaning the kitchen and finishing the food.

When you heard “Fucks sake.” for the fifth time you gathered your courage and went to knock on the bathroom door.

“Can I help you?” there was a silence, you almost turned around and left the door, but you heard the lock and then the door opened.

Noah stood in front of you, shirtless and with glassy eyes. Neither of you said anything, you moved in sync like every night when you were cleaning his burns.

He sat down on the edge of your bath and let you do the work. His head was hanging low and you wanted to pick it up and kiss his face until the sadness would go away.

“I’m sorry.” he apologized.

“I’m sorry too.”

“I just wanted to do something for you. You take care of me and I wanted to treat you back.”

“I know baby, it’s fine. I appreciate it and I’m sorry too, I should’ve let you.” you finished cleaning his arms and putting fresh clean bandages over it. After that you cupped his face in your hands and he opened his legs to give you a room to come closer.

You brushed your nose along his, enjoying the heat from his body and the feeling of his hands that sneaked under your t-shirt.

“I love you.” you whispered against his lips before kissing him.

He pulled you closer to him, his grip on you firm. You haven’t been intimate since he came back home, you were too scared you’re going to hurt him, but you missed his touch.

“I love you.” he said before deepening the kiss.

His hands slid down under your ass to pull you even closer and then reached under your shorts to caress the soft skin of your ass. When he squeezed his hands on your soft skin you opened your mouth and a silent moan left your lips.

“I missed you.” you confessed.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom.” he stood up from the bath that he was still sitting on. You left the medical supplies untouched, leaving the mess behind as you closed the door.

“Lay down.” you instructed Noah. You planned to let him enjoy tonight, maybe as an apology from the kitchen argument.

“I’m fine baby.” he was scared you’re going to treat him like he’s made of glass for the rest of your lives.

“Just lay down.”

So he did, his big shirtless body was displayed for you on your shared bed and you crawled up his body until you were sitting on his waist.

You leaned down and started planting kisses on his skin. You started with slow and open mouthed kisses on his neck, kissing his pulse point for a second longer than other places. Then you continued to his chest where you could hear his quickening heartbeat from your touch. His skin was soft and warm, feeling like home. You carefully took his arms in your hands and planted the softest kisses over his red scares, wishing you could take away all of his pain. Noah closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch.

You moved even lower to the waistband of his shorts and underwear. You left kisses along the line before you took both pieces of clothes off.

He was laying there, looking like a perfect sculpture. His brows were furrowed a bit and his mouth was open from the sensation of your touch.

You wrapped your hand around his semi hard dick and heard him take a sharp breath. Your thumb brushed over his tip a few times before you took him in your mouth. The warmth of your mouth got Noah lifting his hips and thrusting into your mouth and you let him. You wanted him to feel good and you were determined to do anything for him. He fucked your mouth for a while and then stayed still, letting you move your head and tease him with your tongue. Your saliva was dripping all over him, mixing with the precum that was leaking from his red tip.

Noah’s hand was in your hair and he was letting out silent grunts and moans, enjoying this intimity after not being touched for more than a week.

You quickened your pace when you felt his thigh muscles twitch under your touch, a sign that he was close. You let him fuck your mouth again, this time his grip in your hair was stronger and his thrusts were uneven.

“Fuck, I’m close.” he grunted, with his eyes still closed.

His legs started shaking and not long after you felt him cum in your mouth. You swallowed everything and continued moving your mouth up until he became oversensitive and grabbed you by your chin to bring you up.

When your faces were at the same level he kissed you, it was messy and dirty, but you both wanted nothing less.

You were quick to take off all of your clothes, feeling needy to feel his hands on your skin.

His right hand slid down between your bodies to your core, your head falling at Noah’s shoulder at the touch.

“So wet, I didn’t even touch you yet.” he chuckled in your ear, the warmth of his breath only adding to the sensation you were feeling.

“Noah.” you moaned, rocking your hips to ride his hand. “I need you.”

“Then take me, pretty girl.” you got off his lap to grab a condom from your nightstand, meanwhile Noah moved on the bed so his back was against the headboard. He wanted to take you hard, but he knew his burns were still sensitive and you being on top was a safer option.

You rolled the condom down Noah’s length and dragged it through your folds to get it wet. You sank down on him and felt the stretch from his size. Your foreheads were touching and you were both getting used to the feeling of him being inside you again. Noah was the first one to connect your lips, leaving no room for soft and cute kisses. You felt his teeth sink into the skin of your lips, silently begging you to start moving.

You lifted your hips and then sank back down, Noah’s moan was swallowed by your kiss and you started moving in steady movements.

“My pretty girl, so fucking pretty.” Noah worshiped you and your body, leaning back against the headboard so he could see you whole. Your eyes were watching him watching you, the passion he had in his eyes when he looked at your body had you squeeze your walls around him.

“Oh Noah.” you moaned his name when he started bucking his hips up to meet yours. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you, completely mesmerized by your facial expressions and the sounds that were leaving your mouth.

You were like his drug, he just couldn’t get enough, he wanted more and more.

He knew he was not going to last long, not after not feeling your warm and welcoming pussy around him for that long. He licked his own fingers and sneaked them down to your clit. He started rubbing small but quick circles on it and used his other hand to bring you down for a kiss.

You were moaning into each other's mouth, the pace of your hip movements became unsteady as you wanted to reach your highs together.

“Noah, fuck!” you grabbed his shoulder to stabilize yourself, feeling the burning pain in your legs, but not even that could stop you from fucking Noah quicker.

“Yeah baby, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” he begged you.

His fingers spread your wetness around your clit in skilled movements and suddenly you felt the heat take over your body. You fucked yourself through your orgasm, moaning Noah’s name over and over until he stopped your hips with a strong grip.

In your ecstasy you didn’t even notice Noah came too, until you felt his legs shaking under you.

“I missed this so much.” you admitted, still being full of Noah’s softening cock.

“Me too.” he kissed your forehead before tucking your head under his chin.

You laid like that for some more, in silence enjoying the moment.

—

When you were falling asleep in Noah’s arms you couldn’t stop thinking about your suspension. You still haven’t told Noah and felt bad.

He was laying behind you with his arms around your waist and you contemplated if you should ruin the moment or wait for the next day.

Like if he could read your mind he asked “What are you thinking about?” in a whisper.

You looked out of the window, looking at the moon that was lighting up your bedroom and thought about an answer.

“Noah, I have to tell you something.” you turned around in his arms so you were facing him. The darkness made it easier for you to tell him, but you still knew he was going to be mad that you kept it from him.

“Yeah?” his eyes were still closed, ready to fall asleep.

“I didn’t take days off from work, I’m on suspension.” now it was you who closed your eyes, not wanting to see the look in Noah’s eyes.

“What?”

“After that call I was called in the captain's office and he told me that after I failed to do my job even after I changed stations that I’m on suspension until he calls me back to work. I don’t know what he’s gonna do, but it’s my fault, so I’m ready for everything.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to worry you with that when you were hurt.” you looked at him, his face neutral. “Are you angry?”

“I don’t know, you should have told me.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“We’re together in this, okay? It’s my fault too.”

“No, I’m not gonna let you do that. It’s only my fault. I should have been a professional and kept my emotions aside. I broke down and was sent to wait in the car. I wasn’t able to do my job. You did your job, it’s not your fault.” that’s what you were scared of, that Noah is going to blame himself for your mistake.

“Did you hear anything from him?”

“Not yet, but I was thinking about going to see him tomorrow.”

“And tell him what?” now that was the hardest part you tried to avoid.

You had time to think about everything now that you were home. You love your job, you really do, but you feel like you can’t have both, a great job and working relationship with another firefighter. You knew it was a bad idea from the beginning, but you never thought you’d fall for Noah this hard.

But it’s not just about him, you were scared that things like this are going to happen again and you knew that no matter how hard you’d try, you couldn’t keep being professional if you saw Noah hurt in front of your own eyes.

You thought about changing areas and starting working at a completely new station, but that would only complicate things like your living situation and time spent together.

“Promise me you’re gonna hear me out before saying something.”

“I promise.”

“And promise you won’t get angry.”

“I promise.”

“Noah, I, I was thinking about everything and us working for the FD and being in a relationship will never work. Even if we don’t work at the same station we’re still gonna see each other on calls and we both know that if the other one gets hurt it will end just like this last call.” you paused to take a breath and saw the look on Noah’s face.

“Are you breaking up with me?” he rushed the words out, scared that that’s exactly what you’re doing.

“What? Oh my god no.” you cupped his cheeks and softened your eyes at his worried look. “I’m not breaking up with you baby. Let me finish, okay?” he put his hand over yours and nodded for you to continue.

“I thought about changing areas, but you know better than anyone that that would complicate things for us. We would have to move to be close to both of our jobs and there would be less time that we could be spending together. So I started looking at other possibilities in my field and I found some really good job opportunities. I’m thinking about quitting fire therapy and finding a different job.”

“No, I don’t want you to quit your dream job because of me.”

“I’m not quitting because of you Noah, I want to.”

“What if I quit? So you could stay.”

“Hell no. What would you do? Do you have a plan B? Noah I have many options with my degree, I can change fields if I want to. You love the job, I actually don’t mind quitting that much. I promise.” you whispered the last part against his lips, hoping he won’t protest more.

“I’d understand if you wanted to break up and choose your career.”

“Oh yeah because seeing you on calls after break up would make any difference.” he finally laughed, seeing that if you were able to joke about it, it wasn’t as hurtful for you as he thought.

“You already made up your mind, didn’t you?” he rubbed his nose against yours.

“I did.” you kissed his lips and finally felt like you could fall asleep without holding any secrets from him.

—

The next day you did exactly what you told Noah. You walked into the captain's office with resignation papers in your hands. You two talked for an hour, he told you he was sorry for his reaction the day of the call, but that things like this can’t happen. He told you he understands why you reacted the way you did, but that’s exactly why they don’t prefer relationships within the FD. He also told you that he’s sorry to see you go, because you’re good at your job, but that everyone will respect your decision and that you’re always welcomed at the station any time.

Saying goodbye to the crew was harder, those guys became your friends and you’re going to miss them. They treated you as equal and you felt like you found a new group of friends.

You cried on your way back home and then some more to Noah when he opened the door for you. 

“Okay, time to stop crying and find me a new job.” you wiped your own tears and Noah laughed at the sudden change.

“Are you nervous from the interview tomorrow?”

“Not really. She told me that she’s heard only good things about me and that it’s more of a formal thing.”

There’s an open spot for a therapist at the centre where your best friend works. She already told her boss about you and she said she’d be more than happy to have you join their team.

“I got invited to another one on Friday, it’s for a therapist at primary school.”

“Oh really? Is that something you’d prefer?” Noah played with your hair as you laid in his lap.

“I think so. Kids are way more fun to work with than adults.” Noah laughed and remembered the open day and his minions. “But kids therapy is harder tho. But it would be a new challenge for me. I think I’d like that more.”

“I know you can do it. You’re the best.”

You laughed at his affection, but appreciated his support.

—

*one month later*

“God I’m so tired.” you kicked the door closed behind you and then followed Noah in your shared kitchen.

“What did Jake do this time?” Noah laughed, knowing who was behind your headache.

You started working at the primary school very quickly after the interview. They were very excited to have you with your education and work experience. Your main tasks were to be available for private sessions with students, parents and teachers and also you had few lessons a week where you talked and teached about mental health.

Jake was a 8 year old kid who gave you a headache regularly, but Noah found the stories funny. Being in the middle of a class and having an 8 year old making fun of you was harder to handle than a bunch of adults. It was always playful, you joked with him back, but god was he tiring.

“He was calling me Theresa today and told me that I can call him Jacob so we’re even. And then he kept telling silly jokes so no one else was focused and they laughed at his jokes.”

“Tell me the jokes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re gonna say they’re funny and tell me you love that kid, just like you always do.” you groaned and Noah laughed more. He always says that he can’t wait to meet him one day. He also said that you have to make sure to invite him for a career day, so he can become friends with Jake. He was overly confident that Jake wouldn’t make fun of him too.

“Come on, tell me.” he made a puppy eyes at you.

“Why don’t skeletons don’t fight each other?”

“I don’t know, why?”

“Because they don’t have the guts.” you finished with a serious face and saw the way Noah was holding a laugh.

“Listen baby, the joke is not funny, but if I imagine you standing in front of all the little devils that laugh at it and you make that cute little pout you always do when things don’t go the way you want, that is a little bit funny.” Noah closed the gap between you and put his arms around you.

“So now you’re just making fun of me?” you mumbled against his chest.

“How about you take a shower and then I’ll give you a head massage so you can forget Jake until Monday? Will you forgive me?”

“Yes please.” you nodded frantically against Noah’s chest before standing up and leaving him in the kitchen to also make you some dinner.

—

“My mom asked about you yesterday.” Noah said casually when you two sat on your couch with plates in your hands.

“What did she ask about?”

“When I’m gonna introduce you to her.” you shot a look at Noah, scared one.

“I’m scared of meeting your parents!” “Why?”

“Because they’re your parents.” obviously, right?

“I'm not scared of meeting your parents.” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Of course you’re not, you’re a firefighter you know you’re gonna wrap them around your finger.”

“And you don’t think you’re not gonna wrap my mom around your finger when you tell her you work with kids? She’s not gonna stop talking about grandkids so be prepared.”

“Grandkids? You know you’re not exactly helping me to calm down.”

“I’m sure she wants like 10 of them.”

“10???”

“Relax, I’m just joking. You don’t have to meet them until you’re ready.” he put your empty plate on the table and pulled you into him.

Everything was going fine with you and Noah. He was finally back at work and you agreed to take the next step and move to a bigger place. You were currently searching for the right place that you two would love.

You enjoyed this new harmony between you after you quit FD. And you actually couldn’t wait to take Noah to your job for a career day.

“Do you want kids?” you lifted your head to look at Noah who’s eyes were fixed on the tv screen.

“Yeah. You?”

“Me too. How many do you want?” he looked down at you and smiled.

“How about enough to have a full shift for a station?”

“So you’re crazy just like your mom?”

He enjoyed making those harmless jokes on you, but then turned serious.

“I don’t know, I’m okay with the number you want.” he gave you a sweet kiss and then turned his attention back to the TV.

You tried to focus on the movie too, but all you could think about was how crazy you were in love with this man, that you’d probably give him enough kids so he could have his own A shift at work if he asked you to.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

This story is a work of fiction, with the plot and characters entirely made up. The appearance and name of the main male character are inspired by Noah Sebastian Davis, but the storyline bears no connection to the real person. Please do not steal or repost this work on other platforms without permission.

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[irmakkockan]

SECRET RELATIONSHIPS EP 8: SORRY, THIS IS MY WORST TAKE BUT I JUST NEED THE CRAZY

This is the hardest goodbye.

I just can’t deal with the fact that it’s over. Like, how? What’s next? I genuinely don’t know what to do with myself.

So, was this crazy, or was it FUCKING CRAZY?

OF COURSE, the kidnapper was Jaemin. I mean, that man is DERANGED. And I totally called it - “UNTIL WE DIE NATURALLY OR I KILL YOU” was his note (lol in fact lmao) - but I never imagined he’d take it that literal right in that moment. I was SCREAMING every time he said something unhinged or did something even crazier.

What this show did so well is how it built Jaemin’s insanity knot by knot. When his smile disappeared the moment he turned away from his students. When he kept causing problems between Daon and his family. When he paid someone to take Daon’s naked pictures. When he paid someone to hurt Daon’s sister. We should have known this would happen. This was inevitable. And yet, watching him lose it completely was so much fun. But honestly, ninety percent of this belongs to Kim Hoyoung. HOLY FUCK, sir. You were a sight to behold, and I’m committing to every single series you’ll ever act in.

Now, what about my actual obsession, my one true love, Suhyeon? Guys, don’t come at me. I know that man should be in therapy and nowhere near a human being (but I can fix him, okay??). I AM AWARE. My love is ninety percent Cha Jung Woo, ten percent for THE BEAUTIFUL CHAOS THAT COULD HAVE BEEN. The series is over. Just let me live.

I don’t know how I feel about Suhyeon freezing and even stepping back when Jaemin charged at Daon. Like, the show wants us to call him a coward (and Jaemin DID, which is just… wow), but this man almost MURDERED a guy for trying to assault Daon. He beat him with his bare hands. What I actually think happened is that the writers needed an easy way for Suhyeon to finally let Daon go. That’s why I’m conflicted - because, yes, on-screen, he’s a coward, and obviously Daon deserves better, but it feels like a cop-out for his character. Suhyeon deserved another kind of realization that he’s lost Daon, not just freezing up and letting Jaemin of all people call him out. UGH.

Also, um, maybe - like how are we normalizing throwing yourself in front of a knife for someone else? Like, I get it. I get the symbolism, the sacrifice, the whole “kill me instead” moment. But. Is this really a requirement for love now? Because I cannot deal with this being a standard. YES, I KNOW IT LOOKS LIKE I’M JUST MAKING EXCUSES FOR SUHYEON. I AM AWARE. This is my last post on this series, guys. JUST BEAR WITH ME.

At this point, I can finally acknowledge the manhwa now that I’ve read it. Manhwa-Suhyeon? Less violent but still problematic. That forced kiss scene still happens (there is even some sex!). But there’s an undercurrent of emotions between him and Daon - something that never quite went away. Which makes their final separation even more painful.

And this also makes so much more sense when we think about the contract. Both in the series and the manhwa, Jaemin tells Daon that he rejected him because he knew Daon had always been in love with Suhyeon. The contract was Jaemin’s entire plan to stop their love before it ever started. But in the show, this deep love feels more like Jaemin’s delusion, whereas in the manhwa, it’s actually true. What Daon felt for Jaemin wasn’t even remotely close to what he felt for Suhyeon. AND THAT IS MY VINDICATION. 😭

So, I think the show did Suhyeon and Daon’s final goodbye dirty. In the manhwa, you feel the hurt. Even though Daon knows he won’t end up with Suhyeon, there’s still so much pain in their parting. In the show? We barely even see Daon react. And that undermines the entire reason Jaemin pulled his contract stunt in the first place. IT WAS BECAUSE DAON LOVED SUHYEON ALL ALONG. 😭 But I know most people won’t care about this as much as I do - so I’ll just sit here and suffer in silence. Apologies for the rant.

Of course, the best scene in the entire finale was Jaemin and Suhyeon’s confrontation at the police station. A fucking masterclass in acting from both Kim Hoyoung and Cha Jung Woo. I think I’ve rewatched that scene at least five times now. And honestly? I’m still impressed that Suhyeon managed to grab Jaemin and lock them in a room despite being surrounded by cops. LOL. Suhyeon, you crazy, perfect bastard, I love you. 😭

And then, of course, we get the happy ending - Daon and Seonghyeon are together, Suhyeon is finally free of his obsession (and sad, yet always hot), Jaemin is locked up where he belongs. What more do you need?

I did enjoy the kisses and the softness, but for me, the show ended the second Jaemin and Suhyeon walked out of the scene and took all the crazy with them (pls don’t kill me).

DEAR SECRET RELATIONSHIPS, I LOVED YOU SO. GOODBYE. 💔💔

[hersuniverse]

HIGH FASHION

warnings: mentions of drug use, dealer!ellie x celebrity!reader.

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is just the first part to idk how many, i'm working on more stuff guys i swear! anyways, enjoy lovers :)

Growing up you knew what you wanted, you were born for this, being on screen in front of big audiences, you lived for it. At Least you thought you did. You’d work so hard on your latest project, Savage Starlight,  which was easy reciting lines and putting on an act; what dreaded the most was the promotions. 

Making appearances, doing interviews and posing for paparazzi was constantly taking a toll on your mental health. That didn’t mean you got to opt out of anything, it just meant you’d have reassurance on the sidelines or just more than what you had before. 

Red carpets were the worst, usually in interviews you’d receive questions before the fact to be able to prepare and react in a positive way for audiences. Red carpets were spontaneous, interviewers would pop some of the most bizarre or invading questions and you didn’t always know how to counter them; yet here you were, the start of promotion, the premiere red carpet of Savage Starlights first episode. 

“Here! Look Here!” 

“Over here, please!” 

You couldn’t begin to count the amount of voices shouting at you once you stepped on the carpet. You were forever grateful for your management and stylist for dressing you so well, tonight was Mugler, fitting for the space travel series. You gave a couple of poses, making sure to smile as big as you could before starting to take questions, which went well in the beginning. 

“You’re starting with us! Oh I’m so happy!” The lady said, holding a mic from IMBd. You smiled as she started to introduce you and ask questions about the set and your costars. “Did you and Riley get along?” There were rumours that the two of you had clashed heads when photos of a dinner you two attended leaked which showed you both arguing. 

“Oh of course, those photos that went around were only half of what happened. Riley and I argue like that all the time but it’s never serious, it's all love.” You smiled, the signature smile that every news outlet loved to see. You finished with her and continued on, making good progress through two more interviews before reaching a woman who you didn’t think would stun you so much. 

“Hello!” You greeted, her smile lacked teeth which should’ve been your first sign but you ignored it. You never know what someones going through, at the end of the day. She introduced you to the camera man as usual, then went on to her questions. 

“What was it like having to completely change your appearance for your role in Savage Starlight?” You tried to pay her tone no mind, but it was a brutal first question. 

“Wow, uhm. I mean if you’re talking like physique and style you know, I trained with Abby Anderson, a pretty popular gym geek for months prior. My style on the other hand, I have to give kudos to my stylist on set for working with me to build such a unique style.” You dodged her attitude the first time, but it’d only begin to get worse. 

“Really? I’d heard from resources that you didn’t rely on just the gym to help slim yourself down?” You furrowed your brows but kept your smile nonetheless, you had a feeling of where this was going but you didn’t want to escalate anything. “I’m- sorry, I just don’t quite know what you mean?” You kept your composure, knowing there were too many cameras to freak out. 

“They’ve theorized that you’d been using drugs to get you to the perfect size, things like ozempic? Or something harder?” You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, you were at a loss of words. You couldn’t call anyone to help you out so you did the thing you were trained to do. 

“I think your resource may have me mixed up with someone else, either way I think we’re done here.” You explained, reading yourself to walk away. “Is that the truth or is it what you’re trained to say?” You shook your head walking away, the last few outlets were waving you down to ask you a few questions but you waved them off walking over to your assistant, Dina. 

“Hey, what happened? You still have a few outlets to speak too?” 

“I’m not fucking talking to any of them, no more questions, I’m going inside.” You struggled to remove the gloves that had been a part of your outfit but were now too hot for your liking. You heard your name still being called but you didn’t bother looking back. “What did she say?” She asked, looking over your angered expression. 

“That I’ve been on drugs, trying to lose weight.” You were on the verge of breaking down, and you couldn’t do that so out in public. Dina didn’t bother asking you anymore questions, instead she stepped out to the outlets and let them know that you’d be done with questions for the night. 

After the premiere, the next day you attended your morning meeting with your team. Arriving at your talent agency, you greeted everyone before sitting down at the end of the table, closest to the board they had. You didn’t really take in the vibe of the room ,still thinking about last night, but that’s when your manager stepped in and got straight to business. 

They were talking back and forth but you were still focused on the events of last night, trying to figure out what would prompt such a question. “Babe, are you still with us?” Your manager, Maria, tried getting your attention. “Yea- Yes I’m still here.” You sat up in your seat, focusing on her.

“Good, so can you explain this to me?” The lights went out as she flicked on the projector which showed three images of you with another person whose face couldnt be seen from their hood being pulled up but you knew exactly who that was.

You were clearly in house clothes, a hoodie and some shorts, your hair freshly washed and you were bare faced. The person over the three photos was shown, talking to you in the first, cradling your face in the second and handing you a paper bag in the last while you handed the person cash. 

“Babe?” Maria had her hands folded over her chest as she watched you analyse the photos. “Who took these?” You asked, Maria ran a hand through her silver hair, visibly stressed. “A news outlet, they  threatened us that if we didn’t pay them to keep these photos on the back burner they’d release them.”

“What did you say?” She chuckled. “Well we saw the email a bit too late,” She flicked the projector to a title from an article which you read aloud “Savage Starlight rising star, sheds light on a dark habit? What the fuck?” You shot up from your seat.

“There’s not much we can do now-” 

“What do you mean? Isn’t this some sort of defamation of character? I’ll call my fucking laweyer!” You pulled your phone out, ready to dial your lawyer and get straight to business. “Let’s refrain from that right now, the public is bound to believe the rumours more if we fire back with a lawsuit.” Dina explained, you scoffed, your career had been running smooth but ever since you started with bigger projects, things have been iffy.

“What the fuck else are we supposed to do? Let them drag my name through the mud?” you argued. “We’ll handle it, one way or another we’ll find a way to clear this up.” Maria reassured, you could only hope they’d work quickly to clear this up; you could only imagine what the public was saying right now.

When you got home the first thing you did was head to your office, going straight to the comments of each news outlet and scrolling through comments, reading them quietly to yourself. 

“I knew she was losing weight, but not like this.”

“You could tell, it was such a short span of time and a lot of weight lost, it’s fitting.” 

“Is this who we want our children idolising?” 

“This makes so much sense, just look at her.” You sat back in your chair, hand over your forehead as your thoughts ran wild. You stayed in your office for hours, reading comments, conspiracies and more. At this point you wanted to simply disappear and never show your face in public again. 

Your panicking came to a close when a familiar contact lit your phone up, catching your full attention. 

‘How’s my favourite girl?’

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking of the stupid look that Ellie probably had on her face after sending that text. You let out a shaky sigh before texting her back. 

‘Can you come over, we need to talk.’

[obvithe-bestsoph]

pink cheeks. - chapter 1.

masterlist requests word count: 2.9k

a/n: first ferran fic! i think this could actually work quite well as a series, or at least with another part, so let me know if you're interested! genre: fluff? i don't know, not fluff, not angst, not comfort, so i guess that leaves fluff 😭 warnings: mentions (literally once) of parents dying in car crash, swearing (i think? don't remember lol)

After spending a gap year travelling around Europe and the Americas, you’ve finally settled in Barcelona for the next few years anyway. Living with your two older cousins so you don’t have to pay for accommodation as well, Pedri and Fer are proving to be interesting roommates, but Fer cooks good food and Pedri’s always down to play video games or do something with you - so you can’t really complain. And Nilo the dog, too, who’s taken a particular liking to you. 

You managed to land yourself a scholarship at Universitat de Barcelona, with your major being sports science, taking sports psychology and strength and conditioning classes. It’s something you’ve always been interested in, and growing up around a cousin obsessed with football, and who is now one of the best midfielders in the world, definitely helped.

Because you’ve spent the last year pretty much alone all the time, discovering and exploring the world, having roommates again feels a little odd, but this isn’t the first time you’re living with Pedri and Fer, having moved in with them and your tía Rosie and tío Fernando, when you were just a baby after your parents died in a car crash. So your ‘cousins’ have pretty much always been more like brothers than anything else to you. And you’ve always been somewhat of their little sister.

Currently sitting at the kitchen table, reading through pages of your textbook and taking notes at the same time, you hear the front door open and close, greeting whoever’s just come in, “Hola!” you call, without looking up, assuming it’s just Pedri or Fer. But when an unfamiliar voice replies to you, your eyes move in the direction of the door. “Buenas días (good morning),” there stands a rather tall man, he’s muscular looking, with short, dark hair, a beard and beautiful brown eyes. Talk about a Spanish dreamboat. “Uh… morning. Disculpa, ¿quién eres (sorry, who are you)?” you ask uncertainly, raising an eyebrow. He hangs up his jacket on the hook by the door and walks closer, holding out a hand for a handshake, which you accept. “I’m Ferran, Ferran Torres. I play with Pedri.” 

Oh. Oh.No wonder he’s so hot then, there’s hardly a single ugly man that plays on that team. His hands are gentle, but his skin is rough, and his handshake is firm. You blink, and realise he’s waiting for you to introduce yourself back. “Y/N. I’m him and Fer’s cousin.” He smiles charmingly as he takes his hand from yours and puts it into his pocket. 

“What’s all this?” he asks politely, but curiously. He tilts his head to the side to look at the books better, his eyes then flicking to yours once more as he waits for your answer. Pretending your cheeks haven’t gone pink, you answer his question. “This? It’s, uh, just uni stuff.” “Uni stuff? What are you studying?” “Sports psychology and strength and conditioning training, specialising in footballers, actually.” you chuckle. His eyebrows raise, his expression equally surprised and impressed, “Wow, that’s actually really cool.”

There’s the smile again. God. That fucking smile. Saved by the bell, Pedri comes down the stairs, spotting Ferran. “Hola hermano, ready to go?” he asks, putting on his shoes by the door. Ferran nods and gives you a wink goodbye, making you turn from pink to red, looking down at your textbook to hide your face once more and, hopefully, save a small shred of your dignity. “Y/N, we’re going out to Gavi’s, I’ll be home by four!” Pedri calls as they’re walking out the door. “Vale (okay)!” you call back, continuing your revision session, although your focus is now no longer on your textbooks. 

Just then, Fer comes into the kitchen from playing out in the backyard with Nilo. He takes a water bottle from the fridge and begins to drink it whilst gathering the ingredients for some type of muffins. “Fer?” “Yeah?” “What do you know about that Ferran guy? Pedri’s friend.” His head appears out the doorway of the walk-in pantry, looking at you with a raised eyebrow. “That he’s way too old for you.” You sigh and roll your eyes, giving up on using him as your source, deciding Google might be less judgemental. He emerges from the pantry now with flour, vanilla, and various other ingredients to bake his muffins. It’s silent for a while as he gets started with the dry bowl, and you continue your notes, until about 5 minutes later you feel his eyes on you.

You look up to find his gaze fixed on your face. “What?” “I’m serious, Y/N. He’s 25, and you’re 19, almost 20.” Fer says firmly. “Whatever,” you mutter, looking back down to your notes. But inside, knowing he’s older almost makes you like him more. 

Fer gives a disapproving sigh at your nonchalant answer but keeps his mouth shut for now. 

Later that night, lying in bed when you 100% should be sleeping, you’re deep into the results of your “Ferran Torres edits” search on TikTok. And Jesus, this man is finer than you originally thought. 

He has ridiculous muscles too. Always a bonus. What girl doesn’t love a man with good biceps? And back tattoos. God, the tattoos almost got you the first time you saw them. 

Glancing at the time, you sigh and switch your phone, plugging it in and putting it down on the nightstand. Just as you’re drifting off, you make the decision that you’re going to follow him on Instagram tomorrow, when it isn’t ridiculous o’clock in the morning. 

The next morning, you’re awoken by four paws trampling over you on your bed, and Pedri standing in the doorway. Blinking a few times, you sit up and scratch Nilo on the head before addressing Pedri. “Morning.” “Morning, limónita. Wanna come for a walk along the beach with me and Nilo?” Limónita - or, ‘little lemon’, the nickname you had gained as a young child, due to your resting sour expression, even if you’re perfectly happy inside. And unfortunately for you, it stuck. You roll your eyes, but nod anyway, tossing back the cover and swinging your legs around. “Sure, I’ll come downstairs once I’m dressed.” Your older cousin nods too and disappears from the doorway, Nilo trailing along behind him, tail wagging happily after hearing the word ‘walk’. 

While eating lunch later on, you had followed through and followed the account that you spent far too much time stalking the previous night. 

Deep down yet another Ferran rabbit hole on TikTok when you were meant to be asleep, a notification pops up that physically makes you throw your phone to the other side of your bed in shock. ferrantorres has viewed your profile!Picking your phone back up and clicking on the notification, you’re sent to the real, verified account of the guy you’ve been obsessing over the last few days. Silently screaming, you realise that you had followed him on Instagram, not TikTok, meaning that he’d found your account himself. And he’s also awake at this stupid hour. Stalking you. 

A stupid smile appears on your face. 

He’s around at the house again the next day, you walk in after your gym session and then the following run home, to find him sitting on the couch playing FIFA with Pedri. You don’t notice him at first, headphones still in your ears, but you turn around from shutting the front door and find his eyes fixed on you, making you remember you’re just wearing your running shorts and skin-tight, slightly cropped, a sliver of your toned, tanned abdomen visible, white tank top, sweating and panting. Pedri gives you a passing welcome home, his eyes staying trained on the TV in front of him, meanwhile, Ferran is having a hard time looking away from you, but when Pedri starts cheering after scoring a (basically) free goal against him, his gaze reluctantly goes back to the game. Your face is already red from the tiring workout, but you feel yourself getting even hotter after realising he could hardly keep his eyes to himself. 

After showering, changing and getting changed, you come back downstairs. You’re getting a salad out of the fridge to eat for lunch when Pedri wanders into the kitchen as well, Ferran following behind him. Pedri gets some pistachios and a few other snacks for the two of them out of the pantry when he speaks up. “Limónita, me and Ferran were meant to go out for dinner with Gavi and Eric tonight, but they cancelled so we have two free seats at the table we reserved. We were gonna ask if you and Fer wanted to come?” You can feel Ferran’s eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You nod. “Sure. Is it a dress nice kinda restaurant?” you ask nervously. Pedri nods. “A dress wouldn’t hurt.” You see Ferran look down at his phone, finally removing his eyes from you, but smirking to himself, clearly pleased at the idea of you wearing something nice, so you make your mission to get his jaw to drop when you walk down stairs tonight. “Cool. Be ready by 6 PM.” Pedri replies, “Come, hermano. I have a match to beat you in.” And so they leave the kitchen. At 2 PM, you get up from your bed, and take a quick shower, despite having had one this morning, you wash your hair thoroughly and shave everywhere, even exfoliating. Once out and dressed in a silk robe, your hair blow-dried, you sit down at your vanity and get to work. Not really a makeup girl, you’ve decided that tonight you’ll try it, and 20 minutes later it comes out not too bad, dark eye makeup and a nude lip. You run a straightener through your hair and do the final touches before going to the wardrobe and putting on one of the dresses that you hardly wear. It’s a deep navy blue, backless, and ankle length with your black Loubiton heels. (a/n: this is the pinterest board i made for what I imagine the look to be!)

Now fully dressed, you stand in front of the full-length mirror in your bathroom, smoothing out any creases in the dress and studying the full look. Applying one last coat of lip gloss for good measure, you turn and head back into your room, gathering your phone and a few other things and putting them in your purse before taking a deep breath and walking to the bedroom door, suddenly feeling a little nervous.

You never get this dressed up, and downstairs are your two fairly protective cousins and the best friend of his that you’re crushing on hard. 

Oh well. It's too late now. Exhaling sharply, you leave your room and walk through the hallway before making your descent to the living room down the stairs, your stomach doing flips. Hearing your footsteps, the three men look up at the stairs.

Pedri’s eyebrows raise. Fer blinks multiple times as if to check what he’s seeing is real. Ferran just stares, his eyebrows also raised, his tongue coming out to wet his lips. 

You fight the nerves and act casual. “What?” you ask, arching one perfectly sculpted eyebrow back at them. “Nothing.” Fer mutters, giving you a final skeptical glance before looking back at his phone.

“You look, um, different, limónita.” Pedri says, awkward as ever. “Thank you, Pedro. ¿Estáis listos para iros (are you guys ready to go)?” you ask politely. There’s a general murmur of “sí” so they all stand up and you start filing out the front door and into the driveway, then into Pedri’s Cayenne. He’s driving, with Fer next to him in the passenger seat - leaving you and Ferran alone in the back. 

It’s quiet in the back for a long time, your cousins chatting away in the front, until Ferran quietly breaks the silence. “I like your nails.” he says quietly, gesturing to your hand that was sitting on the empty seat between you two. “Oh, uh, thanks.” you smile, and he smiles back, furthering his compliment. “The colour suits you.” “You think?” “I do. The whole navy outfit brings out those eyes of yours, guapa (pretty).” ‘Guapa’? Hold on. Is he flirting? No way. Internally, you’re freaking out, but on the outside, you manage to play it cool(ish). “You look nice too.” “I always look nice.” he teases, and you laugh. The backseat goes quiet again, but this time the silence between the two of you is much more comfortable, as you both watch the city of Barcelona go by outside the windows.

About 30 minutes into dinner, you’re once again left alone with Ferran as Pedri’s gone up to the bar to order another round of drinks for everyone, and Fer’s in the bathroom. “So how’s school going?” he asks you over the rim of his wine glass. “It’s good actually. The stuff we’re learning is really interesting to me and I got good marks on my last exam.” you smile. “And what’re you learning about, hm?” “Well in strength and conditioning, we’re doing some biomechanics-type stuff about the upper arm muscles.” “What, like biceps, and stuff?” he asks, putting the glass down. You nod. “Yeah, so we’re looking at how muscles move during certain exercises, and then creating a workout plan to work on strengthening them in the most effective way possible. A cheeky look appears in Ferran’s eyes. “Well, if you ever want to test one of your exercises, I’ve got some pretty good arm muscles, and you’re welcome to come and watch me in the gym any time, you know… for study purposes,” he smirks. Your face goes bright red. You know he has amazing arm muscles because you’ve been scrolling pictures of them on Pinterest every night since the first time you met him. 

“I might just take you up on that one,” you reply, trying to be confident and flirt, but it still comes out sounding a bit shy. He opens his mouth to speak once more, but then Pedri returns from the bar, and he closes it again. The dinner goes well, the food is good, the drinks are good, and you’re all laughing and having a great time. 

Eventually, the meal comes to an end and the three of them head up to the front to pay for their dishes and refreshments, you tell them that you’re just going to head to the bathroom quickly and then you’ll come to pay for your part. You finish up and head to the desk as well, the three guys standing and waiting by the door, you ask the server for your share, but she tells you that your meal has been paid for by ‘that gentleman over there’, you turn to see where she’s pointing and there, leaning against the wall is a smirking Ferran. 

You laugh in slight disbelief walking closer to him, “Why’d you do that for? I can pay for it. I’ll transfer you when we get home.” “No, you won’t. I did it because I wanted to,” he says, holding the door for you as you trail out behind Fer and Pedri. 

You wait for him and walk together towards Pedri’s car again, a distance away from your cousins up ahead. “And why did you want to?” “Because pretty girls like yourself shouldn’t have to pay for their own meals.” “You think I’m pretty?” “Only an idiot would think otherwise, hermosa (beautiful).” he smiles, looking down at you. Despite your tall heels, he is still a large amount of inches taller. Once again, this gorgeous man has turned your cheeks pink. Damn him. 

“Well, uh, thank you.” “No problems. Mamá raised a gentleman. I wouldn’t be here without a woman, so I should be grateful to them and treat them right, she used to tell me.” he chuckles. “I think that’s a good way to raise your sons. Maybe we need more Ferrans in this world.” you laugh softly, and he does too, your hands brushing slightly as you walk. 

There’s nothing more you want than to take his hand and hold it in yours, but Pedri’s waiting at the car now, and Fer’s already suspicious of your feelings towards Ferran, so you daren’t. Speeding up your pace a little, you both reach the car once more and Ferran politely opens the door and offers a hand to help you slide into the backseat once more. 

You guys drop Ferran back at his own place on the way home, and jeez, does he live in a nice house. He says his goodbyes to Pedri and Fer and waits until they aren’t looking to push a folded-up napkin, discreetly into your palm, closing your fingers around it, then slipping out of the vehicle with a smooth wink. You smile back at him as he closes the door, walking off towards his front door.

Later that night, once you have gotten ready for bed and into your pyjamas, you remove the napkin you had stuffed into your purse, unfolding it. I wasn’t joking about that gym thing, by the way. 

Well, maybe the gym part isn’t a requirement, but I’d love to hangout with you sometime, without Pedri or Ferran around. 

My address - 1234 Street Street

My number - 123 456 7890

It’s safe to say you go to sleep a happy woman, with a stupid smile on your face.

a/n: would we want another chapter two? or even make this into a series?

CHAPTER TWO IS HERE!

[headcanonandburn]

Headcanons Timelined

Before The Events Of Harry Potter Series

* Lily once asked Remus out in front of James, just to annoy him. Remus was so shocked, he stood there and didn’t say anything, eventually excusing himself to use the restroom.

* Lily once met Sirius in his Animagus form before she knew their secret. She let him lick her face and played with him for half an hour before an unusually angry James Potter dragged the dog away.

* Harry's first word was 'Pafoo' (Padfoot). He first said this when Sirius unexpectedly entered into the Potter's kitchen. James, Lily and especially Sirius were proud of the 11 month old baby.

* James was secretly one of McGonagall's favorite students. He excelled in Transfiguration, though he didn’t care to hand his homework essays in unless she threatened to take away Quidditch. He was clever and knew the right answers. She was proud of him when they won the Quidditch Cup and when he finally got Lily to say “I do.” She was half rooting for him the whole time.

During Harry Potter Series

* While dating Dean and Michael, Ginny was constantly comparing them to Harry.

* Mrs. Weasley didn't make Harry that first Weasley sweater because she was being nice -- she made it because she was so grateful that Ron, her youngest son who always felt second best to his older brothers, had a best friend all to himself. It wasn't pity or random kindness. She just wanted to find a way to thank the boy who made Ron's letters home such a joy to read.

* During the many dinners spent at Grimmauld Place, Sirius grew to become particularly fond of the Weasley twins. They exchanged countless stories about the pranks they pulled at school, and compared detention records.

* Upon walking down the great hall to be sorted, Neville Longbottom considered asking the Sorting Hat to place him in Gryffindor. He decided not to; and to his complete surprise, he became a lion anyway.

* On May 2nd, 1998 every witch and wizard held a moment of silence for the ones who died during the First and Second Wizarding War. When the respectful silence ended millions of different coloured sparks could be seen shooting up into the night sky.

* Severus Snape didn’t see himself and Lily happily married together in the mirror of Erised. He only saw Lily, happy and smiling, proving how strong and selfless his love for her really was.

* To conjure a Patronus, Luna thought of the D.A. meetings. They were her happiest memories, where she met her best friends.

* Severus Snape never liked having Ginny Weasley in class because when he saw her out of the corner of his eye, for a split second he always thought it was Lily.

* While working at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the twins often wore name tags labelled "Gred" and "Forge”.

After Harry Potter Series Ended

* James got one more O.W.L. than his father: History of Magic. The exam was the easiest one, seeing as the majority of questions were about Harry.

* When Harry and Hermione came over to help Arthur Weasley set up the television he asked them hundreds of questions, most of them about how electricity worked. He had to be restrained from trying to electrocute himself because he wanted to see "Just exactly how it felt".

* One day Albus Severus was roaming the castle when he came across a portrait of a hook-nosed, greasy haired man who wore all black. “So you must be Potter's spawn, eh?” Snape sneered. Albus said “I’m sorry my brother James bothers you. I am Albus. Albus Severus.” Snape looked down into Albus’ eyes- the green eyes- Lily Potter once had. For the first time in a long time, Snape smiled. A true smile. “And I am Severus Snape.”

* Albus Severus Potter often visited the portrait of Severus Snape, and they would have long talks about Hogwarts and Potions in particular. Once when Albus was just about to get on the Hogwarts Express, he was talking to his father about Snape and how he thought he was a charming man. Harry asked him what Snape’s portrait was like, he told him that it was dark and bland, with potion vials scattered around and books in heaps on the floor. Harry wasn't surprised; he pictured the potions dungeons in his head from when he was at Hogwarts. However, when Albus proceeded to tell Harry that on the desk in Snape’s portrait stood a vase of lilies, which seemed to be the brightest and prettiest thing in the picture, Harry let out a little smile, hugged Albus and continued to help him get his trunk onto the carriage.

* Ron was helping Hugo with his spells one day, and Hugo mispronounced Wingardium Leviosa. Ron said, "It's Leviosa, not Leviosah." Hermione caught his eye, and they laughed for a good few minutes, much to Hugo's curiosity.

* Harry kept all of the sweaters Molly knitted for him over the years. When she saw them folded in his cupboard one day, she cried.

* George sent along with a box of Custard Creams with Roxanne as a gift to Neville on her first day of Hogwarts. She didn't speak to her father for a week when her Herbology professor turned into a canary in the middle of class.

* When a young Teddy Lupin was told his father was a werewolf, he thought he had the coolest dad ever.

* Lily, Rose and Roxanne's parents never bought them any pink cardigans.

* Neville Longbottom's son was sorted into Gryffindor before the Sorting Hat even touched his head.

* If Harry were to look in the mirror of Erised today, he wouldn't see anything different.

* James and Fred both broke their namesakes' detention records. George developed a device sold at the shop which detected any cheats or scams. It was called the Lying Ludo.

* Hagrid visited Norberta in Romania. She recognized her ‘Mummy.’

* Neville tried to return the sword of Gryffindor to Harry after the battle, but Harry didn’t accept – the one thing that the Ministry had gotten right was that the sword was never Dumbledore’s to give. It now rests in Professor Longbottom’s office, waiting to be called by another worthy Gryffindor.

* After the war, Neville went and visited his parents at St. Mungo’s to explain the end of Voldemort’s reign. He knew they wouldn’t understand, but they deserved to know – it was what they had been fighting for all along.

* There was always a vase of fresh lilies in the Potter home.

* Percy made a point to see his father at the ministry every day after they both returned to work.

* When Hermione told Ron she was pregnant, it was the single most terrifying moment of his life. It was also the happiest.

* Narcissa Malfoy never truly forgave Molly for killing her sister but understood why she did it.

* Hugo and Rose always run to their father for sweets – Hermione is still the daughter of two dentists.

* Rose once came across a selection of books penned by Gilderoy Lockhart in her mother’s library. Her father confiscated them and muttered something about “pompous prat.”

* In the Granger-Weasley household, it was always Hermione who stepped up to kill the spiders.

* Neville didn’t buy his son a pet toad.

* Draco’s nurturing upbringing of Scorpius was inspired by his own father: he did everything Lucius didn’t.

* Hermione and her parents spent hours attempting to explain to Arthur Weasley how airplanes stay up. He still didn’t quite understand the concept.

* James and Fred annoyed everyone by constantly Apparating from room to room, sometimes accidentally landing on top of people.

* Teddy Lupin was slightly distraught at not becoming a prefect, for he knew his father had been one. “I’m sure you just lack certain qualities,” Harry told him, “like the ability to behave yourself.” Teddy was puzzled until Harry explained those were the words of his mother.

* On those rare occasions that Harry would visit Dudley’s family, he still called him ‘Big D.’

* Ron’s kids found the infamous Yule Ball dress robes hanging in his cupboard once. The teasing lasted for weeks.

* Ginny was disappointed when her son James's first word was ‘buddy 'ell’ (bloody hell) after spending too much time with his Uncle Ron.

* When Ron suggested his children a homework planner, Hermione dropped the pot she was holding and beamed with happiness.

* After failing to secure her father’s attention during a particularly noisy family dinner at the burrow, Rose angrily screeched “Won-Won!” The entire room fell silent, and Ron’s face flushed a brilliant red until Hermione simply burst out laughing.

* Hugo never really understood why his father was so adamant about the fact that no good ever came from entering a girls’ bathroom.

* Neville Longbottom gives the best advice to his students and is viewed as a mentor. A frightened young first-year once approached him with concerns about a bully. Neville looked him in the eyes and told him that he was worth twelve of that coward.

* When Ron proposed to Hermione, he fumbled with the ring and almost dropped it down the sewer. When Hermione said yes, he was shocked and Hermione simply replied with ”Always the tone of surprise.”

* Fred had actually never heard Percy joke. At Fred's funeral, Percy promised him he'd lighten up. And since then, he had. Every year on the anniversary of his death, Percy visited Fred's grave in the dead of night. Instead of placing roses, he put a pile of dragon dung next to it. Every year, he whispered, "Yeah, I was the world's biggest prat." When George arrived later in the day, he always wondered who the prankster was.

* Scorpius doesn’t understand why his father always squirms at the mere mention of ferrets.

* George's proposal to Angelina wasn't planned. George and Angelina had been together for a while and had never discussed marriage. One night at a big Weasley family party, a conversation arose between George, Percy, and Ron. Percy and Audrey had recently gotten married and Ron and Hermione were engaged. Ron started joking with George about marrying Angelina when Percy asked if he had even thought about the idea.

Percy, who still didn't have the best sense of humor, continued, "George you're an adult and you should really start acting like it." "Fine," George replied, and taking inspiration from his twin brother he stood up and said:

"Oi! Angelina!" She looked up from her conversation with Ginny and Fleur. "Want to marry me?" asked George.

Though she was very surprised she smiled coyly and said, "All right, then" and continued on with her conversation. George sat back down and looked at his brother Percy who looked absolutely stunned. Remembering a very similar conversation in his fourth year of school Ron patted George on the back and said, "Piece of cake."

* When Fred and Roxanne were very young, Fred constantly played sneaky pranks on his little sister. One day, when Roxanne was reduced to tears after Fred stole her Pygmy puff, George introduced his daughter to the punching telescope. Angelina scolded her husband fiercely when Fred came downstairs one morning with a black eye.

* To tell Harry she was pregnant, Ginny took him to Godric's Hollow. She knew he wanted to name them after his parents, so what better place to tell him? It was time to make new, happier memories there anyway. Hermione broke the news to Ron that she was pregnant for the first time by using a Christmas gift. It was a Chudley Cannons baby outfit.

* When Ron and Hermione were deciding on what color to paint their room in, Ron had joked saying 'Lavender'. Hermione didn't speak to him for a week, and vowed to get revenge. When Hugo was born and they were deciding on baby names, Hermione said in all seriousness, that she was dying to name the baby Viktor II. Ron never used the name Lavender again.

* The members of the D.A. consider their charmed galleons as one of their most prized possessions. Luna Lovegood made a necklace out of hers.

* When asked about the significance of Chocolate Frog cards, Ron explained to his children that they were wizards of great significance in the Wizarding World. Rose replied by inquisitively asking him why he was on one.

* James, Rose, Albus, Hugo, and Lily all complained about never going camping. Their parents simply wouldn't budge on their firm 'NO.'

* Shortly after the war, Hermione gave Ron her book of Muggle fairy tales so that he could understand that no, Cinderella was not an illness.

* Harry Potter regrets the day he taught his sons "Levicorpus."

* None of the kids understood why there was an unidentifiable Weasley cousin called Barney in Fleur and Bill's wedding photos.

* Scorpius Malfoy excelled in Care of Magical Creatures, much to his father’s disbelief.

* James snuck his namesake’s motorbike out of the garage to take it for a spin quite often. One summer, he crashed it unknown to his parents. When they finally found out, he received a Howler at breakfast in the great hall one morning. It had been Ron’s idea.

*When Rose was a little girl, she used to wish she was a cat. Her mother would reply quite firmly that no, being a cat was not all that enjoyable.

* Seamus Finnigan didn’t allow his son to play with matches, for fear of his underage magical talent coming to fruition.

* Whilst playing for the Holyhead Harpies Ginny was hit on the back of the head by a Bludger, she fell off her broom and ended up unconscious for a few days. When she woke up the first thing she saw was Harry asleep in a chair next to her bed. This is when she decided to settle down, marry him, and have children. She was just waiting to make sure he wouldn’t leave again. The sight of him there reassured her he never would.

* Every Christmas since the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry tried to have something to represent every victim he had known on the Christmas tree. For Dobby, there was a pair of odd socks. For Mad-Eye, there were round chocolates covered with foil to look the eyeballs. For Fred, there was a little angel with a cheeky grin and a flame of ginger hair. For Colin, there was a tiny silver camera... For Tonks, there was a small star which changed colour. For Remus, there was a wolf which was near the star, watching over it. For Snape, there was a Lily that was entwined in the tree's pines. And for Hedwig, there was a toy owl on top of the tree.

* When they were at the end of their second year, Rose, Scorpius, and Al figured out a way to enchant their notebooks to work as a three-way note system. One person would write something and it would appear in the other two notebooks. The three friends used this method of communication all throughout their years at Hogwarts.

* When Hermione went back to Hogwarts, Ron gave her his favorite jumper to take with her. Hermione thought it might have been the most romantic thing he’d ever done. It was old and had a few holes in it and was much too big for her, but she rarely took it off.

* Harry was there for Umbridge's trial. She pleaded not guilty, that she was under the Imperius Curse the whole time. She kept on asking Harry to back her up. Esmerelda Marchbanks called upon Harry to confirm Umbridge’s story. "Potter, tell them the truth! Tell them I was under the Imperius Curse! I feel remorse! Please, tell them!" Harry simply looked at Dolores Jane Umbridge and said: "I’m sorry Professor, I must not tell lies

[nataliescatorccioapologist]

A Travis Martinez Deep Dive/Character Analysis

Let’s talk about one of the most (if not the most) controversial characters in Yellowjackets! I definitely feel like many of Travis’ scenes and actions are misunderstood, so let’s dive in to his character and understand why he does what he does.

General Information

Travis Martinez is portrayed by Kevin Alves. He is described as being 16 years-old in the first drafts of the scripts, although it is unclear if he is still 16 in the final product or if he was aged up to 17 like the rest of the main cast in the teen timeline. His introduction in the script describes him as “lanky, sullen, teetering on the awkward, hormonal edge of impending hotness, a sensitive kid doing his absolute damndest to pretend he doesn’t care about anything.”

Travis attends Wiskayok High School in the (fictional) town of Wiskayok, New Jersey. His family consists of his father, Bill Martinez (who is the head coach of the Yellowjackets girls soccer team at WHS), his mother, and his little brother, Javi.

Relationship With His Family

We get a very brief glimpse into Travis’ home life before the crash in the Pilot episode, but it does give us a few hints of the conflicts present in his family. We see that Travis’ parents seem to have a distant relationship, with Travis’ father attempting to give his mother a kiss goodbye and her initially being resistant to it, but giving in only when she sees Travis watching. Travis rolls his eyes at this interaction, telling us it’s a common occurrence. Maybe it’s just me, but I’m definitely getting the sense that Coach Martinez has had some extramarital affairs and that Travis’ parents are only still married for the sake of keeping the family together.

Travis confesses to Nat that Coach Martinez was “a shit dad” and that he “didn’t even like” Travis. I think, at least in Travis’ mind, he has never been good enough to measure up to his father’s expectations. We get to see a brief sample of what Coach Martinez's parenting style may have been like in his scene with Jackie, in which his version of a "pep talk" is telling Jackie all of the ways in which the other girls on the team are better than her. I have a feeling Travis' dad often took the same approach with Travis; a gruff, "tough-love" demeanor that only resulted in a deep sense of inadequacy.

This dynamic has affected Travis' relationship with Javi, as well. My interpretation of their relationship is that, while Travis does deeply love and care for Javi, he also harbors some resentment towards him for receiving more softness and support from their father. This resentment only grows when the plane crashes and Travis is left completely responsible for Javi. He's feeling the pressure of having to be an example of masculinity for Javi and his new role as a father figure for Javi, all while dealing with the grief of his father's death. He's overwhelmed and afraid, and therefore he takes this out on Javi, which we can see particularly in the scene where he makes Javi spit out the gum their father gave him.

Travis is likely replicating the harsh parenting style of their father with Javi; it's all he knows. But, underneath, Travis loves Javi; enough to put himself through the trauma of digging up his father's corpse to get a ring for him and to trek through miles of snow in sub zero temperatures for months looking for him after he runs away.

This is why it is so, so heartbreaking when Travis loses Javi just as he's learning to show how much he loves him. My heart breaks at the thought that Travis will have to come back home and tell his mother that his father and little brother are dead.

Toxic Masculinity

It’s no secret that Travis is deeply, deeply insecure. And, as is the case with many young men, this insecurity manifests itself through sexism, unhealthy stoicism, hostility, and anger. It is important to remember that Travis is a teenager in the 90s, a time in which the sexualization of women in media was rampant. The Third Wave of feminism was underway, and with it came an increase of misogyny and backlash from men. Sexist jokes and comments were the norm, and Travis was likely surrounded by them in high school. As a result, we hear him call the girls "idiots," we hear him compare them to girls in porn magazines, we hear him tell Nat she should stick to "folding laundry" and "sucking ___" (we all know how that sentence was going to end). There's no true excuse for it, it's abhorrent behavior and it's unacceptable no matter what time period this is.

However, if we look into Travis' past, we can definitely find an explanation. Much of Travis' behavior can be drawn back to his insecurity and feeling that he is not good enough. We know he was bullied throughout high school as a result of Bobby Farleigh's "Flex" comment and we know that he feels like his father never really liked him; that he never felt good enough for him. Another aspect of Travis' insecurity can also be linked back to the idea of masculinity that has been fed to him by society: the strong, macho, stoic ideal. And it's clear (especially in Season 2) that Travis just does not fit this ideal. He's soft and sensitive, and because this goes directly against what he thinks he should be, he feels shame and embarrassment in himself.

And what do men do when they feel shame, insecurity, and/or sadness? They lash out. Men aren't allowed to show vulnerability, so they instead replace it with a more acceptable emotion: anger. And we definitely see this in the way that Travis lashes out at the people around him. And to make matters worse, Travis is one of the only men out there in the wilderness, making him feel even more pressure to be the strong masculine figure society expects him to be.

Reaction to Trauma

The pressure Travis feels to be "manly" bleeds into his response to trauma, as well. Travis has just watched his father die in a brutal and gruesome manner right before his eyes, and now he's out in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of teenage girls and a little brother to take care of. Most people would break down and cry.

Travis, on the other hand, is strangely apathetic. His only expression of emotion is anger. He snaps at Nat when she suggests that he help his brother, he yells at Javi and forces him to spit out the gum that is his only connection left to his father, he steals food from the others and blatantly insults them, and he essentially tells Javi to "get over it." Travis' coping mechanisms are clear: he distracts his grief with anger and he pushes away anyone that could possibly offer him support.

We see this again with another very significant trauma Travis endures: his sexual assault the night of Doomcoming. Travis is sexually assaulted by an entire group of girls, he clearly begs for them to stop (and they don't), and then he runs for his life and is almost killed. No one ever acknowledges this trauma and the next morning Travis is back to his usual ways, snapping at Natalie when she tries to emotionally support him and attempting to hurt her feelings to get her to stay away from him.

But it's clear, in both of these instances, that, underneath, Travis does care, and he is hurting. Despite him yelling at Javi, he wants to get his father's ring to make it up to him and support him. And when Nat doesn't budge and insists on helping him, Travis breaks down sobbing and admits that he "didn't want to" and that he is in love with her. (And in the script he even says that he wishes that Shauna had killed him that night, that's how strong his pain and shame are after Doomcoming!) Travis' hostile and abrasive behaviors are really a front he puts on to avoid being vulnerable, letting people in, and admitting to himself that he's struggling.

Relationship with Nat

Given Travis' tendency to push people away and hide his vulnerability, it’s not surprising that he forms a romantic connection with someone who mirrors his response to trauma: Natalie.

Their relationship starts off on shaky ground, marked by Travis' initial misogynistic remarks and even an incident where he points a loaded gun at Natalie. Despite this, Natalie is the only person who seems able to see through Travis' anger. Her own experiences with trauma—particularly the loss of her father—give her a deep understanding of what Travis is going through. Like him, she has developed a habit of distancing herself from others, driven by the pain of watching her father die and the lingering guilt of feeling responsible for his death.

This shared trauma—witnessing their fathers’ deaths and carrying the weight of guilt—creates the foundation of their connection. One pivotal moment that cements this bond is the scene where Natalie makes her first kill. Kevin Alves has explained that when Natalie and Travis kneel beside the dying deer and exchange a knowing look, it symbolizes the shared grief they both carry. In this moment, they are not just mourning the animal but, more profoundly, mourning their fathers together.

This scene serves as the emotional cornerstone of their relationship, which stretches over the next 25 years. Both Natalie and Travis are driven by guilt, shame, and self-loathing, and they both struggle with showing vulnerability. They have a pattern of pushing people away before anyone can get too close—a tragic cycle that defines their bond. They are trauma bonded and similar in all of the worst ways, which is what makes them so codependent and enmeshed, as they believe that no one else will ever understand them the way they understand each other.

Of course, Travis’ insecurity finds its way into his relationship with Nat, too. When Nat and Travis discuss having sex for the first time, Travis infamously asks Nat how many guys she has slept with. Nat immediately bristles, thinking that Travis is implying that she’s a “slut”, but, as the scene unfolds, we realize that Travis is actually just insecure about his own virginity in comparison with Nat’s sexual experience. He’s worried that, because of Jackie’s previous comments about Nat, sex with him won’t mean anything to Nat, whereas it would mean a lot to Travis. We can see how much relief he feels when Nat assures him that it does mean something to her, and “especially with him"; when she affirms he is good enough.

Travis’ tendency to get in his own head unfortunately makes itself known again when they actually attempt to sleep together; when Travis can’t get it up and runs out of the room. I think the script for this scene reveals a lot about what is actually going on in Travis’ head:

Travis’ feelings of inadequacy are spiraling here. He’s in awe of Nat and doesn’t feel good enough, and the pressure he’s putting on himself as a result is too much for him (and other parts of him…) to handle. As time passes in the wilderness and Travis lets go of some of his insecurity, we can see he becomes more communicative and releases some of his ego and insecurity as he discovers his spirituality (which we'll get into more in the next section).

Travis's love for Natalie is undeniable, but their relationship is inevitably toxic due to their shared trauma and self-destructive behaviors. After the crash, both turned to drug addiction as a way to numb their pain. Though they’ve tried to help each other stay clean over the years, their connection often pulls them back into destructive patterns. Every time Travis seems to be on the path to recovery, Natalie reappears, and she drags him back down with her again.

Javi’s death will create a huge, irreparable rift between them. It’s likely that Travis harbors deep resentment toward Natalie, not only for surviving when Javi didn’t but also for being a constant reminder of his lost brother. Yet, paradoxically, she is all he has left, and the thought of losing her, too, is unbearable. Despite their genuine love and care for each other, their relationship is fundamentally harmful.

Spirituality, Relationship with “The Wilderness,” and Development of a More Feminine Sense of Self

Season 2 marks a major shift in Travis’ character, and much of this is due to his newfound connection to Lottie. Travis’ desperation to find Javi makes him crave a sense of hope, and therefore makes him open to the idea of The Wilderness. Travis begins attending Lottie’s rituals, and expresses gratefulness towards her for the blood tea and reassurance that Javi is alive. As Travis becomes increasingly attached to Lottie and The Wilderness, we also see him become kinder, softer, and more vulnerable. Travis’ connection to The Wilderness allows him to release the societal norms and expectations that previously guided his toxic behaviors. He can let go of society’s idea of manhood and become a more authentic version of himself. We see that Travis has started to let himself show weakness, express emotion, and is much more open-minded and willing to consider other perspectives.

Lottie definitely becomes an important person to Travis in Season 2. I want to make something clear right now because I feel like it it very often misinterpreted. The writers have stated that Travis’ connection with Lottie is not meant to be interpreted as sexual in nature. Rather, Travis’ scenes with Lottie are meant to represent his spiritual connection with her and his need for guidance. The infamous sex scene between Natalie and Travis in which Travis has visions of Lottie present in the room is not Travis wishing Lottie was in Nat’s place, rather it is meant to represent the internal battle Travis is experiencing between his romantic love for Nat and his need for hope and spiritual belief. Lottie is being shown as a spiritual, religious figure in this scene. She’s not depicted in a sexual manner in Travis’ visions, but rather in a nurturing, holy light.

Nat and Lottie are directly opposed in this Season, with Nat representing pragmatism and Lottie representing faith. Travis is caught in the middle with his romantic connection to Nat and his faith in Lottie. While Nat tells him his brother is dead, Lottie tells him she knows he’s alive. Travis loves Nat, but it’s clear their differences in faith are creating a rift between them, and this rift is symbolized visually in their sex scene.

While Travis’ turn towards faith and spirituality does bring out a better, more likable side of him, it does, unfortunately, directly lead to his death in the adult timeline. While we likely won't get to see any more of Travis' story in the adult timeline, I am looking forward to seeing how he continues to develop in the wilderness and how his newfound spirituality and increasing disconnection with society will change him as a person.

Overall, while Travis can certainly be a deeply dislikable character at times, his development over the past two seasons has been fascinating to watch and he definitely has some hidden complexities that are starting to reveal themselves to the audience. Here's to Travis continuing to connect to his feminine side in Season 3!

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[jerswayman]

LOVE THY GOALIE. GIVE THY GOOD BOY HEAD PATS.